After a short while, the hallway became shrouded in darkness. Chris took a burning torch off the wall. He returned to reveal a big, craggy stone face set into the side of the hall. Above it, a stone plaque read “Dark Reliquary.” The passage continued beyond, to join up with the maze of hallways that led to and from the Chambers of Correction.
Suddenly, an eye opened on the stone face, and it glared at them. Chris jumped back with a cry of surprise. Sooz and Dirk glanced at each other and smiled. They were much more used to this sort of thing.
“Who’s that waking me up with that light?” said the face stonily.
Dirk cocked his head. “I know that voice … Tin Tallon, is that you?”
“What? That name! I haven’t been called that in a hundred years! Yes, Tin Tallon—that’s me, isn’t it? I remember now!”
“Indeed. Tin Tallon, a spirit of the earth, of rock and stone. What are you doing here?” said Dirk.
“Well, you know, guarding things, as usual,” said Tin Tallon with a pebbly sigh. “Hasdruban bound me here into this rock many years ago, to open only for those who know the password. Now, tell me, who are you, that knows my name of old?”
“Ah, I am the Dark … er … I am Dirk. Dirk Lloyd, and I know many things, for I am a wise and mighty sorcerer!” said Dirk.
“Hmm, that’s just as well,” said Tin Tallon. “I thought for a moment there you were going to say the Dark Lord. That would have been no good, no good at all, for I’ve got a bone or two to pick with him, after what he did to me in the Caverns of—”
“Yes, yes, well, enough of that! I’m not the Dark Lord, obviously. It was a simple slip of the tongue on my part, that’s all,” said Dirk hurriedly.
“Oh yes, Dirk does sound a little like Dark, doesn’t it? Though I have to say, you don’t look like a mighty sorcerer. Actually, you look more like a child. As do your friends, in fact.”
“Indeed,” said Dirk. “Though it is …” Suddenly Dirk froze in pain. He gasped, and fell to his knees, clutching the stump of his arm.
Sooz and Chris knelt down to hold him, panic in their eyes. Thin tendrils, like swollen veins full of black blood, had appeared on his neck.
“Goodness me, are you all right, my boy?” said Tin Tallon politely.
“He’s got the Black Rot,” said Chris.
“The Black Rot! Some spell that went wrong, huh? Used it too often, no doubt. Tsk-tsk, you sorcerers just don’t know when to stop, do you? Very serious, oh yes, Black Rot is very serious. Well, for mortal folk of flesh and blood, that is—wouldn’t bother me, of course, not in the slightest!” scraped the stone face.
Dirk spoke through gritted teeth, “We need to get into the Dark Reliquary. Will you let us pass?”
“Certainly!” said the door.
The three of them looked up, expectantly. Nothing happened.
“Well,” said Chris, “are you going to let us in, then?”
“Of course,” rumbled Tin Tallon. “But first you have to tell me the password and then answer …”
“Diatonic Fizzbuzz!” spluttered Dirk.
“Ha! Very good. But no, that’s an ancient password, I’m afraid. It’s been changed since then. Now it’s Monochrome Mustard … Oh dear! Ah! Umm … Oh my!” said Tin Tallon.
“Monochrome Mustard!” yelled Chris, laughing as he did so.
Sooz grinned from ear to ear. “Silly old door,” she said, giggling. Even Dirk managed a wan smile.
“Yes, well,” said the door, “I guess I’m not quite as sharp as I used to be. Ho-hum.”
Dirk sank down to the floor. “Open up, then,” he said.
“What? Oh no. Not so easy, I’m afraid. The password just entitles you to hear the riddles. If you can get them right, then I’ll open up for you,” said Tin Tallon.
“Riddles! Whose ridiculous idea was that?” said Dirk hoarsely.
“The White Witch. She got the idea from something called ‘fairy tales’ from another dimension she’s been visiting recently. Or so she claimed. They’re really hard, you know. Even Hasdruban himself was stumped! That’s why he thought they were such a good idea,” said Tin Tallon in a voice like grinding rocks.
Dirk sighed. He looked up at Sooz and Chris. “Well, it’s up to you. I’ve always hated riddles. But if they’re from earth, maybe you two will know them.”
“Maybe,” said Chris.
Sooz shrugged. “Possibly. Okay, Mr. Tallon, let’s hear these riddles!” she said.
“Yes, of course, my dears. The first one goes like this: ‘I have cities, roads, forests, and villages, but no people. What am I?’”
“Oooh, oooh, I know that one!” said Chris. “That’s easy—it’s a map!”
“Ho, ho!” said Tin Tallon. “You’re right, it is indeed a map! Well done, little fellow. Now, how about this one: ‘My skin is mail, my legs are tail, sea is my jail; when men I hail, their souls will fail. What am I?’”
