Lieutenants of Darkness

By Russell F. Hirsch

Eighty bucks seemed like a lot, but it was for Gerald’s thirtieth birthday, so I clicked “confirm” before I could regret those eighty dollars—which turned out to be $97.89 after shipping and tax. I was already on the receipt page when I started to worry how legitimate it was.

Thankfully, it looked legitimate five business days later when FedEx dropped it off and I opened the package. It was even framed.

I showed it to Amy, who was hanging her wet laundry around my apartment. Her machine must have been broken again.

“That looks so legit.” She draped purple leggings over my recliner. “It’s even framed!”

“It’s Gerald’s kind of thing, right?”

“Totally. How many online D&D campaigns is he on? Like, twelve?”

“At least.”

Any shred of doubt disappeared that night when we put it in Gerald’s hands.

“No!” he said—which really meant, Yes! “Where’d you get this?” He frowned and glanced at us. “You didn’t just print it off, did you?”

“No,” Amy assured him. “We bought it.”

I shot her a dubious glance. I was still waiting for her contribution to the $97.89.

“It looks legit, right?” I asked, turning back to Gerald.

He nodded and read it aloud. “By powers ancient and nameless, this certificate grants GERALD BUCHINSKY the title of Dark Lord and Supreme Regent of All Evil henceforth unto eternity.” He wiped away a tear.

We went deep into our growlers then. Gerald kept making toasts and proclaiming us his dark lieutenants. Amy got out her button maker—though how it had ended up in my apartment I’m not sure—and soon she and I were sporting hastily-Sharpied DARK LEFT buttons.

“LEFT is not the proper abbreviation of lieutenant,” I pointed out.

“We’ll pretend it’s a socialist thing!” Amy said, stowing the button maker on my shelf.

Off we went to meet the others at the pub. All sorts of others. Hipsters. Yuppies. Nerds.

I leaned into Amy. “I didn’t know Gerald had so many friends.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Maybe these people are from online D&D?” She nodded to a group of new arrivals storming the threshold of the pub. They were in costume. Serious commitment.

“How do you know Gerald?” I asked some goblin dude who plunked down beside me. “D&D?”

“Yes, I know Gerald!” he said, which wasn’t what I had asked, really. “Soon, we will all know Gerald!”

I shrugged. “Cheers.”

The important thing was Gerald was having the time of his life. Someone had given him a jacket. A really nice one. Long and dark, with flared coattails.

The night was supposed to be a pub crawl, but when we left it became a pub exodus. The entire place came with us. Maybe it was closing early.

Amy stumbled into me. “Who gave him the jacket?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s really nice.”

I paused, frowning. “Not as nice as the certificate, right?”

“Not as nice as the certificate.”

“It seemed legit, yeah?”

“It seemed pretty legit.”

At some point, we ended up downtown at one of those clubs that used to be a crypt or something. You know—brick walls, low ceiling. The costumes were getting top-notch. Someone was dressed like a tree, like an honest-to-God tree, with bark and everything. The cocktails were right up Gerald’s alley too: bright blue with dry ice cubes, served in ceramic skulls.

When we left the crypt club, Gerald put up the hood of his new jacket. I don’t know why. It wasn’t raining. But it made him look taller than usual. He lifted his certificate overhead and pumped it up and down like a trophy. “Storm the castle!” he bellowed. “Storm the castle!”

Then, everyone who’d left the club with him started chanting along. “Storm the castle! Storm the castle!”

Fireworks burst over the end of the street, the colors dancing in the glass of Gerald’s certificate.

“Why’re there fireworks?” I asked.

Amy latched onto my arm. “It’s cute!”

“What, the fireworks?”

“No. Storm the castle! It’s from The Princess Bride.”

“Oh, right.”

She reached up and kissed me, right on the lips. “You know, I think you’re pretty legit,” she whispered.

Well, that was an interesting development, but the police arrived before I could properly process it. At least, it might have been the police? They had uniforms, anyway. I was getting pretty foggy by that point. I think we ended up indoors and V for Vendetta must have been on cable because people kept yelling, “Parliament, parliament, parliament!”

Fights broke out and spilled into the street.

“Where’s Gerald?” I asked Amy, dodging the goblin dude, who was whirling around punching anything in sight.

“What?”

“Gerald!” I shouted. “He shouldn’t have invited people he’d only met online! That’s how things get out of hand!”

“We’d better find him.”

And we did find him, drinking champagne in this upscale hotel lounge with a bunch of the costume people. Even the tree. He was still holding his certificate, bless him. And who was I kidding? I couldn’t stay mad at him—he was my best friend.

“Lieutenants!” he cried when he saw us. “Victory, my dark lieutenants!”

“Victory!” everyone shouted, except the tree, which rattled its branches instead.

We woke in darkness. I guess we’d fallen asleep at the hotel. My MasterCard wouldn’t appreciate that, not when I’d already spent $97.89 after shipping and tax on Gerald’s certificate.

Amy stood looking out the window, and I joined her. Hardly any streetlights were on. In truth, hardly any streetlights were upright. Buildings were smoldering, too. I think the biggest was parliament. Its doors hung askew, and the goblin dude hopped around in some sort of dance outside the entrance.

Gerald slept on a couch behind us, under his dark jacket. The certificate served as a pillow.

Amy was still looking out the window.

“I guess…” I scrubbed my eyes. Yeah, still smoldering out there. “I guess it was pretty legit.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Russell F. Hirsch is a writer and oral storyteller whose fiction has appeared in a variety of print and online venues, including The Weird and Whatnot, Geist, Mirror Dance, and the anthology, Flashes of Fantasy. A lover of myths, fairy tales, and forests, he lives in Vancouver, Canada.

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