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

by Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming [lit]

  "What does that mean?"

  "Rosebud . . ." he answered, and closed his eyes.

  She waited, but he did not continue. After a time, she cleared her throat.

  "Uh, Skander? What then?"

  There was no reply.

  "You asleep, Skander?"

  Silence.

  Finally, she moved forward and held her hand before his nostrils. She could feel no breath. Moving even nearer, she placed her hand between the scales of his breast. There was no heartbeat.

  "Oh dear!" she said. "What now?"

  But she already knew.

  When she had done, she stroked the dead dragon's nose, a thing it had loved feeling in life. Poor old dragon! she thought. So old and wise, yet reduced to this, a mound of cooling flesh in a mountain cave.

  She knew that it would be evening soon, and that was not a good time to be about in a foreign country. Local demons were apt to be abroad, and they could cause some rare mischief if they were of a mind to. There was no love lost between European and Asiatic demons in those days, and the wars be­tween the two still awaits their chronicler.

  The eyes she wrapped in a small silk handkerchief, then placed in a casket of rosewood which she kept on hand for the transport of delicate and precious objects. Then she turned and departed the cave.

  Ylith stood tall as the light of the falling sun bounced off the ice peaks of the highest mountains. She shook out her glorious black flag of hair, mounted her powerbroom, and soared away into the west, the land of the dragon dwindling beneath her.

  Chapter 7

  It was still daylight when Ylith arrived in Augsburg, for, with a favorable tail wind, she had managed to outrace the sun itself. She came down near the front door of Azzie's mansion and banged hard with the big brass knocker. "Azzie! I'm back! I've got them!"

  A cavernous silence followed. Although it was a summer afternoon, there was a chill in the air. Ylith felt faintly uneasy. Her witch's sense warned her that something was amiss. She touched the protective amulet of amber she wore around her neck. She knocked again.

  At last the door was opened. Frike stood there, meager face screwed into an expression of grief.

  "Frike! What is the matter!"

  "Alas, mistress! Things have gone very wrong indeed!"

  "Where is Azzie?"

  "That, milady, is what has gone most wrong. He is not here."

  "Not here? But where could he be?"

  "I do not know," Frike said, "but it wasn't my fault!"

  "Tell me what happened."

  "A few hours ago," Frike said, "the master was preparing a solution to wash the hair of Princess Scarlet, since it had become dirty and tangled. He had finished it, and I was drying the lady's hair. I recollect it was somewhat past the noon hour, for the sun was full and high when I went out to gather fire­wood- "

  "Get on with it," Ylith said. "What happened?"

  "I came in with the firewood and Master Azzie was hum­ming a merry tune as he clipped Prince Charming's finger­nails-he always takes great care with details, you know. All of a sudden he stopped humming and looked about. I looked, too, though I had heard no sound. Master Azzie looked entirely around him, and when his gaze rested on me again, I could swear he was a changed demon. Some of the fire had gone out of his hair, and he had grown pale. I said to him, 'Did you hear something, master?' and he said, 'Yes, a keening sound, and it will bring me no good. Quick, fetch me my Master Spell Book.' And so saying, he slumped to his knees. I rushed to do his bidding. He had not the strength to open the book -it is that very large brass-bound one you see on the floor near your feet. He said to me, 'Frike, help me turn the pages. Some cunning trick of weakness is undemoning me.' I assisted him, and he said, 'Faster, Frike, faster, before the heart goes out of me entirely.' And so I turned the pages faster, doing it all myself now since the master's hand had fallen away and it was all he could do to keep his eye, which had lost its usual luster, focused upon the page. And then he said, 'Right, stop there. Now let me see. . . . ' And that was all."

  "All?" said Ylith. "What do you mean, all?"

  "All that he said, mistress."

  "I understand that well enough. But what happened?"

  "He vanished, Mistress Ylith."

  "Vanished?" Ylith said.

  "Before my very eyes, he vanished entirely out of sight. I was beside myself, knowing not what to do. He had left no instructions. So I went into hysterics for a time, then decided it best simply to await your arrival."

