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

by Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming [lit]

  Frike had been stoking the big fireplace in the bedchamber for over an hour, and the place was still cold. The stone walls seemed to absorb the heat. At this rate they'd never get Scarlet thawed out. They could see her in a rather distorted fashion through the bluish ice. Her features seemed to be at repose. Frike's stitches were not too noticeable. The dancer's legs he had attached to the trunk of the Magdalene model were stitched around the mid-thighs, but the stitching looked like a garter. Frike had some surprising skills.

  But why did she take so long to thaw out? Was there a magical spell on this ice? Azzie poked at the ice with his claws and found that it had barely softened.

  The fire still wasn't hot enough. Azzie had requisitioned room-warming spells quite a while ago, but they still hadn't come through. He repeated his request now, using the unlimited credit card to ensure instant delivery. In a moment there was a soft explosion in the air and a brand-new warming spell fell into the room, neatly encased in its opaque eggshell.

  "At last!" Azzie said, cracking the shell. The spell whooshed silently out and the room warmed up ten degrees almost at once.

  "Now for the animating procedure," Azzie said after some thawing had occurred. "Quick, Frike, the ichor."

  The servant hunched over the recumbent Princess and splashed ichor on her face.

  "Now the animating spell," Azzie said, and recited it.

  The composite creature whom they called Princess Scarlet lay still as death and as pale. Then a faint tremor passed over her cheek. Her finely shaped lips moved and parted, and her little tongue came out to taste the ichor. Then her delicate nose widened, her body stirred, relaxed again.

  "Quick," Azzie said. "Put in the eyes!"

  The eyes fit into place easily. Another spell was necessary now, a vision-start-up spell, quite rare, but Supply had managed to find one. As Azzie chanted Princess Scarlet's eyelids flittered, fluttered, then lifted. Her new eyes, of deepest sapphire, gazed out at the world. Her face took on expression, animation. She looked around and gave a soft moan.

  "Who are you all?" Scarlet said. Her voice was loud and snappish, and conveyed in addition a sense of peevishness. Azzie didn't like the sound of that. But luckily he didn't have to love her. That was Charming's task.

  The Princess, a newly created being, had no memory. Now it was necessary to explain matters to her.

  "Who are you?" Scarlet exclaimed again.

  "Your uncle Azzie, of course," Azzie said. "You remember me, surely?"

  "Oh, sure," Scarlet said, though of course she didn't. Death had wiped her mind of its memories, the good and the bad alike, and returned her to the world a tabula rasa.

  "What's going on, Uncle Azzie? Where's Mummy?"

  That had been an expected question. All living creatures assume they had a mother and never take it into their heads that someone might have sewn them together out of a collection of parts.

  "Mummy and Daddy," Azzie said, "which is to say, Their Royal Highnesses, are under an enchantment."

  "Did you say 'Royal Highnesses'?"

  "Yes, my dear. You, of course, are a princess. Princess

  Scarlet. You want to release your parents from their spell, don't you?"

  "What? Oh, sure," Princess Scarlet said. "So I'm a prin­cess!"

  "They can be released," Azzie said, "only after you have been rescued from your own enchantment."

  "I'm under an enchantment?"

  "That is correct, my dear."

  "Well-take it away, then!"

  "I'm afraid I can't do that," Azzie said. "I'm not the right person."

  "Oh. What sort of a spell am I under?"

  "You are under a sleeping spell. You spend twenty-some hours a day either sleeping or napping. They call you the Nap­ping Princess. Only one man can break the spell. That is Prince Charming."

  "Prince Charming? Who's that?"

  "Nobody you've met before, my dear. Prince Charming is a fine, handsome young man of noble family who has just re­cently heard of your plight. He is on his way here to awaken you with a kiss and take you away to a life of bliss."

  Scarlet considered. "It sounds good. But are you sure I'm not dreaming this?"

  "This is not a dream, except in the sense that all experience, waking or sleeping, living or dead, is possibly a dream. But leaving metaphysics aside, this is real and you have been en­chanted into sleeping. Believe me, trust me on this. Obviously you aren't asleep at the moment, because I need to talk to you and advise you on a few things."

