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

by Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming [lit]

  The food was good, of course, but Moondrench was more interested in strong drink. "Pass the ichor," he told a tall skinny spirit diagonally across the table from him. Agrippa was getting a good start, too. Moondrench considered joining a group of devils off by themselves in a corner, where they drank ichor out of each other's shoes and giggled immoderately. At a dif­ferent part of the table, a fat demon in a clown's outfit cut into a large pie, releasing four-and-twenty blackbirds, which flut­tered around the heads of the guests.

  "Having a good time?" Agrippa asked Moondrench.

  "It isn't bad," Moondrench said. "But who is that over there waving his hands?"

  "That's Asmodeus," Agrippa said. "He's in charge of this section of the banquet."

  "And the dark lady beside him?"

  "That is Hecate, Queen of Night. If they look in your direction, just smile and raise your glass. They are very im­portant."

  "You don't have to tell me how to behave. What is As­modeus doing? He seems to be reading something. But I didn't know that Lord Demons could read."

  "Very funny," Agrippa said. "If he hears you saying things like that, you'll see how humorous he'll feel." Agrippa peered more closely. "He seems to be studying the notes for his speech."

  "What speech?" Moondrench asked. "You didn't say any­thing about the speeches."

  "I thought you understood what this is all about."

  "Just some sort of big party, isn't it?"

  "Rather more than that," Agrippa said. "This is the oc­casion when they announce the winner of the Millennial contest which determines the quality that will dominate men's lives for the next thousand years."

  Moondrench said, "Is it so important, this matter of human destiny? "

  "Not to us, perhaps," Agrippa said. "But to them it means quite a lot."

  A Nameless Horror stalked by, reeking of deep reptilian musk. Its companion, a model of the Pickman variety, asked, "Did you hear what happened to Good's entry?"

  The Nameless Horror grunted in the negative.

  "The whole damned thing fell down! Made a beautiful crash -with those stained-glass windows and all. Too bad about the gargoyles, of course."

  "How come?" the Nameless Horror growled.

  "Something to do with buttressing and flying-I'm not clear on the mechanics. Guess Good wasn't either. Har! Har!"

  "I want some more to drink," Moondrench said. "You promised me I'd have lots of fun."

  "Here comes the waiter with the ichor," Agrippa said. "Please don't act silly."

  "I shall drink as much as I please," Moondrench said, helping himself to a flagon of ichor. "And I shall probably drink a lot. Drinking to excess is never silly."

  There was a disturbance at the rear of the hall. A fox-faced demon had entered and was making his lurching way forward, colliding with waiters, bumping against diners, knock­ing dishes from tables as he passed. Murmurs rose as he went by:

  "How rude!"

  "Isn't that ...?"

  "Is that . . . ?"

  "Looks like Azzie."

  "Didn't he have an entry in the contest?"

  "Wonder what happened."

  "Hey, Azzie! You okay?"

  "I heard he screwed up a big one."

  "I thought he was still in the Pits."

  "Looks soused to the ear tufts."

  "Watch it there, fella!"

  "What else can you expect from a drunken demon?"

  "What'd he want with a glass mountain, anyhow?"

  "Give 'em hell, Azzie!"

  "Yeah! Hell! Brimstone and all that!"

  Moondrench was being difficult. Agrippa no longer con­sidered him as attractive as he had before. And now the banquet was in full swing. More food kept arriving, brought in on silver platters by demons in black tuxedos. There were some unusual dishes. Suckling chimaera, for example. And there were all sorts of dishes with little handwritten signs on them telling the diner what he was getting into. A few of the dishes were even able to enunciate. "Hello," the stewed turnips said, "we're delicious."

  The sound of all those beings conversing was beginning to grow deafening. In order to reach anyone more than two or three seats away, you had to use the seashell telephones located beside each setting.

  On a sort of boardwalk which extended over the dining table, a tableau of great hits of the past was being presented, highlights of the macabre and the virtuous. As new guests ar­rived, each had to have his lineage and accomplishments an­nounced by the white-furred majordomo.

