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

by Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming [lit]

  "You broke your word," Azzie said.

  "Well, what of it? Nothing much you can do about it, is there?"

  "All I can do," Azzie said, "is tell you a story."

  "Come on, let's get away from here," the two other brothers said. But Ansel said, "No, let's hear him out. Then we can laugh and go away."

  Azzie said, "Bottles to contain demons have been in con­stant use for several thousand years. Indeed, the first man to ever make a bottle - a Chinaman, by the way - did so in order to trap one of us. The ancient Assyrians and Hittites kept their demons in clay pots. Certain African tribes keep us in tightly woven baskets. We are aware of this, and of how the customs for trapping us vary from one part of the world to another. In Europe, demons always wear these."

  He held up his hand. On his forefinger, or foreclaw, there glistened a brilliant diamond.

  "And with it we do this." Azzie swung his arm in an arc, the point of the diamond in contact with the greenish glass. Azzie swung a circle, then pushed against the glass. The circle he had cut fell out. He stepped through.

  Ansel, his face frozen with fear, said, "We were only kid­ding, boss. Isn't that right, boys?"

  "That's right," said Chor and Hald, both of them grinning from ear to ear, sweat dripping from their rudimentary brows.

  "Then you'll like this," Azzie said. He waved his fingers and muttered under his breath. There was a flash of light and a puff of smoke. When it cleared, a very small demon with horn-rim glasses became visible, sitting nearby, writing some­thing with a quill pen, on a parchment.

  "Silenus," Azzie said. "Record these three to my account and take them away. They are self-damned."

  Silenus nodded, waved his hand, and the three brothers vanished. A moment later, Silenus vanished.

  As Azzie remarked later to Frike, it was the easiest three souls he had ever helped damn themselves, and with practically no urging on his part.

  Chapter 3

  Oh, master, it's so good to be home!" Frike said, throw­ing back the bolt of the front door of the big mansion in Augsburg.

  "It is nice," Azzie said. "Brr." He rubbed his claws together. "It's chilly in here! You must build a fire as soon as you put away the body parts."

  Demons, despite or because of their long association with hellfire, enjoy a roaring hearth.

  "Yes, master. Where do they go?"

  "In the cellar laboratory, of course."

  Frike hurried out and unloaded the cart. On it, wrapped in various ichor-soaked cloths, were a number of body parts; enough, if Azzie's calculations proved correct, to make up two entire bodies, one male, the other female, to be known thereafter as Prince Charming and Princess Scarlet.

  They began working on the bodies the next day. Frike proved to have a useful hand with needle and thread. He put Charming together as neatly as a tailor makes a suit. There were seams and stitch marks, of course, but Azzie told him not to worry about them. Once the bodies were reanimated, they would lose these stigmata of their rebirth.

  Those were pleasant domestic evenings. Azzie would settle into a corner of the lab with his copy of King Solomon's Secrets, which he had always meant to read but never found the time for. Now it was very pleasant to sit in the lab with its smells of fusel oil, kerosene, sulfur, ammonia, and permeating it all, the rich, complex odors of scorched and putrid flesh; to sit there with his book open on his knee glancing up every now and again to watch old Frike, his hunchbacked shadow thrown monstrously against a wall by a low-set light, bent over his work with a tiny steel needle.

  The needle had been hammered out for him by the Ruud, smallest and most cunning of the dwarves of central Europe. The thread was the finest silk from Taprobane, so gossamer and transparent that it seemed as if the lips of the gaping wound separating an arm from shoulder were adhering to each other by some sort of physical magnetism, or by magic. But the onl0y magic in this case was Frike's tiny needle, making its neat little holes and forming, bit by bit, a whole man from the pile of body parts stacked neatly at his left side on a bed of glacial ice.

  Frike was a careful workman, but he did bear watching. More than once he put feet where arms should be, either be­cause of dim-sightedness or some perverted sense of humor. But when he joined the Princess' midsection to Charming's head, Azzie decided that this was too much. "Stop that non­sense," he told Frike, "or I'll put you in a Pit where you can fuse gravel into rock for a few centuries to teach you serious­ness."

