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

by Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming [lit]

  "Put that crap away," Azzie said. "I need to do some conjuring. Bring me ten cc's of bat's blood, some demonswart, and a half gill of black hellebore."

  "We're all out of black hellebore," Frike said. "Would toadswart or anything else do?"

  "I thought I told you to keep the stock up."

  "I'm sorry, master. I developed a taste for it."

  Azzie snorted.

  "Stuff'll stunt your growth," he observed, "and make your palms hairy. Bring me some heliogabulus root then. It will have to suffice."

  Frike brought the root and, following Azzie's directions, arranged it around a pentagram which was set into the stone floor with mother-of-pearl. He lighted the black candles, and Azzie intoned the invocation. The words employed many double glottal stops, a common feature of the ancient language of evil. Presently, a wisp of gray and purple smoke appeared in the circle. It expanded, filled out, grew larger, taller, thicker, and finally resolved into the tall figure of Hermes Trismegistus.

  "Hail, Great One," Azzie said.

  "Hi there, Little One," Hermes said. "What seems to be the trouble?"

  Azzie related his difficulties with Charming. Hermes said, "You made an error in telling him about the Princess, Azzie. You assumed that things happen in real life as they do in fairy tales, and that Prince Charming would fall madly in love with Princess Scarlet from one look at the miniature."

  "Isn't that how it happens?"

  "Only in fairy tales."

  "But this is a fairy tale!"

  "Not yet it isn't," Hermes said. "After it is all over and retold by a bard, then it becomes a fairy tale. But for right now, that condition has not been met. You can't simply show a young man a picture and expect him to fall in love with it. You must use psychology."

  "Is that a special spell?" Azzie asked.

  Hermes shook his smoky head. "It is what we call a science. It is the science of human behavior. There's nothing like it in the world yet. That's why everyone is so wonky. No one knows why they do what they do because there's no psychology."

  "Well, what do I do?"

  "The first thing is to wipe out Charming's memories of 'your telling him about Scarlet. A small dose of Lethe water ought to do the trick. Not a great deal, just enough so that he will forget your recent conversation with him."

  "And then?"

  "Then I will tell you what to do next."

  There was no trouble procuring Lethe water. Hermes brought it in a small crystal flask, and Azzie administered it to Charming. That evening, Azzie and Prince Charming dined together in the big walnut-paneled dining room. Frike served, splashing the soup as usual because of the way he lurched when walking. When the smoking joint had been taken away and the cream tarts eaten, Azzie said, "By the way, Prince, I shall be going out of town for a while."

  "Where are you going, Uncle?"

  "I have some business to attend to."

  "What business, Uncle?"

  "My business is none of your business. Frike! Bring me the keys!"

  Frike scuttled off and crabbed back with a big bunch of keys set around an iron ring.

  "Now pay attention, Prince. I am leaving the keys of the manor in your keeping. This big one is for the front door. The small one opens the back door, and the other small one opens the stable. Here is the key to the cellar where we keep the wine, the beer, and the preserved meats. The one with the curlicues opens my chest of spells. You can play with them if you like; they're not currently armed."

  "Yes, Uncle." Charming took the keys. One caught his eye, a small silver key with elaborate arabesques around its haft.

  "What about this one?" Charming asked.

  "Ah," Azzie said, "that one. Did I leave that on the key ring?"

  "Yes, you did, Uncle."

  "Well, don't use it."

  "But what is it?"

  "It opens the small door at the far end of my sleeping chamber. And then, using the other end, it opens a small brass-bound oaken chest in that room. But you must not go through that door and you must not open the chest."

  "Why not, Uncle?"

  "It would take too long to explain," Azzie said.

  "I have time," Charming said.

  "Of course you do. You have nothing but time, have you? But I do not have any time. I must be off immediately. Just take my word for it, there will be a bad result if you open that door. So don't do it."

  "Yes, Uncle."

  "Scout's honor?"

  Charming held up his right hand in the salute of the Scouts of Knighthood, a new organization for young knights in train­ing. "I swear, Uncle."

