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

by Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming [lit]

  "Having seen her, Phillipe became inflamed of her, and though it is said he was a coward, he aspired still to winning her. One day Phillipe climbed the wall around her father's house and went into the churning room and spoke to her. Miranda had been raised in isolation, and had never seen a man like this. Everyone in her father's household was old except for her three brothers, and they were away fighting in one war or another.

  "Phillipe seduced her with sweet words and impassioned tales of his own trials. Miranda was softhearted, and she was greatly moved to learn that he was sickly and apt to live but a little while longer. A lie, so he thought, but a prophecy as it turned out! He feigned a fainting spell, and she let him put his arm around her to support himself. They touched. And so one thing led to another.

  "It is a tale often told, alas. In brief, he seduced her, and she ran away with him, for he swore that he would take care of her. But when they came to the first large city, Civalle in Provence, Phillipe abandoned her and went his own way.

  "Alone, Miranda had a desperate time of it until she became the model for the painter Chodlos. She lived with him for some months as his mistress and they seemed happy enough. Chodlos was a big bear of a man, but not strong despite his size. He was always jolly, though too much given to drink. He painted his famous Magdalene with Miranda as his model. He could have been truly great. But before the year was out, he was dead, his head broken in a tavern brawl.

  "Miranda was heartbroken, because she had loved the painter. Chodlos' creditors took away all the furniture and his paintings, and turned Miranda out of the apartment. She had no money and no place to go. Finally, as the only alternative to starvation, she went to work in a brothel. But bad luck was not through with her yet. One night a madman came to the brothel. No one knows what transpired between him and Mi­randa; but before anyone could stop him, he had put out her eyes, and then cut her throat.

  "Hearing of this, her brothers, Ansel, Chor, and Hald, came to the city for revenge. The madman was already dead, torn to pieces by a mob. The brothers found Phillipe drinking in a tavern with a new light o' love. They bent him back over a table, told him he would die as Miranda had died. Then they tore his eyes out and cut his throat. That is the history of the head that you here behold."

  "It's actually a very nice head," Azzie said, lifting the head and looking into its ruined eye sockets. "Now what I need is a matching female head. This Miranda. A madman killed her, eh? Master Albertus, do you know what happened to her body? And most especially, her head?"

  "Alas, I know not," said Albertus.

  "You have helped me greatly," Azzie said. "Name your price for this head."

  Chapter 1

  "Master, look at this."

  It was the fourth head Frike had brought in that week. This one was a dark-tressed lady who still looked pretty good, especially if you could repair her nose, which the worms had gotten at.

  "No, Frike, it won't do." Azzie sighed and turned away.

  "But why, lord? She's perfect!"

  "There's only one who could be considered perfect."

  "Who is that, lord?"

  "Frike, the perfect accompaniment to our Prince Charming will be Miranda, the girl Phillipe seduced."

  "But we do not know where she is!"

  "Not yet." Azzie got up, prowled around restlessly for a moment. "But we will find her."

  "The head has probably gone moldy by now."

  "You can never tell. If by some good fortune her face is not obliterated, she will be my Princess Scarlet in the little charade I am preparing."

  "But, lord, we have no clues as to its whereabouts."

  "We'll start in Civalle, where she died. She's probably buried there."

  "Master, it's a waste of time. You have little time left anyhow before the contest, and there is much to do."

  "Pack our horses, Frike. I am an artist in these matters. I must have Miranda's head for my Princess."

  "She had a gaudy history, master, but why this particular wench?"

  "Don't you see, Frike? It makes my plan more elegant. We will bring these lovers together again after death. Their conscious memories will be gone, of course. But something will remain. Something that will help bring a fine conclusion to my tale of Prince Charming and Princess Scarlet. We must find her body and hope that the face is still all right. Go, ready the horses."

  Frike packed the horses and they set out to Civalle in southern Provence. It was late June and travel was easy and pleasant. Frike had hoped that Azzie would transport them by super­natural means. Azzie said the distance was too close to go to all the bother of setting up a travel spell and activating it.

