The Headmaster of Doom Read online

  Dirk stared at her. ‘You’re right. Of course you are! I’ll fight this, fight it until the end, I’ll never give up. I’m the rightful Dark Lord after all! I created the Darklands! I built the Goblin Warrens, the Dungeons of Doom. I fought the do-gooding fools of the Commonwealth to a standstill; it was I that almost conquered the world! I! I built the Iron Tower, built it with my own hands from nothing…’

  ‘I thought Gargon built it?’ said Chris.

  ‘Well, yes, technically. But I gave the orders, right?’ said Dirk, distracted from his rant.

  ‘But you didn’t actually build it with your own hands, though,’ said Chris.

  ‘Oh, come on, every great endeavour needs a planner, a visionary – the rest is just grunt work!’

  ‘Yeah, but still, Gargon actually did the work, right? I can remember him complaining about it,’ continued Chris.

  ‘Gargon’s a great minion, but he’d be nothing without me!’ said Dirk

  ‘Hold on, where is old Gargy, anyway?’ said Rufino.

  Chris, Sooz and Dirk exchanged glances. ‘Good question,’ said Sooz.

  ‘Wasn’t he supposed to be playing in your band this weekend, Sooz?’ asked Chris.

  ‘Yes, but last I heard he was in the Darklands, visiting. He said he’d be back in time for the concert, though,’ said Sooz.

  ‘But you haven’t heard from him? Hmm, let’s see. This “Headmaster of Doom”, he’s got Hasdruban. Almost certainly Agrash as well, from what I can tell, so he’s probably got Gargon locked up too!’ said Dirk.

  ‘Blimey, that’s like half our band. Who is this guy?’ said Sooz.

  ‘Time to find out,’ said Rufino. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Hold on – where, though? There’s no point just marching up to the border, we’ll just get spotted if there are CCTV cameras all over the place,’ said Christopher.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, I know all the secret passages in and out of the Darklands,’ said Dirk. ‘I built most of them!’

  ‘What, you actually built them?’ said Chris.

  ‘Oh, all right, my Goblin engineers did, but I gave the orders, right?’

  ‘Just checking,’ said Chris.

  ‘So, where to, then?’ said Rufino.

  ‘There’s a hidden trail that leads up to some hills on the edge of the Borderlands. There we can find a tunnel system that’ll lead us to the foothills overlooking the Plains of Desolation. If this new Dark Lord is training up an army, that’s where we’ll find them, camped out on the plains,’ explained Dirk.

  ‘Right, we’ll wait until dusk – you lead the way,’ said Rufino.

  Dirk and his minions – or so he liked to think of Chris, Sooz and Rufino – emerged from a small cave opening in the foothills of the Grey Scarps, a range of hills to the southwest of the Plains of Desolation.

  Up ahead was a low ridge. They clambered their way up over pale grey rocks jutting up like islands out of a river of green grass that flowed across the hills. Rufino was the first to pop his head up over the top of the ridge and promptly ducked back down again.

  ‘A camp! A BIG camp,’ he warned. ‘Slowly now, stick your heads up and take a look.’

  Gingerly, they peeked over the top of the ridge. It overlooked the edge of a huge encampment. Nearby were some tarpaulin shelters – primitive one-sided tents, basically.

  ‘Orc bivouac!’ muttered Dirk.

  And indeed, big hairy Orcs were wandering around all over the place, fixing armour, cooking up rations, itching and farting, arguing and mucking about, just like Orcs do.

  They were also polishing swords and stuff.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Dirk. ‘Those swords, look at them.’

  ‘They look like rulers!’ said Sooz.

  ‘Sharp, though.’

  ‘And what are those,’ said Rufino, ‘on their belts?’

  ‘Catapults! Old-fashioned schoolboy catapults,’ said Chris.

  ‘They look powerful, though – deadly at close range, I would think,’ said Dirk.

  ‘And their helmets! They look like… They’re not helmets at all, they’re caps. School caps,’ said Sooz.

  ‘It’s like an army from an old-fashioned public school!’ said Chris.

  Rufino looked at Dirk questioningly. Dirk shrugged. ‘Calls himself the Headmaster of Doom; I guess it’s all part of that,’ he said.

  ‘Wait a minute, what’s all that over there?’ said Chris, pointing beyond the Orc bivouac.

