Meanwhile, elsewhere in Whiteshields …
Ma Baker, a gray-haired, stooped, shriveled old lady, rested her tired bones on a bench and threw bread to a pair of sparrows. One of them landed close to a small black oil slick in an empty parking spot. It pecked at it and froze, wobbling on its little legs for a moment before falling head first into the scummy, oily blackness.
Then it stood back up again … But it seemed bigger than before, and its feathers were as black as night, covered with a film of slime. It looked more like a crow than a sparrow. A black storm crow with bloodred eyes. It gave a caw of malignant rage and took to the air before swooping down and attacking its one-time mate. Ma Baker could only look on in astonished amazement.
The Pavilion Of Dreams
May Dismay 19
Today Sooz insisted on taking me to see
one of her favorite places. I expected it
to be something a typical twelve-year-old
human girl-child would like, or something
“girlie” as Christopher would say, but in
fact it sounded quite interesting, or so I
thought. Her favorite place turns out to
be in the nearby town of Wendle, and it’s
a witches museum.
Apparently these were human women
burned at the stake for their crimes,
hundreds of years ago, but they weren’t
what I’d call witches. Little black capes,
silly crooked hats, long warty noses. And
broomsticks, for evil’s sake! What, they
clean you to death? “Surrender now, or
I will sweep your front room!” Ha! And
I told Sooz so—“You should see the
witches we have back in the Darklands!
The Crow Witch, the Black Hag, the
Accursed Crone, Our Lady of Shadows,
the Withered One of a Hundred Hexes, to
mention but a few. Now they’re witches!”
I said.
This made Sooz really angry—“Well,
if the Darklands are so good, why don’t
you go back home then? Go off with one
of your witches, if they’re so much better,
and leave us alone!”
“I am trying to get home,” I said. That
seemed to make her even angrier, and
she stomped off in a huff. Didn’t talk to
me for days. I’ll never understand these
humans, especially the females.
May DismAy 21, YeAR of OUR LoRD DiRK: 1
Mr. Grousammer, the principal, makes
such efforts to annoy me that I suspect
he may be Hasdruban the Pure under the
guise of a Mask of Flesh spell. The only
way to know for sure would be to affix
the stings of 1,001 killer bees from his jaw
to his neck, and then pull. However, the
plan is not without difficulty. Also, if
I’m wrong, there is a serious risk of
detention. Again.
It was Friday, the last day at school before the day off. Sooz found Dirk during morning break and took him to one side for a private word. She seemed quite upset about something.
“Dirk, I’m sorry. I’ve lost the ring you gave me!” she said, somewhat guiltily.
“Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that, Child of the Night!” said Dirk, trying to appear surprised. In fact, he had the Ring in his pocket and he was fiddling with it even as they spoke. Chris had given it to him last night after supper.
“Somehow I lost it during swimming practice. I’ve searched the locker room but … nothing. I’m really sorry!”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Dirk, as his brow furrowed. Something didn’t feel quite right. He was expecting Sooz to be a lot more upset about it, but she didn’t seem that bothered. Hadn’t she said it was the best present he’d ever given her, the best present anyone had ever given her?
“What about the ritual on Monday?” asked Sooz. “Can you do it without the ring?”
“Oh yes, of course. I have other seals. Don’t worry about it, my little Vampire!” said Dirk, almost affectionately.
“Oh, okay then,” said Sooz airily. “I’m off now—English with Battle Axe,” and she raised her eyes to heaven. Dirk groaned in sympathy as she walked away. She waved at him over her shoulder.
Dirk stood there, puzzled. She didn’t need to rush off like that. Classes didn’t start for a good ten minutes. Could Sooz be losing interest in him? Didn’t she care anymore? He’d expected a few more tears, or something. He shrugged. Perhaps he’d just misread the whole situation. Maybe it wasn’t that important to her after all. Maybe it was just because it was the last day before the long weekend, and she was in too good a mood to cry about it? Yes, that must be it, he thought. Holidays always seem to make human children happy … Or was something else going on?