  "Sorry, master," Frike said, and worked with exactitude and propriety thereafter.

  And so the bodies took shape. Apart from the pending matter of appropriate eyes, the only real problem was Princess Scarlet's mismatched hands. It was not so important that they were of different sizes. But one was yellow and the other white, and this could not be permitted. Azzie discarded the yellow one and made a quick expedition to the Schnachtsburg Doctoring Center. There, in a shop dedicated to necrophilious memora­bilia, he was fortunate enough to find a pickpocket's hand for Princess Scarlet.

  Soon after his return, Azzie received word from Supply that his castle was ready for delivery to his coordinates in Transylvania. Azzie departed immediately, flying across the Alps to the plain of Hungary. The land stretched ahead of him, lushly green, tree-scattered. He found the exact spot he had picked, which he remembered from the grove of tall purple trees that bloomed there, the only ones of their kind in the world, trees whose existence ended before modern science could declare them anomalous. Merioneth was there waiting for him, a thin, ill-favored demon from Supply who wore pince-nez and carried a scroll attached by brass studs to a well-smoothed piece of wood-the progenitor of the clipboard.

  "You Azzie Elbub?" Merioneth asked.

  "Of course I am," Azzie said. "Why else would I be here?"

  "You could have your reasons. Got some ID?"

  Azzie showed the black credit card with his name engraved on it.

  "It doesn't have a picture," Merioneth noted, "but I'll ac­cept it all the same. Okay, where do you want it?"

  Azzie looked around. The site he had chosen was rolling countryside. He looked it over critically.

  "I want the castle right there," he said.

  "Over there on that flat piece?"

  "That's it. But first you must put down a glass mountain."

  "I beg your pardon?" Merioneth said.

  "I want a glass mountain. The enchanted castle must sit on top of it."

  "You want the castle on top of a glass mountain?"

  "Of course. That's where enchanted castles always stand."

  "Usually, maybe even often, but not always. I can cite several traditional tales - "

  "This castle is going to stand on a glass mountain," Azzie said.

  Merioneth took off his pince-nez, polished them on his gray fur, put them back on. He opened his briefcase. It was made of well-tanned human skin, and its clasps were yellowed teeth. Azzie admired it and decided to get one like it when he had the time. Merioneth opened the case and shuffled through papers. At last he selected a sheet and read it with pursed lips.

  "This is your original work order," he said. "It says nothing here about a mountain."

  Azzie came over and read the work order. "It says here you will supply standard landscaping."

  "Standard landscaping does not include a mountain of glass. Why not have us move in an existing mountain?"

  "It has to be of glass," Azzie said. "As far as I know, there are no existing mountains of glass."

  "So why not take a dead volcano instead?" Merioneth said. "With lots of obsidian?"

  "It won't do," Azzie said. "Glass mountains have been a feature of folklore since people began telling tales. Surely you have one somewhere in Supply?"

  Merioneth pursed his lips and looked doubtful. "Maybe we do and maybe we don't. The point is, it isn't on the work order."

  "Can't we put it there now?"

  "No, it's too late."

  "Can't we get around that somehow?" Azzie asked.

  "
What do you mean?"

  "I'll pay the extra myself. Can I put it on the card?"

  Merioneth shrugged again. "It's not a matter of that. The work order has already been filled out and signed."

  Azzie looked at it. He pointed. "You could write it in right there, just above the signature. 'One glass mountain, and one enchanted forest.' "

  "If my supervisor ever found out . . ."

  "And I'll make it worth your while," Azzie said. He reached into a pocket inside his cloak and took out a small satchel. It was here that he kept his valuables. Here, in a chamois bag, he had the gemstones Rognir had invested with him. He took out a handful and showed them to Merioneth.

  "So?" Merioneth said.

  "Yours," Azzie said, "if you write me in a glass mountain."

  Merioneth looked at the jewels. "I could get into a lot of trouble over this."

  Azzie added a few more gems.

  "I guess I can do it," Merioneth said, taking the stones. He bent over the work order and scribbled, then looked up. "But an enchanted forest-that's another matter."

