“You wanted to see me, sir?” said Albiorix as he sat down.
“Armando,” said Flanagan, “it appears we have some irregularities with your paperwork after all.”
“Irregularities?” said Albiorix. The wizard’s blood ran cold.
“How do I put this?” said Flanagan. “You’re not who you say you are.”
Albiorix gave a reedy, unconvincing laugh. “What?” said the wizard. “What makes you say that?”
“Because your birth certificate looks exactly like this one,” said Flanagan. He turned his laptop screen to face Albiorix. The web browser showed the same image that June had used as the basis for Armando Boort’s.
The wizard swallowed. “Well, of course it looks similar. It’s the same template—”
“Actually, I checked, and this template hasn’t been in use since the early 1960s,” said Flanagan. “So then I spoke with our IT guy and took a look at the computer logs. Imagine my surprise when I found someone else had recently visited this exact same web page. You used this image to forge the one you gave me. Is that about right?”
Albiorix blinked. He’d been caught. The jig was up. He opened his mouth and closed it again. The wizard said nothing.
“No implausible explanation? No snappy comeback?” said Flanagan, who was smiling now for the first time since Albiorix had arrived. “Well, the good news is, I think there is a way we can work this out,”
“There is?” said Albiorix.
“Give me the Malonomicon,” hissed Flanagan.
In the real world, violence is the best solution to many (if not most) of life’s problems. If a band of angry orcs is waylaying travelers, you slay them. If giant rats have made a lair in the basement of the local brewery, you slay them. Yet in the fictional world of Homerooms & Hall Passes, violence is frowned upon. Part of the fun of the game is thinking up creative solutions to problems that can’t merely be solved by brute force. After all, there is no quicker way to Blow It than attacking a nonplayer character and suffering the disciplinary consequences.
—Excerpt from The Hall Master’s Guide
ALBIORIX LEAPED TO HIS FEET.
“I guess you didn’t already get that message about us killing you . . . once!” said Albiorix. “I mean, the message didn’t get to you about it, or . . .”
“Huh?” said Flanagan.
“Trust me! It sounded really good the way I said it before!” said Albiorix. “Anyway, I don’t have the Malonomicon!” The wizard scrambled back, knocking over his chair as he prepared to . . . what? He had no offensive spells to cast. He had no weapon. He didn’t even have his umbrella.
“You know where it is,” hissed Flanagan. “Do not trifle with me, fool. I am an immortal mage of untold power.”
“Then . . . why do you need your spellbook so badly?” said Albiorix.
“Because . . . just give it to me,” said Flanagan.
“Oh, I get it,” said Albiorix. “We’re in the same boat. You can’t cast any of the good stuff without it, can you?”
“I will destroy you!” cried Flanagan, pounding his desk. The warlock had finally lost his cool.
“Will you?” said Albiorix. “Because whatever we were back in Bríandalör, right now I’m a middle-school student and you’re my vice principal. If you destroy me, I mean, talk about a lawsuit against the district.”
“Lawsuits do not concern one such as I!” said Flanagan. His eyes burned with unholy green fire.
“Yeah, that’s spooky and all,” said Albiorix, who was starting to feel more confident. “But I’m still not going to give you your book.”
Flanagan grimaced and settled back down into his office chair. “Perhaps you are right. In this body I am just a lowly academic administrator,” he said. “So allow me to repeat my first offer: give me the Malonomicon, or I shall expel you from this school. That, I believe, is well within my powers as vice principal.”
Albiorix was speechless.
“And such a punishment will mean your final end,” said Flanagan. “Those are the rules of this idiotic game. In Homerooms & Hall Passes, if you get expelled, you’ve Blown It, yes?”
Albiorix’s eyes narrowed. “The game’s not idiotic. It’s a great way to socialize and build imagination and have fun with your friends!”
“Pshaw. It’s for geeks and weirdoes,” said Flanagan. “Now, you have until I complete this disciplinary action form to make peace with your gods.” Flanagan pulled a photocopied form out of his desk drawer and started to fill it in.
Albiorix crossed his arms. “So do your worst, old man.”
