Skulduggery Pleasant

Chapter Thirty An End, a Beginning

Somewhere in Haggard, a dog was barking. Somewhere a driver beeped his horn, and somewhere else people were laughing. It was a Friday night, and music drifted to Stephanie's open window from the bars and pubs on Main Street, snatches of songs piggybacking on the warm breeze.

Stephanie sat in her swivel chair, her foot resting on the bed. Skulduggery had taken her to a friend of his, a cantankerous old man who had mended her broken leg within an hour. It was still stiff, still sore, but the bruising had gone down, and in another few days it would be like it had never been broken at all.

She didn't mind the recuperation period she had been advised to take. After the week she'd just had, a week in which she'd seen wonder and magic and death and destruction, she could do with a little holiday.

Skulduggery Pleasant sat on the windowsill and told her what was happening in the world outside her bedroom. The White Cleaver had vanished, and they still didn't know why, or even how, he had ignored his master's final command. Skulduggery had a suspicion that he was under orders from somebody else, but just who this mystery master was he didn't yet know.

Serpine's allies had resurfaced and struck, and then vanished again when the news of the sorcerer's demise had reached them. Serpine's grand scheme might have failed, but because of it, the Cleavers' numbers had been decimated, and their duties now stretched them thin.

"How's Tanith?" Stephanie asked. "Will she be okay?"

"She's lucky to be alive. The injury she took was severe, but she's strong. She'll pull through. I'll take you to see her when you're rested."

"And Ghastly? Any change?"

"I'm afraid not. They're keeping him safe, but. .. we don't know how long he'll stay like that.

Fortunately for him, the time will pass in the blink of an eye. The rest of us will have to wait.

On the bright side, the Sanctuary has a new and interesting addition to their Hall of Statues."

"Do they have a Hall of Statues?"

"Well, no. But now that they've got a statue, maybe they'll start."

"What are they going to do about the Council of Elders?"

"Meritorious was a good man, the most powerful Grand Mage we had seen in a long time. The other Elders in Europe are worried about who will fill the vacuum now that he's gone. The Americans are offering their support, the Japanese are sending delegates to help us wrest back some control, but ..."

"It sounds like a lot of people are panicking."

"And they have a right to. Our systems of power, our systems of self-government, are delicate.

If we topple, others will follow. We need a strong leader."

"Why don't you do it?"

He laughed. "Because I'm not well liked, and I'm not well trusted, and I already have a job. I'm a detective, remember?"

She gave a little shrug. "Vaguely."

Another snippet of pub music drifted by the window, and she thought about the world she'd grown up in, and how different it was from the world she'd been introduced to, and yet how similar. There was joy and happiness in both, just as there was heartbreak and horror. There was good and evil and everything in between, and these qualities seemed to be shared equally in the worlds of the magical and the mundane. It was her life now. She couldn't imagine living without either one.

"How are you?" Skulduggery asked, his voice gentle.

"Me? I'm fine."

"Really? No nightmares?"

"Maybe one or two," she admitted.

"They'll always be there, reminding us of where we went wrong. If you pay attention to your bad dreams, they can help you."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time I'm asleep."

"Good," said Skulduggery. "In any event, get well soon. We have mysteries to solve, and adventures to undertake, and I need my partner and student with me."

"Student?"

He shrugged. "Things are going to get a lot rougher from here on in, and I need someone to fight by my side. There's something about you, Valkyrie. I'm not quite sure what it is. I look at you, and ..."

"And you're reminded of yourself when you were my age?"

"Hm? Oh, no; what I was going to say is there's something about you that is really annoying, and you never do what you're told, and sometimes I question your intelligence — but even so, I'm going to train you, because I like having someone follow me around like a little puppy. It makes me feel good about myself."

She rolled her eyes. "You are such a moron."

"Don't be jealous of my genius."

"Can you get over yourself for just a moment?"

"If only that were possible."