  Dirk could see rows of canvas tents, more advanced than the Orcish shelters. ‘Goblin camp,’ said Dirk. ‘They’re more intelligent than the Orcs, but not as good in a fight.’

  ‘No, beyond them even,’ said Chris.

  They all raised their eyes. At the far end of the encampment they could see many large black pavilion tents. Most of them appeared to be made of canvas, but some had banners fluttering above them and these looked like they were made of velvet.

  ‘That’s not good,’ said Dirk.

  ‘Why?’ said Rufino.

  ‘Whoever – or whatever – is camping out in them… Well, they’re not going to be Orcs or Goblins,’ said Dirk.

  ‘So?’ said Chris.

  ‘I suspect they’re much worse!’ said Dirk.

  ‘Hold on, what’s that?’ said Sooz. ‘Isn’t that the…?’

  ‘The Midnight Chariot, yes it is!’ said Dirk.

  From the east a column of troops was marching through the camp. At the front was a great chariot of black steel, pulled by two huge black horses – NightMares, bred by the Master of the Steeds of Doom in the Dark Stables of the Iron Tower to serve the Dark Lord. And there he was, riding in the chariot. The usurper. The upstart. The new Dark Lord. Twelve feet tall, covered in a raggedy black cloak with a large, black mortarboard on his head. In one hand he held a long, black cane of some kind.

  The four heroes (well, three heroes and Dirk) stared hard, trying to make out his face as he drew near.

  ‘It’s Grousammer!’ said Sooz.

  ‘No way!’ said Dirk.

  ‘Yes way, dude,’ said Sooz.

  ‘Grousammer? Who is Grousammer?’ said Rufino.

  ‘He’s the old Headmaster of Whiteshields School, before… Well…’ said Sooz, glancing at Dirk.

  ‘Before Dirk shaved off his beard and got rid of him,’ said Chris.

  Dirk couldn’t help himself – he smirked at the memory.

  ‘Shaved off his…?’ said Rufino, confused.

  ‘It’s a long story,2’ said Sooz. ‘Anyway, it seems he’s back, and somehow…he’s the new Dark Lord!’

  ‘Oh my!’ said Chris, putting a hand up to his mouth. ‘He must have found the Essence of Evil and drunk it all up!’

  ‘What? You were supposed to get rid of it!’ said Dirk

  ‘I was, I was, but I couldn’t find it anywhere!’ said Chris.

  ‘Oh, so now you tell us!’ said Dirk.

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you, maybe even set you off on a quest to find it – you know how you’re drawn to it. You might have found it and swallowed it, turned proper evil again,’ said Chris.

  ‘Well, anyway, it seems this Hammer of the Grouse has found it,’ said Rufino.

  ‘And drunk deeply of it!’ said Dirk.

  ‘That explains all the crazy headmaster stuff then,’ said Chris.

  ‘That’s true,’ said Sooz. ‘But I think we have to be careful not to underestimate him – Grousammer didn’t exactly start off as a decent kind of guy. He was embezzling money from the school when he was a real headmaster, for a start.’

  ‘Right, so there’s no telling how far to the Dark side the Essence will take him,’ said Chris.

  ‘So, a superevil, mad Dark Lord who believes in old-style public school teaching?’ surmised Sooz.

  ‘Yup, that’s about the size of it,’ said Chris.

  ‘At least we know what we’re up against,’ said Rufino.

  ‘Hold on,’ said Dirk. ‘What’s that coming up behind the chariot?’

 
; Several large carts pulled by mules and carrying barrels were following on behind.

  ‘Looks like supplies?’ said Rufino.

  As the carts came by, they began to turn, heading for the black pavilions in the distance. Unnoticed, a barrel fell off the back of one of the carts, and rolled up to the base of the ridge, right below them. The lid cracked open, and out tumbled a stream of grain or pellets of some kind.

  ‘I need to see some of those,’ said Dirk.

  ‘Why?’ said Chris.

  ‘If they are what I think they are, we could be in serious trouble. We need to find out.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Rufino.

  ‘No, you’re too big and noticeable, I’ll go,’ said Sooz, and off she crawled. Rufino tried to grab her but she was too fast. Chris wanted to call her back, but that would have given them away. They had no choice but to watch, hearts in their mouths, as she set off on her own. But they needn’t have worried. Carefully, she inched her way down the side of the hill, grabbed a handful of the pellets and crawled her way back up again.