  They arrived in Civalle, a pleasant southern city near Nice. From Albertus' description it was easy to find the brothel where Miranda had been killed. Azzie made inquiries of the madam and learned that her brothers had taken her remains away, no one knew where. Azzie rewarded her well for the information and asked if a garment of Miranda's remained. The madam found an old shift and sold it to him for two gold soldi. Whether it was indeed the genuine article, he could not be certain-yet.

  When they left the brothel, Frike said, "What now, mas­ter?"

  "You'll see in due course," Azzie replied.

  He and Frike departed the town and passed into the forest. After a long while they camped, making a dinner of cold meat pie and boiled leeks. Afterward, at Azzie's instructions, Frike built a fire. When its flames finally leaped high, Azzie removed a small vial from the chest in which he carried his magical paraphernalia. He removed from it a single drop of dark liquid and let it fall into the fire.

  The flames flared even higher. Frike cringed back.

  "Pay attention," Azzie ordered, "for this is educational. Perhaps you have heard of the fabulous hunting dogs of the old gods? We have something better nowadays."

  As the flames subsided three large birds flew into the camp and landed near Azzie. They were ravens, with small, sinister eyes.

  "I hope all is well with you," Azzie said to them.

  "We are well, Lord Demon," one of them replied.

  "Meet my servant, Frike. Frike, meet the Morrigan. They are supernatural Irish birds, and their names are Babd, Macha, and Nemain."

  "Pleased to meet you," Frike said, remaining well back, for they looked upon him with fierce appraisal.

  "What can we do for your lordship?" Macha asked.

  Azzie brought out Miranda's gown. "Find this woman," he said. "The one who last wore this. She is dead, by the way."

  Babd sniffed at the cloth. "You didn't have to tell us that," he said.

  "I forgot the extent of your powers. Go, peerless ones. Find this woman for me!"

  When the ravens had flown away, Azzie said to Frike, "Let's make ourselves comfortable. This may take a while, but they will find her."

  "I never doubted it," Frike replied.

  Azzie and Frike ate more cold meat pie and leeks. They discussed the weather and the possible nature of the heavenly entry in the Millennial contest. The day wore on. The brassy blue sky of Provence was a huge dome radiating sunlight and heat. They ate more leeks.

  After a long while a raven returned, announcing itself as Nemain. It circled twice, then settled upon Azzie's outthrust wrist.

  "What did you find?" Azzie asked.

  Nemain cocked his head, then, in a small voice, replied, "I believe we've located the one you want."

  "Where is she?"

  The other two ravens fluttered down. One perched on Azzie's head, the other on Frike's shoulder.

  Macha, the eldest, said, "Yes, it's definitely the woman you want. The scent is unmistakable."

  "I suppose she is dead?" Azzie asked.

  "Of course she's dead," Macha said. "That's the way you wanted her, isn't it? If not, you could always have her killed."

  Azzie didn't bother explaining that there were rules against that sort of thing. "Where will I find her?"

  "Go a couple of leagues down this road and you'll come to a town. She'
ll be in the second building on your left."

  "Thanks, baleful bird," Azzie replied.

  Macha nodded, then rose into the air. The others followed. In a moment they were gone.

  Azzie and Frike mounted and headed downroad, south. It was an old Roman road that crossed southern Europe, headed toward the great fortress city of Carcassonne, in better condition than many roads they had taken. They passed along it in silence, and after a time they came to a fair-sized village. Azzie sent Frike on ahead to locate accommodations while he tended to the matter of Miranda's head.

  He walked to the house the ravens had indicated. It was the largest in the lane, and dark, with an unpleasant look to its little slit windows and ill-thatched roof.

  He knocked at the door. No answer. He tried the latch. It was not secured. He walked into the main room.

  It was dark inside, with only a little light showing through cracks in the ceiling. There was a strong smell of wine.