  "Enchanted forests are no big deal," Azzie pointed out.

  "They're not rare, like glass mountains. Everywhere you go you find enchanted forests."

  "Until you need one in a hurry," Merioneth said, his gaze on Azzie's chamois bag. "I suppose you want a road through it, too, huh?"

  "Nothing fancy. A dirt track would be fine."

  "And who's to survey it, eh? I'd need a surveyor. And a surveyor's services - "

  "I know, it isn't on the original work order." Azzie selected four more stones and gave them to Merioneth. "Will that do?"

  "That takes care of the forest and the basic landscaping. But you also want it enchanted. Right?"

  "That's what I told you. What good would it be if it weren't enchanted?"

  "Don't get huffy with me," Merioneth said. "This forest is nothing to me. I'm just trying to understand the order. What sort of enchantments did you have in mind?"

  "The usual stuff," Azzie said. "Animated flame trees will do nicely. There are always plenty of them in stock."

  "You're a horticulturist that you know that?" Merioneth said caustically. "Fact is there are damn few flame trees avail­able at this time of year. And I suppose you want them to have magic thorns?"

  "Of course."

  "Magic thorns aren't standard."

  A few more gems changed hands.

  "Now, let's see," Merioneth said. "What exactly should these magical thorns do?"

  "The usual thing," Azzie said. "When a traveler passes who is not pure in heart, or not in possession of the proper magical counterspells, they impale him."

  "I thought you'd want that! Impaling's extra!"

  "Extra! What in hell are you talking about?"

  "I got more to do than hang around here jawing with you," Merioneth said, and unfolded his wings.

  Azzie paid over a few more gems. The chamois bag was empty. He had gone through Rognir's treasure in a surprisingly short time.

  "I guess we're in agreement on basics now," Merioneth said. "There are a few more refinements I can think of, stuff you might like, but it'd cost more."

  "Never mind the refinements," Azzie said. "Just do what we've agreed upon. And quickly, please! I have other matters to attend to."

  Merioneth called up a work crew and the demons started building the forest. They worked rapidly, thorough profession­als once they got moving. Some of the younger demons were obviously unaccustomed to manual labor. But the supervisors kept them up to the mark and things proceeded nicely.

  As soon as the basic forest was in place, with the spells set up but not yet activated, the head work-crew demon left an underling to put in the shrubs and wildflowers and turned his attention to setting up the castle. Crews up in Limbo threw down the building blocks with gusto, and the demons below cursed and dodged and caught up the pieces and put them together. Piece by piece a high structure of crenellated walls and pointed turrets rose into the air. It was historically inac­curate but definitely of fairy-tale design. At this stage there were a few small mix-ups. When it came time to dig the moat around it, they found they lacked earth-moving equipment. A team of dragons was summoned and bribed with an offering of maidens. After they had dined, the dragons scooped out a fine moat, twenty feet wide, thirty feet deep. But of course there was no water in it, and no one seemed to know who was in charge of getting the water. Azzie finally solved the problem by ordering a weather spell from Supply and calling up a brief but very heavy rain. This, plus the water from the runoffs, did the trick nicely. A pair of swans added a touch of class.

  Soon the castle stood, tall and stately, a lofty collection of stone towers in the midst of domed shapes. From the topmost towers bright banners floated in the breeze. The place was unfurnished, of course, and extremely drafty, because no one thinks of closing up the chinks and gaps in magical castles. Azzie ordered furniture from Supply. There was a problem on how to light the place. He decided upon magical lighting, since it was difficult to see anything with oil lamps.

  At last it was all together. Azzie stood back a few hundred yards and admired. It was a castle that Mad King Ludwig would have loved. It would do.

  Azzie returned to the mansion to finish work on the principals. The bodies looked fine now in their vats, all seams faded. The ichor and spells had done their work to perfection. But the bodies had no intelligence as yet, since that comes last, and they did some strange things as one part of the body or another came to life. Azzie worked to stabilize them and, at last, had them set up properly.

  Then Frike pointed out that both creatures were still blind.

  "You're right," Azzie said. "I was saving that for last."

