Zelazny, Roger - (With Robert Sheckley) Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming (v1.0)

by Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming [lit]

  Azzie had traveled to Earth by his own means, not wanting to go with Scrivener in the Vehicle of the Undead, whose rotting smells were a trial even for supernatural beings. He arrived just after Scrivener's resuscitation. No one could see him since he wore the Amulet of Invisibility.

  Invisibly, except to those with the second sight, Azzie followed the procession that carried Scrivener back to his home. The good people of the village, rustics all, proclaimed it a mir­acle. But Scrivener's wife, Milaud, kept on muttering, "I knew he was faking it, the wretch!"

  Shielded by his invisibility, Azzie drifted around Scrivener's house, where he would live until Scrivener was past the claims period. Probably a matter of a few days. It was a fair-sized house, several rooms on each floor, and a nice dank base­ment.

  Azzie took up his abode in the basement. It was just the sort of a place for a demon. He had brought along several scrolls to read and a sack of rotted cats' heads for snacks. He was looking forward to a quiet time. But no sooner had he settled in than the interruptions began.

  First it was Scrivener's wife, a tall wench with coarse brown hair, wide shoulders, and a big bottom, coming down to the cellar for provisions. Then it was the oldest son, Hans, a weedy lout who looked just like his father, searching for the honey pot. Then Lotte the maidservant, down to pick out some potatoes from last year's harvest.

  What with one thing and another, Azzie got little rest. In the morning he looked in on Scrivener. The resuscitated man seemed to be on the mend. He was sitting up and taking herb tea, arguing with his wife and scolding the children. One more day, Azzie decided, and he'd be all right and it would be time to move on to more interesting matters.

  The two dogs of the household knew he was there, and slunk away whenever he came by. That was to be expected. But what happened next was not in his plans.

  That night he went to sleep in the moldy part of the cellar where some turnips had rotted and he'd made a noisome little nest for himself. But he awoke abruptly when he sensed the presence of light. It was a candle's glow. Someone was standing there looking at him. A child. How insufferable! Azzie tried to bound to his feet and fell back. Someone had tied a piece of string around his ankle!

  Sheer reaction made him rear up. A child. A little fat-faced flaxen-haired girl of seven or so. Somehow she must be able to see him: in fact, she had trapped him.

  Azzie swelled himself up to his full height, deciding he'd better impress this child at once. He tried to loom menacingly over her, but the strangely glowing string, one end of which she had tied to a beam, pulled him up short and he fell again. The little girl laughed and Azzie shuddered: nothing sets a demon's teeth on edge quite so much as innocent young laughter.

  "Hi, little girl," he said. "Can you see me?"

  "Yes, I can," she said. "You look like a nasty old fox!"

  Azzie looked at the tiny dial set in his Amulet of Invisibility. As he had feared, it showed that the power was down close to zero. Those fools at Supply! But of course he should have checked it himself.

  He seemed in a bit of a fix. But nothing he couldn't talk his way out of.

  "A nice fox, though, eh, snubkin?" Azzie said, using a term of endearment common among demon parents. "How nice to see you! Please undo this bit of string and I'll give you a whole bag of sweets."

  "I don't like you," the child said. "You're bad. I'm going to keep you tied up and call the priest."

  She stared at him accusingly. Azzie could see he was going to have to employ some cunning to get out of this one.

  "Tell me, little girl," he said, "where did you come by this bit of string? "

  "I found it in one of the storerooms of the church," she told him. "It was on a table with a lot of bits of bone."

  Relics of the holy saints! That meant that the string had to be a spirit-catcher! The best spirit-catchers were made from the rope that girdled the robes of saints. It was going to be difficult getting out of it.

  "Little girl, I'm just here to look after your father. He hasn't been well, you know, what with dying and coming back to life and all. Now be a dear and undo the cord, that's a sweet good girl."

  "No," the little girl said, in that adamantine way little girls have, and some big ones, too.

  "Well, curse and blast," Azzie said. He struggled but couldn't get his foot out of the spirit-catcher, which had the annoying property of tightening each time he tried to loosen it. "Come on, little girl, fun's fun but now it's time to let me go."

