Every Evil Overlord starts out surrounded by other individuals and organizations with roughly the same goals; namely the getting and keeping of power. It is impossible to overstate just how competitive and crowded the field of Utter Domination truly is.

As previously mentioned, any would-be Dominator is simply wasting their time if they cannot answer two basic questions:

1. What is my purpose (Vision)?

2. What concrete steps am I going to take to fulfil that purpose (Mission)?

The answers you come up with to these questions form the soil that will nourish the seed of evil that you plant in it, so to speak. But be aware: surrounding you is a tall and mighty forest of competition, sucking up the nutrients and blocking out the light that you need to grow. What I’m saying here is you’re gonna need an axe.

Or, in my case, a big damn fire.

Also, as an aside, gardening can be a lot more violent than you might think, if you go about it the right way.

~ ~ ~

Let’s just get this out of the way: I do not advocate beginning a career as an Evil Overlord by basing it on powers gained through pacts with demons, or any of the other many, many, many malevolent creatures/Ruinous Powers/what have you out there in the world. I want to make that absolutely clear.

Generally speaking, it'll all end in tears and betrayal at the worst possible time. Fate absolutely loves to fuck a person over just as they are about to put their sweaty hands on the object of their desire. It worked out for me mainly because I hadn't gone looking for it, and once I had it, I tried like all hells to get rid of it. And even then, it almost killed me.

I’m talking about the demon-book Hrazz’k, by the way. Or the book-demon Hrazz’k. I think either appelation would be technically correct. It answered to either one, anyway, not that it had much choice.

From pretty much the moment the book started speaking to me, I knew I was going to have to ditch it, soonest. Even I knew that calling on the Ruinous Powers, or even listening to them is a slippery slope, fraught with peril. It was about the only useful thing I’d got out of father Breen’s harsh lessons, actually. Not that I realized it back in Thrudd, on my knees, praying silently for his death.

I feel the need to reiterate – the fact that I got away with it should not encourage you to attempt something similar. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I am incredibly clever (though admittedly at the time still somewhat naive). I’ve also been lucky when it really counted, and this particular demon was as stupid as a mossy rock. I mean, he'd allowed himself to be trapped in a book. What does that tell you?

Yes, we're getting to the part about the fire.

That day I'd gotten a tad greedy. I grabbed four books rather than my usual one or two and stuffed them into the marketing basket without even bothering to look at them. I slipped the key back into brother Krum's cassock while he sat drooling in his chair, and was out of the Scriptorium at a brisk walk, into a brisk and windy day. There was a new dice game at the Golden Coins, and a new girl at the Buxom Vixen. I intended to spend quality time with both, but I already knew a good portion of my morning was going to be eaten up by Chortle’s demands.

Every single day since she’d first extorted me, there had been a red rag in my rain barrel summoning me to the abode of the Dead Dogs. Say what you like about Chortle, and I did whenever I was sure she couldn’t hear me, she was an industrious little malignancy.

In the months that had passed since our forced introduction, I’d forged or altered dozens of documents for her, served as lookout for three burglaries, and played the part of a country bumpkin lordling dying from a paralytic wasting disease. The last had been fun-ish, since I got to dress up a bit and wear some truly horrific makeup. I also got to lie down, and didn’t have to speak or move. It was the perfect job for my wastrel younger self, really, and as easy an entry into the world of acting as can be imagined.

As I walked across the Grand Plaza towards Rays Boulevard and thence to my alley, I heard a voice. Well, I heard many voices, the Plaza being crowded at all hours. But this particular voice was coming from the vicinity of my marketing basket.

“Hey, kid.”

I glanced around, but saw no urchins. Or dwarves, for that matter.

“Hey, kid,” came the voice again.

I stopped. “Who's there?” I asked.

“Ah, my name's not important,” said the voice, which I now knew for certain was coming from the basket. It took me approximately three seconds from that point to realize I'd obviously pilfered something especially nasty from the Forbidden Collection this time. I dropped the marketing basket and jumped back.

“Ouch. Careful!”

