A Farce To Be Reckoned With

by Roger Zelazny

  "By 'looking around' I suppose you mean spying," said Ylith. "And to whom does 'us' refer?"

  "Me and God," Michael said. "I'm asking you in His name, of course."

  "Yes, you usually do," Ylith said. Her face took on a petulant expression. "Why doesn't He ever speak to me Himself?"

  "Many of us have wondered why we do not hear direct from the Deity," Michael said. "He doesn't speak directly to me, either. It is a mystery and we are not supposed to question it."

  "Why not?" Ylith asked.

  "Very well, then, sir, I'll go at once."

  "Do so. And use your own judgment. If you should find that Azzie Elbub has a scheme underfoot for the subversion of mankind and the glorification of Evil, it will do no harm at all to put a spike in his wheels, so to speak, if you should find a chance."

  "That's exactly what I was thinking," Ylith said.

  Chapter 2

  In their room near the kitchen, Puss and Quentin lay in their truckle beds watching the shadows cross and re- cross on the ceiling.

  "Do you think Antonio is really a demon?" asked Quentin, who was quite young and not completely sure yet what was real and what was not.

  "I think he is," Puss said.

  Puss had been thinking long and hard about what she wanted more than anything else in the world. The first thing that had occurred to her was blond hair, like her brother's. Silky and curly and long, and with a flaxen tint to it, not the brassy yellow that some girls affected. But was that really a thing to wish for above all else? Puss felt a little ashamed for having so meager a wish, and so, uncustomarily, she listened attentively as Quentin told her what he'd ask for if he went to ask a favor of the demon.

  "My own horse, that's first," Quentin said decisively. "And my own sword. It's ridiculous of Father to say it's too expensive having a sword made for me because I'll outgrow it in a year or two. I mean, what's the sense of being rich if you can't buy things you will outgrow?"

  "Very sensible," said Puss. "A sword, then. What else do you want?"

  "I don't think I want a kingdom," Quentin said thoughtfully. "I'd have to stay around and take care of it. I don't think King Arthur was too happy despite being in charge of Camelot, do you?"

  "I doubt it," Puss said.

  "I'd like to go out on a lot of quests," Quentin said.

  "Like Lancelot? He wasn't very happy, either."

  "No, but that's because he was silly, falling in love with the queen when there were so many other ladies to choose from. Why choose any at all? I'd rather be like Gawaine, traveling around and having different girlfriends and getting into trouble, and winning treasures and then losing them again. That way he had the pleasure of getting stuff without having to take care of it later."

  "Like getting all the toys he wanted without ever having to put them away?" Puss asked.

  "Exactly," said Quentin.

  "Very sound," Puss said. "What else would you want? "

  "A magical animal for a pet," Quentin answered without hesitation. "A lion, I should think, who listens only to me and kills people I don't like."

  "Well, that's a little much, isn't it?" Puss asked.

  "I mean he would kill people I didn't like if I let him. But I wouldn't, of course. If they got too troublesome, I'd kill them myself, in a long duel in which I got grievous wounds. And Mother would bind them up for me."

  "Mothers don't bind the wounds of heroes," Puss pointed out.

  "They could if it's my adventure," Quentin said. "I could make a rule."

  "It's a pity you're too young to make deals with demons."

  "I don't know about that," Quentin said. He sat upright in bed and looked very serious. "I've half a mind to go visit him right now."

  "Quentin! You wouldn't!" Puss said, thinking that if Quentin insisted, it would be her duty as his older sister to accompany him and perhaps make a wish of her own, just to keep him company. Quentin got out of bed and started to put on his clothes. His lower lip trembled as he contemplated his own daring, but his mind seemed to be made up.

  Just then there was a flash of light in a corner of the room. Both children jumped back into bed. There was a great deal of smoke, and when it cleared a pretty, dark- haired young woman was standing there.

  "How did you do that?" Quentin asked. "I don't remember you from the pilgrimage!"

  "I came to sell my eggs to the pilgrims," the woman said. "I live on a nearby farm and just arrived here at the inn. My name is Ylith."

  The children introduced themselves. They were especially eager to tell of what Antonio had said that evening, about granting the wishes of seven lucky people. Ylith recognized Azzie in the description.

  "I want to go make a wish, too," Quentin said.

  "You'll do no such thing," Ylith said firmly.