  "Don't call me 'little girl,' " the little girl said. "My name is Brigitte, and I know all about you and your kind. The priest told us. You are an evil spirit, aren't you?"

  "Not at all," said Azzie. "I am actually a good spirit, or at least a neutral spirit. I was sent here to make sure your father gets well. I must look after him now, then go away and help others."

  "Oh, I see," said Brigitte. She thought for a while. "You look awfully like a demon."

  "Looks can be deceiving," Azzie said. "Let me go! I must see to your father!"

  "What'll you give me?" Brigitte asked.

  "Toys," Azzie said. "More than you've ever seen before."

  "Good," the little girl said. "I need new clothes, too."

  "I'll give you a new wardrobe. Now let me go!"

  Brigitte came close and picked at the knot with a grubby forefinger. Then she stopped. "If I let you go, will you come back and play with me whenever I call for you?"

  "No, that's going too far. I have other things to do. I can't be at the beck and call of a little village girl with a dirty face."

  "Well then, promise you'll grant me three wishes whenever I ask for them."

  Azzie hesitated. Granting wishes could get you into trou­ble. A demon's promise in this regard had to be kept. But granting human wishes could take you into some difficulties. Humans were so extravagant!

  "I'll grant one wish," he said. "As long as it's reasonable."

  "Well, all right," Brigitte said. "But not too reasonable, all right?"

  "All right! Untie me!"

  Brigitte did so. Azzie rubbed his ankle, then searching through his pouch, found a spare charge for his Amulet of Invisibility. He plugged it in and vanished.

  "Don't forget, you promised!" she cried.

  Azzie knew he couldn't forget even if he wanted to. Prom­ises made by supernatural creatures to humans are registered with the Office of Equilibrium, operating under the rule of Ananke. If a demon tried to forget a promise, the forces of Necessity quickly and painfully reminded him.

  Scrivener was all right, eating a bowl of cereal, giving orders to his hired hands and to his wife. Azzie exited. It was time to get on with his life.

  Chapter 4

  It was a pleasure for Azzie to be free and able to roam the green earth once again. He had really hated his stay in the Pit, for its simple-minded repetitiousness as much as anything else-you can get very tired of the dreary daily round of roasting sinners. Azzie was an energetic demon, enterprising, forward-looking. He was an agent of evil, and despite a certain air of frivolousness, he took his hellish duties seriously.

  After leaving Scrivener's village, the first thing he wanted to do was orient himself. This region was not familiar to him. Azzie had visited Earth last during Imperial Roman times and had even been present at one of Caligula's notable feasts. Now, flying low over the land that had been called Gaul, he was guarded from mishap by his Amulet of Invisibility. The Amulet also conferred a degree of impalpability upon its wearer, which was just as well when he passed through a large flock of trum­peter swans. As he flew Azzie noted the forest stretching out on all sides. The village had been but a patch in that great forest that covered most of Europe and stretched from Scythia to Spain. Azzie found a muddy track running through it and fol­lowed it at an altitude of about five hundred feet. The track stretched on and on, at last opening out into a proper paved Roman road. He accompanied a group of horsemen down the road and into a city of fair size. Later, he learned this was Troyes, a part of the
kingdom of the Franks, who were large barbarians with iron swords who had taken over all of Gaul and much more since the decline of Roman power.

  Azzie flew low and slow over the city, noting the many small houses and, among them, the palaces of lords and high churchmen. On the outskirts of the town a fair was being held. He flew above its tents and pennants, attracted to its cheerful bustle. He decided to pay it a visit.

  He came to Earth and changed into one of his standard disguises: a kindly, portly man, balding, and with a twinkling eye. His toga, which came with the disguise, looked out of place, so he purchased a cloak of homespun at a booth and looked more or less like everyone else.

  He strolled along, looking around, still slightly disoriented. There were several permanent structures and a field scattered with tents. All sorts of things were sold here-weapons, cloth­ing, foodstuffs, livestock, tools, spices.