My mind was racing at this point. Could I sneak the books back into the Forbidden Collection? Too risky, if one of them was talking. Was it worth the danger of sorting through the books to find the one that was chattering away and ditching it, or should I cut my losses, go at speed to the Bridge of Sighs, and toss the whole basket into the River Uh?

“I know what you're thinking,” said the voice.

“Oh really?” I replied absently, caution and greed duking it out in my head.

“Yes. You're thinking that I'll tempt you away from your holy vows and lead you down some dark path of vice.”

“Oh, yes. Obviously.” Obviously you can't read my mind.

“But I'm here to tell you I'm not like that. Not at all. I have nothing but the greatest respect for those of your calling.”

“Copyists?”

“Er, priests. Monks. Those who devote themselves to a higher calling, to the hard road of celibacy and praying lots. If only everyone would do so, am I right?”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Uh... yes. Because if everyone stopped having sex and did nothing but pray, the world would be at peace within one starving generation. Listen, I've got rather a lot to do today, and I'm sure you're angling toward a deal of some sort, so if you could sort of speed up your pitch, I'd be much obliged.”

“Sure, right. Here goes. Free me from the book I am bound in, and I'll give you lots and lots of power that you can use for good. Or whatever you want, really.”

“Lots and lots of power? Not unlimited power? Not ultimate power?”

“I find starting a relationship based on honesty avoids a lot of misunderstanding down the road.”

“I see,” I replied. I see you're not the sharpest quill on the desk.

“So how about it?”

“How about what?”

“Letting me out of the book.”

“Nah. I think I'll just dump you in the river,” I said, picking the basket up again and altering my course towards said river.

“What? Why?” There was an element of panic in the voice now.

“Because as soon as I released you, you'd devour me or possess me or lay my soul to waste.”

“I'm not like that, kid, honest.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I can't take the chance. Sorry.”

“So what can I do to show you I'm trustworthy?” There was definitely an air of desperation in the question.

I stopped. Pretended to consider.

“Can't think of a thing.” I shrugged and resumed walking across the plaza.

“You're throwing away a major opportunity here! Power! It doesn't grow on trees, you know!”

“You haven't even told me what kind of power you possess, just that you'll give me 'lots and lots' of it. Not the most convincing or tempting of, ah, temptations, if I'm honest. You haven't even given me a demonstration. You could be bluffing.”

“Aw, come on. I'm stuck in this book, unable to affect the wider world. Be reasonable, kid.”

“I am being reasonable. Just as reasonable as anybody else would be. I do understand your position, but I'm afraid it's the river for you.” I wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation; I was just letting my mouth ramble, as it were, to pass the time until I got to the bridge and got rid of my sudden and unwelcome problem.

“All right, all right, tell me what you want!”

“Hmm. Only thing I can think of is your name.”

“You can call me anything you want, kid.”

“I want to call you by your true name.”

“You want my true name? Are you kidding?”

“You're asking me to trust you. It seems only reasonable that you should trust me as well.”

We went back and forth about true names and watery ends for quite some way towards the bridge. I got not a few strange looks along the way from passers-by. I was reasonably sure they couldn’t hear the book, but they could definitely hear me, and either way a monk talking to an invisible someone attracts attention. Finally, I told it that if it would just shut up, I would seriously consider its offer before doing anything hasty.

It shut up.

The rest of the trek to the Bridge of Sighs passed without incident, and no further stares. I trudged up to the apex of the bridge, went to the side, set the basket down beside me and stared down into the turgid, filthy waters of the River Uh. Legend had it you couldn’t burn a cursed book; it would only set the demon free. But drowning worked like a charm, or so it was said, and the book’s reaction to my threat seemed to confirm it.

Of course, it might only have been pretending to fear being thrown into the river while actually desiring it, but honestly, the thing didn’t seem clever enough to be that tricky.

“You’re a long way from where you’re s’posed to be.”

It wasn’t the book. The voice came from behind me, belonged to a young girl, and filled me with deep unease.

Chortle, of course.

“What the hell? Are you still stalking me?”

“The Dead Dogs’re always watching, scribbler,” she said, pointing the first two fingers of one hand at her own eyes, then at me.