“Playing the martyr? How tiresome,” said Flanagan. “If that is not enough to persuade you to bargain, then perhaps I shall expel all of your companions as well?”
“On what grounds?” said Albiorix. “They didn’t do anything! I’m the one who summoned you. This is between you and me, Zazirak.”
Flanagan put down his pen and steepled his fingers as a ghastly grin spread across his face. “Mmm. And while we’re discussing disciplinary action, there is a very troublesome student I’ve had my eye on—a recent transfer; not a good fit for JADMS. I believe her name is June Annabelle Westray.”
“Hey!” said Albiorix, who felt himself starting to panic. “You leave her out of this!”
“After all, it was June’s computer station at which your counterfeit documents were forged,” said Flanagan. “A grave academic transgression. Perhaps a crime—”
“She’s not even an adventurer!” cried Albiorix, losing all composure. “She’s a nonplayer character!”
“Then spare her and give me my book,” said Flanagan.
Albiorix’s heart was beating fast. He thought about leaping across the desk and attacking the monster with his bare hands. But as he’d said, he was a middle-school student and Zazirak was his vice principal. Fighting the man would only get him expelled so much quicker. What was the right answer? What was a real hero supposed to do?
“Zazirak,” said Albiorix, “if I do what you ask, do you swear by whatever dark powers you hold dear that you will leave June Westray alone?”
Flanagan grinned. “In the name of great Azathor the Devourer, I swear it.”
“Then wait here,” said Albiorix.
And so the wizard trudged down the now-empty hallway of JADMS and into the school library. There, on a shelf between an instructional manual for making kites and a field guide to North American birds, Albiorix found the ancient spellbook, exactly where he’d hidden it.
Conflict is the key to making your game of Homerooms & Hall Passes interesting. But the antagonists of the game are quite different than the dastardly villains of the real world. Instead of an ancient dragon that lays waste to the surrounding countryside or a bloodthirsty orc warlord hoping to usher in an eon of fire and chaos, the typical middle-school villain might be a cranky teacher who habitually calls on students exactly when they aren’t paying attention, or a kid who relentlessly makes fun of one of the characters for wearing glasses.
—Excerpt from The Hall Master’s Guide
THE SKY OUTSIDE HAD darkened ominously by the time Albiorix entered the cafeteria. He found Devis, Vela, and Thromdurr sitting with June at the wobbly table near the flagpole.
“Guys, we have a problem,” said the wizard.
“Indeed,” said Vela, “there is something gravely wrong with the baked ziti.” The paladin pointed at the grayish lump sitting on her tray.
“Please. It’s fine,” said Devis. “Just put a little yellow sauce on it. I mean, at least it’s not soup, right?” The thief squirted a line of mustard onto his pasta and started to chow down.
“No, thank you,” said Vela. “I shall fast.”
“Is the food really that much better where you guys come from?” said June. “I imagine it being all stale bread and giant hunks of blackened meat?”
“Mmm. Blackened meat,” said Thromdurr, licking his lips.
“Zazirak the warlock is here,” said Albiorix.
S
ilence fell over the table. The other three Bríandalörians stared at Albiorix. Devis’s fork fell out of his mouth.
“In the cafeteria?” said Thromdurr, glancing around, ready to spring into action.
“In Vice Principal Flanagan,” said Albiorix.
“How can you be sure?” said Vela.
“Because, well . . . I brought him here,” said Albiorix.
And Albiorix recounted the story of performing the ritual of the Returning and, instead of transporting them home, conjuring the evil ghost. When he had finished, his adventuring companions had grave looks upon their faces.
“And you guys were on my back for breaking into a few lockers?” said Devis with a whistle. “Somebody owes me an apology.”
“You are not the smart one, Albiorix,” said Thromdurr, shaking his head. “This is clear now.”
“I thought you were going to destroy that evil book?” said Vela.
“I was,” said Albiorix. “I should have. But it’s too late now.”
“Guys, I think Albiorix was just trying to do his best. He wanted to help you all get home,” said June, “even if he should have told you earlier.”
