guy who found it, he needed to mount expeditions and things. It wasn’t cheap.”
“How much did he charge?”
“I, uh, I gave him everything I had.”
The detective went quiet.
“But I’m going to be ruler of the world!” Scaramouch explained. “What difference does it make to me?”
“He made an awful lot of money by just handing over a box, without even verifying that it contained what you hope it contains.”
“How will I know?”
“There’s only one way. You have to open it.”
“But the insect will fly away!”
“Let it out near me,” the skeleton suggested. “You’re going to kill me anyway, right? So what do I care if it drains my powers before I die?”
Scaramouch narrowed his eyes. “Why would you make this offer?”
“Because I’m curious. Scaramouch, I’m a detective. I solve mysteries. If my final act in this world is to establish whether or not a mythological insect could still be contained in one of the Lost Artifacts, then that, to me, would be a good death.”
Scaramouch looked at him, and nodded. “OK.”
“Put it on the ground, open it, and stand back. When it’s finished draining me, it’ll be sluggish. That’s when you recapture it.”
Scaramouch nodded. He licked his lips nervously, and placed the box on the floor. He undid the metal clasp, felt his heart pound in his chest, and he opened the lid.
He scampered back into the shadows.
The detective gazed down into the box.
“Well?” Scaramouch asked from the corner.
“Can’t see anything,” Pleasant said. “It’s a little dark … wait.”
“Yes? What?”
And then, the most beautiful sound Scaramouch had ever heard – a buzzing.
“Amazing,” Pleasant said in a whisper.
Something rose from the box, rising into the air after centuries of being trapped. It was unsteady, and weak, but it flew. It lived.
“One little insect,” Pleasant was saying. “The legends say it rose from the carcass of a slain demon. An insect borne of evil, and wickedness, the demon’s last attempt to destroy its enemies.” The insect flew up, dancing in a shaft of light. “One little insect, and it could be responsible for bringing this world to its knees.”
“Wonderful,” Scaramouch breathed.
The insect landed on the ground in front of its box, its prison for all those years. Pleasant looked down at it, then moved slightly and knelt on the insect and squished it.
Scaramouch screamed and the door burst open and Valkyrie Cain stepped into the dungeon.
“What the hell is going on here?” she asked.
Scaramouch charged at her and the girl closed her eyes and flexed her fingers. Her eyes and hand snapped open and the air around her rippled. Scaramouch was hurled back off his feet. He crashed into the far wall, hitting his head and collapsing with a groan. He heard the girl and the detective talking, and he heard the chains being unlocked. Moaning, he turned over and looked up at them.
“It was a trick,” he said. “You really were here to stop me, weren’t you? You really were here to foil my plan. This is the last time, you hear me? I will escape whatever prison you send me to, and the next time we meet you will pay for—”
“Who’s this?” Valkyrie Cain asked.
Scaramouch paled. “What? What do you mean, who am I?”
“His name’s Scaramouch Van Dreg,” Pleasant told her.
“She knows who I am!” Scaramouch shrieked. “I am your deadliest enemy!”
Cain raised an eyebrow but ignored him. “Has he got anything to do with Fines and Nocturnal?”
“Nope.”
“Then why are we wasting our time? Come on, we’ve got real bad guys to stop.”
Cain walked out. Skulduggery Pleasant looked down at Scaramouch and shrugged.
“I’ll just chain you up for the moment, but the Cleavers will be around soon to take you into custody. Is that all right with you?”
Scaramouch started crying.
“Good man. Don’t let this get you down, though. We all need goals, and I fully expect to do battle with you again, OK?”
Scaramouch wailed.
“We need more villains like you, you know that? We need more bad guys who want to take over the world. There aren’t enough of them. The others think it’s just, you know … silly.”
Scaramouch felt the shackles on his wrists. He had to look up to watch Skulduggery Pleasant leave the dungeon.
“Hello,” she said.
The clothes he had been buried in were torn and musty, his shoes caked with mud. He stood with a slight stoop and he had, for the most part, skin and hair. The middle of his face had rotted, however, robbing him of lips and nose and eyelids.
“You’re late,” he grumbled. “Midnight has come and gone.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Lives hang in the balance. You’re lucky I stayed.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You are Valkyrie Cain.”
“That’s right.”
“Thirteen years old, Elemental by power, partner of the skeleton detective, and late.”
“I suppose.”
“You’re lucky I stayed.”
“So you said.”
“I