  Azzie continued to push his way forward, on the crest of an advancing wave of chaos.

  Then Asmodeus got up. He was fat, and his white skin had a greenish cast. His lower lip protruded so far that a saucer could have balanced on it. He wore a bottle-green coat, and when he turned around, his twisted pig's tail was visible.

  "Hello, friends," Asmodeus said. "I think we all know why we are here, don't we?"

  "To get drunk!" an ugly spirit off to one side said.

  "Well, yes, that, of course," Asmodeus said. "But we are getting drunk tonight for a purpose. And that purpose is to celebrate the eve of the Millennium, and to announce the winner of the contest. I know you're impatient to find out who it is, but you'll just have to wait a little longer. First we are going to have some special appearances."

  Azzie moved to the front of the hall.

  Asmodeus began to call out names, and various spirits got up to take bows. They grinned and smirked, scraped and bowed to the enthusiastic audience. The Red Death was introduced and stood up. He was tall, and wrapped from head to foot in a bloodred cloak. Over his shoulder he carried a scythe.

  "Who's that couple over there?" Moondrench asked. "The big blond angel and the dark little witch?"

  "The angel is named Babriel," Agrippa told him. "The witch is Ylith - a good friend of Azzie's, one of our more in­teresting and active demons. I believe he just went by."

  "I've heard of him," Moondrench said. "He was doing something special for this year's festivities, wasn't he?"

  "So it's been said. There he is now, down front. Looks like he got a head start on the rest of us. I wonder what he's up to?"

  Azzie climbed onto a table, to the consternation of the diners who surrounded it. He swayed. He breathed smoke and struck sparks as he moved.

  He made as if to say something several times but failed. Finally, he plucked a flagon from a diner's talons, raised it, and drained it.

  "Fools! Pigs! Bastards!" he roared then. "Ye less-than-sentient things! I address myself particularly to my so-called brothers of Darkness, whose champion I have been, betrayed utterly by your indifference. We could have won it, boys and girls! We had the chance! My conception was glorious, un­precedented, and it could have worked!"

  He paused and coughed. Someone passed him another flagon, and he sipped from it. The hall had grown quiet now.

  "But did I get any cooperation?" he went on. "Not a bit! The fools in Supply acted as if I were doing this for my own personal aggrandizement, rather than the greater glory of us all. Why, damn it! I got more help from that fool Babriel, the stupid-faced observer from the Powers of Light, than I got from any of you. And you call yourselves evil! You are living proof, all of you, of the banality of bad! And now you sit here and celebrate and await the announcement. I tell you, friends, Evil has grown boring and stupid in this day and age. We of Dark­ness have lost the ability to steer the destinies of humanity."

  Azzie glared around him. Everyone was silent, waiting for

  him to continue. Azzie strode across the table, took another swig, swayed again, regained his balance.

  "So I say, the hell with all of you! I am going away now to a private place, to think and to rest. This entire event has been very trying. But I want to tell you all, this isn't the end of me. Not at all. I still have a few tricks, my masters! Wait now and see what I bring next for your amusement!"

  Azzie threw out a double travel-spell and disappeared in a clap of thunder. The assembled demons and angels glanced
at each other uneasily. "What do you think he meant by that?" several were heard to mutter.

  They did not have to wait long to see.

  Before they could move, a tornado came sweeping in from outer reality. It roared, ripped, and tore at the banquet hall, and it was accompanied by a rising rush of water. The carefully noted speeches of the elder demons and angels were ripped from their hands and sent flying to the skies. There followed an infestation of frogs, thousands, millions of them, dropping from out the heavens. The walls began to sweat blood, while noxious halations suddenly became the order of the day. And through it all there was a faint demonic laughter-Azzie's laugh­ter- as he sent peril after menace after direness after terror into the banquet hall.

  All in all, it proved a most memorable dessert.

  Chapter 7

  Brigitte was playing with her dollhouse when she heard something behind her. She turned slowly, a question already forming on her lips, a question which was lost due to the moue of surprise she gave when she saw who was standing there, tall, red-furred, with a mean smile on his face.