  He sat and remembered Ylith. Yes, he'd saved that for last.

  Chapter 4

  Azzie liked witches. He considered them a sort of per­manent dating pool where a demon could always find a companion for a Saturday night. Back in those days, Witches' Sabbaths were the primeval form of nightclub.

  "Frike! Bring me chalk! Candles!"

  Frike hurried to the pantry where the magic supplies were stored. There, in a stout chest, he found the things Azzie needed. The candles were as thick as a man's wrist, and they stood almost as high as Frike himself. He bundled five of them under his arm, one for each point of the pentagram. The candles were as hard as petrified flesh and slightly greasy to the touch. Frike brought them and the chalk to the front room. Azzie moved the trestle table out of the way. He had taken off his cloak and doublet. Long muscles gleamed under his shirt as he tugged an extra suit of armor into a corner.

  "I don't know why I keep all this junk around," Azzie said. "Give me the chalk, Frike. I'll inscribe the figure myself."

  Azzie bent low and, lump of chalk in his right hand, in­scribed a large five-sided figure on the stone floor. A ruddy glow from the fireplace outlined his figure, tinging it red, ac­centuating his foxlike look. Frike almost expected to see Azzie's legs change into the furry red legs of a fox. But despite his excitement, Azzie retained his human shape. He had worked on it for a long time, since demons of experience take great pains to shape their human forms to suit their self-ideals.

  Frike watched as Azzie inscribed the Hebrew letters of power, then lighted the candles.

  "Ylith!" Azzie intoned, crossing his claws and genuflecting in a manner that hurt Frike's eyes. "Come to me, Ylith!"

  Frike could see the beginning of movement in the center of the pentagram. The candles gave off coiled streamers of colored smoke. These danced up and down, coalesced, gave off bright sparks, then settled into a solid shape.

  "Ylith!" he cried. But it was not. The being in the penta­gram was a woman, but there all resemblance to the Ylith he remembered ceased. This was a short, stout female with orange hair and a hooked nose. This female crossed her arms and glared at Azzie.

  "What do you want?" she asked severely. "I was just leav­ing for my coven meeting when you conjured me. If I hadn't been caught by
surprise, I would have canceled your spell, which was wrongly cast anyhow."

  "You're not Ylith, are you?" Azzie asked.

  "I'm Mylith," the witch replied.

  "From Athens?"

  "Copenhagen."

  "I'm dreadfully sorry," Azzie said. "I was trying to conjure up Ylith from Athens. The Spirit Exchange must have gotten things mixed up."

  Mylith sniffed, rubbed out one of Azzie's Hebrew char­acters, and scribbled in another. "You had the wrong exchange. Now, if there is nothing more . . . ?"

  "I'll be happy to conjure you back to your home," Azzie said. "I'll do it myself," Mylith said. "No telling where your charm would land me!"

  She made a gesture with both hands and vanished.

  "That was embarrassing," Azzie remarked.

  "I think it amazing," Frike said, "that you can conjure anything. My last master, the demon Throdeus, was quite un­able to conjure at all on Saturdays."

  "Why, do you suppose?" Azzie said.

  "He had been an Orthodox rabbi before becoming a demon," Frike said.

  Again he conjured. Again colored smokes coiled in the center of the pentagram. But this time, when they coalesced, instead of a short, ugly orange-haired witch standing in the pentagram, there was a tall, good-looking black-haired witch in a silk shorty nightgown.

  "Ylith!" Azzie cried.

  "Who is it?" the witch asked, rubbing her eyes. "Azzie? Is it really you? My dear, you should have sent a messenger first. I was sleeping."

  "Is that a sleeping garment? " Azzie asked, for through and around the peach-colored diaphanous garment he could see her plump and well-shaped breasts and, by walking around her, get a look at her rosy bottom, too.

  "Shorty nightgowns are the newest sensation in Byzan­tium," Ylith said. "I don't suppose they will catch on in Europe. Not soon, anyhow." She stepped out of the pentagram. "It is wonderful seeing you, Azzie, but I really need some clothes."

  "I've seen you in less than that," Azzie said.