Pete McGee and the Master of Darkness (4 page)

‘Alright then, as long as you know the rules,' he said, wagging his finger like a teacher. ‘Now, you ready to ride?'

Smithers groaned.

‘Okay, just be sure to take it easy on me—GO!'

He kicked his horse into action and they were off. Pete laughed. The race was on.

The evil slid and slithered its way along the tunnel towards Syra Tanooth's house. Syra had been preparing for the evil's arrival, messing up the place, putting out some fresh maggots in a bowl, you know, the usual things you do when an evil being is coming to visit.

Syra was excited and nervous at the same time. This evil blob was the finishing touch, the final turn in the maze, the last piece of the puzzle that, once complete, would create a picture of him as the true King of evil.

Master of Darkness
. That was what Syra liked to be known as: the
Master of Darkness
. He had given himself the name. It had come down to a choice between
Nasty Evil Mean Guy
and
Master
of Darkness.
He went for
Master of Darkness
for two reasons. The first was that
Nasty Evil
Mean Guy
was already taken, and the second was that
Master of Darkness
just seemed to fit more comfortably. After all, he lived in medieval times. He needed a name that would reflect this. There was also the fact that he enjoyed the night more than the day. Oh, and of course he was able to use magic to suck the light out of things.

So there was that.

He checked his crystal ball one more time. The evil was having a rest.

‘Oh, come on now!' Syra groaned. ‘That tunnel is only 20,000 steps long. And you don't even have feet; you slide. It's just
one slide
. You have taken half a day already. The maggots are turning brown. I am going to have to put them back in the cold box if you do not arrive soon.'

He clapped his hands and the picture faded from the crystal ball. Syra sat at the table and munched absent-mindedly on a couple of maggots before remembering that the maggots were for the evil, and that he was a human, and he found maggots quite disgusting, and certainly not something he wanted to eat! If someone had a crystal ball and was watching Syra Tanooth, they would have seen him spitting out the maggots he was chewing, then trying to clean his tongue with hot soapy water.

Pete McGee and Larson Smithers sat by the river. In the distance, Pete could see the Plains of Obon. He had crossed the plains on his first journey, and he had no desire to do so again. The Plains of Obon were inhabited by fearsome creatures known as the Mantrils, and it was, Pete thought, pure luck he had survived getting through there at all. Well, luck and the help of Sir Loinsteak, the magical knight Pete's aunty had created to help him.

Pete often wondered about Sir Loinsteak. What happened to magical knights when their job was done? Where did they go? Was there a magical knight heaven or something? Pete smiled. He missed the knight, but he had so many memories to carry with him.

He turned to Smithers.

‘Smithers,' he said, ‘do you reckon there's more to being a knight than what they're teaching us?'

Smithers rolled his eyes. Pete was always on about this.

‘Of course there is,' Smithers replied. ‘There's applying the things we've learnt out in the field of battle. There's being knighted and parades and lots of mighty feasts with the King.'

‘Yeah, true, but it just feels as though they're holding us back. They have one way of doing things and won't change it for anyone, even if it doesn't suit us.

'Smithers pondered this for a minute and then shook his head.

‘That's just the way it is, Pete. The system's been developed over hundreds of years, and it has produced great knights. It works.'

‘I suppose so. I guess, for me, the time for going off on random adventures is over. Maybe it'll be good for me to fight for someone else's cause, with hundreds of other knights around me, even if they are pretty average ones like yourself.'

Smithers laughed and punched Pete on the shoulder, knowing the insult was a joke. He knew Pete longed to go on more adventures, but he didn't say anything about that.

‘Watch yourself, McGee, or you'll feel the wrath of this so-called average knight. Now let's go and get your friends and head on back.'

‘Fine. But I still reckon there might be something more to being a knight.'

Smithers nodded.

‘I know, I know. Anyway, let's keep moving. It'll be dark soon, and I don't want to be anywhere near those plains when night falls.'

Pete agreed with that, and so the two friends mounted their horses and were on their way once more.

Pete and Smithers arrived in Bandragon at first light the next morning. They had ridden hard, and were dusty and sweaty when they approached the edge of town. Pete would rather have been all clean and shiny to see Tahnee again, but dusty and sweaty it would have to be.

The two rode down the main street. It had been a year since zombie knights had attacked the town and repairs were still being carried out. Pete was struck by how the people of Bandragon worked
with
nature rather than destroying it. It was amazing. The colours in Bandragon seemed brighter, the people chatting in small groups seemed happier, and Pete's spirits lifted just being back amongst it all.

He glanced over at Smithers, who was beaming as he looked around. That's what Bandragon did to you.

‘SWEET!' came a cry, and Pete felt someone or something land on his horse behind him. Lightning cried out and reared up on two legs. Pete was ready to swing around but his arm was pinned.

