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—”
“Oh, Scaramouch,” Pleasant said, disappointment in his voice.
“I just got it!” Scaramouch said defensively. “Literally, I just got it three hours ago!”
“And you haven’t checked it?”
“I didn’t have time. I had to capture you.”
Pleasant looked back at the box, and his head tilted thoughtfully. “If that is the box from the Lost Artifacts, and it certainly does look like it might be authentic, then it contains an insect with the power to drain magic at a bite.”
“Exactly.”
“Providing that insect is still inside.”
Scaramouch looked at the box. “There are no holes in it.”
“It’s been lost for three hundred years.”
“But the insect’s meant to live forever, right? It doesn’t need food or anything?”
“Well, that’s the legend. Can you hear it? You should be able to hear it buzzing around in there.”
Scaramouch shook the box, and held it up to his ear. “Nothing,” he said.
“Well, it’s a thick box,” Pleasant said. “You probably wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway.”
Scaramouch