She was alone. I glanced around the bridge to make sure there weren’t any other Dead Dogs in the vicinity. There weren’t. I then considered trying to take that opportunity to put her over the side of the bridge along with the book, but quickly accepted the fact that it would probably be me who ended up wet, and a corpse shortly thereafter.

“You are a truly disturbing child, you know that?”

“Yep, and don’t you forget it. Now why didn’t you come when I called you?”

“First off, I haven’t had a chance to check the rain barrel this morning, which you would know if you’re always watching. Second, I’m a little busy dealing with a possessed book right now, so whatever criminal enterprise you have lined up will just have to wait.”

“Possessed book? Seriously?” That caught her attention. She even forgot to exude her usual aura of menace for a moment. She padded up next to me and tried to peer into the basket.

“Yes, and trust me when I tell you, you want nothing to do with it,” I said, pulling the basket away from her. I could only imagine the kind of havoc Chortle would cause with whatever power the book granted her – before her inevitable, spectacular self-destruction occurred, anyway.

“I’m not a fucking idiot,” she replied, menace creeping back into her voice. “But I am curious.” The admission was grudging.

“Well don’t be.”

“Can’t help it, scribbler. I’m mighty drawn to anything that could help me get what I want.”

“What do you want, anyway?”

She shrugged her small shoulders. “Everything,” she said simply.

Looking back, I realize now that Chortle’s Vision was as pure as it was vast. Awe-inspiring, really. Terrifying, too, of course.

“Well I just want to get rid of this damned thing and then get a seat at the Golden Coins.” I told her.

“The new dice game?”

I nodded.

“It’s rigged.”

I stared at her. Something in my expression caused her to raise an eyebrow.

“What?”

“You are a thief of joy.”

She shook her head and gave me a half-pitying, half-disgusted look. “I’ve stole lots of things, sure enough, but if you find joy in being cheated out of money, I’m right sorry for your fuckin’ loss.”

The book chose that moment to stick an oar in. “Kid, listen, I’ll make you a deal,” it whispered – wholly unnecessarily, since only I could hear it. “It’s obvious that the girl next to you has some kinda hold over you, yes? Look, you let me out of the book and I swear on my spawning ground, I’ll eat her and only her. You do me a solid and I do you a solid and then we go our separate ways.”

Tempting as it was – and it was – you just can’t trust a demon that you don’t have a mystical hold over. With not a little regret, I accepted the fact that I had to turn the book down. I put the basket on the stone railing of the bridge and prepared to tip its contents over the side.

“You can say whatever you like, but we both know there’s nothing stopping you from biting off my head if I set you free, unless I have your true name.”

“Chortle is my true na- oh, you’re talking to the book, eh?”

I nodded and made a shushing gesture, which she didn’t like, but didn’t immediately stab me for.

“Kid, what can I say to convince you I wouldn’t hurt a hair on your head?”

“Absolutely nothing. Any last words?” With a forefinger I started tipping the basket towards the point where gravity would inevitably take over.

I didn’t expect it to relent, and even if it did give me its true name, I had no desire to actually do anything with the cursed thing. While I might have already had my feet on the road to Utter Domination, I certainly didn’t know it at the time, you see. What Vision I could have been said to possess then amounted to ‘get away with being as useless and self-indulgent as possible for as long as my luck holds out’.

Chortle, on the other hand…. Yeah.

“Hrazz’k!” the book shrieked in my mind. “My true name is Hrazz’k!”

I stopped pushing. “Huh,” I said.

“What?” chortle asked.

“It actually told me its true name. I was not expecting that, to be honest. Oh, well.” I started pushing the basket again. Hrazz’k started gibbering. And then Chortle put a knife to my ribs.

“Pick up the basket, scribbler, and come with me.”

“Are you serious?”

She poked me in the side hard enough to draw blood and show me that she was.

“Chortle. Listen to me. You do not want to be messing around with Ruinous Powers. I may be a shit clergyman, but you have to believe me when I tell you it’s a truly shit idea.”

“I do believe you. But it ain’t me who’s gonna do the messing around, now is it?” She smiled, and the dimples came out.

The evil, monstrous dimples.

“Pick up the basket, monk, or I swear to you I’ll spill your guts all over the Bridge of Sighs.”

I picked up the basket.