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

by Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming [lit]

  "Who's there?" Frike asked.

  "Supernal Delivery Service. Luggage for the angel Ba­briel."

  "Ah, thank you," Babriel said. He opened the door. A man of medium height stood there wearing a deliveryman's cap. He handed Babriel a piece of paper and a pen. Babriel signed and handed back the paper. The deliveryman tugged at his forelock and disappeared.

  "It's my luggage," Babriel told Frike. "Where should I put it?"

  Frike looked around doubtfully. "On your bed, maybe. But then you'd have no place to sleep."

  "It'll work itself out," Babriel said, and pulled his suitcase into the room. It was a very large suitcase and the only place there was room for it was on the bed, since he and Frike between them used up most of the available floor space.

  Babriel looked at the room and said, "Do you think it'll go into the corner?"

  Frike looked at the acute angle formed where the room's walls met. "You couldn't push a mouse's corpse into that corner, much less a big suitcase like that."

  "Let's give it a try anyway," Babriel said. He pushed the suitcase off the bed and toward the corner. Although it was only a few inches from the end of the bed to the corner, the trunk kept moving. The wall, instead of stopping it, bulged outward to make room for it, and the other walls bulged out to stay in proportion. The ceiling lifted, too, and Frike soon found that he was in quite a large room rather than the tiny room he had entered.

  "How did you do that?" Frike asked.

  "Just one of those things you pick up when you move around a lot," Babriel said modestly.

  Aside from growing larger, the room had also grown brighter, for reasons that didn't make themselves immediately apparent. Frike's eyes widened, then widened again as he heard a curious scuttling noise at his feet. He looked down and saw something small, about the size of a rat, scurrying out of sight. Frike blinked, and when his vision cleared he saw that the floor, which had been an inch deep in dust and cat droppings, had been freshly swept and polished. A certain panic gripped him.

  "I'll tell the master you're settling in nicely," Frike said, and departed.

  * * *

  Five minutes later Azzie came up to Babriel's room. Azzie looked at it, twice as big as when he'd seen it last, brilliantly illuminated, nicely furnished, clean, fragrant with frankincense and myrrh, and with a small door at one side opened to reveal a fine tiled bathroom Azzie knew damned well hadn't been there before.

  There was a standing closet, too, and its door was open, revealing dozens of Babriel's uniforms, of every cut and de­scription, some with medals, and many with exaggerated collars and huge cuffs. Babriel had changed into one such. It was white and silver, and came with a peaked cap. Azzie thought he looked so ludicrous as to appear sinister.

  "Glad to see you're making yourself to home," Azzie said.

  "I took the liberty of fixing the place up a little. I'll gladly restore it to original condition when I leave."

  "Don't worry about it," Azzie said. "If I'd known you wanted fancy, you'd have gotten fancy. What's that?"

  He pointed to a rectangular blob of nacre and ormolu that swung from Babriel's waist.

  "Oh, that's my telephone," Babriel said. "So I can stay in touch with headquarters."

  Azzie glared at the handset. "They haven't even issued ours yet!"

  "You'll love them when you get them," Babriel said.

  Chapter 7

  It was fine September weather. Azzie became more accus­tomed to having Babriel living in his house. His room continued to expand, and Azzie had to ask the angel to do some shoring up because it was threatening to capsize the house with its weight and top-heavy leverage. And the training of Prince Charming went on. The young man seemed to be gaining confidence. Azzie had been feeding him a variety of herbal extracts, as well as other exotic ingredients such as powdered unicorn horn, dried banshee shit, and distilled corpse sweat. Charming was now able to hold his own against Frike with the wooden swords, even though Frike fenced with his lame left arm to make the contest more equal. There was definite pro­gress, though it was difficult to say when the young Prince would be ready to face a real foe.

  These were quiet days and nights. Azzie regretted only that Ylith was not present. It had been necessary to leave her in the enchanted castle to look after Princess Scarlet, whose rebellious ways were still something of a problem.