“Wait,” said Devis. “June already knew about Zazirak? You told her before us?”
“Yeah,” said Albiorix. “Sorry.”
“But she’s not even an adventurer!” said Thromdurr.
“Excuse me. I have plenty of adventures,” said June. “The other day my mom and I had to go to three different stores looking for the right dry food for my cat.”
“Well,” said Vela, folding her napkin, “we cannot change the past, only the future. Our course is clear. We must banish Zazirak back to the underworld as quickly as possible, or this entire realm is in danger.”
Devis scrunched up his face. “Fine. I’ll be the one to say it. Do we actually care about that?”
“Hey!” said June. “This might be a game to you guys, but some of us have to live here!”
“June is right,” said Albiorix. “I’m not sure exactly what this place is, but . . . it certainly seems like it may be as real as Bríandalör.”
“Besides, we’re stuck here,” said Vela. “Until we find a way home, our fate and the fate of this world are intertwined. But take heart. We defeated Zazirak before. I am sure we can defeat him again.”
“That’s exactly what I said,” said June. “It’s clear I already think like an adventurer.”
“Hmm,” said Thromdurr. “When last we faced the warlock, it was the elf who finished him off.”
“Yes,” said Vela. “I hope Sorrowshade is not too far gone to help us in this fight.”
They gazed out across the cafeteria to see the gloom elf at her usual place, whispering and giggling by Nicole Davenport’s side.
“I’ll go talk to her,” said Albiorix. “She deserves to hear the truth from me.”
“If there’s any of the Sorrowshade we know left,” said Devis, “she’ll definitely want to point out what an idiot you are.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” said Albiorix.
The wizard stood and crossed the lunchroom to Nicole’s table.
“Did you guys know that Evelyn Roy secretly bites her toenails?” said Nicole to her three besties.
“OMG, really?” said Madison.
“Yuck,” said Sophie.
“That’s dis-gust-ing,” said Sorrowshade in the perfect singsong inflection of the popular girls.
“And that’s, like, not even the worst part,” said Nicole, lowering her voice. “After she bites the toenails, she eats them.”
The besties groaned.
“How do you even know that, Nicole?” asked Madison.
“I, like, have my sources,” said Nicole with a smirk. “Anyway, did you guys know that C. J. Meier is terrified of pigeons—”
Albiorix cleared his throat. He’d been standing beside the table silently for several seconds, while the girls studiously ignored him.
“Ugh,” said Sophie. “I think New Kid is sick. He keeps coughing.”
“Shoo, New Kid,” said Madison. “Go make phlegm noises somewhere else.”
“Hello, Sophie. Hello, Madison. Hello, Nicole,” said Albiorix. “I hope you’re all having a wonderful day here at J. A. Dewar Middle School. I’d like to talk to Melissa, please.”
“Anything you have to say to Melissa you can, like, say to all of us,” said Nicole. “We’re besties.”
“Fine,” said Albiorix. “I accidentally raised the warlock Zazirak from the dead and now his spirit has possessed Vice Principal Flanagan. I know you like it here at this school. You’ve found acceptance among this group of popular girls. And I get it. You have something at JADMS you never had back in Bríandalör. Maybe I do too? But the truth is, we need your help—we need Sorrowshade’s help—to defeat Zazirak, or everyone here could perish.”
There was a long moment of silence. Sophie and Madison stared at Albiorix like his head had just fallen off his shoulders. Nicole eyed him with an unreadable expression. Sorrowshade stood.
“Listen up,” said Sorrowshade. “I don’t know you, New Kid. And I don’t want to know you. I have no idea what any of that gibberish means. But what I do know is that you have five seconds to get lost. I don’t want you anywhere near this table because, frankly, I’m worried you are sick. And that loser is contagious!”
An “Oooooh!” erupted from the kids at the nearby tables as Albiorix realized the cafeteria had gone quiet to listen. Practically all of JADMS had heard the gloom elf dress him down.
“Is there, like, anything else, New Kid?” said Nicole.
Albiorix shook his head and slowly returned to his table, as the collective eyes of the student body followed him.
