“Yes, yes, of course—they’ve told me about you, but I’m not going to put up with your nonsense for long, my boy! This is Whiteshields School and we do things differently here. Dedication, efficiency, alacrity, discipline—that’s our motto, and you’ll do well to follow them, young man, or it’s the Detention Room for you! And don’t you worry—I’m not afraid to dish out punishment when it’s needed, not like those politically correct do-gooders from social services! Anyway, your first class will be English. It’s just there, across the corridor, Room 2A. Here’s an exercise book, mostly for homework—see, on the cover, I’ve filled it in for you.”
Dirk glanced at it. It said, “English, Dirk Lloyd, seventh grade, Teacher: Mrs. Batelakes.”
Grousammer said, “All right then, run along now. Off you go!”
Dirk stared at Mr. Grousammer, unsure how to react to him. He reminded Dirk of someone he knew, but he couldn’t think who, what with his talk of motto, discipline, punishment, and the like, as if he were some kind of bearded tyrant. And what did “politically correct” mean? Also, he’d just ordered him to “run along,” an unacceptable method of addressing him. But he was powerless to do anything about it.
Perhaps a different tactic was in order, so Dirk tried a smile. Mr. Grousammer actually flinched for a moment, before recovering his composure, and waved Dirk out of the room. As he left, Dirk heard him muttering something about “Hannibal” and “Lecter.” Wondering what he meant, Dirk crossed the hall. Grousammer was going to be a problem, he could tell. Typical megalomaniacal, authoritarian type with a compulsion to control and command. There was room for only one of those around here, and it wasn’t going to be Grousammer!
Without thinking, Dirk swept open the door to Room 2a and strode in. A human female of middling years was talking to an unruly crowd of about thirty or so human children, who looked more like a battalion of ill-trained Goblins than pupils, all dressed in their absurd Whiteshields uniforms, just like the one he’d been forced to put on this morning. The annoying tie thing was already chafing his neck like a hangman’s noose.
They all turned to look at him in surprise as he declared, “I am the Great Dirk! You may call me Master!” The children burst into laughter, much to his annoyance. How disrespectful of them! The teacher looked a little annoyed as well—perhaps she recognized him for what he was, and would punish them for laughing at him. But no, she turned her ire on him instead.
“Where are your manners? Don’t you know you should knock before entering a room?” she said icily.
Dirk was taken aback. Knock? What did she mean? Knock the door down with a GateShatter spell? Seemed a bit excessive, even for him, he thought to himself.
She went on. “Now introduce yourself and sit down over there,” she said, pointing to a desk at the back of the classroom.
Dirk scowled. He was really finding it hard to get used to the fact that he wasn’t in charge. He sighed, and said, “As you command, Mrs. Battle Axe. My name is …”
For some reason the unruly mob of child-Goblins dissolved into laughter again.
The woman looked even angrier. “It’s not pronounced BA-TEL-AKS; it’s pronounced BATE LAKES! Rhymes with Great Lakes, for goodness’ sake …” The look of annoyance on her face faded into resignation. It had dawned on Mrs. Batelakes that Battleaxe would probably be her nickname at the school forever now.
“Oh, just sit down, Dirk,” she said.
Dirk ambled over to his desk. He recognized his fellow prisoner of the Pure Guardians, Christopher, sitting next to him.
Christopher nodded at him, and whispered, “Welcome to school, Dirk,” and gave him that friendly smile.
Dirk eyed him suspiciously. What was it he wanted, being nice to him like that? Seated on the other side of him was a young human girl. He barely noticed her as he took in the rest of the class. A typical bunch of worthless humans, he thought. But then his attention was drawn back to the girl. The way she dressed seemed all about trying to get around the constraints of the absurd school uniform, and he liked that. Her hair was dyed jet black, and dark black stuff had been smeared carefully around her eyes. She wore curious jewelry that seemed to bear runes and other magical glyphs, and her nails were also black. There was an interesting silver device through one of her earlobes. Some kind of talisman, perhaps? Her skin was very white and pale, and she wore stumpy black boots with silver buckles. Her lips were unnaturally red, as if stained with blood. In fact, if it wasn’t broad daylight, he would have taken her for a Vampire. Perhaps she was, and had found some way to withstand the burning rays of the sun.