  ‘You are brave, my lady,’ said Rufino.

  ‘Actually, she looks half Goblin anyway, so she’s perfectly disguised,’ joked Chris.

  ‘Oh, very funny,’ said a dust-covered Sooz, as she handed over the pellets to Dirk.

  ‘Here you go, your Dirkness!’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Dirk absently as he examined the pellets. Then he sighed. ‘It is as I feared. They’re Blood Beans.’

  ‘Those beans that grow in the Deadlands? What’s wrong with them?’ said Chris.

  ‘Blood Beans are rations for an army,’ said Dirk.

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘An army of the undead…’ said Dirk.

  * * *

  2 As told in the first book in the Dark Lord series, Dark Lord: The Teenage Years. You’d better read it, if you haven’t already, or be thrown into the Black Pit of a Thousand Lines.

  Rufino, Chris, Sooz and Dirk were sitting in a little lobby area at the top of the White Tower where people waited to see the White Wizard or his chamberlain. Dave the Storm Crow had also turned up to be with Dirk, travelling from earth – he could still travel between the planes, unaffected by the Headmaster of Doom’s great spell. Shelves around the lobby were lined with books. Dave stood on top of one of them and squawked. Dirk noticed the book was called How to Lead a Life of Blameless Purity.

  Pah, do-gooding nonsense, thought Dirk. He looked up at Dave and raised an eyebrow. Dave squawked and cocked a leg over the book…

  ‘Heh, heh,’ sniggered Dirk.

  Around the rest of the room were low tables with big fluffy white cushions scattered about for the comfort of those waiting in the lobby. Magically powered silver samovars floated in the air, ready to dispense hot tea on demand. Each low table had a magic biscuit tin that never ran out.

  A big fire kept it warm and cosy. Elvish choral music played in the background. It was nice – sickeningly nice.

  On one side there was a big, white door covered in strange runes – the door to the White Wizard’s Inner Sanctum. A large carved face had been set into the door. It looked a bit like Dirk’s Dark Lord Seal, in fact, the eyes and tusks picked out in gold. It was called the Face of Evil. It looked like that because it was a perpetual reminder of what the office of the wizard was for – defeating the Dark Lord and all his works. It was also a lock.

  You had to know the magic word or the code to get that magical mask to open the door, and only the White Wizard knew that, so for now it remained resolutely shut.

  Opposite was another door, with a sign on it that said ‘Chamber of the Chamberlain’ – Rosapina’s office, basically. The four of them were waiting to go in and tell the chamberlain what they’d discovered on their scouting trip.

  Dirk pondered the situation. Clearly Grousammer was aiming at conquering the Commonwealth. He was amassing a big army – OK, not that much of a problem. Dirk himself had done that several times and never managed to overwhelm the armies of Good entirely. On the other hand, Dirk had never managed to bring the Clans of the Undead into the equation.

  Sure, he’d tried in the past, had even had some success. He’d once had a company of Vampires riding on NightMares before they’d been destroyed in the Battle of the Night Made Day, hundreds of years ago. But he could never build a true alliance with the Clans of the Undead, for they were never interested in what he had to offer them. They weren’t afraid of him and they didn’t want land or power. In fact, he never could work out what they did want – which was a shame, because they’d make great allies. They had vampire lords, regiments of ghouls and hordes of zombies. Those zombies could be replenished after every battle too, whether you won or lost.

  But Grousammer had managed it. All those black pavilions, so useful for keeping the sun off your back, proved it. This included black velvet pavilions – and those were reserved only for the lords of the dead: the vampires. It wasn’t just a few of them, either, judging by the number of Blood Beans he was delivering to feed them. And you had to feed them regularly – otherwise they’d turn on your other living troops, for the Clans of the Undead didn’t really differentiate between Orc and human, Goblin or Elf. They were all blood and brains to them. Well, except that Elves and humans tasted better.

  Absently, Dirk reached for a book on a nearby table. He drummed his fingers on the cover. What had Grousammer promised them? Whatever it was, it had to be big!

  Dirk glanced at the book. Hold on a second! It was a copy of Agatha Marple’s Massacre in the Wendle Village Tea Rooms, the book Hasdruban had mentioned in the letter to Dirk they’d found in the White Wizard’s house back on earth.