‘Have to be spaghetti than that, Sweet,' came a familiar voice, speaking in riddles. Pete laughed. Spaghetti = pasta = faster. It was Molloy and his rhyming slang. Pete twisted around, using moves he had learnt while wrestling with Smithers. He flipped Molloy off the horse, leapt off, and was now standing above him.

‘And you,' he said, dagger drawn and held at Molloy's throat, ‘will have to be, ummmm, micker than that.'

As soon as he said it, Pete knew it was a shocking attempt. Micker? That wasn't even a word. He decided to leave the rhyming slang to his great friend. He sheathed his dagger and held out his hand. Molloy took it and stood, before giving Pete a bear hug.

‘Good to see ya, Sweet,' he said. ‘Tahnee and Dad are around somewhere. Let's get 'em.'

Pete nodded. He looked at Smithers, who had dismounted.

‘You know Larson Smithers, right?'

‘Sure,' Molloy grumbled. Even though Pete had told him over and over in his letters that Smithers had changed, Molloy could still only see the mean-spirited boy who had dobbed Pete in to the King a year previously. Smithers smiled and held out his hand for Molloy to take it. Molloy did so, gripping it as hard as he could.

Pete rolled his eyes. He had, as already mentioned, tried to convince Molloy that Smithers had changed, but it seemed it had been for nothing.

Molloy held on tight, and Smithers wasn't backing down either.

‘NICE … TO … SEE YOU,' Molloy said through gritted teeth.

‘GOOD … TO … SEE … YOU … TOO,' Smithers answered, straining as he tried to hold Molloy's grip without showing any pain. Both boys had been training hard and were strong and fit. This meant the handshake-arm-wrestle test-of-strength was basically a stalemate. Pete decided to cut it off before he fell asleep.

‘Alright,' he said, karate chopping the hands.

They came apart
(as in Smithers and Molloy let go, not in that Pete had such a powerful karate chop he could smash hands to pieces … although that would be really cool)
. Molloy glared at Smithers, who simply smiled back. Molloy growled, which was just plain weird, but it made Pete laugh.

‘You're such a crack-up, Molloy. Now come on, where are your dad and Tahnee? We have to get back. Mum still wants me to help with some things for the wedding.'

Molloy, as he often did, quickly got excited that something new was happening and forgot all about what had just happened with Smithers.

‘True to the smelly poo,' he said
(for those of you wondering what that could possibly mean, smelly poo = turd = word in rhyming slang. And yes, I just said turd in a book. I'll be back soon, I just have to cross Say
turd in a book
off my bucket-list).

‘Come on,' Molloy continued, putting his arm around Pete's shoulder and ignoring Smithers. ‘Tahnee's been hanging to see you, and Dad's, well, Dad. He can't come to the wedding though, Sweet. That's the tassel (
hassle
) of being a town leader. He has damn meetings all the time.'

Pete smiled and looked back at Smithers, who waved him off with a don't-worry-about-it gesture. Pete nodded and the three went off to find Molloy's sister, Tahnee.

Everything seems perfect … uh oh!

B
y the time the evil finally arrived, Syra had already drunk all the orange juice and was sitting at the kitchen table, impatiently drumming his fingers.

‘Well, well, Big Blobby Blob; decided to make an appearance, did you?'

The blob didn't reply. It simply slid up to the table and started gorging itself on the maggots. Syra looked away. He thought the entire scene was disgusting, repulsive, horrible. The evil blob, however, seemed to be enjoying what it thought was the tastiest meal in the history of meals. Syra rolled his eyes and rested his chin on his hands. He realised that having a sidekick, although perhaps necessary, wasn't going to be as easy as he had thought.

‘Are you done, Stinky Face?' he asked. He had decided not to show the evil any respect, so it would know that he was boss. He had come up with some degrading names to put the blob down, and was prepared to use them at any opportunity. Big Blobby Blob and Stinky Face were his first two. He was building up to the big one. The blob burped in reply to Syra's question and slid over to sit in front of the couch, looking like a beanbag. Syra thought there might be a good use for this blob after all: if he added a cushion, maybe a nice cover and … no. Wait. He had business to attend to. First, introduce himself and then use the nastiest name he had.

‘My name is Syra Tanooth,
Master of Darkness
. Welcome to my home. I have grand plans for us to unite and cause death and destruction the world over. Does the thought of this interest you, Big Blobby Blob Stinky Face?'

Yep. The grand insult Syra Tanooth had come up with, and it did take him a couple of hours, was simply putting the other two names together. Hey. Give him a break, people. He's a
Master of
Darkness
; he can't be good at everything. Anyway, after he said the name, the blob burst into tears. It even shifted into the shape of a teardrop. Syra smiled.

‘Aha! My evil words have made you cry, you sooky baby. Were they too evil for you?'

‘No,' the blob sobbed. It turned out he had a rather posh English accent. He continued to speak, between the tears. ‘You see, old chap, that name is what my dear mother, Mumsy I call her, that is what she called me when I was a baby. It was her pet name for me.'