He’d worked with Vampires before—in fact, he once had an entire regiment of Vampires, mounted on Night Mares that had served him well, until Virikonus the Vampire Hunter had destroyed them all in the Battle of the Night-Made-Day.
Perhaps she could be useful to him. He leaned over and said, “Greetings, Child of the Night, I am Dirk.” She looked at him in surprise, as did the rest of the class. He realized he hadn’t lowered his voice, and he’d interrupted Mrs. Batelakes, who’d been going on about something tedious. The teacher glared at him, and he fell silent, feeling somewhat confused with the whole situation.
A bit later, the Vampire girl leaned over and whispered, “Hi, I’m Susan—you can call me Sooz. Child of the Night—I like that!” She smiled at him. Dirk nodded graciously, as if taking a compliment from one of his servitors.
After the class was over—an interminable time of droning tedium for Dirk—he and Christopher were standing together outside the classroom. Christopher was explaining things to Dirk.
“Yes, every day during the school year, we have to sit in rooms like that, and the teachers tell us things we have to learn—that was English. There’s also math, social studies, language arts, science, and PE. Then, when we get home, we have to do more stuff, called homework.”
Dirk’s jaw dropped. He stood aghast at the thought of the endless hours of tedium ahead of him. This was like some kind of never-ending, hideous torture! Days of droning drudgery appeared before him in his mind’s eye, stretching away forever. Not even he, a past master at inventing cruel and unusual punishments could have come up with something like this!
Then the human girl called Sooz came up to them and said, “Hi, Chris. Is this the one staying at your place?” She looked Dirk up and down appraisingly.
“Yup,” said Chris.
“And is he … Well, you know, the psychologists and everything?” she said.
“Oh yes, completely!” said Chris emphatically.
“Cool!” said Sooz.
“Tell me, Child of the Night, how can one such as you withstand the bright, burning rays of the pain-giving Sun? Has there been some breakthrough in Vampiric Lore among the Clans of the Undead?” Dirk asked.
Sooz stared at him for a moment, as if not quite sure whether or not he was mocking her. But then she laughed out loud. “You’re being serious, aren’t you? Ha—I love it!” she said.
“Told you!” said Christopher.
“Of course I’m serious. Why wouldn’t I be? Surely you are a Vampire, are you not?” said Dirk.
Sooz laughed some more, grinning from ear to ear. “No, I’m not a real Vampire, fudge boy—I’m a Goth!”
“A Goth? What is this Goth thing?” said a bemused Dirk. “And what is a fudge boy?” Sooz stopped laughing, and looked at him as if he was crazy, a look Dirk was getting very used to.
“You really don’t know, do you?” she said.
“No, I do not. I am new to this plane and there is much I need to learn. However, I should warn you that it is only a matter of time before I subjugate your world under the heels of my all-conquering boots!”
Christopher and Sooz glanced at his white sneakers and burst into laughter.
“You’re hilarious,” said Sooz, wiping tears from her eyes. “I like you!”
Dirk was flabbergasted. She “liked” him! How extraordinary! People didn’t “like” him. They were supposed to fear and hate him, to feel ter
ror at his coming, to bow down before his might like the gazelle before the lion, not like him.
“So, what is this Goth thing then? Explain, Nightwalker!”
Again, this made Sooz grin all over.
She said, “Well, Goths are people who follow a particular fashion style. But it has to be Gothic—you know, some Victorian looking stuff, horror movies, maybe a Vampire look, which I’m so pleased you noticed. And a particular kind of music—heavy metal sometimes, or grunge, or some indie bands, and death rock. But mostly for me, straight up Goth bands like AngelBile and The Demonfires. Goths are kind of, well, different, like outsiders. We don’t fit in with normal people. Or ‘Normies’ as I call them.”
Dirk latched onto something she’d said, “Death Rock? A Rock of Death? Where is this Rock, and how can I bind its powers to my will?”
Chris and Sooz were laughing again.
“No, no,” said Sooz. “Rock music, fudge boy!” she said, playfully giving him a light slap on the arm. “Death rock is a return to the old classics that started the whole Goth music scene, like Siouxsie and the Banshees and The Sisters of Mercy. Who are way cool by the way, even if they are kind of old.”