The three of them all frowned at once, puzzled looks on their faces.
“I read something about mail in a book about riddles for social studies at school. It was an old Anglo-Saxon riddle about fish, I think. You know, mail and scales and stuff. But fish don’t ‘hail’ men, do they? They don’t talk to us. And what’s with the legs … ? Hmm …”
Dirk coughed and lay back. “Oh, I don’t know … Riddles, bah!” he said in frustration.
“Lobsters or shrimp maybe?” said Chris, thinking out loud. “They live in the sea and have legs. But they haven’t got scales. More like armor than mail, right?”
“Mermaids!” said Sooz. “Mermaids! They sing and the souls of men fail. And they’re half fish, half human, with fishy tails for legs!”
“Correct, young lady,” said Tin Tallon. “You are a bright one, aren’t you!”
Sooz smiled at the door and bowed graciously.
“You’re doing well, and with such good manners too! Now, the last one,” continued Tin Tallon. “A poor man has it. A rich man wants it. If I go wrong, it is right. I am what I seem.”
The three of them stared at the door. And stared. They shifted from foot to foot. They hemmed and they hawed. They scratched their heads and their ears and their noses but nobody could come up with the answer.
“By the Nine Netherworlds, nothing comes to mind!” said Dirk.
“That’s it! Well done, young man,” said the door.
Sooz and Chris looked bemused. Dirk’s face lit up for a moment as the answer dawned on him. “Yes, simple really,” he said, desperately trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten the answer by accident. “You see, a poor man has nothing. A rich man wants for nothing. If nothing goes wrong it is right. And nothing is what it seems!”
“Exactly. You are a genius, young man!” said Tin Tallon. “All right, stand back, I’m going to open up.” The stone door began to creak and crack. Seams appeared around the edges, and it rolled forward a little with a horrible grinding sound. Then it shifted to the left, revealing a doorway into a brightly lit storeroom.
Everywhere artifacts and curiosities of a thousand years of the Dark were laid out and labeled. Most were fairly mundane things like examples of Orcish armor, or Goblin weapons, or a stuffed Nightgaunt, but there were also a few special items in display cabinets like the Spear of the Ogre Lord, Gallons Blubberbelly (“I remember him!” said Dirk in between coughs. “He served me well until he died after eating some bad oysters—or was it humans? I forget”), the Sword of Ven—a sword so massive none of them could lift it (“So that’s where it ended up,” gasped Dirk. “I wondered what happened to it!”), a strange metal helmet shaped like a camel’s two humps (“That belonged to the two-headed Troll King, MishnMash,” Dirk croaked. “The White Wizard’s axman got double pay the day they executed him”), and lots of books, mostly histories of battles and wars between the Darklands and the Commonwealth of Good Folk.
In one corner, near the door, they found some recent additions that hadn’t even been labeled or properly laid out yet. They found Sooz’s big black Goth boots and her Moonsilver tiara crown with the black onyx set in it. She was overjoyed to find them and put them on immediately. She also found a kind of egg carton, with six many-sided blue crystals in it. The box was labeled “Anathema Crystals.” Shrugging, she picked it up and put it in her AngelBile bag, making a face as she caught a whiff of Dirk’s rotting arm.
There was also a beautiful black wooden box, inside of which was the Great Ring, resting on an elegant bed of black velvet. Next to the wooden ring box was a small bottle, filled with a black, shiny, viscous liquid.
Dirk, who was so weak he couldn’t stand, was staring at the bottle. He reached for it, but couldn’t get there. He signaled to Chris. “Give me that bottle,” he said. Chris looked at him. And then at the bottle. He had a good idea what it might be, and he really wasn’t sure it was a good idea for Dirk to have it. Especially as it was obviously interesting Dirk more than his Ring—and that was saying something.
“Now, Christopher, give it to me now!” said Dirk angrily.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dirk,” said Chris.
Dirk glared at him, but he was too weak to do anything about it.
“What about the Ring?” said Sooz. “Doesn’t anybody want that?” She leaned forward, took it, and put it on her finger. She looked at it and smiled. It felt so right on her finger, like it belonged there. It began to glow in welcome, bathing her in its glorious dark light.
Dirk’s jaw dropped at the sight of that, the bottle of black oily stuff forgotten. Chris was awed. Sooz stood there looking at her finger, a crown on her head, radiating majesty and power and dark, dangerous beauty. Even her white dress seemed to shine with an aura of pale moonlight. Behind her, the shadow of what looked like a mighty Sorcerer-Queen flickered faintly on the wall.
“Wow,” said Chris.
Dirk smiled a wry smile. “Indeed, you are a dark and terrible Queen.” He glanced down at the Ring on her finger. “And the Ring knows it. The Ring gives itself to you. Ha! I would never have thought it in a thousand years! All hail Dread Queen Sooz, Dark Mistress of the Darklands!” said Dirk weakly as he lay back, barely able to move.