  His sense of danger kicked in, a moment too late. He plunged through a hole in the floor and fell into the room below, landing heavily. When he sat up, he found himself inside a bottle.

  Chapter 2

  It was a glass bottle with a wide neck, of a type not seen much in these days, large enough to hold a medium-sized demon like Azzie. The fall had made him dizzy for a mo­ment, and he heard a noise above his head but didn't know what it was until he looked up. Then he saw that the bottle had been stoppered with a wooden plug. Azzie recovered his senses quickly. What was he doing in a bottle, anyhow?

  Peering through the green-tinged sides, Azzie saw that he was in a room illuminated by many candles. There were three rough-looking men standing around a little table, arguing.

  Azzie tapped on the glass to get their attention.

  They turned. One of them, the one with the ugliest fea­tures, came forward and spoke to him. Since the bottle was stoppered, no sound came through. Azzie indicated this by pointing to his own ear and shaking his head.

  When the loutish fellow understood, he told the others. Once again their argument raged, this time more furiously. Finally, they came to a decision. The first man climbed up a ladder set alongside the bottle and loosened the wooden plug slightly.

  "You can hear now," he said, "but if you try anything, we'll push the plug in tight and go away and leave you here forever."

  Azzie made no move. He figured he had a decent chance of driving it out before they could hammer it in securely. But he was interested in hearing what they had to say.

  "You came for the witch, didn't you?" the man said.

  "It might be easier if I knew your names," Azzie said.

  "This is Ansel, here is Chor, and I am Hald. We are brothers, and the dead witch Miranda is our sister."

  "Indeed," Azzie said. "Where is she?"

  "We have her close by. We've preserved her with ice."

  "Bought at great expense," his brother Ansel reminded him. "We must get back the cost of the ice. And that's only the beginning."

  "You're going too fast," Azzie said. "What makes you think this sister of yours, whom you call a witch, is worth anything at all?"

  "The doctor told us."

  "What doctor is that?" Azzie asked.

  "Old Dr. Parvenu. He is also our local alchemist. After that crazy fellow killed Miranda and we brought her back, our first thought was to consult Dr. Parvenu, who is an expert on these matters. This was after we had killed Phillipe, of course."

  "Yes, I know about her seducer, Phillipe," Azzie said. "What did Dr. Parvenu tell you to do with your sister's body after she'd been murdered?"

  "He advised on the entire affair-and he told us to keep her head."

  "Why?"

  "He said that beauty like hers would surely tempt a demon!"

  Azzie saw no need to enlighten these fellows as to what he intended to do with Miranda's head. He felt quite at ease. Demons learn early how to cope with the bottle trick, and these fellows didn't seem too clever. ...

  "This crazy fellow who killed Miranda-who was he?"

  "We heard only that his name was Armand. None of us ever saw him, because he was dead by the time we reached the brothel. After the people found out what he had done to Mi­randa, they were so incensed that they beat him to death and tore his body into rags."

  "And now you would sell your own sister's head?"

  "Of course! She was a whore! What difference does it make what we do with her head?"

  "I guess I could give you a few pieces of gold for her," Azzie said. "Unless her features are all battered and distorted."

  "Not in the slightest!" Ansel said. "She looks as good now as she did while she was alive. Better, perhaps, if you like the languid type."

  "Before I buy," Azzie said, "I must see her."

  "You shall. But from the bottle, of course!"

  "Of course," Azzie said. "Trot her out."

  Ansel called to his brothers to bring out Miranda's head. Chor and Hald scuttled to the back of the cellar. Soon they returned, bearing an object. Before presenting it, Ansel wiped it with his shirt, to get off the ice crystals.

  Azzie saw that she was quite lovely, even in death. The long, sad lips were slightly parted. Her ash-blond hair clung to her forehead. A drop of water glistened on her cheek. . . .

  Azzie knew at once that his instinct had been correct; she was indeed the one he needed.

  "So what do you think?" Ansel asked.