  One evening, as Azzie was sitting in the living room smok­ing his pipe and feasting on a small plate of wolverine hearts with teriyaki sauce, there was a great commotion overhead. Babriel, who was reading one of his interminable books on how to be good, looked up startled as he heard the sound of hooves on the roof. Then there came a scraping sound mixed with swearing. They advanced to the chimney. Azzie could hear a loud grunting and moaning now, and at last something large worked its way down.

  It was lucky that, it being a mild September night, no fire was going. Santa Claus emerged, some dark stains on his red suit, tasseled cap askew, a scowling expression on his smudged face.

  "Why," Santa Claus demanded, "did you close the flues? It makes it very difficult getting through. And your chimney hasn't been cleaned in ages."

  "Sorry, Santa," Azzie said. "I wasn't expecting you this time of year. Not that you come often to us demons, anyhow."

  "That's because our charter says we are to bring presents first to humans. And there are more of them every day."

  "I quite understand," Azzie responded. "In any event, we demons have our own ways of giving and receiving. But why have you come? If it's a social visit, you could have come in by the front door."

  "It's business, not social," Santa Claus said. "I have a rush order here for a young lady witch who gave this as her address. Ylith is her name. Is she around?"

  "She's off at my other place," Azzie said. "Can I be of help?"

  "You can accept this delivery for her." Santa took a large, gaily wrapped package out of his pack.

  "Sure. Glad to."

  "You'll make sure she gets it?" Santa said. "It's for a little girl, Brigitte is her name, to whom Ylith promised it."

  "I'll see that she gets it."

  "Thank you," Santa said. "I mentioned to Ylith how lonely it gets at the North Pole. She said she'd send some witches my way and I'd give them presents and a good time."

  "Witches are overrated. You won't like them."

  "You think not? Try a steady diet of elves before you knock witches. Well, must be off."

  Azzie walked Santa to the front door. He watched as Santa,

  moving nimbly for so large a man, scrambled up the trellises to the roof. Soon there was a clatter of hooves and the rest was silence.

  Azzie went back inside and opened the package. Within was a miniature mansion and farmyard. It was all nicely detailed with little people dolls, animal dolls. There were tiny windows, mirrors, tables, chairs.

  "Could use a little guillotine," he mused aloud. "I had one here someplace. ..."

  Chapter 1

  Over the next few days Charming continued to progress in the art of fencing. But he did well only when every­thing went according to form. Unusual things startled him, interrupting his coordination. And he was very distractible. At every birdcall or slammed door he jerked his head around. Irregularities in the ground upset his balance. Every footstep he took forward had a look of retreat to it. Sudden gusts of wind caused him to close his eyes.

  But it was mostly his cowardice that bothered Azzie, who knew it to be the real reason for the other signs of ineptitude.

  Babriel watched for a long while without comment, though he winced at the young man's awkwardness and the way he flinched whenever Frike lifted his sword.

  "What, exactly, is wrong with him?" Babriel finally asked.

  "It's the coward's heart I gave him. Instead of imbuing him with basic prudence, as it's supposed to do, it's filling his entire system with fear."

  "But if he's so fearful, how will he go out for his quest?"

  "I doubt he'll go at all," Azzie sa
id. "I'm trying to motivate him, but nothing is working. It looks like I'm licked before I even get started."

  "Oh, dear," Babriel said.

  "Yeah, well, you might say that, and a lot else."

  "But your contest-the fairy tale you're planning to pre­sent- "

  "Finished, over with, shot down, connsumatus est, and all that."

  "It hardly seems fair," Babriel said. "But why throw in the sponge so soon? I mean, heck, hang it all, isn't there some­thing you can do? "

  "I need to get some gutsia for him. But my Supply people can't seem to find any."

  "Can't they, now? Bunch of slackers, unless I miss my guess. Let's see what my fellows can do."

  Azzie stared at him. "You are going to get me gutsia?"

  "That is what I propose," Babriel said.

  "But that won't do you any good!"

  "Let me worry about that," Babriel said. "You've been such a nice host, I feel I owe you something. And anyhow, the show must go on, eh?"

  Babriel stood up, ducking his head because it was a low grape arbor in which they stood, and reached into one of his pockets and withdrew a plastic credit card. It was very much like Azzie's, only white instead of jet black. It bore on one side a golden representation of a constellation moving toward the position it would occupy at the Millennium's end. Babriel looked around for a place to insert it, but couldn't find one.