Sooz looked at them as if noticing them for the first time, her face full of imperial authority and regal splendor.
Chris stared at her. Susan Black. Twelve years old. Serious Goth. Swimmer. Always in trouble. Good at English and history, bad at math and geography (but only because she didn’t like them). AngelBile fan …
And Queen of the Darklands, a fantastical world in another dimension! He could hardly believe it. Without thinking, still staring at Sooz, he reached over and grabbed the bottle of Essence of Evil (for that is what it was) and slipped it into his pocket.
“You are a fitting heir to my throne, my little Child of the Night, though you are a child no more!” Dirk coughed. “For soon I shall die …” With that Dirk sagged back—he no longer had the strength to even sit, or speak. Thin black tendrils spread across his face.
“No!” said Sooz, coming out of her dark reverie. “No!” She knelt down beside him. A tear rolled down her cheek. It was filled with a shadowy radiance, that tear. It glowed like liquid moonlight. Chris stared at it, fascinated by its dark beauty. And by her. Dirk closed his eyes.
“We’ve got to get him out of here,” said Sooz.
They picked Dirk up between them and dragged him out past the stone door.
“Oh dear, I hope he’ll be all right,” said Tin Tallon.
“Thank you, Mr. Tallon,” said Sooz. “You may close up now.”
“As you wish. Good-bye then, little ones!” said the door as it rolled back over the entrance with a grinding shudder.
“See ya,” said Chris, wrestling with Dirk’s unconscious body.
“Umm, before you go …,” grated Tin Tallon.
“Yes?” said Sooz, hefting Dirk’s good arm over her shoulder.
“You won’t mention anything to Hasdruban, will you? You know, about the password. Terribly embarrassing, you know!”
“Huh! No, don’t you worry, we won’t be saying anything to him, not if we can help it!” said Chris.
“Yeah, we’re not planning on talking to him anytime soon!” added Sooz.
“I’m so pleased, thank you so much,” graveled the door politely.
They dragged Dirk down the hall, his feet trailing along between them, following the signs that read “To the Surface.”
Eventually they came to a simple wooden door at the end of the hallway. It opened easily into the back end of a cave up in the hills upon which the White Tower was built. A little path led down from the cave to some open farmlands, beyond which lay the town of Magus Falls. Chris and Sooz dragged Dirk to the cave entrance and onto a nearby grassy hilltop, where they collapsed, exhausted, with Dirk lying between them.
It was evening and the sun was setting in the west. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?” said Chris, looking over at Sooz.
She nodded, her eyes welling up with silvery tears.
Dirk coughed and his eyes flickered open. He grabbed Chris by the arm. “Give me the Essence. It’s my only hope,” he croaked.
“What do you mean?” said Chris.
“If I drink it, it might restore me to my original form. And by doing so, restore my arm too. If it doesn’t—well, I’ll die anyway, but it’s my only chance,” said Dirk hoarsely. He coughed and lay back, closing his eyes.
Chris stared at him, unsure. “What’s the Essence, Chris?” said Sooz. “What’s he talking about?”
Chris felt in his pocket. He pulled out the little bottle of black, oily liquid. “Essence of Evil,” he said. “Dirk’s Evil.”
“You mean that stuff that the White Beast took? In the parking lot back on earth?” said Sooz.
“Yeah,” said Chris. “Looks like Hasdruban extracted it and bottled it. Trouble is, if we give it to Dirk it might turn him back into … Well, you know, a real Dark Lord and everything. Totally evil.”
Sooz thought of the suit of armor in the Sanctum Sanctorum in the Iron Tower. She shuddered.
“But if we don’t give it to him, he’ll die,” she said.
Chris and Sooz looked at each other, unsure of what to do.
“We’ve got no choice, have we?” said Sooz.
“I guess not,” said Chris, bottle in hand.
“Well, go on,” said Sooz.
Chris did nothing. If he did nothing, Dirk would die. And right now, that didn’t seem such a bad thing. Sooz would take over, and he’d be with her, by her side. He frowned and shook his head.
“What’s the matter, Chris?” said Sooz.
“It’s the stuff in the bottle. It’s affecting me, making me think … Making me think bad thoughts,” he said. “It’s dangerous.”
“Give it here, then,” said Sooz.
Impulsively, Chris jerked the bottle away and tossed it to the ground in front of Sooz, obviously glad to be rid of it.
Sooz didn’t hesitate. She picked it up, pulled the stopper out, and poured the contents into Dirk’s mouth. It seemed to trickle down his throat of its own accord, like a glittering black oily snake slithering home to its lair.
They stood back and waited …