  "Maybe the spell isn't working," Scarlet said.

  "I'm afraid it is," Azzie said, surreptitiously taking out the sleep spell from his pouch and pressing the little pin that ac­tivated it.

  Scarlet yawned. "You're right, I am sleepy. But I haven't even had dinner!"

  "We'll have it ready for you when you awaken," Azzie said.

  The Princess' eyes closed and soon she was in a sound sleep. Azzie, under the watchful eye of Ylith, carried her to her bedroom and tucked her in.

  Over the next few days it became apparent that Princess Scarlet was going to be difficult. She didn't want to listen to Azzie. Not even Ylith, with her calm and intelligent ways, could get through to the girl, not even in the guise of her aunt. That Scarlet was beautiful, there was no doubt. Not least of her charms was the fact that her long dancer's legs, olive brown and shapely beyond measure, carried an alabaster-white body topped with a blond head. Her dark legs gave Princess Scarlet the look of wearing silk stockings. This did nothing to harm her beauty.

  But those long legs were a problem in themselves, and seemed to carry their own karma. The Princess was caught up with a dancing mania. Azzie had to try a number of spells before he could quench this.

  But even under the napping spell, Princess Scarlet walked in her sleep, her long legs guiding her to the great downstairs ballroom, where she danced to flamenco music heard only by herself. Azzie had to take into account the Princess' peregri­nations during sleep.

  "Ylith," he asked, "will you stay and look after her? I'm afraid she's a bit unstable. She might fall and do herself harm. But she has spirit, and I'm sure she'll do what we expect of her."

  "I suppose so," Ylith said. "By the way, I asked Santa Claus to give Brigitte a fancy dollhouse for Christmas."

  "Oh. Thanks."

  "I just told you in case you had forgotten you'd promised her one."

  "I hadn't forgotten," Azzie said, though he had. "But thanks anyhow. Take good care of her, okay?"

  "I'm doing this for you, Azzie," Ylith said, in a melting voice.

  "And I really appreciate it," Azzie said, in a voice which expressed the opposite. "Gotta go get Charming up and moving. Catch you later, okay?"

  Ylith shook her head as her demon lover departed in a flash of showy fireworks. Why had she ever fallen in love with a demon? And if a demon, why this particular demon? She didn't know. The ways of fate were inscrutable, to say the least.

  Chapter 3

  I just hope we don't have any trouble with this one," Azzie said. "You got those dragon eyes ready, Frike?"

  "Yes, master," Frike said. He opened the waterproof deer­skin bag in which the dragon's eyes soaked in a solution of ichor, salt water, and vinegar. He lifted out the eyes, first remembering to wipe his hands on his smock, for hygiene in those days, while still rudimentary, seemed important in this situation.

  "Beautiful, aren't they?" Azzie said, inserting them into Charming's eye sockets and applying ichor around the edges.

  And indeed they were handsome eyes - colored like smoky topaz, with a deep glitter to them.

  "They worry me, these eyes," Frike said. "I believe that dragon's eyes see through falsehood."

  "Just what a hero needs."

  "But won't he see through this falsehood?" Frike asked, indicating, with a sweep of his arm, Azzie, the mansion, and himself.

  "No, my poor Frike," Azzie said. "Dragon's eyes cannot see through the falsehood in their own situation. They can detect the flaw in others, but
not in themselves. He won't be easily led astray, our Prince Charming, but he won't be wise enough or sufficiently farseeing to discover his own situation."

  "Ah!" said Frike. "He stirs!"

  Azzie had already taken the precaution of assuming his kindly-uncle disguise. "There, there, lad," he said, smoothing back the youth's golden hair.

  "Where am I?" Charming asked.

  "You might better ask who you are," Azzie said. "And then you should want to know who I am. Where you are comes a distant third on the list of vital questions."

  "Well, then . . . Who am I?"

  "You are a noble prince whose original name has been lost but who is referred to by everyone as 'Prince Charming.' "

  "Prince Charming," the youth mused. He sat up. "I sup­pose that means I'm of noble blood, doesn't it?"