“Well, that went well,” said Devis.
“The elf has become ensorcelled by the enticements of this strange land,” said Thromdurr. “A pity. She was quite a fighter.”
“Eh, don’t be too hard on her,” said Albiorix.
“Really?” said Devis. “Because, in case you forgot, forty seconds ago she just roasted you in front of the whole school.”
“Sorrowshade is just doing what she thinks she should,” said Albiorix.
“A shame,” said Vela. “Yet we must not tarry. The four of us need to vanquish Zazirak without delay.”
“Hey, there are five of us,” said June. “Quest time, baby! Let’s go!”
The Bríandalörians gave each other an awkward look. Albiorix cleared his throat.
“June,” said the wizard, “it’s probably for the best if you, ah, don’t accompany us.”
“What?” said June. “Why?”
“Zazirak is incredibly dangerous,” said Vela. “We are talking about the Blight of the Shield Coast, the Slayer of Hotus the Good. In a confrontation, we could not guarantee your safety.”
“Who’s asking you to?” said June.
“Look, June, we’re professionals,” said Devis. “What we do takes a lifetime of training.”
“You have mustard all over your shirt,” said June.
Devis started frantically trying to blot out the yellow splotch on his chest.
“June, you are very skilled in graphic design and Oink Pop,” said Thromdurr. “But I killed an ice tiger with my bare hands when I was nine. Do you see the difference there?”
“This is not fair,” said June. “It’s my world that Zazzmatazz wants to blow up!”
“Zazirak,” said Albiorix. “And June, I say this as someone who is barely an adventurer himself: you have to sit this one out.”
June frowned at the heroes as, one by one, they discreetly left the table and made their way out into the hall. The party reconvened in an empty alcove near the language lab.
“All right, what’s the plan?” said Devis. “I’m thinking Thromdurr could, like, throw me at him!”
“Yes!” cried Thromdurr.
“Perhaps, but first we must head to the prop closet and reclaim our weapons,” said Vela. “I need my sword and shield to face t
his evil.”
“Ah, how I long to feel Boneshatter’s heft within my mighty grip!” said Thromdurr. “It has been an eternity since I smashed something!”
“As you know, I don’t have any weapons,” said Albiorix, “but I’m very excited for you guys! Anyway, after that, I think we should go to the office and see if we can draw Zazirak out somehow. Battling him on school grounds seems inadvisable.”
“Agreed,” said Vela. “Then let us away—”
“Wait.”
They turned to see a shadowy figure step out from behind a nearby trophy case.
“You’re all going to die without me,” said Sorrowshade. “I mean, in the long run, we’re all going to die. But . . . still.”
“Sorrowshade,” said Albiorix. “We thought we’d lost you to the popular girls for good.”
“Not quite,” said Sorrowshade. “I just had to put on a convincing performance for Nicole in there. She really doesn’t like you, Albiorix.”
“That I gathered,” said Albiorix.
“Also, for the record,” said Sorrowshade, “you’re an idiot for accidentally summoning an evil warlock.”
“Sorrowshade is back, baby!” said Devis.
The party stealthily made their way to the auditorium prop closet. Vela threw open the door and turned on the lights. Then the paladin gasped. No longer the cluttered space they’d seen before, the prop closet was now clean and orderly. Everything was stacked in neat piles, with ample space to move between them. It contained maybe a fifth of the random junk it previously had.
“I don’t understand,” said Vela. “Where are our weapons?”
The heroes began to frantically dig through the few remaining props. After several minutes of searching, they came up empty. There was no sign of Vela’s sword and shield, Devis’s daggers, Sorrowshade’s bow, or the war hammer Boneshatter.
A few minutes later, they found Mr. Driscoll on his way to restock the toilet paper in the first-floor bathrooms.
“Mr. Driscoll, sorry to bother you,” said Albiorix, “but do you know what happened to the prop closet?”
“Huh? Oh, I cleaned it out last week,” said Mr. Driscoll. “Took me all day. That place was a rat’s nest.”
Homerooms and Hall Passes Page 17