  "Describe to me the manner of his vanishing," Ylith said.

  "The manner?" Frike asked.

  "Yes. Was it a smoke vanishment, in which he dwindled quickly to nothing? Or was it a flash vanishment, in which he disappeared with perhaps a small clap of thunder? Or did he shrink down to the size of a point first?"

  "I know not, mistress. I shut my eyes."

  "Shut your eyes! You are a fool, Frike!"

  "Ah, mistress, but I peeked."

  "And what did your peek tell you?"

  "I saw the master become very thin and slide off sidewise."

  "Which side?"

  "The right side, mistress."

  "Did he slide away smoothly or with a sort of up-and-down motion?"

  "With motion."

  "This is very important, Frike. Did he at any time change color before vanishing completely?"

  "You've got it, Mistress Ylith! He changed color indeed, just before he slid away into nothingness!"

  "What color did he change into?"

  "Blue, milady."

  "It is as I thought," Ylith said. "Now let us look at his conjuring book."

  Frike lifted the heavy volume to a lectern where Ylith could read it more easily. It was still turned to the page Azzie had regarded just before his disappearance. Ylith bent over it and quickly translated the runes.

  "What is it?" Frike asked.

  "It is a General Unbinding, Frike," she told him. "This is the spell that demons use when something or someone is trying to conjure them. It is called the Grand Counterveillance."

  "Was he too late?"

  "Obviously."

  "Conjured!" said Frike. "But the master is a conjurer him­self!"

  "Of course he is," Ylith said, "and a very good one. But all who conjure, Frike, are subject themselves to conjuration. It is one of the great laws of the Unseen Realm."

  "So I have heard," Frike said. "But who could conjure the master away like that?"

  "There are many possibilities," Ylith said. "But given the sequence of events, it is most likely that it was some mortal- a witch perhaps-or an alchemist, or some other demon-who had a hold of some sort over Azzie, and thus was able to call him away without his consent."

  "But when will we see him again?" Frike asked.

  "I have no idea," Ylith said. "It depends on who did the conjuration, the spell used, and the nature of the obligation that Azzie had incurred."

  "But will he be back soon?"

  Ylith shrugged. "He could be back in an instant. Or he could be gone for days, months, years, even forever. It is dif­ficult to unravel the truth of these matters a posteriori."

  "I'd be glad to sacrifice my posterior if it would bring him back!" cried Frike. He wrung his hands in grief and uncertainty, and then a thought crossed the shadowy places of his mind and he called out afresh, "Oh, no!"

  "What is it?" Ylith asked.

  "The bodies!"

  "What about them?"

  "They run peril of decaying, lady! For only this morning we used up our last bit of ice, and we're very low on ichor. I reminded the master of this as soon as he arose, and he said, 'Never fear, Frike, I'll call Supply and get some more as soon as I've had my nap.' "

  "Nap? But you said he had just arisen."

  "He liked a nap soon upon awakening, mistress."

  "Now that you mention it, I remember it well," Ylith said.

  She went to the part of the laboratory where the bodies slept in their coffin-shaped open boxes, side by side, aw
aiting resuscitation. The ice of the high Alps was gone. In the bottom of each box was no more than a little pool of ichor.

  "Your master has been very slack," Ylith said.

  "He had not expected to be conjured, mistress," Frike said.

  "I suppose not. Well, first things first. We must refrigerate these bodies, Frike."

  "Beg pardon, mistress?"

  "We must find a means of lowering their temperature."

  "Can you call up glacial ice, mistress?"

  "Not I," said Ylith. "Witches' conjurations do not lean to that sort of thing. Fetching things is demons' work. But our demon has been taken from us. This is a tricky situation." She crossed to the couch and sat down. "Stop whimpering, Frike, and let me think."

  She returned to the boxes, bent over, and touched the bodies. They were still perceptibly cold, but Ylith could tell that they were warmer than they ought to be. Another hour or two and Azzie's prize specimens would be rotten meat, probably filled with blowflies. And then it wouldn't matter if he came back or not. The contest would be over.