  "Yes, I suppose so," Azzie said. "You are Prince Charming, and I am your uncle Azzie."

  Prince Charming accepted that readily enough. "Hello, Uncle Azzie. I don't remember you, but if you say you're my uncle, that's fine with me. Now that I know that, can I ask where we are?"

  "Certainly," Azzie said. "Augsburg."

  "That's nice," Charming said, a little vaguely. "I've got a feeling I've always wanted to see Augsburg."

  "And so you shall," Azzie said, smiling to himself to think what a docile creature he'd created. "You'll get a good look at it during training, and again when you ride out of town on your quest."

  "My quest, Uncle?"

  "Yes, lad. You were a famous warrior before the accident that took away your memory."

  "How did I come by this accident, Uncle?"

  "Fighting bravely against many foes. You slew numbers of them-you're very good with a sword, you know-but one of the caitiffs sneaked up behind you and hit you over the head with a broadsword when you weren't expecting it."

  "That hardly seems fair!"

  "People are often unfair," Azzie said. "Though you're too innocent to realize that. But never mind. Your pure heart and lofty spirit will win you golden opinions wherever you go."

  "That's nice," Charming said. "I want for people to think highly of me."

  "And so they shall, my boy, when you have performed the great deed for which you are destined to be renowned."

  "What deed is that, Uncle?"

  "Winning through the various dangers that stand between you and Princess Scarlet, the Napping Beauty."

  "Princess who? What are you talking about?"

  "I'm talking about the great deed that will make you world-famous, and give you happiness beyond human measure."

  "Oh. That sounds good. Go on, Uncle. You mentioned a sleeping princess?"

  "Napping, not sleeping. But it is a severe disability all the same. My boy, it is written that only a kiss from your lips can awaken her from this spell. When she awakens and beholds you, she will fall madly in love with you. You will also fall in love with her, and everybody will be very happy."

  "She's good-looking, this princess?" asked Charming.

  "You better believe it," Azzie said. "You will awaken her with a kiss. She will open her eyes and look at you. Her arms will close softly around your neck, she will lift her face to yours, and you will know bliss of an order seldom experienced by mortal man."

  "It'll be fun, huh?" said the Prince. "Is that what you mean, Uncle?"

  "Fun is too mild a word for the pleasure you will feel."

  "Sounds great," Charming said. He got up and tried a few steps around the room. "Let's go do it now, okay? I'll kiss her and then she and I can start having fun."

  "It can't be quite as fast as that," Azzie said.

  "Why not?"

  "It is not easy to reach the Princess. You must fight your way through many perils."

  "What sort of perils? Dangerous ones?"

  "Yes, I'm afraid so," Azzie said. "But don't worry, you'll win through after Frike and I have supervised your training in arms."

  "I thought you said I was already trained."

  "Well," said Azzie, "a brushup will do no harm."

  "Frankly," Charming said, "this whole thing sounds dan­gerous.'

  "Of course it is," Azzie said. "That's how it is with perils. But that doesn't matter, you'll be fine. Frike and I will give you instruction in weapons, and then you will set forth."

  "Weapons are dangerous. Other people can kill you with them. I remember that much."

  You would, with your coward's heart, Azzie thought. Aloud he said, "You'll have superior weapons which none can oppose. And magical spells. And, most important of all, a magic sword."

  "Swords!" Charming said, with a disgusted expression. "Now I remember swords! Horrible pointed things people use to open up great cuts in each other."

  "But think of the cause," Azzie said. "Think of the Prin­cess! You will fight, of course, but I assure you, you will prevail."

  "I couldn't do it," Charming said. "No, I'm sorry, but I just couldn't."

  "Why not?" Azzie demanded.

  "Because I remember now, I'm a conscientious objector," Charming said.

  "The hell you say! You've just been reborn! That is, brought out of the deep sleep caused by your wounds. How can you suddenly be a conscientious objector?"

  "Because I know very well," Charming said, "that if I were in a situation where violence was imminent, I would simply faint dead away."