Dirk took the Ring out and put it on his finger, turning it ruminatively. It felt dull, lifeless. Empty and powerless. (But then it had always felt like that ever since he had come to this absurd place these ridiculous humans called home.) When he got back to the Darklands, he was sure the Ring would be filled with dark energy again, and glow once more with its eerie black light. Only a few more days to go. Home to the Iron Tower, to his Gates of Doom, and his Throne of Skulls! There would be much to do, and he would have to keep it all secret, to hide in the shadows until he had rebuilt his power, assuming his old form would return as well. Imagine if he remained in this body! But he tried not to think about it. That was too awful to contemplate. His brow furrowed. He realized with surprise that he would miss some things here in Whiteshields. He would miss Sooz. He would miss Chris. Even Mrs. Purejoie. A little bit.
His thoughts were interrupted by Chris and Sal.
“Yo, Dark Lord,” said Sal in greeting.
“Sports Lord,” said Dirk, acknowledging his greeting with a regal nod of the head.
“I’ve got the sealing wax,” said Chris, holding up a thick, deep-red-colored stick of wax. “All ready for Monday.”
“Excellent!” said Dirk. “All is ready! Soon I shall be free of this accursed plane! The Darklands await my triumphant return! Mwah, ha, ha!”
Chris and Sal glanced at each other and smiled. Everyone was in a good mood today—either because a holiday was coming up or they believed they were going home to another land, on another plane, in another universe. Mostly though, it was because of the holiday.
Soon Monday dawned, a clear, sunny day with an almost cloudless sky. A beautiful day. At the eleventh hour, Chris, Sooz, Sal, and Dirk met at the top of Greenfield Lane. Sooz had a small gas burner, a Sterno can, and a big box of kitchen matches. Chris had his sealing wax, Sal had the keys to the pavilion, and Dirk had the scroll and the incense.
“Welcome, my Magi!” said Dirk. “Today a great sorcery will be wrought! We shall open a magic portal between two worlds, a thing never before done on earth! Well, not since Hasdruban sent me here in the first place that is, but that’s neither here nor there!”
Sal, Sooz, and Chris smiled indulgently.
“Well, let’s get on with it then,” said Sooz, and they ambled down the lane. Greenfield Lane was long and leafy. It was a hot day. Birds sang in the trees, and unseen creatures rustled in the hedgerows as they passed. It was earth, however, so the “unseen creatures” tended to be things like shrews, hedgehogs, squirrels, and rabbits, rather than skulking Goblins, dark Elves, or the undead. More’s the pity, Dirk thought to himself.
After a few hundred yards, the lane dipped into a low depression, rising up on the other side to the school’s backyard and the garden.
Sal was just ahead of the group when he crested the top of the rise. He pulled up short and ducked down out of sight, hugging the wall. He gestured for the rest to do the same by holding his fist up, as if this was some kind of army patrol. Chris made a face at Sooz, holding his own fist up in mock
ery of Sal, and shaking his head. “We’re not in the army, are we?” he whispered, raising his eyes to heaven.
Sooz shrugged and whispered back, “I think he’s sweet.” Chris shook his head in mock disgust.
“He’s very good-looking too,” she added.
Chris grimaced. For some reason, that really annoyed him, and he turned away from her grumpily. Sooz smiled. She’d gotten the reaction she wanted. She looked at Dirk, to see his reaction, but he was just looking over at Sal, and shushing her and Chris into silence with his hands. Sooz scowled. Why didn’t Dirk take more notice of her? Didn’t he care that she might like Sal more than him? Chris seemed to care about it.
Sal poked his head up over the rise for another quick look to confirm what it was that had spooked him. He turned, and hissed in a harsh whisper, “It’s Mousehammer!”
It was Principal Grousammer. He was there working on his garden, tending his vegetables. He was sure to see them if they tried to get over the school wall.
“Curses!” said Dirk. “A thousand curses on the heads of little golden-eyed goody-two-shoes Elf children, may their hearts be ripped out and sacrificed to the Dark Gods of Chaos!” he muttered.
