The Headmaster of Doom Read online

  ‘There’s nothing for it. I absolutely have to return home to the Darklands, and as soon as possible,’ he muttered. ‘I think this upstart usurper needs to taste the ravening flames of my Great Ring of Power!’

  Dirk held up his hand and looked at the ring he wore. Here on earth it was powerless, but back home in the Darklands, it radiated magic power. Its runes glowed with energy, and he could fire bolts of destructive energy from it, time and time again. It made him mighty, indeed!

  But how to get back there? There were no Anathema Crystals (special magical crystals that, when smashed, propelled everyone within a few feet to another dimension, like the Darklands or back to earth) in his possession. Nor did he have one of those Magic Holes (literally a magic hole that you could lay out on the ground, step into and travel to whatever location you shouted as you fell – as long as you’d visited that place at least once before).

  The White Wizard Dr Hasdruban – now headmaster of Whiteshields School – had some Magic Holes, though, and he was always happy to lend some to Dirk. Once, he’d been a fanatical Wizard dedicated to destroying Dirk1 at all costs, but now he was a kindly old man, who divided his time between earth and the Darklands. Here he was a dedicated headmaster, and back in their home world the wise ruler of the Commonwealth of Good Folk.

  It was time to visit the old fool. As it was school half term he’d probably be at home. Shouldn’t be a problem. After all, for the first time ever there was true peace in the Darklands. Orcs and Goblins traded with humans and elves – they even talked and hung out together.

  Well, every now and again.

  Anyway, the last thing they needed was a new Evil One in the Tower of Despair. There’d be blood and death and war and all that business all over again! Dirk was confident that Hasdruban would help him fix that.

  Dirk stepped out into the corridor of the Purejoies’ home (his foster parents were Mr and Mrs Purejoie) and into Chris’s room, where Chris and Sooz were hanging out, listening to Sooz’s Goth music band, Soozie and the Nightwalkers.

  ‘What do you think, Dirk?’ said Sooz. ‘It’s my latest song – “Love Under the Dark Moon of Sorrows!”’

  ‘Not bad, my little vampire,’ said Dirk, ‘but we have more important things to worry about.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve got quadruple detention – again!’ said Christopher with a laugh.

  ‘Hah! I wish! There’s no time to explain. You two, come with me!’ said Dirk in commanding tones as he turned on his heel and began to march out of the room.

  ‘How rude!’ hissed Sooz.

  ‘Typical,’ muttered Chris, but they both got up and followed him out.

  Dirk strode purposefully for the front door.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Christopher.

  ‘To see Hasdruban – we’ve got to get to the Darklands as soon as we can!’

  ‘What?’ said Sooz. ‘I’ve got a concert tomorrow…’

  ‘And I’m in the school play!’

  ‘Pah, you will have to put aside your petty human concerns in all their tawdry mundanity, for we have things to do! You, Christopher, shall be my lieutenant again, and you, Sooz, must take up the mantle of the Moon Queen once more, for we travel to jeopardy and adventure most perilous!’

  ‘What – number four, Beeches Close?’ said Chris.

  ‘Eh?’ replied Dirk.

  ‘The Headmaster’s house. 4 Beeches Close,’ said Sooz, laughing. ‘That’s where we’re travelling to, right?’

  * * *

  1 As told in book 3, Dark Lord: Eternal Detention

  4Beeches Close was a little rickety seventeenth-century cottage at the end of a cul de sac, its garden looking out over a small wood with a stream running through it. It was pretty much just as you would imagine a kindly old wizard’s house to be; an idyllic retreat with deer that came up to the back fence for food, and a lovingly tended herb garden. It was a house that gave off an aura of peace and love.

  Dirk hated it.

  Dirk, with Sooz and Chris in his wake, strode up to the old oak door and rapped hard upon it. But the door was already slightly ajar, and now it swung inward with a creak.

  ‘That’s odd,’ said Chris.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Dirk. He stepped into the darkness beyond and called out, ‘Greetings, old man, it is I, Dirk the Magnificent!’

  Silence met his words.

  Dirk reached over and flicked the light switch. A dull glow from several ancient-looking lanterns fitted with modern bulbs filled the air with light.

  The three adventurers walked into the main room of the cottage.

  ‘Hellooo!’ said Sooz.

  Nothing.