Dirk looked away, completely stunned for a moment. She had actually laid hands on him. Nobody laid hands on him! Ever! And she’d called him a fudge boy. Twice! Presumably it was some kind of compliment or statement of worship. Possibly. Or maybe not—he wasn’t sure. He felt anger rise in him, and he raised his hands to cast the Raiment of the Cockroach spell—a brief period as an insignificant insect would teach her proper respect. But he thought better of it, and managed to overcome his anger, forcing it down. He lowered his arms. He had no power anyway, and he couldn’t afford to alienate these two, his only real interface with this strange new world—even if they were only children.
The adults simply thought he was crazy or treated him like a difficult child—these two, although they might laugh at him, at least treated him like an equal. He was coming to realize that he was going to have to learn new ways of dealing with things, and this Sooz could be useful to him. So for the time being he would have to live without the level of respect he was used to.
Best to continue as if nothing untoward was going on. Dirk said, “I see. You mean they are musicians? And angel bile? That would make for a powerful spell component I’m sure, if correctly harnessed to the dark side. As for a demon fire, I already have one of those burning, in the catacombs beneath my Iron Tower of Despair.”
“No, they’re just bands too!” laughed Sooz.
“Bands? Like a band of Orcs, or something?” said Dirk, still confused.
This caused further laughter. “No, no,” said Christopher, “they’re musicians, a music band.”
“Ah, I see. Musicians. Hmph. What a shame. Still, this Goth ‘fashion’ sounds interesting. I too am an outsider. Also, I like the look. Much more in keeping with my own tastes. Perhaps I shall become a Goth too. What do you think, Christopher and Sooz?”
“That’d be great,” said Sooz smiling.
She looked genuinely pleased, which was strange. Most people, even Orcs—no, even powerful Vampire Lords—would be a little uneasy about him, a Dark Lord, joining their group. But I suppose to this human girl I am just another human boy, Dirk thought.
“You’d better check out the music first, in case you don’t like it,” said Christopher. “I’ve got a Morti clip on my phone you can listen to, though it’s not really Goth music, but sort of related.”
“Oh no, not Morti,” said Sooz, raising her eyes to heaven. “Much too heavy metal for me! It’s not Goth music, but yeah, see what you think.”
Christopher took out his cell phone, and a loud thrashing noise, like the sound of rusty armor being scraped clean by a hundred Goblin slaves, intermixed with the bursting rhythms of the dragon’s heartbeat came out of the little device.
“Hmm, catchy,” said Dirk. “It reminds me of home.”
Chris smiled and said, “Here, there’s a little video clip, look.”
Pictures formed on the small surface of the phone. Aha, thought Dirk to himself, it was more than just a voice teleporter, but also a Scrying Crystal. Except it wasn’t a crystal of course, but one of these technical machine things these humans seemed so good at, according to the encyclopedia he’d been reading. He had to strain his eyes a little, but he could just about make out the pictures.
But then Dirk gaped in astonishment. Standing in front of a few undead, or perhaps demons, was Gargon, his most loyal retainer! And he was singing—he didn’t know Gargon could sing!
“By the Nine Netherworlds, it is Gargon himself!” yelled Dirk, “My lieutenant, Dread Gargon, the Hewer of Limbs, Captain of the Legions of Dread! This scrying device must somehow be accessing my own world. What kind of magic is this? Look, look, it’s Gargon!”
“No, no, that’s Morti, the lead singer,” said Chris. “It’s from a concert in Finland. They’re Finnish, you know.”
Dirk spoke heatedly. “Fin Land? Finnish? Some kind of land beneath the sea, peopled by fish beings? What are you saying?! Gargon isn’t some wretched Merman or an Undine or something; he’s the off spring of the foul and unholy union of a Demon Lord and a Lich Queen, and he’s my most loyal servant! He hates the sea! Ah, Gargon, I need you!”
Sooz and Christopher started laughing again. Dirk glared at them. It didn’t have the desired effect—i.e. all-consuming terror—like in the old days, but at least they tried to stifle their laughter.