"For a guy with no internal organs, you've got quite the ego."

"And for a girl who can't stand up without falling over, you're quite the critic."

"My leg will be fine."

"And my ego will flourish. What a pair we are."

She had to laugh. "Go on, get out. Mum'll be up soon to check on me."

"Before I go . . ."

"Yes?"

"Aren't you going to show me what you've been practicing? You've been dying to show off from the moment I knocked on this window."

She looked at him and arched an eyebrow, but he was right and he knew it. The other good thing about this recuperation period was that she had all the time she wanted to develop her powers, and she hadn't wasted the few days that had passed already.

She clicked her fingers, summoning a small flame into the palm of her hand. She watched it flicker and dance, then looked up at Skulduggery and grinned.

"Magic," he said.

EXTRAS

Skulduggery Pleasant An Exclusive Interview with the Skeleton Himself, Mr. Skulduggery Pleasant Derek Landy's Short Story about Skulduggery in Captivity, "The Lost Art of World Domination"

An Interview with Mr. Skulduggery Pleasant Being a skeleton. Please discuss!

Ah yes, that whole skeleton thing. It really isn't as bad as it sounds, you know. I never put on weight, for one thing. I never have a bad hair day, for another. It took a little getting used to, I'll admit, and for the first few weeks I kept expecting my jaw to fall off, but I like to think that I've grown into a very well-adjusted skeleton. I'm happy with who I am, thank you very much.

Has using magic ever got you into an embarrassing situation?

Me? No. But I did witness an amusing event when an evil sorcerer, who shall remain nameless to spare his blushes, tried to evade me by turning invisible in a crowded market place. He really should have practiced that skill a little harder, however, because while his clothes became transparent, he himself did not. Needless to say, he surrendered himself immediately and asked for something to cover himself up. I gave him my hat. Waste of a good hat, if you ask me.

You have said that everyone has three names — please tell us more, including how you came up with the name Skulduggery Pleasant.

Names are power, you see. When we are born, we are given a name, but that name can be used against us, to control us. So, we sorcerers take another name, to protect ourselves. But there is a third name, a true name, the source of all our power, and this name rests in our dreams, and should never be spoken to another person. As for the name I took, and the reasons I took it?

Well now, that's a secret.

What made you decide to become a detective?

Well, for a time I was a soldier, for lack of a better word. I fought against evil, and I did my best, and when that war was over I realized there was still a lot of fighting left to be done in the world. As a wise man once said, "You've got to be one of the good guys, because there's way too many of the bad."

What do you hate most in the world?

People trying to kill me. It happens more often than you'd think, and can grow quite wearisome.

If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?

Why would I want to change anything? Am I not perfect the way I am? Thank you, I think so too.

What is your most prized possession?

My car. It's a 1954 Bentley R-Type Continental.

Describe yourself in 5 words.

Charming. Witty. Lethal. Brilliant. Modest.

The lost Art of World Domination With the shadows wrapped around him and the sliver of light falling dramatically over his eyes, the evil sorcerer Scaramouch Van Dreg stood in the dungeon and watched his captive with predatory amusement.

The dungeon was dark and damp and dank, and the chains that bound the skeleton detective were big and thick and heavy. They shackled the bones of his wrists to the stone floor, forcing him to kneel.

Scaramouch liked that. The great detective, the living skeleton who had foiled plan after plan, scheme after scheme, was now forced to look up at Scaramouch. Like he had always been meant to. Like everyone had always been meant to.

The detective, his dark blue suit burned and torn and muddy, hadn't said anything for almost an hour. In fact, he hadn't moved for almost an hour. Scaramouch had been standing in the shadows, gloating, for a little more than fifteen minutes, but he wasn't entirely sure that his captive had noticed.

He shifted his weight noisily, but the detective still did not acknowledge his presence.

Scaramouch frowned. There was very little point in going through all this if his efforts weren't rewarded with due and proper attention.

