The Dark Lord of Derkholm. Diana Wynne Jones

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      “ER – HEM!” said Querida, loudly enlarged by magic.

      Derk and Blade both whirled round. “Tyrant!” Blade screamed in her face and then bowed over, consumed with embarrassment.

      Derk surveyed the tiny glistening lady in the robes of High Chancellor. His eyes travelled on to the tall glum sweaty figure of King Luther and the huge shape of Umru and the blisters of sweat popping out on his vast red-blotched cheeks. He nodded to them and smiled at Barnabas, whose curls were wet and whose face was even redder than Umru’s. Finally he looked at the young man in the rear who was a stranger to him and only pretending not to be hot. “Oh hallo,” he said. “What are you all doing here? Is there some reason you aren’t using a refrigeration spell?”

      “No, I forgot, bother it!” said Querida. “I like the heat.”

      Derk nudged Blade. Blade recovered from his embarrassment enough to make a slight gesture. Incredible, blessed coolness spread over the four men. “Bags of talent indeed,” Regin murmured.

      “Thank you, young man,” Umru said gratefully.

      Blade was clearly intending to demonstrate that it was not usual for him to scream into people’s faces. He bowed. “You’re welcome, Your Reverence,” he said with great politeness. “And – excuse me – do any of you know a wizard called Deucalion?” He looked round them anxiously as they all shrugged and shook their heads. “Magic user then?” he asked, with his voice dropping hopelessly.

      “Never heard of anyone of that name, Blade,” said Barnabas. “Why?”

      “He’s the one the White Oracle says is going to train me as a wizard,” Blade explained. “Dad’s never heard of him either.” He sighed.

      Querida swept this aside. “We, as it happens, have consulted the Oracles also,” she said. “They have named you, Wizard Derk, as this year’s Dark Lord and you, young Blade, as Wizard Guide to the last tour.”

      “Now listen—” said Derk.

      “No arguing with the Oracles, Derk,” Barnabas said quietly.

      “But—” said Blade.

      “Nor you, young man,” said Querida. “Both of you are going to be very busy for the next six months.”

      At this Derk stirred himself, powerfully but a little uncertainly, and stood over Querida. “I don’t think you can do this,” he said.

      “Oh yes I can,” she said. “Go home and make ready. Tomorrow at midday sharp, Mr Chesney and all the Wizard Guides and I will be arriving at your house to brief you on this year’s plans.” When Derk still stood there, she gazed up at him like a cobra ready to strike and added, “In case you are planning to be away from home tomorrow, I must point out you are in a very poor position, Wizard Derk. You have not paid your wizard’s dues to the University for fifteen years. This gives me the right to exact penalties.”

      “I sent you a griffin’s egg,” Derk said.

      “It was addled,” said Querida. “As I am sure you knew.”

      “And I couldn’t send you anything else,” Derk went on seriously. “All the products of my wizardry are alive. It would be criminal to shut them up in the University dues-vault. You’d want to kill them and embalm them first. Besides, my wife has paid dues enough for the two of us.”

      “Mara’s miniature universes are quite irrelevant to Mr Chesney,” Querida stated. “Be warned, Wizard Derk. Either you present yourself at Derkholm to Mr Chesney and the rest of us tomorrow, or you have every magic user in this world looking for you to make you be Dark Lord. Do I make myself clear?”

      Blade pulled his father’s arm. “Better go, Dad.”

      “And you, young man,” said Querida. “You’re to be there too.”

      Blade succeeded in pulling his father round sideways, but Derk still looked down at Querida across his own shoulder. “No one should have this kind of power,” he said.

      “To whom do you refer, Wizard?” she asked, still in her cobra stance.

      “Chesney, of course,” Derk said rather hastily.

      Here Blade pulled harder and the two of them disappeared in a stinging cloud of blown sand.

      “Phew!” said Barnabas. “Poor old Derk!”

      “Let us go home more slowly,” said Querida. “I feel a little tired.”

      The return journey was more like a lingering walk, in which they trod now on a patch of hot sand, now on wiry dead grass, now on rocks or moss. Regin put himself beside Querida as they went. “Who is this Wizard Derk?” he asked.

      Querida sighed. “A shambles of a man. The world’s worst wizard, to my mind.”

      “Oh come now, Querida,” said Barnabas. “He’s excellent at what he does – just a little unconventional, you know. When we were students together I always thought he was twice as bright as me.”

      Querida shuddered. “Unconventional is a kind word for it. I was Senior Instructor then. Of all the things he did wrong, my worst memories are of being dragged up in the middle of the night to deal with that vast blue demon that Derk had called up and couldn’t put down. You remember?”

      Barnabas nodded and bit his lip in order not to laugh. “Nobody knew its name, so none of the usual exorcisms worked. It took the entire staff of the University to get rid of it in the end. All through the night. Derk was never much good at conventional wizardry, I admit. But you use him a lot, don’t you, Reverend?”

      Umru smiled sweetly, his fat comfortable cool self again. “I pay for Wizard Derk’s services almost every time my temple has a tour party through. No one but Wizard Derk can make a convincing human corpse out of a dead donkey.” Regin stared. Umru smiled ever more sweetly. “Or a sheep,” he said. “We are always chosen as an evil priesthood, and the Pilgrims expect us to have a vilely tortured sacrifice to display. Wizard Derk saves us the necessity of using people.”

      “Oh,” said Regin. He turned to where King Luther was trudging grimly in the rear. “And you, Your Majesty? You know this wizard too?”

      “We use him for hangings and heads on spikes occasionally,” King Luther said, “But I hire him most often for the feast when the damn Pilgrims have gone. He has performing animals. Pigs mostly.”

      “Pigs?” said Regin.

      “Yes, pigs,” said King Luther. “They fly.”

      “Oh,” Regin said again. As he said it, they arrived back on the flagstone in the council room again. Regin’s teeth chattered, Barnabas was shivering, Umru was juddering all over. Querida was unaffected. So was King Luther, whose northern kingdom was never warm.

      “What is the matter?” Umru cried out. People turned from reading the heaps of letters on the table to stare at him. He held his hands out piteously. “Look. Blue!”

      “Oh. Um,” said Barnabas. “It’s young Blade’s fault, I’m afraid. Boys of that СКАЧАТЬ