  ‘The Dark Lord visits, White One! Answer me!’ bellowed Dirk. But all was silence. Dirk and Sooz exchanged a puzzled glance. Something wasn’t right.

  ‘Hey, guys, look at this,’ said Chris, picking up an envelope off the round oaken table in the middle of the room. ‘It’s addressed to you, Dirk.’

  Dirk snatched it out of Chris’s hands.

  ‘Hey!’ said Chris. Dirk ignored him. The envelope had the words ‘To His Imperial Dirkness’ written in Hasdruban’s flowing handwriting, each letter crafted with artistic precision. Dirk ripped it open and scanned the letter:

  My dear fellow,

  I’m afraid I’m in a bit of pickle. I’m locked up in these horrible dungeons below the Iron Tower by someone calling himself the Headmaster of Doom. He says he’s the new Dark Lord! Oh my! But worst of all, I’ve just finished Agatha Marple’s rather wonderful book DEATH ON THE GATWICK EXPRESS. I would so much like to read the sequel, MASSACRE IN THE WENDLE VILLAGE TEA ROOMS. I think I left it in my room. Could you get it to me somehow? There’s a good boy.

  Dirk frowned and handed the letter back to Chris.

  ‘Cripes, he’s been kidnapped – by some sort of usurping impostor!’ said Chris, before handing the letter over to Sooz. ‘Calls himself the Headmaster of Doom. Why’s that, do you think – as a counterpoint to the White Wizard being a Headmaster too?’ said Chris.

  ‘Some kind of Battle of the Headmasters?’ said Sooz.

  ‘Battle of the Headmasters? Perhaps so, although…’ said Dirk, his voice trailing off.

  ‘Yeah, it seems so improbable, doesn’t it?’ said Chris.

  ‘Still, he’s clearly been taken. Poor old Hasdruban, he’s such a nice man!’ said Sooz.

  ‘Well, in any case, somehow Hasdruban managed to smuggle this letter out. Maybe Agrash helped him.’

  ‘You’d think he’d have more concerns than just getting hold of the book he was reading,’ said Chris.

  ‘Actually, yes, good point. Maybe it’s a coded message or something,’ said Sooz.

  ‘Well, he’s a great fan of Agatha Marple. Loves detective novels. Told me once it was one of the main reasons he stayed on earth at all – that and his sense of love and duty towards the children of Whiteshields School, the sickening old fool!’ said Dirk.

  ‘Hey, come on, he’s been really good to us!’ said Sooz.

  Dirk sighed. ‘I suppose he has, yes, I have to admit. But still, I fear there is nothing in this letter but an old man’s request for his favourite book.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we have a look around the house anyway, just in case?’ said Sooz. ‘Either there’s no secret message or we get the book for him anyway, just like he’s asked.’

  Dirk made a face. ‘S’pose. Let’s search the place, then.’

  An hour later, Dirk, Chris and Sooz sat despondently at the oaken table. Around them, the cottage was a total mess, books and papers littered all over the place.

  ‘There’s just nothing here,’ said Sooz, picking up Hasdruban’s letter and giving it another once-over.

  ‘Nothing, not a bean,’ said Chris.

  ‘No, indeed, not even a Blood Bean,’ said Dirk.

  ‘Blood Bean?’ said Chris.

  ‘Blood Beans. They grow only in the Deadlands. Used in various recipes by the Clans of the Undead,’ said Dirk absently.

/>   ‘Well, anyway, we’ve got to rescue him somehow, haven’t we?’ said Sooz.

  ‘That old fool?’ said Dirk. ‘Pah…’ He was about to say, ‘Who cares? Let him rot!’ but actually Dirk realised that wasn’t really how he felt. In fact… Dirk sighed and said, ‘Well… yes, I suppose. We should rescue him really, shouldn’t we?’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s not going to be easy,’ said Chris.

  ‘In any case, and more importantly, I can’t let this new Dark Lord take over, assuming he isn’t just some petty chancer, so what choice do we have? I can’t allow him to sit on my throne – it’s my land, my tower. My armies of Goblins and Orcs, they’re my toys…’

  ‘Toys?’ said Sooz.

  ‘Errr…my people, I mean! My people, and I have to save them too,’ said Dirk, hurriedly.

  ‘Hmm…’ said Sooz. ‘Also, we have to think about what might happen if we don’t do anything. With Hasdruban gone, they’d appoint a new White Wizard and he really might not be so easy to deal with!’