  "Why, hello, Azzie! How are you?"

  "I am very well, Brigitte," Azzie said. "And you look well. And I can hear the sound of a pen scratching in an upstairs room, so I suppose Thomas Scrivener is living up to his name and recording something about the events that have befallen him recently."

  "Indeed he is," Brigitte said. "But he tells me he doesn't know the ending."

  "It may surprise him," Azzie said. "Indeed, methinks it may surprise all of us. Heh, heh, heh."

  "What a sinister chuckle you have, Azzie," Brigitte said. "Why have you come?"

  "I've brought you a present, child," Azzie said.

  "Ooo! Let me see!"

  "Here it is." Azzie brought out a box made of difficult-to-acquire cardboard and, opening it, showed within the little guillotine.

  "How nice!" Brigitte said. "It looks like the perfect thing for cutting off the heads of my dollies."

  "And so it is," Azzie said. "But you really shouldn't do that, because you love your dolls and "would be sad to see them without heads."

  "That's true," Brigitte said, and she began to snivel in anticipation of her bereavement.

  "But how can I play with my new guillotine if I do not cut off the heads of my dolls?" She looked around. "Maybe one of the new puppies - "

  "No, Brigitte," Azzie said. "I am evil, but I am not cruel to animals. There's a special Hell reserved for those who are. You see, my dear, these toys must be used with care, and played with in due gravity."

  "It's no fun if I can't cut off anyone's head," Brigitte said.

  So far his plan, which was of that brand of evil termed nasty, was proceeding perfectly.

  "Stop sniveling," Azzie said. "I am going to bring you something special."

  "What is it?"

  "Something whose head can be cut off!"

  "Oh, Uncle Azzie!" She ran to him and embraced him. "When will I get this something?"

  "Soon, my dear, very soon. Be a good girl and play now. Uncle Azzie will return presently with your new gift."

  Chapter 1

  Prince Charming and Princess Scarlet set up house­keeping in a modest castle Cinderella had recommended, in a region of great natural beauty on the Rhine. Briar roses grew round about it. Charming converted his shield into a planter for sweet herbs. Good spirits danced around their hearth. Sexy spirits inhabited their bedroom.

  "Charming! Would you come here a moment?" Scarlet called.

  He looked up from the garden, where he was working away among the organically grown vegetables.

  "Where are you, love?"

  "In the bedroom."

  "I'm on my way."

  High in the room's northwestern corner, as he held her, kissed her, and caressed her, an eye opened and regarded them. As they fell upon the big feather bed, watched over by indulgent spirits of the Good who celebrated their part in the glorious Millennium, the eye regarded them for a moment. As he unlaced her blouse and drew it up over her head, the eye winked out.

  Chapter 2

  Back in his mansion in Augsburg, Azzie turned off his all-seeing eye, one of the last items he'd picked up from Supply.

  Suddenly there was a sound from outside. Looking out of the window, he saw a Nameless Horror picking its way up the path. It was vaguely man-shaped, it had one talon in a sling, and it wore an eye patch.

  "Hail, Azzie," the Nameless Horror said.

  "Hail yourself, Nameless Horror," Azzie said. "You have about five seconds to tell me why you have invaded my awesome solitude before I boot your Shapeless Ass out of here."

  The apparition's eye sockets glowed. Its mouth curled into an approximation of a smile.

  "Ah, milord Azzie, you talk exactly as I thought you would! I've been so longing to meet you!"

  "What the hell is this all about?" Azzie asked.

  "I'm your greatest admirer," the Horror said. "I hope to do great things in the world. At present I am only an apprentice demon, and am serving my time doing Nameless Horror work. But I know that will come to an end and I will be awarded full demon status. Then I hope to be just like you!"

  "That's a laugh," Azzie said, laughing sardonically, but flattered in spite of himself. "Me, the failure, the loser."

  "You are not up on recent events," it said, solidifying slightly to improve its enunciation. "The Powers of Evil have decided to grant you a prize extraordinary." It held out to Azzie a small box. Azzie opened it and found within a small statuette of a stylized demon, done in nasty orange, all except for the eyes, which were colored green.

