“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 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?”