  ‘Good point! There’d be war and everything, all over again!’ said Dirk. ‘We have to do it because it’s the right thing to do… I mean…the practical thing! The practical, sensible, strategic, self-serving thing to do. Right?’

  Chris and Sooz swapped a look, little smiles on their faces. Dirk raised an eyebrow. It was almost as if they believed he really did want to do it because it was ‘right and good’. How could they think that? And what about his reputation?

  He frowned darkly and snapped, ‘What are you two grinning about?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing,’ said Sooz airily. ‘So how do we get there?’ she added, changing the subject.

  ‘Easy enough,’ said Dirk with a shrug. ‘We’ll use a Magic Hole to travel to the Iron Tower. Hasdruban keeps several in his desk, I believe, so he can pop back and forth whenever he likes. With my Ring of Power, and me being me, i.e. the EVIL ONE!’ He paused, narrowing his eyes and glancing between Sooz and Chris, as if challenging them to contradict him. But they said nothing. It seemed to Dirk that Sooz was trying to stifle a laugh. Or was she? Sometimes it was so hard to work out what these tricksy humans were really thinking!

  ‘Well, anyway,’ continued Dirk, ‘I’ll sort everything out, get rid of this dodgy Dark Lord. Set things back to normal.’

  ‘OK… Sounds doable,’ said Chris.

  Dirk opened a drawer in Hasdruban’s polished oak writing desk and pulled out what looked like a rolled-up strip of wallpaper.

  ‘Here we go,’ he muttered. He unfurled it and rolled it out across the wooden floor. It became… a hole – a black hole in the very fabric of time and space, a black hole into nothingness!

  ‘You remember what to do?’ said Dirk.

  ‘Yup,’ said Chris, ‘we jump in and shout out the destination we want to go to.’

  ‘Yes, but we have to be quick, as the Hole won’t hang around for ever. So, remember – we’re off to the Iron Tower of Despair!’

  With that, Dirk leaped into the Hole and shouted, ‘The Iron Tower!’ He landed on the blackness with a juddering thud, painfully jarring his knees.

  Nothing happened.

  Dirk frowned. He jumped up again, saying the words again. He landed with a thump, but again, nothing else happened.

  ‘It’s not working,’ said Chris.

  ‘Yeah, thanks, Chris, I would never have worked that out if you hadn’t mentioned it,’ said Dirk sarcastically.

  ‘Well…it’s not,’ said Chris.

  ‘Here, try this one,’ said Sooz, pulling another out of the drawer. But that one didn’t work either! None of the five Holes worked, in fact.

  Dirk shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ he said. ‘It’s almost as if… But…surely not?’

  ‘Almost as if what?’ said Chris.

  ‘Well, there’s a spell in my library back home in the Iron Tower called the Impenetrable Seal of all the Planes – or the Hole Stuffer, as the Goblins call it. A spell that can shut off all the Magic Holes from working, to stop people using them to travel between the planes. But why would this usurper do that? Unless…’

  ‘Unless what?’ said Chris.

  ‘He’s scared of me! That’s it. He doesn’t want me returning to overthrow him, he wants to keep me out. By the Nine Hells!’ said Dirk

  ‘Or he’s blocking the way because he’s getting ready – preparing an army, or preparing a trap for you. Building up his strength,’ said Sooz.

  ‘Sounds more likely,’ said Chris.

  ‘Yeah, well. He’s still scared of me, he must be. Who wouldn’t be?’ said Dirk.

  Sooz and Chris looked Dirk up and down. He wore a T-shirt with a black skull on it over a pair of jeans, with black and red trainers on his feet. Dirk and Sooz exchanged another look.

  ‘He may be scared of me, but he’s not the chancer I thought he was,’ said Dirk, hand on chin.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Sooz.

  ‘To cast that spell, the one that seals off the planes like that – that’s not something an ordinary person could do. It requires serious power and, well, evil intent. Proper evil.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Sooz. ‘So we’d better take him seriously, then.’

  ‘Well, whatever his plans, perhaps we can throw a spanner in the works,’ said Chris.

  ‘A spanner? Into the works? I’m a Dark Lord, the nearest I’d ever get to a spanner is to command one of my Goblin minions to use one!’

  ‘No, no, it’s just an expression. It means to frustrate this bloke’s plans. By getting there somehow, before he’s ready, for instance,’ said Chris.