  "She'll do," Azzie said. "Now let me out of here and we'll discuss the fee."

  "How about granting us three wishes first?" Ansel asked.

  "No," Azzie said.

  "Just that? No?"

  "That's right."

  "No counteroffer?"

  "Not while you have me in this bottle."

  "But if we let you out, we won't have anything to threaten you with."

  "That's right," Azzie said.

  Ansel and his brothers held a whispered conference. Ansel came back. "They told me to tell you that we know an incan­tation that can make life very difficult for you."

  "Do you really?" Azzie said.

  "Yes, we do. Really."

  "Then incant away."

  The three brothers began to chant.

  "Excuse me, fellows," Azzie said, "but I think you have some of the words a little wrong. You should say fantago, not fandrago. Subtle, but there it is. Pronunciation is everything in the matter of magic spells."

  "Come on," Ansel said. "Grant us a couple of wishes, what's it to you?"

  "I know you think demons have all sorts of special powers," Azzie said. "But that doesn't mean we have to use them."

  "What if we don't release you? How would you like to spend years in a bottle?"

  Azzie smiled. "Have you ever wondered what happens when the demon and the people who have captured him can't reach an agreement on his ransom? The old stories don't tell about that, do they? Be sensible now. Don't you think I have any friends? Sooner or later they'll see I'm missing and come looking for me. When they find me here, your prisoner-well, perhaps you can imagine what they might do."

  Ansel thought about it and didn't like what he came up with. "But why should they do anything to us? By the rules of magic, we are allowed to trap demons. We caught you fair and square."

  Azzie laughed. It was a horrible sound he had practiced for occasions such as this.

  "What do you poor fools know of the rules of magic, or for that matter, of the laws that govern the conduct of creatures supernatural? You'd do better to confine your dealings to human things. Once you get into the supernatural area, you can never tell what might happen."

  Ansel was trembling now, and his two brothers looked ready to flee. "Great demon," he said, "I didn't mean to intrude. It's just that Dr. Parvenu said it would be so simple. What do you want us to do now?"

  "Unstop the bottle," Azzie said.

  Ansel and his brothers tugged out the stopper. Azzie stepped out. He adjusted his height so that he was about one and a half feet taller than Ansel,
the tallest of the three.

  "Now then, my children," Azzie said. "The first thing to learn about dealing with supernatural creatures is this - despite the folklore to the contrary, they will get the better of you every time. So don't try to trick them or cheat them. Note how you opened the bottle for me when actually I was helpless."

  The brothers exchanged looks.

  After a moment, Ansel asked, "You mean we actually had you at our mercy?"

  "Indeed you did," Azzie replied.

  "That you were a helpless prisoner?"

  "That is correct."

  "Sure fooled us," one of the others observed, nodding slowly.

  Another round of glances was exchanged.

  Ansel cleared his throat then. "You know," he said, "at your present size, great demon, I don't see any way you could be gotten into that bottle. I daresay your excellency couldn't even put yourself into it now if you wanted to."

  "But you'd like to see me try, is that it?"

  "Not at all," Ansel said. "We are entirely at your orders. I just wish you would show me that you can do it again."

  "If I did," Azzie said, "would you play fair with me and not close the stopper?"

  "Yes, sir, that I would."

  "Would you swear it?"

  "On my immortal soul," Ansel said.

  "And the other brothers?"

  "We also swear," they said.

  "Okay, then," Azzie said. "Watch this." He stepped into the bottle and maneuvered so that he fit entirely inside. As soon as he was all the way in the brothers put in the stopper.

  Azzie looked out at them. "Okay, quit horsing around and unplug this bottle!"

  The brothers chuckled; Ansel motioned to them. Chor and Hald took up a flagstone from the floor, revealing a stone-lined well. From far below came the sound of water.

  "Take note, demon," Ansel said. "We'll push you, bottle and all, into the well, and cover it up, and paint a skull and crossbones on it so people will think it's poisoned. Fat chance your friends will have of finding you then."