  "Hi there! You, sir!"

  Azzie turned. Yes, the old crone was beckoning to him. She sat in front of a small black tent, cabalistic figures painted on its sides in gold. She was dark-skinned, and appeared to be an Arab or a Gypsy.

  "You called me?"

  "I did, sir," she said, in a villainous North African accent. "Come inside."

  A human might have been more cautious, because you can never tell what might happen inside a black tent with cabalistic figures. But for Azzie that tent was the first familiar thing he had seen in a long time. There are whole tribes of demons who live in black tents and wander up and down the waste places of Limbo, and Azzie, although Canaanite on his father's side, was related to some of the wandering Bedouin demons.

  Inside, the tent was lined with richly figured rugs. There were oil lamps of finely wrought pewter on the wall, and em­broidered cushions lay all over. At the far end was a low altar with a table for offerings. Behind it, looming high, was a heroic statue in the Grecian manner, of a handsome young man with a wreath of laurel in his hair. Azzie recognized the features.

  "So Hermes is here," Azzie said.

  "I am his priestess," said the crone.

  "I was under the impression," Azzie said, "that we were in a Christian country and that worship of the old gods is strictly forbidden."

  "What you say is true," the crone said. "The old gods are dead, but not really dead because they have returned to life in new forms. Hermes, for example, has changed into Hermes Trismegistus, patron saint of alchemists. His worship is not approved, but neither is it forbidden."

  "I'm happy to see that," Azzie said. "But why have you called me here?"

  "You are a demon, sir?" the crone inquired.

  "Yes. How did you know?"

  "There is something lordly and sinister in your mien," the crone said, "an air of brooding, implacable evil that would set you apart from others no matter how large the crowd."

  Azzie knew that Gypsies were capable of subtle percep­tions which they then phrased to flatter their clients. Never­theless, he reached into his pouch, found a gold denier, and gave it to her.

  "Take that for your cunning tongue. Now, what do you want of me?"

  "My master wants to have a word with you."

  "Well, good," Azzie said. It had been a long time since he had had a chat with one of the old gods. "Where is he?"

  The crone knelt down at the altar and began mumbling. In a moment the white marble was suffused with a rosy glow. The statue came to life, stretched, stepped down from its ped­estal, and sat beside Azzie. To the old woman Hermes said, "Go find us something to drink."

  When she had left, he said, "So, Azzie, it's been a long time."

  "Quite long," Azzie said. "It's good to see you again, Hermes. I wasn't on Earth when Christianity defeated pagan­ism- other commitments, you know-but I do want to offer my condolences."

  "Thank you," Hermes said, "but actually we lost nothing. We're all at work, all the gods. We move with the times, and we sometimes hold honored positions in both camps - saint or demon. Does wonders for one's perspective. There's much to be said for a kind of intermediate status."

  "I'm glad to hear it," Azzie said. "There's something sad about the thought of an out-of-work god."

  "Never worry about us. I had my servant Aissa call you, Azzie, because she said you looked lost. I thought I could help."

  "That is good of you," Azzie said. "Perhaps you could just fill me in on what's been going on since Caligula."

  "Well, in brief, the Roman thing collapsed under barbarian invasions and lead poisoning. The barbarians are all about now. They call themselves Franks and Saxons and Visigoths. They have formed an empire which they call the Holy Roman Em­pire."

  "Holy?" Azzie asked.

  "That's what they call it. I don't know why."

  "But how did the real Roman empire fall?"

  "You can look it up in any history," Hermes said. "Just take my word; it fell, and that was the end of the Classical Age. The period we are now in is called - or will be, shortly after it's over-the Middle Ages. You just missed the Dark Ages. We had some fun then, I promise you! But this time is good, too."

  "What year is it?" Azzie asked.

  "The year one thousand," Hermes said.

  "The Millennium!"

  "Yes."

  "Then it's almost time for the contest."

  "That is correct, Azzie. It is the time when the forces of Light and the forces of Darkness hold their great contest to see who shall dictate the essence of human destiny for the next thousand years, and whether it shall be for good or for evil. What are you going to do about it?"