  ‘Easier said than done, but nevertheless my minions are giving good advice today,’ said Dirk.

  ‘We’re your friends, Dirk, not your minions,’ said Chris.

  ‘Really? Oh… yes, I forgot. Sorry,’ said Dirk.

  ‘Actually, I think I might have the spanner we need, as it were. I know how we can get back there… Hasdruban told me,’ said Chris.

  ‘Oh, come on, Dirk, it’s not that bad,’ said Chris.

  Dirk stood glumly outside the entrance of the shopping mall, holding out a tin cylinder labelled ‘Whiteshields Church Youth Centre Charity Fund’. The skies were grey and a light rain fell upon him, just to round off his misery.

  ‘Bah, have you any idea how this is going to affect my reputation?’ said Dirk. ‘I’m supposed to be the Dark Lord, the leader of the Darklands, commander of legions of Orcs and Goblins, purveyor of Evil Plans, feared by many, loved by none. Look at me! Trying to raise money to build some kind of youth centre for those wretched wormlings you humans call “children”.’

  ‘Loved by none? What about my mum? She loves you,’ said Chris, laughing.

  ‘Don’t remind me!’ said Dirk. Chris’s mum, Dirk’s foster mum, was always trying to give him a hug. She was also the local Reverend for Whiteshields Anglican Church, which was why they were here collecting for charity.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Dirk was doing it for a different reason. Chris had got quite friendly with old Hasdruban, who’d become like an uncle or a mentor to him. Hasdruban told Chris about a back-up plan he’d had put in place when he first came to earth. It was a spell called ‘Virtue’s Journey’. Anyone from their world, trapped here on earth, could return home to the White Tower if they performed three Good Deeds and then recited the simple words, ‘By Virtue’s Power, take me to the Tower.’ It would work for any denizen of the Commonwealth of Good Folk or the Darklands, hence the three Good Deeds requirement as a filter to keep out the bad guys. More importantly it didn’t use the same magical system as the Magic Holes. It was new and unknown so the Seal of the Planes spell that the new Dark Lord had used wouldn’t affect it. Theoretically.

  But it wouldn’t work for an earth native – the only way it would was if Dirk performed the three Good Deeds himself. Sooz and Chris loved that idea!

  Dirk not so much.

  So here he was, performing his first Good Deed. The White Tower wasn’t the Iron Tower, but still
it was the nearest he could get to the Darklands for now, so that was the place to go. Last time he’d had to sneak in and out but this time it would be different, presumably, and they wouldn’t just chuck him into a cell or put him on trial or something. Well, hopefully not, anyway. But first he had to perform three Good Deeds, and then keep it all secret for as long as possible. If his people back home in the Darklands found out that he was raising money for charity, he’d be a laughing stock!

  And his first Good Deed wasn’t going that well.

  ‘I’m not getting many donations,’ said Dirk. ‘But I guess that’s to be expected. I’ve never understood this charity thing anyway. Well, unless you were raising money to hire an army of mercenaries or to pay for an assassination or something…’

  ‘Maybe you should stop smiling at them,’ said Chris.

  ‘What?’ said Dirk. ‘I thought you humans liked people who smile?

  ‘Yeah…not you so much, Dirk. Your smile is more…well, more of an Evil Grin. It frightens people.’

  ‘Really?’ said Dirk. ‘Cool!’

  As they talked, three young mothers approached, each wheeling a pushchair with a toddler strapped into it. As they drew near, Chris shook his collection box at them and said, ‘We’re collecting for the Youth Centre. Want to give something?’

  ‘Ah, how lovely to see young boys like you doing their bit,’ said one of the mothers, reaching for her purse. The others smiled and nodded approvingly.

  ‘Why do you chain your worthless human spawn so?’ said Dirk, gesturing at the babies fastened into their pushchairs. The mothers all froze for a moment in shock. Dirk frowned. Had he said something wrong?

  ‘Ummm…he means…errr…’ But not even Chris could think of a positive way of spinning it.

  Dirk realised then that he’d said something ‘disturbing’ and a little smile lifted the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t help himself. He followed it up by giving them all the big grin.

  The mothers recoiled with gasps of horror… and their children did too. The babies’ faces became tiny masks of horror, mirrors of their mothers’ – and then they began to wail. All three of them. Loudly.