  ‘Well, well, who would have thought it,’ he muttered to himself as he opened it. Someone had written something on the inside cover – clearly Hasdruban himself, judging by the perfectly drawn letters.

  An Eye for an Eye and a Tooth for a Tooth

  That is the way forward

  Hasdruban the White

  That sounds like the old fire and brimstone Hasdruban, not the kindly old fellow he is now, thought Dirk to himself. Unless…was this a clue? His eyes flicked over to the stylised Face of Evil on the door. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the door to the Chamber of the Chamberlain opened and out stepped Rosapina.

  ‘So sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said. ‘Come in, come in, I’m eager to hear your report. There is much to discuss!’

  Everyone got up and headed over to her chamber, but Dirk lingered a little. He went over to the other door and examined the Face. Behind him, the chamber door closed – they hadn’t noticed he wasn’t with them. Yet. Dave the Storm Crow hopped down from the bookshelf and started pecking at the biscuits from the never-ending biscuit tin.

  ‘Hey, get out of there!’ said Dirk, but the bird just squawked dismissively, as if to say, ‘Go away – these biscuits are too good.’ Dirk sighed. Whatever. He had more important things to worry about. He turned his attention back to the door.

  The face was quite beautiful, in fact, just like his own seal was. Well, his seal was beautiful to him, he supposed. To others it probably just looked like a snarling, hideous demon. Interestingly, bits of the mask were picked out in gold lacquer – the eyes and the two front teeth, tusks really, that rose up from behind the bottom lip. Dirk gingerly pushed one of the golden eyes – it sank into the mask with a click! He pushed the other, and it did the same, so he tried the fangs – click, click!

  The mask whirred and rattled for a few seconds, and then rotated suddenly and the door swung open.

  ‘Excellent!’ said Dirk. He had to suppress the urge to let out one of his Evil Laughs. He stepped into the Inner Sanctum of the White Wizard, a place he had only ever dreamed of entering – and even then it would have been with fire and steel, either as a conqueror or a prisoner. Who would have thought after all those years of war that one day he would just walk in, effectively at the invitation of the White Wizard himself?

  Inside he found a circular study
with a big white oak table in the middle and a large comfy chair behind it. Around the walls were plaques and trophies, mostly depicting great battles and victories over Dirk and his armies.

  Bah, none of their defeats, though, I see, no pictures of all those other White Wizards before him that I crushed, for instance. Typical! thought Dirk to himself.

  The table itself was bare, except for two things – a small box, and a little phial of liquid that glowed with a bright, white, ultraviolet light.

  Dirk picked up the phial of liquid, and examined it. ‘Essence of Good’, it said on the label. Essence of Good! Anyone who drank the Essence of Evil became a Dark Lord – anyone drinking this would become a supergood White Wizard, he supposed…

  Or maybe a fanatical do-gooder, prepared to kill, like Hasdruban had once been. It was a two-edged sword.

  Dirk opened up the box – there were two Anathema Crystals inside. Smashing one on the floor would teleport everyone nearby either to earth or the Darklands, depending on where you started. And it would also strip out all the Essence of Evil (or Good) that anyone might have inside them.

  That Hasdruban. Not so stupid after all. He’d known they’d need a powerful White Wizard to counter Grousammer. And whoever drank the Essence of Good would become that White Wizard. It’d be just like that game of duelling wizards Dirk and Christopher had played. What was it called? Challenge of the Magi, that was it. And once they’d defeated the Dark Headmaster, they could use the crystal to return to normal. Except most people didn’t want to return to normal once they’d become a Dark Lord – and no doubt the same was true once you’d been a White Wizard.

  Dirk had to admit, all things being equal, that if you were only going to have one of them, it’d be preferable to have the White Wizard rather than the Dark Lord. Still… He made a face. It might be safer, just having a wizard, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun!

  Anyway. The plan was sound. Good old Hasdruban! Dirk would become the White Wizard, fight a magical duel with the Dark Lord, and win. After all, Dirk knew all the dark tricks, he knew what Grousammer would be thinking, he could outwit him. Sure, it’d be weird for a while being a White Wizard but once it was done, he’d use the crystal to revert to normal. (Well, revert to being a human child. He supposed you couldn’t really call Dirk ‘normal’ at the best of times.)