  "Let's take a walk," Babriel said. "Maybe there's some­thing out here. . . . Ah, here's a bay tree, they're always good," He found a slit in the bay's bark and inserted the card.

  "What's supposed to happen now?" Azzie asked.

  "Give them a moment to respond," Babriel said. "This is an unusual location for a transmission from an angel of Light, you know."

  "How's the Gothic cathedral coming?" Azzie asked.

  "The walls are a lot higher," Babriel responded.

  In a moment there came a soft explosion, then the sound of a carillon, followed by a fanfare of trumpets. The supply clerk of Light appeared before them. She was a young blond woman who wore a plain white gown which did not prevent Azzie's noting that she looked pretty good and might be fun to cavort with. He began to hum the ancient melody called "The Night a Sinner Met an Angel" and edged toward her.

  The angel slapped him sharply with the small order book she was carrying. "Don't be crude," she said in a nice voice that showed that although she meant it, she didn't hold his attitude against him. Then, to Babriel: "How may I help you?"

  Azzie started to tell her how she could help him, but Babriel frowned and said, "What I need, dear person, is a quantity of the herb gutsia, which is used by mortals for the acquiring of courage."

  "I knew you wanted it for a mortal," the supply clerk said. "I can tell at a glance that there's no lack of courage in thy makeup."

  "It is dear of thee to say so," Babriel said. "Praise the Lord!"

  "Praise Her!" said the clerk.

  "What?" Azzie said. "I had always been led to believe - "

  "We use 'He' and 'She' interchangeably when speaking of the Supreme Principle of Good."

  "Sometimes we even call her 'It,' " the clerk said. "Not that we believe that She is an It, but we try to show no prej­udice."

  "Can't you make up your minds?" Azzie asked.

  "It makes no difference," she told him. "Supreme Good is beyond sexuality."

  "That's not what we're taught," Azzie said. "According to our experts, sexuality is the highest expression of evil, especially when it's good.

  "As it could be between you and me, babe," Azzie ended, his voice going husky and a disturbing odor of musk emanating from him.

  The clerk frowned and patted her hair and turned to Ba­briel. "Canst thou not restrain this ill-visaged specter of evil who leers at me with unveiled meaning?"

  "Oh, hey," Babriel said, "that's just Azzie. He's a demon, you know. They're supposed to act that way-irreverent and sexual. Poor soul, he knows no better. But not even demons are utterly beyond redemption."

  "Praise the Lord!" the clerk said.

  "Aye, praise Him," Babriel said.

  Azzie said, "Hey, look, can we dispense with the hosannas and get on with the stuff I need? You two can go courting on your own time."

  "What a hateful thing to say!" the clerk said, blushing and looking away. "I'll check on the gutsia. Wait right here."

  She vanished in a beguiling manner.

  "You've got cuter supply clerks than we have," Azzie said.

  "That's because under the rule of the Good all creatures are equal. Perhaps, since we have to wait, I could explain to you some of the more basic points of our doctrine."

  "Don't bother," Azzie said. "I'm going to take a nap."

  "Is it so easy for you to do that?"

  "Evil is known for its eternal vigilance," Azzie said. "Ex­cept when it gets fed up."

  He closed his eyes. Soon the even rhythm of his breathing gave evidence that he was either sleeping or doing a good job of faking it.

  Left to his own devices, Babriel said a longish prayer for the salvation and regeneration of all beings, even demons. By the time he had finished, the clerk was back.

  "I have the extract of gutsia," she said, handing Babriel a small flask in which colors of red, violet, yellow, and blue could be seen coruscating softly.

  "Great," said Babriel. "We thank you. You have been most unfailingly courteous, helpful, kind-"

  "Let's get on with it," Azzie said. "Thanks a lot, babe. If you ever want to change your luck - "

  The supply clerk vanished in a cloud of indignation.