They crouched out of sight. The sun beat down. All was quiet, save for birdsong, and the sound of Grousammer’s trowel, clinking against the occasional pebble as he worked the soil. Dirk examined the position of the sun. He looked at Chris and nodded toward Chris’s arm. Chris realized what he meant and checked his wristwatch.
“Eleven twenty,” he whispered.
Dirk gnawed on his lower lip. The ceremony had to be performed at twelve noon. Sooz and Chris were looking at him expectantly. He realized they were waiting for him to come up with something. Well, he knew what to do. He called the group together in a huddle.
“I knew it was a possibility that Grousammer would be working on his garden—you must know your enemy, as the saying goes. I have planned for this,” said Dirk.
With that, Dirk took something out of his pocket.
“A grenade? That’s a grenade!” said Sal in a shocked whisper.
“You’re going to blow him up?” hissed Sooz, equally shocked.
“You can’t kill him, Dirk, for goodness’ sake!” said Chris.
Dirk raised his eyes and made a face.
“I’ve told you already, Chris, that should be for evil’s sake. And no, of course not, you idiots! It’s not a real grenade—well, it doesn’t have any explosives in it, put it that way.”
Chris and Sooz just blinked at him, nonplussed.
“Where did you get it?” asked Sal in a whisper.
“I made it in science class—cost me a few detentions, in fact. Took ages to make it look this old. Here you are, Sal, this is your province, I believe,” said Dirk and he handed the grenade to Sal.
Sal took it. Looked at it. Looked up at Dirk.
“Throw it! Like a baseball. Just behind Grousammer. He’ll think he’s dug up an old grenade or something. He’ll have to leave and call the police—unexploded bomb and all that.”
“Oh,” said Sal. Then he grinned. Sooz and Chris chuckled. This was going to be fun! Sal poked his head up to see what Grousammer was up to. When the moment was right, he lobbed it into the garden. It landed with a chink. Sal ducked down back out of sight. Perfect throw, he signaled to Dirk, making a little circle with thumb and forefinger.
A few moments passed in silence. Suddenly Grousammer shouted at the top of his voice: “Argh! A grenade!” They heard the sound of him hitting the ground, as he dove for cover.
They all clapped their hands over their mouths to stop themselves from laughing out loud. They began to shake and shudder, seized by uncontrollable giggling.
“Oh, you idiot,” they heard Grousammer saying to himself. “It’s probably been here for ages by the look of it. Pull yourself together.”
Then they heard him standing up. “Better go and call the police,” he muttered and began to walk back toward the school. The plan was working perfectly.
Dirk managed to control his laughter. He said, “He might be back soon. Sal, can you distract him, delay him a little longer? You’re supposed to be seeing him about a batting cage anyway, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to be seeing him tomorrow. I could go after him,” offered Sal. “Just walk past as if by chance and suggest we talk about it now.”
“That would be most useful,” said Dirk.
“But don’t you want to see the ritual?” said Sooz.
“Yeah,” added Chris in a low voice. “What if Dirk actually does open a portal between the worlds?”
Sooz’s brow furrowed. She didn’t like the idea of Dirk leaving, but on the other hand, she knew the “spell” wouldn’t work. Well, she was fairly certain anyway. As was Chris, surely. Sal, was totally certain, though.
“Yeah, right. There ain’t gonna be no portal opening, dudes! More like Dirk is some twentieth-level magic-user class thing or whatever, Sooz is some kind of Vampire type character, Chris is a twelfth-level blah in whatever weirdo, nerdy live-action, role-playing game you guys are into.”
“I guess so,” said Sooz.
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” added Chris.
But Dirk glared at Sal and said, “Twentieth-level magus? A mere twentieth-level human magus! I am at least a fiftieth-level Dark Lord, for evil’s sake. And I …” Dirk’s voice was beginning to rise.
Chris put his finger to his lips to warn him to keep quiet, in case Grousammer could still hear him. Dirk got ahold of himself.
“Bah, it is not a game, I tell you!” he hissed.
“Sure, whatever,” said Sal. “Anyway, look, I’m not into those sorts of games, but fine if you are. Here are the keys to the pavilion. Just give ’em back to me tomorrow morning, okay?”