  "I'm going to do something about those bodies, Frike," she said. "I'm going to talk to some people. You had better not watch me depart. This is women's magic, not for men's eyes."

  "I'll be in the den when you need me," Frike said, slinking away. Ylith turned to her work.

  Chapter 8

  Ylith selected a freshly charged broomstick and, first making sure her protective amulets were in place, flew out of the mansion window and up, straight up, into the empyrean blue of the highest atmosphere. As she went she murmured a protective spell to herself, for she was unhappy over what she was about to do. Still, to keep those bodies cold, her first thought had been to ask assistance of the Harpies.

  Harpies and witches were friendly toward one another. The Harpies were female demons inducted into the Powers of Darkness after the collapse of classical mythology. Not only did they do evil, but their very presence was disturbing. Their breath was foul, and their table manners disgusting. But it was to the Harpies that Ylith had decided to go, because, although they were foul, they were quick-witted. There were many other demonic deities she could have called upon, but only the Har­pies and their sisters, the Sirens, could be counted upon to understand at once what was desired, and sufficiently honorable to follow through on what they promised.

  She flew hard and fast, soon passing through the crack that separates the realms of the human from that of the inhuman and superhuman.

  Immediately she found herself in a vast cloudland of snowy hills and mountains. And there were rivers, too, and little tem­ples along the riverbanks, all made of clouds. She flew on and, dipping low over this land, saw the manticore and the chimaera and, in a little valley of its own, Behemoth snorted and reached for her with a great talon. She eluded the beast easily and flew on, to a region where the clouds were colored blue, and every­thing below was stained with blue and gold, like the borders of a dimly remembered dream. Descending, she saw, very tiny at first, the figures of beautiful women on the banks of a sleepy river, and close to them, a waterfall where they could sport and slide.

  Then Ylith directed her flight downward and came to one of the regions where the Harpies and the Sirens lived together. She slowed and came to a stop on the left bank of the river. This was the Styx, the great river that traveled from deepest past to furthest future. There were trees along it of no known variety, for they still awaited their birth on the earth. Beneath these trees were maidens, lolling at their ease on the grassy banks. There were eight of them, Sirens, and several Harpies. The Sirens were famed for luring people, especially sailors, to their doom with their sweet songs. The Harpies were the more advanced stage of Siren, beautiful and golden-haired, with firm, well-shaped breasts, but with table manners that would make a hyena blush. They were in charge of tormenting damned souls of a classical sort, by snatching food from their mouths and splattering them all over with fiery excrement.

  Although Ylith put on a bold front, she was more than a little afraid, as these ancient demons were given to odd per­versions and strange thoughts, and their mood was always un­certain.

  But she put on a bold face and said, "Sisters, I bring you greetings from the world of humans."

  One of the Sirens stirred herself. She was large, ash blond, and had a sweet little rosebud of a mouth. It was difficult to believe that this was Poldarge, one of the most ominous of the Chthonian women deities.

  "What do we care for the world of humans?" Poldarge said. "The banks of this fine river are our home. Here we entertain each other by singing of fine exploits of the past. And, from time to time, a man falls into our hands, having escaped over the side of Charon's boat. Then we get him from the river deities, and we play with him until he goes mad, and then we eat him, each of us tearing off her share."

  "I thought," Ylith said, "that you might care for some diversion, as long as it is in good cause. Because, excellent though this riverbank is, you must sometimes miss the world of humans, where fine deeds can be done."

  "What do we care about human deeds?" Poldarge asked. "But go on, sister. Tell us what you want."

  And Ylith told them about the great Millennial contest, and about Azzie, and about how he was going to enter the lists against the Powers of Good by utilizing two human creatures, resuscitated and set into an inverted fairy tale of ominous im­port. The Sirens and Harpies applauded. The very thought of the next thousand years being consecrated to evil gave them goose bumps of pleasure.