  "Good boy. And now I must be off. Farewell, lad."

  "Farewell, Uncle."

  Charming accompanied him to the stables, where Azzie mounted a fiery Arabian.

  "Softly now, Belshazzar!" Azzie cried. "Farewell, nephew. I'll see you in a couple of days, a week at the outside."

  Charming and Frike both waved until Azzie was out of sight.

  An hour later (a short hour, since the glass ran fast) Charm­ing said to Frike, "I'm bored."

  "Another game of Rheumie?" Frike asked, shuffling the cards.

  "No, I'm tired of card games."

  "What would you like to do then, young sir? Lawn tennis? Quoits? Push and shove?"

  "I'm sick of all those namby-pamby pastimes," Charming said. "Can't you think of anything interesting?"

  "Hunting?" Frike suggested. "Fishing? Kite flying?"

  "No, no . . ." Prince Charming narrowed his eyes, then looked up. His features took on a look of animation. "I know!"

  "I await your pleasure, sire."

  "Let's go peek in the room I'm not supposed to look into."

  Frike had been well schooled. Concealing the smile that threatened to break out, he said, "We couldn't do that!"

  "Could we not, now?"

  "Certainly not, sire. The master would be dreadfully cross."

  "But he wouldn't have to know, would he?"

  Frike's expression revealed that he had never thought of that. "You mean . . . not tell him?"

  "That is precisely what I mean."

  "But we always tell the master everything!"

  "Let's make an exception this time."

  "But why?"

  "For a game, Frike, that's why."

  "Oh ... A game." Frike seemed to ponder. "I suppose that would be all right, if it's only a game. Are you sure it's a game?"

  "Frike, I swear to you, it is only a game."

  "Well then," Frike said, "so long as it's only a game."

  "Let's go!" Charming cried, bounding up the stairs four at a time, the keys jingling in his hand.

  Outside the manor house, Azzie, who had parked his horse in the wood and returned on foot, or rather, on wing, since he had fully operational wings beneath his resplendent tunic, hov­ered above the high bedroom window and smiled to himself. He had never heard of this psychology stuff Hermes had spoken about, but it was going all right so far.

  Chapter 4

  Ylith was just tucking a blanket about Princess Scarlet, who had dropped off to sleep in mid-conversation with her, when the knocking oc­curred upon the castle gate. It was not like Azzie to knock, and Ylith could not imagine any other visitor, there atop the glass mountain. Leaving the girl in the leather arms of the huge chair, she moved quickly out of the sitting room and headed for the castle's main hall. The sound came again as she traversed the high-ceilinged stone room.

  She unlatched the normal-sized postern door beside the big gate, opened it, and looked outside. A tall, not uncomely figure, clad in white and gold, returned her gaze and smiled.

  "Yes?" she said.

  "Am I correct in assuming this to be the castle of the Napping Beauty, Princess Scarlet?" he inquired.

  "You are," she replied. "But you can't be Prince Charming, can you? It's a little early, and those aren't the right eyes -not that I have anything against big blue ones, mind you."

  "Oh, no," he answered. "My name's Babriel. I'm the ob­server
for the Powers of Light. I'm a guest of Azzie's and I just thought I'd pop over and check out this end of the operation. Is everything proceeding in good fashion?"

  "Why, yes," she said. "Won't you come in?"

  "Thank you, I will," he replied.

  "I'm Azzie's-associate," she said, "in this matter. My name's Ylith. Glad to make your acquaintance."

  She offered a hand. He raised it and pressed it to his lips.

  "Oh," she remarked, staring at her hand after he released it. "Uh, come this way. I'll take you to see the lady. She's napping now, of course."

  "Of course," he replied, seeming to realize suddenly that he was still holding her hand and releasing it quickly, "if it is convenient."

  "Certainly, certainly."

  She turned and led him across the hall.

  "Nice hall," he observed.

  "Thanks."

  "You and Azzie been together long?"

