Derek Landy - Armageddon Outta Here - The World of Skulduggery Pleasant

Pleasant hesitated. His skull remained as impassive as ever, but this hesitation spoke volumes. “I view you as a deadly enemy,” he said helpfully.

“How deadly?”

“I don’t know … relatively?”

“Relatively deadly? That’s all? I thought we were arch-enemies.”

“Oh,” Pleasant said. “No, I wouldn’t call us arch -enemies. Nefarian Serpine was an arch-enemy. Mevolent, obviously. A few others.”

“But not us?”

“Not really …”

“Why? Is it because I’m not powerful enough?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Then why? What’s so different between me and, say, Serpine?”

“Well,” said Pleasant, “Serpine had options. He was adaptable. Remember, the deadliest enemies are not necessarily the strongest, they’re the smartest.”

“So it’s because I’m not smart enough? But I am smart! I am highly intelligent!”

“OK,” Pleasant said in an understanding voice.

“Don’t patronise me!” Scaramouch snapped. “I have you as a prisoner, don’t I? You fell into my trap without even a hint of a suspicion!”

“It was a clever trap.”

“And those chains that bind your powers – you think that’s easy to do? You think that doesn’t require intelligence?”

“No, no,” Pleasant said, “I have to admit, you got me fair and square.”

“You’re damn right I did,” Scaramouch sneered. “And you don’t even know about my plot yet, do you? You don’t even know how intelligent that is.”

“Well, like I said, I’ve been busy—”

“Busy with Fines, and with Nocturnal, busy with the threat of the Faceless Ones – but you haven’t been busy with the real threat, have you?”

“I suppose not,” Pleasant said, and then added, “You mean you, don’t you?”

“Of course I mean me! I’ve been smart enough to fool you all into thinking I was dead. I’ve been smart enough to work under your radar, to set in motion events that will grant me absolute power, which will lead to my total dominion over this world! Now that , detective, that is smart!”

“Total dominion?”

“Oh, yes, skeleton. How does it feel to know that an opponent such as I, an adversary you would have classified as merely ‘relatively deadly’, will soon rule this planet with a will of iron, and a fist of …” He faltered. “ … iron.”

“Um …”

“What?”

“I was just going to say, have you really thought this through?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re talking about ruling the world, right?”

“Yes.”

“Not bringing back old gods, not turning the world into some new version of hell, not remaking it as you see fit …”

“Well, no.”

“You’re just talking about ruling it, then?”

“Yes. With a will of iron and a fist of iron.”

“Yes. And again, I’m compelled to ask – have you really thought this through?”

Scaramouch pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He was getting a headache. He could feel it coming on. “What do you mean? What is so wrong with planning to rule the world?”

“Well, for a start, think of all the work.”

“I’ll have minions,” Scaramouch said dismissively.

“But they’ll still need orders. They’ll need you to tell them what to do. You’ll be inundated with reports, with documents, with briefings. There won’t be enough hours in the day to go over them all, let alone make any decisions.”

“Then I’ll just order that the days be longer,” Scaramouch said. “I will decree that a day stops and starts when I decide, not the sun or the moon.”

“And how will you cope with warring nations?”

Scaramouch laughed. “When I am ruler, there will be no wars. Everyone will do what I tell them.”

“There are billions of people in the world, all with their own viewpoints, all with their own rights. It won’t be as simple as telling them to just stop . What about famine?”

“What about it?”

“What will you do about it?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“If famine strikes a country, what will you do?”

Scaramouch smiled evilly. “Maybe I will do nothing. Maybe I will let the country die.”

“In which case, you will have an entire country rise against you, because they have nothing left to lose.”

“Then I will destroy them.”

“And you’ll have to deal with the neighbouring countries squabbling over the remains.”

“Then I’ll destroy them – no, I’ll order them to … they’ll do what I tell them, all right?”

“And the media?”

Scaramouch sighed. “What about them?”

“How will you cope with the media questioning your policies?”

“There will no questions. This won’t be a democracy, it will be a dictatorship.”

“There will always be dissent.”

“What did I say? I’ll have minions, I told you. They’ll take care of any rebels.”

“You’ll have a secret police?”

“Of course!”

“You’ll assign minions to levels of power?”

“Naturally!”

“And when these minions get ambitions of their own, and they go to overthrow you?”

“Then I’ll kill them!” Scaramouch said, exasperated. “I’ll have absolute power, remember?”

“And how do you plan to attain this absolute power?”

“It’s all in my plan!” Scaramouch yelled, pacing to the wall of the dungeon.

“What about sorcerers?”

Scaramouch tore the cloak from around his neck. It was heavy, and too warm, and when he paced it was annoying. “What about the bloody sorcerers?”

Pleasant’s chains jangled slightly as he shrugged. “You don’t really think they’ll just stand back and let this happen, do you? I realise I’ll be dead, so that’s one less you’ll have to worry about, but there are plenty more.”

“There won’t be,” Scaramouch said, stepping back into the shadows for dramatic affect. “When my plan is complete, I will be the only one capable of wielding magic.”

“So you’re going to kill them all?”

“I won’t have to. They will be left as ordinary mortals, while I will be filled with their powers.”

“Ah,” Pleasant said. “OK.”

“Now do you appreciate my vast and superior intelligence?”

Pleasant thought for a moment. “Yes,” he decided.

“Excellent. I’m sorry we can’t talk further, detective, but my Hour of Glory is at hand, and your death will be—”

“One more question.”

Scaramouch’s chin dropped to his chest. “What?” he asked bleakly.

“On the surface, this plot is fine. Drain the magic from others, and then use this magic to become all-powerful and unstoppable and take over the world. I can’t see anything wrong with that plot – in theory. But my question, Scaramouch, is how exactly are you going to achieve all this?”

Scaramouch picked his cloak off the ground, felt through it until he came to the cleverly concealed pocket. From this pocket he withdrew a small wooden box with a metal clasp.

He held the box for Pleasant to see. “Recognise this?”

Pleasant peered closer, examining the etchings in the wood. “Ohhh,” he said, impressed.

“Exactly. This container, enchanted with twenty-three spells from twenty-three mages, is one of the fabled Lost Artifacts. I have spent the last fifteen months tracking it down – and tonight, it is finally mine.”

“So it’s true, then?”

“Of course it’s true. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Pleasant’s head jerked up sharply. “You mean you haven’t checked it?”

Scaramouch suddenly felt a little foolish. “I … I don’t have to,” he said. “Everyone knows—”