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?”