  "Oh, we go way back. But we're not exactly-together- right now. Except on this project, I mean."

  "Clever entry you have."

  "I suppose so. It's all Azzie's idea. I'm just helping him out, for old times' sake."

  "I see. Brotherhood of Evil and all that," he said. "Sister­hood, too, of course," he corrected quickly.

  "Sort of. This way," she said, leading him out of the hall and into the sitting room. "There she is. Napping Beauty. Pretty, huh?"

  "Lovely," he remarked.

  Ylith blushed as she realized he was looking at her. Im­mediately, he suffered a coughing spell.

  "May I get you something to drink?" she offered. "A little ichor, perhaps?"

  "Please."

  "Have a seat. Be comfortable."

  She hurried off, returning in a few moments with a pair of drinks.

  "Here. Thought I'd join you," she said.

  "Thank you."

  He sipped it slowly. She seated herself nearby.

  "I take it the project goes well," Babriel repeated after a time.

  "Oh, Azzie has his problems, I understand," she answered.

  "You must be a great help and comfort to him."

  "I wouldn't know," she replied. "He's been somewhat un­communicative. "

  "I don't understand."

  "The last time we talked he was a trifle -cold. It may be he has more problems than I realize, or it may just be -"

  "What?"

  "That he's just that way - to me."

  They sipped their ichor in silence for a time. Then: "It is in the nature of evil to be nasty, I guess," Babriel observed. "Even to its friends and allies."

  Ylith looked away.

  "He wasn't always like that, to me."

  "Oh."

  "Your side is nicer about these things, I suppose."

  "I'd like to think so."

  "But then you have to be. . . . The nature of things."

  "I suppose. But I like to think that we do it because we really want to. It just makes us feel good."

  "Hmm." She turned toward Princess Scarlet. "Look at her," she said. "Poor thing has no notion that she's only a counter in a game."

  "But she wouldn't exist, save for that."

  "Still, it might be better than being used."

  "An interesting theological point."

  "Theological, hell! Excuse me. But people aren't things, to be manipulated that way."

  "No, they have free will. So she's still her own person. That's what makes this whole thing interesting."

  "Free? Even when the choices are artificially narrowed?"

  "That's another interesting theological point-that is, yes, I suppose it isn't very nice. Still, what's to be done? She really is something of a game piece."

  "I guess so. I can't help feeling a bit sorry for her, though."

  "Oh, I do, too. We're big on sympathy."

  "Is that all? I mean, it doesn't help her much."

  "But we're not allowed to help in this. Though now you mention it, I suppose I could recommend her for some grace."

  "Wouldn't that be cheating, helping her?"

  "Not really. Grace sort of helps without helping, if you know what I mean. It kind of helps you to help yourself. I can't see that as cheating. Yes, maybe I should. ..."

  Another sip.

  "Have you always been that way?" she asked.

  "What way?"

  "Kind."

  "I suppose so."

  "How refreshing. It makes it easier having you as the observer."

  "Have you always been a witch?"

  "It was a career choice, a long time ago."

  "Enjoyable?"

  "Most of the time. What sort of entry does the Power of Light have going?"

  "Oh, we're calling it a Gothic cathedral-a radically new concept in the architecture of devotion and goodness."

  "How does it differ from the regular variety? Here, let me freshen your drink."

  "Thanks."

  When she returned, he began explaining Gothic cathe­drals. She smiled and nodded regularly, fascinated.

  Chapter 5

  Scarlet paced before Ylith.

  "I'm getting so sick of napping," she said.

  She continued to pace.

  "I'm never fully awake, it seems, and I can't get a good night's sleep either. I need to do something more than stay here in this stupid castle waiting for some guy to come along and wake me up. I want to get out of here! I want to talk to someone!"

  "You can talk to me," Ylith replied.

  "Oh, Aunt Ylith, you're very nice. I'd be completely out of my mind if you weren't here. But I'd like to talk to someone else. You know ... a man."

  "I wish I could help you," Ylith said. "But you know you're not supposed to have any company. You're just supposed to sleep until Prince Charming gets here."