  Azzie went to the kitchen to give Frike instructions in how to mix the gutsia with Charming's cream of leek soup. Grateful as he was to Babriel for procuring it for him, he was deeply suspicious. Why had the angel been so helpful? Pure generosity didn't seem a sufficient motive. Were angels capable of double-dealing? What was Babriel up to?

  Chapter 2

  Azzie administered the gutsia that evening, and Charm­ing showed a remarkable improvement. Over the next few days, his fencing skill and aggressiveness picked up. He was no longer interested in his dolls.

  All in all, it seemed a good time to Azzie to bring up the subject of his quest.

  "I've been meaning to speak to you again about your fu­ture," Azzie said one quiet afternoon when he and Prince Charming were together in the big common room of the castle.

  "Yes, Uncle?"

  "You remember the things I told you about the Napping Princess?" he asked. "It's about time to head off in her direc­tion."

  "I wouldn't mind hanging around court," Charming said.

  "Forget it. It's a great adventure that's in store for you."

  "That's nice, Uncle. But, you know, I've been wonder­ing why I'm supposed to find her and kiss her and all, anyway."

  Azzie took on a tone of deepest portent. "My boy, it was written long ago that only a kiss on the lips from her true love would awaken the Princess from the sleep."

  "Hope that works out for her," Charming said.

  "Of course it will! You, Prince Charming, are the destined lover and husband of this fair maid."

  "Are you sure it's supposed to be me, Uncle? I mean, how do you know it's not some other fellow's quest?"

  "Because it is so written."

  "Written where?"

  "Never mind where," Azzie said. "Just take my word for it, if I tell you it's written, it's written. My boy, you are a very lucky youth. Princess Scarlet is the most beautiful of maidens, and she comes with a rich dowry. It will be difficult and dan­gerous getting to her, but I know you will do fine."

  "How difficult? How dangerous?"

  "There is an enchanted wood to pass through," Azzie ex­plained. "You must fight the various denizens of the wood. Then there is the glass mountain which you must somehow climb."

  "This sounds extremely difficult," Charming said. "Glass mountain, eh? Perhaps I could manage it. I don't know, though."

  "I'll see that you come to no harm," Azzie told hi
m. "Trust your old uncle Azzie. Never set you wrong, did I?"

  "You won't get a chance this time either," Charming said. "I'm not going."

  "At least look at her picture. What do you think?" Azzie asked, showing Prince Charming the miniature.

  "She looks all right," Charming said, in tones of profound disinterest.

  "Pretty, huh?" Azzie said.

  "In a common sort of way."

  "Fine bright eyes, eh?"

  "Astigmatic, no doubt."

  "And the mouth!"

  "A regular sort of mouth," Charming said.

  "Tiny! Dainty!"

  "Smallish," Charming conceded.

  "She's lovely, is she not?"

  "She's okay, I suppose," Charming said. "But I'm too young to have a princess of my own forever and forever. I haven't even dated yet."

  Charming's lack of interest was dismaying. Azzie had not expected this. As a fairly typical demon, he was usually in a state of concupiscence. The very idea that this Prince could be so blase about the beautiful Princess astounded him. It irritated him also, and when he thought about it further, it worried him.

  If Prince Charming evinced no more than a polite interest in Scarlet, how could he be expected to go through hell and high water to reach her bedside and awaken her with a kiss? With his attitude, he'd be more likely to send her a letter saying, "Time to wake up now, miss."

  In vain Azzie pointed out the Princess' charms. Charming met them with a devastating indifference which hurt Azzie's feelings, since the Princess was his creation. But he couldn't be too angry since he had created the Prince as well, and thus was more or less responsible for his attitude.

  This was a turn of events Azzie had not expected. It had never occurred to him that his Prince would not fall instantly in love with Scarlet. Now that his cowardice seemed somewhat under control it seemed he was romantically sluggish.

  "Damn!" Azzie observed, gnashing his teeth. "Oh, damn! Another design flaw!"

  It was a hellish situation.

  Chapter 3

  In the evening he put Charming out of the way with a magic sleep. Then he headed for his conjuring room. Frike was there, humming to himself as he topped off vials of agius regae, bloodswart, hellbane, and other herbs and simples which wizardly demons find useful.