  "Me?" Azzie said. "What can I do?"

  "You can enter the contest."

  Azzie shook his head. "The representative of Evil is chosen at the Grand Council by the High Evil Powers. They always play favorites, giving the making of the contest to one of their friends. I wouldn't stand a chance."

  "That is how it was in the old days," Hermes said. "But I've heard that Hell is reforming itself. They are being sorely pressed by the Powers of Light. Nepotism, excellent though it is, is no longer sufficient to carry their point of view. Now, as I understand it, the selecting of the contestant must be awarded on merit.'

  "Merit! What a novel concept! But there's still nothing I can do."

  "Don't be a defeatist like so many other young demons," Hermes said sternly. "So many of them are lazy, content just to lie around, take drugs, swap tales, and take the easy way through eternity. You are not like that, Azzie. You're clever, and you have principles, initiative. Do something. You may actually have a chance."

  "But I don't know what to do," Azzie said. "And even if I did, I have no money to carry it out with."

  "You paid the old woman," Hermes pointed out.

  "That was fairy gold. It vanishes after a day or two. If I want to make an entry in the contest, it calls for real money."

  "I know where some is," Hermes said.

  "Where? How many dragons do I have to slay to get it?"

  "No dragons at all. You merely have to best the other players in the Founder's Day Poker Game."

  "Poker!" Azzie breathed. "My passion! Where's the game?"

  "It is taking place three days hence in a graveyard in Rome. But you must play better this time than last, else you'll be returned to the Pit for a few hundred more years.

  "In fact," Hermes said, "you need what gamblers of a later day will call an edge."

  "An edge? What is that?"

  "Any device that helps you win."

  "There are watchers at these games to prevent cheating."

  "True enough. But there's no law, heavenly or infernal, against a good-luck charm."

  "But they're rare indeed! If only I had one!"

  "I can tell you where to get one. But you will have to inconvenience yourself to get it."

  "Tell me, then, Hermes!"

  "In my nocturnal wanderings around the city of Troyes and its environs," Hermes said, "I have noticed a place at the edge of the woods to the west where a small orange flower grows. The people hereabouts k
now it not, but it is Speculum, which grows only in the presence of felixite."

  "There's felixite around here?" Azzie said, marveling greatly.

  "You must find that out for yourself," Hermes said. "But the indications are good."

  Chapter 5

  Azzie thanked Hermes and took his leave. He walked through a low field, toward the woods that sur­rounded the city. He found the rare flower, which was low and inconspicuous. Azzie sniffed it (the odor of the Speculum is delicious) and then bent low and put his ear to the ground. His preternaturally alert sense of hearing brought to his senses the presence of something belowground, something 'that moved and thumped, moved and thumped. It was, of course, the characteristic sound a dwarf makes as he cuts a tunnel with his pick and shovel. The dwarves are well aware that the sound of their digging gives them away, but what can they do; a dwarf needs to dig to feel alive.

  Azzie stamped his foot and sank into the earth. This is a talent that most European and Arabian demons have. Living in the earth is as natural for them as living on the earth is for men. The demons experience earth as something much like water, through which they can swim, though they much prefer to walk in tunnels.

  It was cool underground. The lack of light did not prevent Azzie from seeing around him very nicely, in a dim infrared sort of way. And it is rather pleasant underground. There are moles and shrews near the surface, and other creatures glide along the differing densities of the soil.

  At last Azzie came out in a large underground cavern. Phosphorescent rocks gave off a dim glow, and he could see, at the far end of the cavern, a solitary dwarf of the north European variety, dressed in a well-made green and red mole­skin suit, with tiny jackboots of gecko hide and a little mouse-skin cap on his head.

  "Greetings, dwarf," Azzie said, adjusting his height up­ward as far as the rocky ceiling allowed so that he could loom over the dwarf impressively.

  "Hail, demon," the dwarf said, sounding not too pleased at stumbling over one. "Out for a stroll, are you?"