SULLENDAY

All in all, the first week of school had been a complete disaster. I’d managed to offend at least one professor and convince most of the school that I was a total idiot, which had basically ruined any chance I had at getting Operation Dark Lord started. Gorey was probably thinking along those lines when he flung open my bedroom door and threw out a string of curses that would have made even the vilest warlock blush. In addition to all my other blunders, he’d just heard about the goblin tourist who was turned to stone on my watch. We needed a high-level warlock to change the goblin back into flesh and blood. But Gorey hated asking the warlocks for favors. They usually insisted on lecturing him about the complexities of magic. And that kind of stuff always got on his nerves. So even though it was my day off, the general didn’t think twice about doling out some punishment and assigned me to “wash duty.”

“Head down to the machine rooms. I need you to root out an infestation of fire ants. And while you’re at it, pry those groaning grub worms from the gears. They’re clogging up the works,” he grumbled.

Whenever Gorey actually wanted to punish me, he ordered me to work in some obscure part of the castle, like the tunnels beneath the courtyard or the machine rooms. If anyone caught me on wash duty, I’d never earn the respect I needed to raise my army of followers. So he sent me to the dungeons.

“Try to picture what your dad might have done in the courtyard,” he said as I made my way out the door. “The Dark Lord never panicked in an attack. He made a plan before he even raised his scepter. No army ever surprised your father. Wrap your head around that, Wick! And work on your operation. Time’s running out! I’ll need your plan of attack by day’s end.”

I wanted to correct him—I did have a plan. It was just a little short on details, but I was almost certain I’d think of something brilliant sooner or later. After all, I had the whole day to consider the operation as I did my chores.

Unfortunately, the machine room was a total mess. It hadn’t been cleaned in ages. And there was only one torch in the room, so I could barely see what I was doing. Given the state of the place, I realized I wouldn’t have much time to work on my plan.

I started at one corner and tried to make my way across the room, sweeping away ants and poking at grub worms. But the whole thing turned out to be slightly more involved than I’d anticipated. Gorey forgot to mention that fire ants actually BREATHE tiny streams of fire, and those groaning grub worms had somehow glued themselves to the gears. By the time midday feast rolled around, I’d barely cleaned the first machine.

I was feeling pretty frustrated at that point. I’d been trying to pry loose a grub, but he wouldn’t budge, so I jammed my broom into the machine. I guess I hit it pretty hard, because the whole thing sprang to life. Gears whirled and cogs cogged—or whatever it is they do. The whole thing started spinning, and that grub jumped right on top of me to avoid being squashed by the gears.

That’s when I heard the door open. The spinning gears must have triggered the drawbridge or one of the trapdoors in the courtyard. Someone had obviously sent one of the grimmies down into the machine room to see what had happened. And that grimmie must have seen me and figured out what I was doing. The Dark Lord’s son scrubbing some old contraption? Who could resist checking that out?

Apparently, no one. Half the grimmies in the castle showed up to watch me sweep the ants. Bob cheered, “The warlock is cleaning!” Rats cried, “The Dork Lord is scrubbing!”

I’d messed up. Maybe I deserved a little heckling? I pretty much felt like a Dork Lord. So I did what any decent leader would do.

I ran.

Well, at least I wanted to run.

Instead, I did what I KNEW I had to do. I kicked a few levers and sent two or three machines whirling into action. The roar of the gears swallowed up the grimmies’ chants, and I put my head down and went back to work. I’d made a racket that could drown out a thunderstorm, or at least the cries of an angry mob. So the grimmies found something else to do, and I managed to dislodge a good number of grubs from the gears.

I was knee-deep in their goo when Gorey showed up. He asked if I’d worked out the details of the operation, but I’d been too frazzled by all that jeering to even think about my plan. I just stuttered. “My big idea is . . .” I began. “I mean, the details are really detailed . . . I . . .” I had no answer.

Gorey was so angry he threatened to have me dunked in ogre dung. I think he actually considered it this time. He stood there, huffing, then he lowered his head and sighed. Despite his constant threats and the string of curses that flowed from his mouth, I suspected the old orc had a very small—almost imperceptible—soft spot. Gorey let me off the hook.

We walked back to the tower in relative silence, and the general served eel to the dogs. He offered me some, but I wasn’t hungry. I kept thinking about my plans and how they’d all gone terribly wrong. Did my dad go through this much trouble before he became the Dark Lord? I wished I knew. I wanted to be like him, but I knew almost nothing about his childhood or his life before he became the Dark Lord. I asked Gorey if he could tell me anything, but he was just a grimmie back then, so he couldn’t remember much. And he was an orc, so his most distant memory was probably what he had for dinner last week.

Still, after one or two more questions, he did a bit of head scratching and said, “Your dad always had a backup plan, even when he was young. He never let a strategic setback get in the way of his goals. When Galorian struck him down with that green and glowing sword, he still didn’t die. He had a plan. Think about that! If he can survive death, I think you can overcome a bit of heckling.”

He was right, of course. It was too early to give up on my dreams. In fact, that gave me an idea. I’d been so focused on myself for the last few days that I’d ignored the smartest, most knowledgeable guy I knew.

Actually, he wasn’t a guy. He was a dragon.