  "I know, I know," Scarlet said. Tears filled her eyes. "But it's so boring, just sleeping all the time. And not even sleeping well. Napping! Oh, please, Aunt Ylith, isn't there some way you can help me?"

  Ylith considered. She felt more irritated with Azzie than before. She should have known better than to trust him again. Still, there was nothing she could do about it now.

  The following day, there came a knocking at the gate: it came during one of Scarlet's rare moments of wakefulness, and she rushed down to open it herself.

  Standing at the door was a six-foot frog dressed in foot­man's livery, with a white peruke slightly askew on his warty green head.

  "Hello," Scarlet said calmly. She was getting quite used to enchanted visitations. After talking with Azzie-who was very strange, in his puff-of-smoke comings and goings-and Ylith, who spent considerable time before a magic mirror, ob­serving the townspeople at the foot of the mountain, as well as points distant (including the nether regions and lower astral realms)-nothing could surprise her. "Are you the Prince who's supposed to awaken me?"

  "Heavens no!" the frog said. "I am a messenger."

  "But underneath the frog disguise you're really a handsome young man, aren't you?"

  "Afraid not," he replied. "I've been enchanted to possess the power of human speech and made to be six feet tall."

  "What are you like when you're not enchanted?"

  "I'm six inches tall and I croak."

  "What do you want? "

  "I have an invitation for you."

  He held out a square of cardboard upon which letters had been embossed:

  YOU ARE INVITED TO A CELEBRATION

  MASKED BALL IN HONOR OF

  CINDERELLA AND HER PRINCE

  MUSIC BY ORLANDO AND THE FURIOSOS

  GIORDANO BRUNO AND THE HERMETIC TRADITION

  SPARTACUS AND THE REVOLTING SLAVES

  CHARADES, DOOR PRIZES

  TASTEFUL REVELRY

  "Oh, thank you!" Scarlet said. "But why did Princess "Cinderella ask me? I don't even know her."

  "She heard that you are alone here and is sympathetic to your plight. She's had her own problems, you know."

  "I'd love to go! But I have no ballroom gown."

&n
bsp; "Surely you can get one."

  "And transport . . . How would I get there?"

  "Merely contact Enchanted Ball Caterers, and at the proper time they will dispatch me with a coach fashioned out of a pumpkin."

  "Oh. But won't I get pumpkin juice on my gown?"

  "Not a chance of it. The interior is upholstered in rarest watered silk."

  "Watered?"

  "It's dry, don't worry."

  "Thank you! Thank you!" Scarlet rushed off to tell Ylith about the wonderful invitation.

  "Faith, child, Azzie has a spell over this whole place," Ylith replied. "It would take a plenipotentiary pass to get you out of here. And that, only the Powers of Darkness can supply."

  "But what can I do?"

  "Nothing, poor dear," she mused. "Though if you had Azzie's unlimited credit card, then a lot would be possible. And he keeps it so carelessly, too, in the upper pocket of his waist­coat. You'll just have to hope that he drops it when he visits you next, and that you can pick it up before he misses it."

  "But what if he doesn't drop it?"

  "Your own hands can help you," Ylith said. "Especially the left one."

  Scarlet looked at her hands. The left one, the pickpocket's hand, was slightly smaller than the right one, and looked, she didn't know how to say it, somehow more Ay than its near mate.

  "What is it about my left hand? I can see it's small and I suppose dainty. But what of it?"

  "That hand has a skill for getting what you need."

  "And if I had the card?"

  "Why then," Ylith said, "you could call up a ballroom gown and get an order through to the Enchanted Ball Caterers. Then you could go to the ball, so long as you came straight back."

  "Why are you telling me these things?"

  Ylith looked away.

  "Anger and pity, my dear," she said at length. "The first is a strength and the second a weakness. So think of it mainly as the first. And it is time that you learned about balls. And free will."

  She patted Princess Scarlet's hand, which half succeeded in removing a jeweled ring as she was about it.