“Sorry, Dirk, sorry. You’re just so funny sometimes—that’s why we like you! Anyway, Finland is in Europe—and it’s full of people just like here; it’s not under the sea at all. Just a regular place. Well, sort of,” said Christopher, grinning again.
“And he’s just a man dressed up to look like that, Dirk—though I like the Lich/Demon thing! Sounds cool.”
“No, it is him. It must be. He’s the spitting image of him,” replied Dirk. “He must have found a way to get to this world on his own—which is surprising. He’s not known for his initiative, just blind obedience. Still, he has done well. He must have put a rescue mission together—it’s obvious he’s managed to get here without suffering the catastrophic body change that I have. We must find him. Take me to him immediately.”
Sooz shook her head, “Can’t be done, I’m afraid. He’s miles and miles away, and we’ve got no way of getting there. We’re only kids.”
“Actually,” said Chris, “there’s a Morti concert in town in a couple of months. We could get tickets and go see them.”
“Excellent! That is good, Christopher, very good. If you can arrange this, you will be rewarded.”
Christopher looked a little miffed at that. “I don’t want a reward, Dirk. This is just normal stuff that friends do for each other,” he said.
“Friends. Hmm, that is not a word I am very familiar with. But I have a vacancy for a lickspittle if that’s what you mean,” said Dirk, in his most imperious voice.
Dirk seemed surprised when they both burst out laughing again. Then Sooz noticed his Ring.
“Wow, that’s cool! Where did you get it? It’s really Goth,” she said.
Dirk said, “This? It’s not cool, or even cold. It’s my Great Ring, my Ring of Power. I forged it millennia ago, in the fires of the World’s Heart, deep beneath the ground. But now it has lost all its power. It is worthless! Here, take it.” He pulled it off his finger and gave it to Sooz. She grinned and actually jumped up and down with excitement. Odd little creature, thought Dirk to himself. But amusing.
Sooz held it up to the light. “What’s that on the front? Some kind of signet symbol, like a skull or a face. And those carvings on the inside—like runes or something. They look great,” she said as she slipped the ring onto her finger. “It fits perfectly and goes so well with my bracelets.” She held her hand out to admire it.
“The stylized face is my coat of arms, my seal. The runes are ancient though—the language of magic itself, from before the world
was made,” said Dirk. “Well, my world that is, I’ve no idea about this strange place.”
“Cool!” said Christopher.
“Yeah, nice!” added Sooz. The runes looked a bit like this:
The seal on the front of the ring looked like this:
Sooz loved it. “Thank you so much, Dirk, thank you!” she said, and she leaned forward and gave him a little kiss on the cheek.
Dirk recoiled for a moment. As far as he could remember, he’d never been kissed before. Granted, he couldn’t remember all the way back to his beginning, but he certainly hadn’t been kissed for several thousand years or so. His face was getting hot.
“Your face is all red,” said Christopher.
“He’s blushing,” said Sooz, giggling.
“Blushing? What is this blushing? Have you laid some kind of curse upon me with the kiss of the Vampire?” said Dirk accusingly, but this only made Sooz giggle even more.
“I’ll tell you all about it later,” said Christopher.
Sooz reached into her backpack. Dirk noticed there were words written on it. It said, “Angelbile, Demons of Destruction tour” in red lettering that dripped blood.
“Nice bag!” said Dirk, without thinking.
“Thank you, Dirk,” said Sooz. She handed him a book. “Every gift deserves a gift in return. This is a diary I just bought, but I haven’t started it yet. It’s a Goth diary, of course, but I’m sure you’ll like it. You can write down all your thoughts and dreams in it.”
The book was black. That was good. On the front was an embossed figure of what looked like Death himself. Underneath it said, “The Grim Reaper Diary.” It reminded Dirk of some of the books he used to have in the Dark Library in his Iron Tower, like The Book of Bringing Forth the Dead, or his first-edition copy of The Ultimate Necronomicon.
“Thank you, Sooz. It’s beautiful,” said Dirk, genuinely pleased. This was the best thing anyone had ever given him so far on his travels in this strange land. “It’s … er, well, it’s cold. Er, I mean cool,” he said. This drew more laughter from Chris and Sooz.
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