Lord Peter Midnight and the Goblin King
Those in the Mission still tell the tale, of the day the long struggle between Lord Peter Midnight and the Goblin King finally came to an end. Or, to put it another way…
Once upon a time…
Lord Peter Midnight, everyone will remember, was among the more flamboyant, more dramatic, and certainly more glamorous sorcerers who came to prominence in the second half of the twentieth century. From his adopted home in San Francisco, where he lived in palatial splendor with a long and steady string of fashion models, actors, actresses, and musicians of every imaginable flavor, Lord Peter Midnight would venture forth into the wide world to quell menaces of a supernatural variety, and then return home to his sartorial pursuits.
The Goblin King, some may recall, first came before the public eye in the days of the Great Depression, when his first attempt at world domination was squelched by the timely intervention of the mysterious Doctor Socharis. In the years that followed, the Goblin King, every inch the perfect villain, again and again tried to turn his dominance over the supernatural into a more material domination, sending his mis, dis and malformed hordes out into the world to overcome all opposition and to establish him as uncontested ruler. Beginning with his bid to conquer the world, years later the Goblin King was content at his darkest hour to strive for dominance over the northwest corner of Utah; he failed in the attempt.
Each time the Goblin King attempted to accomplish his dread purpose he found his moves checked, and then mated, by Doctor Socharis, or William Lo, or Madame Zed, or any other practitioners or fellow travelers who had a vested interest in maintaining the status quo. It was not until the Goblin King squared off against Lord Peter Midnight, however, that he found his nemesis. All the other meddlers in his plans had been mere annoyances. In Lord Peter Midnight, the Goblin King had met his opposite number. The chemistry, to mix metaphors, was electric.
After several years of occasional struggle and intermittent strife, punctuated by frequent banter, the long enmity between the two finally came to a head one autumn night in San Francisco, in the Mission District, atop a roof overlooking crowded streets. One of the neighborhood’s interminable street festivals was in full swing, and the gentle strains of a folksy tune could be heard drifting up from below. In boxed planters along the roof’s edge were honeysuckle vines, their cloying sweetness filling the air.
“I somehow knew it would come to this,” said the Goblin King, crossing from one side of the roof to the other. The way in which he ever so slightly favored his right leg betrayed old injuries, but Lord Peter Midnight was courteous enough not to mention them.
“I don’t suppose any other outcome was possible, or at least probable,” replied Lord Peter Midnight. “These things have a habit of following certain patterns.”
The Goblin King chuckled slightly, behind his hand, and smiled. “Patterns,” he repeated, shaking his head. “My life has become dominated by patterns, these last decades. Always the same story, it seems, forever the same plot, driving inevitably towards the same conclusion. I have become the butt of an enormous joke the world is playing, I’ve come to fear - my every action and utterance already cliché.”
“Perhaps,” Lord Peter Midnight replied, thoughtfully, “but perhaps the same could be said of me. I think, in my darker moments, that my life involves nothing more than playing the Ahab to your whale, the Javert to your Valjean…”
“I would suggest,” the Goblin King interrupted, his tone arch, “that the roles were reversed.”
Conciliatorily, Lord Peter Midnight nodded slightly. “Still,” he continued, “the fact remains that my magics have rendered inoperative your army of subhuman monsters.”