  "I am glad you approve," Ylith said. "But there is a prob­lem. Azzie has disappeared, conjured up by someone."

  "Now, sister," Poldarge said, "you know we can do nothing about that. We are forbidden to interfere in the affairs of men or demons, except under certain conditions, which are not met here."

  "I do not ask you to find Azzie," Ylith said. "I'll do that myself. But it will take time. And meanwhile his actors, those who will play Prince Charming and Princess Scarlet, remain in their coffins unanimated. And since the glacial ice has run out and the ichor is nearly gone, and Azzie not at hand to call up more, they run the risk of decaying in the warmth of Earth's springtime and thus rendering Azzie's grand scheme inoper­able."

  "That's sad, no doubt," Poldarge said. "But why tell us? We have no glacial ice here."

  "Of course not," Ylith said. "But you are beings of the air, well accustomed to towing helpless creatures from Earth to their damnation."

  "True. But what has this to do with your Prince and Prin­cess?"

  "I thought," Ylith said, "that you might lend a hand in the preserving of their bodies. It is cold that is needed, the cold of the upper reaches of the atmosphere."

  The Harpies conferred among themselves. Then Poldarge said, "Very well, sister, we will take care of these bodies for you. Where did you say they were?"

  "In the mansion of the demon, in Augsburg. The way to find it-"

  "Don't worry," Poldarge said. "Harpies can find any place on Earth. Sisters, come with me!"

  Poldarge spread her dark wings and sped into the upper atmosphere. Two more Harpies followed.

  Ylith watched them go. Harpies were known to get easily bored. She had no assurance they wouldn't abandon their charges, and return to the river and their eternal mah-jongg game. But they had a tradition of honor among peers. She just hoped they felt her a member of that select group.

  Ylith went aloft now. She had an idea where Azzie might be.

  Chapter 9

  When the Harpies went off to carry back the bodies, no one had thought to notify Frike. The first thing he learned of the new arrangement occurred when a pair of Harpies burst through the window. He was sitting on a low stool in Azzie's laboratory, listening to the drip-drip of melting ice and waiting for Ylith to return. Suddenly there was a great fluttering and a bad smell.

  For the purpose of efficient flight the Harpies had retracted their legs, so their wide, brazen wings supported only a trunk with prominent breasts and a head. They cawed in lo
ud grating voices and voided themselves over everything.

  Frike yelped and ducked under the table. The Harpies spun around the room, buzzing and shrieking. When they spot­ted the coffins, they flapped over to them. "Stay away, you wretches!" Frike shouted. He went after them with a set of fire tongs. The Harpies turned and attacked him, driving him from the chamber with their steel-tipped wings and green-tipped nails. Frike hurried after a bow and arrow. Before he could fetch them, the Harpies had lifted the Prince and Princess and, flapping heavily now, rose into the air. Frike at last located the weapons and hurried back. But the Harpies were gone, risen high into the sky, and vanishing into the crack between the real and the unreal. Frike shook his fist and then sat down. He hoped Azzie wouldn't ask him to explain too much. He had very little idea what had happened.

  But for that matter, where was the master?

  Chapter 10

  Azzie had been working in his laboratory when he felt the familiar psychic tug which tells you that you are being conjured. It is a sort of pull that starts from the inside of your stomach. Not unpleasant, but always an unwelcome signal of what lies ahead. It would be all right, perhaps, to be conjured when you were just sitting around without anything much to do. But people tend to call you up just when you are most heavily engaged in something delicate.

  "Damnation!" he said. Everything was off schedule, and there was no way of telling how long the castle would stand unattended, its obsolescent spells running down. And his young people, the Prince and Princess, had to be animated as soon as possible, before they could deteriorate.

  And here he was flying through the air, unable to recite his counterveillance in time to prevent what was happening. Not that it necessarily would. These general spells often fail in specific situations.

  Azzie passed out during this transition. When he re­covered, he had an ache in his head. He tried to stand up, but he seemed to be on some slippery surface. Every time he rose, he fell down again. He was also a little sick to his stomach.