He handed the keys to Dirk, who accepted them rather ungraciously. Dirk realized he was being unnecessarily rude so he bowed and whispered, “Excellent, Sports Lord Malik! I, the Great Dirk, thank you for your tribute and your superb throwing skills!”
Sal shook his head like Dirk was nuts, but he couldn’t stop himself from chuckling a little and grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah, no prob, Your Dirkness. Just don’t tell anyone I gave you those keys! I’d lose my place as captain—not to mention getting a ton of detentions.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll keep it quiet,” said Chris.
“And I shall draw up an unbeatable plan to crush Santa Ana Prep!” added Dirk.
“Cool. Okay then, good luck—I’ll see you later,” said Sal.
“Perhaps not,” replied Dirk, “but thank you for your excellent services, Sal Malik!”
With that, Sal nodded and walked over to the garden. They could see him running after Grousammer, and after a few moments both of them disappeared out of sight.
Sooz, Chris, and Dirk stood up and made their way to the low wall at the back of the school. Using the wooden crates from the garden, they climbed over the wall with ease, and made their way to the baseball field, where the pavilion stood silently, as if waiting for them.
They trooped inside and began to prepare for the ritual. With a piece of chalk, Dirk carefully drew the symbol of the Five-Pointed Station of the Tetragram on the wood floor. Nearby, Sooz set up the gas burner, and lit it with a match. She put the Sterno can on the flame. Chris stood by with the sealing wax, feeling a little left out. “Keeper of the Sealing Wax,” “he who melts the Wax,” “Wax-bearer” didn’t really have the ring of greatness to it, now did it? he thought to himself.
Dirk laid his Cloak of Endless Night on the ground. It seemed to fill the space in the Five-Pointed Station of the Tetragram almost perfectly, as if it knew where to go. He then sprinkled some herbs (mostly ordinary stuff—peppercorns, rosemary, bay leaves, bergamot oil, and the like) into the Sterno can on the gas cooker. Quickly it began to smoke, giving off a lovely fresh smell.
He then took out the scroll, and nodded at Chris who stuck the wax into the gas fire. It melted rapid
ly, and they sealed the scroll. With his back to Sooz, so she couldn’t see, Dirk took out the Ring and imprinted the seal part of it into the soft wax, leaving his mark. The Ring was supposed to be lost, after all. But Sooz and Chris exchanged a look behind Dirk’s back as if they knew exactly what was going on.
Then Dirk began to chant. A weird chant—some kind of strange language Chris and Sooz had never heard before. The inside of the pavilion seemed to go strangely quiet. The hairs stood up on the back of Sooz’s and Chris’s necks. They looked at each other again, but this time they were a little scared. The chanting really seemed magical. And it was disturbing, weirdly unpleasant.
Was it her imagination, or did the air seem to be wavering above the cloak, like a heat-haze mirage, thought Sooz. She looked over at Chris. He was staring at the same patch of air. He could see it too! This couldn’t be real could it? Surely it couldn’t?
Then Dirk stopped the weird chant. By now, the soft wax seal had hardened. He snapped it, crying out some word or command in a language that sounded like it was not meant for the human tongue. Then he lit the scroll and plunged it into the burning incense. The whole thing burst into a thin column of green flame, as if incense, scroll, and wax had been instantly consumed in a flash of magical fire! Dirk turned and stepped onto the Cloak.
“Good-bye, my lieutenants, good-bye!” he said.
Chris and Sooz were astonished. Could he really be leaving them? They looked at each other desperately.
But nothing happened. Nothing. The gas burner hissed on. The Cloak lay there, unmoving. Dirk looked puzzled and frustrated. He jumped up and down on the Cloak. He picked it up, wrapped it around him, and rechanted the spell. But nothing happened. Nothing seemed to work.
“What’s going on? Why isn’t it working?” he shouted. Then he raised his arms up, spreading the Cloak wide, and cried out to the heavens, “Why, why? Am I cursed to remain forever trapped on this plane, weak and powerless for all time?”
Dark Lord Page 9