He brought himself up to his full height, which wasn't very high, and sucked in his belly, which was substantial. He gathered his cloak and stepped forward, gazing down at the top of the detective's skull with the pitiless gaze he had practiced for hours.

"Skulduggery Pleasant," he sneered. "Finally, you are within my grasp."

The detective shitted slightly, and muttered something.

Good God. Was he asleep?

Scaramouch cleared his throat and gave the detective a little kick. The detective jerked awake and looked around for a moment, then looked up with those empty eye sockets.

"Oh," he said, like he had just met a casual acquaintance on the street, "hello." Unsure how to counter this unexpected approach to being a captive, Scaramouch decided to replay the sneer.

"Skulduggery Pleasant," he repeated. "Finally, you are within my grasp."

"It does appear so," Pleasant agreed, nodding. "And in a dungeon, no less. How brilliantly postmodern of you."

"You have interfered in my plans for the last time," Scaramouch continued. "Unfortunately for you, you will not live to regret your mistake."

Pleasant tilted his head curiously. "Scaramouch? Scaramouch Van Dreg? Is that you?"

Scaramouch smiled nastily. "Oh, yes. You have fallen into the clutches of your deadliest enemy."

"What are you doing here?"

Scaramouch's smile faltered. "What?"

"How are you mixed up in all this?"

"How am I . . . ? What do you mean? This is my plot."

"You're plotting to use the Crystal of the Saints to bring the Faceless Ones back into our reality?"

Scaramouch frowned. "What? No. What do the Faceless Ones have to do with this? I don't want the Faceless Ones back; I don't even worship them. No, this plot is for me, to gain absolute power."

"Then . . . you're not in league with Rancid Fines or Christophe Nocturnal?"

"I've never even met Rancid Fines," Scaramouch said, "and I hate Christophe Nocturnal."

Pleasant absorbed this information with a nod. "In that case, I'm afraid there's been a bit of a misunderstanding."

Scaramouch felt like he'd been punched in the gut. All the breath left him, and his shoulders slumped. "You mean, you're not here for me?"

"Dreadfully sorry," Pleasant said.

"But — but you arrived at the hotel. You and your partner, the girl. You were asking all those questions."

"We were looking for Fines and Nocturnal. We didn't even know you were in the country. To be honest with you, and I don't mean to offend you or anything, but I thought you had passed away some time ago."

Scaramouch gaped. "I just took a little break . . ."

Pleasant shrugged. "Well, at least now I know. So what are you up to these days?"

"I'm — I have plans," Scaramouch said, dejected.

"The absolute power thing you mentioned?"

Scaramouch nodded.

"And how's that going?"

"It's going okay, I suppose. I mean, you know, everything's on schedule and proceeding apace ..."

"Well, that's good. We all need something to get us up in the mornings, am I right? We all need goals."

"Yeah." An unwelcome thought seeped into Scaramouch's mind and lingered there. He tried ignoring it, but it flickered and swam, and finally he had to ask: "You don't view me as your deadliest enemy, do you?"

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 archenemies."

"Oh," Pleasant said. "No, I wouldn't call us archenemies. Nefarian Serpine was an archenemy.

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!"

"Okay," Pleasant said in an understanding voice.

"Don't patronize me!" Scaramouch snapped. "I have you as a prisoner, don't I? You fell into my trap without even a hint of 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."

"Urn ..."

"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 / 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." 10

"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 neighboring 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 be no questions. This won't be a democracy, it will be a dictatorship."

"There will be 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?"

10

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 realize 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 effect. "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. "Okay."

"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 wi|l 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.

11

He held the box for Pleasant to see. "Recognize 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."

12

"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 shook it again, then listened for any buzzing. Even a single buzz. Anything.

"Did you pay much for it?" Pleasant asked.

"The 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 13

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. "Okay."

"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, feeling 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 14

looked down at it, then moving slightly, 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.

15

"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, okay?"

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.