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?'