  "What's this piece of rubbish?" Azzie asked.

  "It's a special award for Best Evil Deed of the Millennium."

  "But what's it for?"

  The Nameless Horror took out a scroll from somewhere within its shapeless clothing. It read, "This is in acknowledg­ment of a masterful performance at the Millennial Awards Din­ner, when the said Azzie Elbub did disrupt and confound the proceedings with various Hateful Visitations, thus proving that, even in defeat for the main prize, viz., direction of man's destiny for a thousand years, the said Azzie Elbub has shown the ef­frontery and sangfroid that marks the true "worker in the vine­yards of Evil."

  Azzie accepted the award and turned it this "way and that. It was really very nice. It was not the mam prize, "which the Powers of Good had won by default, despite the cathedral fiasco, as a continuation of a previous victory. It would look very nice on his mantel.

  "Well, thank you, young demon," Azzie said. "It's sort of a consolation prize, I suppose, but welcome nonetheless. You say you admire me, eh?"

  "That is correct," the Nameless Horror said, and after that intoned some lines of praise so fulsome in their ingratiation that another being "would have been embarrassed. But Azzie, who was not much bothered by self-doubt - only the insufficiency of others-was well pleased.

  "Thank you, Nameless Horror. I accept this prize, and please tell the committee that I am well pleased by it. Now go you and do evil!"

  "That's what I "was hoping you'd say," it replied, and took itself away.

  Chapter 3

  It was very nice getting the prize, but that was not all. Soon after, there was a brightening of light around the Augsburg mansion.

  "Now who the hell is that?" Azzie remarked. He didn't appreciate all the interruptions when he was getting ready for a good sulk.

  This shape took its time solidifying. Azzie waited, and it finally took on the form and substance of Babriel.

  "Hail, Azzie!" Babriel cried, standing tall and blond and as stupid looking as before.

  "Yeah, hail and all that," Azzie said. "You want to rub it in, I suppose?"

  "Not at all. You know I never gloat."

  "That's true," Azzie said, "and it makes you all the more annoying."

  "You're a great kidder," Babriel replied. "But let me tell you why I'm here."

  "If you wish," Azzie said. "It makes no difference to me."

  "By t
he powers vested in me by the Committee for the Powers of Light," Babriel said, reading from a scroll he had taken out of the white folds of his robe, "we hereby present a special Power of Light award to Azzie Elbub, demon, but not utterly damned, for the good services he did for the Powers of

  Light in helping us win the destiny of mankind for the next thousand years."

  So saying, he removed from his bosom a small effigy of an angel, done in a sickly yellow white, with glinty blue eyes and cutesy little wings.

  "Well," Azzie said, pleased despite himself, "that's very nice of the Powers of Light. Very nice indeed." He struggled to find something ugly to say, but for the moment was overcome. He had received awards from both the Powers of Light and of Darkness. He was pretty sure he was the first ever to win both awards.

  After Babriel had left, Azzie fell to musing. He set his two awards down on a table and looked at them. They were rather attractive things. He was pleased despite himself. Rage still boiled, however, when he considered how near he had come to winning the real one, the big one, the Millennial Award itself. But there was no use brooding over it.

  For now, what he needed was a little rest and-strange how the thought should occur to him - some home cooking, before shrinking his enemies and delivering them to Brigitte and her guillotine. His thoughts strayed to Ylith. He hadn't paid much attention to her recently; he'd been too preoccupied with putting together his entry. But now it was over.

  He mused. He could use a vacation. There was a nice spot he recalled in India where generations of Assassins had worked, killing their thousands of victims each year as they attached themselves to the great pilgrimages. The Assassins had built a special resort on the flat top of a low mountain somewhere north of the Ganges. He was sure he could find it again. It would be fun to go there with Ylith. He remembered the amuse­ments that had been available last time: bowling with human heads, croquet matches with giraffes' necks, table tennis with eyeballs. Yes, it was time he gave Ylith a break.