  Azzie looked at Frike, who looked vacantly at a spot on the wall. Even this innocent-seeming movement was capable of interpretation. Azzie knew that Frike was secretly mocking him because he had gone to all this trouble to create a Prince Charm­ing and he had had the bad sense to give him a coward's heart.

  "Now, get this straight," Azzie said to Charming. "You are going to get some training. Then I'm going to get you an enchanted sword that will do away with everything it encoun­ters. And then you are going forth on this quest."

  "What if I get hurt?"

  "Prince Charming," Azzie said sternly, "you had better master this fear of yours. I assure you, you are going to go out of here with a magic sword and see what you can do with it; or you are going to get it from me. And since I have demonic friends, getting it from me is apt to be more painful than any­thing you can imagine. Now go to your room and wash up. It is almost time for dinner."

  "What are we having?" Charming asked. "Something French with plenty of sauce, I hope."

  "Beef and potatoes," Azzie said. "We're building fighting men here, not dancing masters."

  "Yes, Uncle," Charming said, and walked away. There was a pronounced slink to his walk. Azzie glared at Frike, daring him to comment. The servant lurched awry. Azzie found a chair in front of the fire and sat. He stared thoughtfully into the fire. He was going to have to come up with something extra. Prince Charming was sure to cut and run the first time he was in peril. And that would make Azzie a laughingstock every­where in the three worlds. And that Azzie was not going to take.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Azzie began Prince Charming's train­ing. First, there were exercises in swordplay. For a young man about to face dangerous enchantments, the sword was the great all-purpose weapon. Properly used, a sword can kill just about anything. Prince Charming showed considerable natural talent with the blade. His trunk and right arm had been the property of a swordsman who had been highly skilled. This skill showed when Charming lunged and parried, advanced with stamping right foot, retreated with his sword swinging a windmill of flashing steel. Even Azzie, no mean swordsman himself, was hard-pressed by Charming's impetu­ous advances and cunning ripostes.

  But the Prince seemed constitutionally unable to press his advantage once he had won one. Azzie, clad in an old exercise tunic and wearing only a mild sword-turning spell on his upper body, worked with him over and over on the basic maneuvers.

  "Come on!" Azzie said, panting as the two went at it in the shadowed exercise yard behind the mansion. "Get your back into it! Attack me!"

  "I would not want to hurt you, Uncle," Charming said.

  "Belie
ve me, you won't touch me. Come on now, go for me!"

  Charming tried, but his native cowardice prevented him.

  Whenever he got close enough to Azzie to perform a killing stroke, he faltered, and the lithe demon was able to batter aside his guard and touch him.

  Worse than that, when Azzie attacked, shouting fierce words and stamping his foot, Prince Charming's skill fell apart and he had to turn and run.

  Frike, watching, shook his head. Who would have thought that one little part of Charming's body, a coward's heart, would expand and suffuse his entire frame?

  Azzie tried the various spells at his command, hoping to enchant the Prince into courage. But something obdurate about him seemed impervious to exhortation and spell alike.

  When they were not fencing and exercising, Prince Charm­ing went off to a little gazebo in the far end of Azzie's estate. Here he kept his collection-because, despite his promising appearance, he was given to playing with dolls, dressing them up, and setting them out for high tea. Azzie thought of taking the dolls away until the Prince could attack properly, but Frike advised him against it.

  "Oftentimes," he said, "the removing of a childish pleasure can drive a young man into a decline. Charming is uncertain enough as it is without you taking his dolls from him."

  Azzie had to agree. It was obvious to him that something had to be done. But first he had to get the Prince's enchanted sword.

  Supply had been promising one for what seemed like ages, but still hadn't been able to come up with the genuine article. They had plenty of Fairly Lucky Swords, of course, but none that was truly enchanted, with the ability to pierce any guard, to cut through dragons' scales, to plunge deep into the heart of an enemy. All the magic swords they knew of were already in use by other heroes, since Azzie's was by no means the only quest going on at this time. Azzie pleaded that his contest was special, since its winning or losing involved no less than the fortunes of evil for the next thousand years. "Sure," the supply-clerk said, "that's what they all say. Important, crash priority, believe me, we've heard it all before."