  Quentin seemed more than a little relieved. But he asked, "Why can't I?"

  "Because it isn't seemly for well-raised children to ask wishes of a demon from Hell."

  "But other people are asking," Puss pointed out. "They're going to have all the fun."

  "I think you will find that isn't really so," Ylith said. "Some of those people are going to find themselves involved in more than they bargained for."

  "How can you know that?" Puss asked.

  "I just know," Ylith said. "Now, children, how about trying to get to sleep? I'll tell you a story if you do."

  Chapter 3

  Ylith told a story about lambs and kids gamboling on the hillsides of her native Greece. Soon the children were asleep, so she tucked them up and blew out the candle, then sneaked out of their room. She found several of the pilgrims in the common room, sitting at a table near the fire and talking over the affairs of the day.

  valet to Sir Oliver.

  "What else could he be?" the valet replied. His name was Morton Kornglow and he "was twenty-two years old, a rangy young fellow with ideas beyond his station.

  Ylith sat down beside the woman and the valet. "What is this demon offering?" she asked.

  Kornglow said, "My master told me he has to do a magical passage in order to be rewarded with his dearest wish. When I went to his room, he was gone. Vanished."

  "Maybe he's just outside, walking around," Ylith suggested.

  "We'd have seen him come downstairs," Kornglow said, "and he's unlikely to have dived from the window into the bramble below. He's off doing the demon's work, I tell you, and frankly, it sounds like work that would suit me."

  "You wouldn't!" the female servitor said with an admiring glance.

  "I'm thinking about it," Kornglow said. "I can be in the demon's play as well as any man, as long as it doesn't matter that I don't have a Sir before my name."

  Ylith stared at him. "A play?"

  Kornglow nodded. "That's what Sir Oliver told me. The demon is putting on some sort of play. We just have to do whatever it is we usually do, and we'll be rewarded greatly for it. That's the sort of life I want to lead."

  Ylith got to her feet. "You must excuse me. I need to see someone."

  She hurried off, went to the front door, and passed through it into the darkness.

  "Where do you think she's gone to?" the female servitor asked.

  Kornglow shrugged and sucked his teeth. "If she has an appointment it must be with an angel or a devil.

  There's nothing else out there but wolves."

  Ylith said to herself, "So, he's going to do it! Stage an immorality play! Wait until Michael hears about this!"

  Chapter 4

  Mounting an immorality play?" Michael said. "So it would seem, sir."

  "The effrontery!"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Go back there and keep an eye on his progress. If you should find a way ever so subtly to impede his plan, it wouldn't be amiss to do it. Nothing blatant, you understand."

  "I understand," Ylith said.

  "Then off with you," Michael said. "I may send Babriel down, also, to lend a hand."

  "That would be nice," Ylith said, a little wistfully. Although she
and Babriel were not currently keeping company, she still had good memories of their association. Ylith remembered very well what sinning was like, and at times her whole body ached for the good old days.

  Memories of her affair with Azzie also came to mind. It had been what she had once considered great fun.

  She shook her head, willing herself not to think so much. It could get her into trouble.

  Chapter 5

  After dismissing Kornglow, Sir Oliver sat for a long time on the edge of the bed, thinking of the bold thing he had done. He was frightened, of course; what man would not be frightened after having such a conversation with a demon? And yet Sir Antonio's offer was just too good to pass up. Despite the churchmen's complaints that the Dark Forces were always out trying to seduce mankind, it actually happened quite rarely. Never to anyone of Sir Oliver's acquaintanceship, and certainly not to him.

  Oliver liked the idea. A great passion had burned in him since childhood—to get something big and valuable and important at the least pains possible to himself. It was not the sort of thing you talked to people about much. They didn't understand.

  Although it was very late, he was not particularly sleepy. He poured himself a glass of wine and found a few biscuits he had secreted from the dinner for a late-night snack. He was just taking a biscuit out of his pocket when his gaze happened to fall on the wall to his right.

  He gulped hastily, spilling wine down the front of his doublet. He was looking at a door in the wall. A

  common, ordinary door. But Sir Oliver was certain one had not existed there before.

  He got up, went over, and examined it. Could he have overlooked it when he first came in? There was a knob. He tried it. The door was locked.

  Well, that was all right, then. He sat down again. And then another thought came to him, and he took Azzie's Moronia spell in the form of the silver key out of his pocket and walked up to the door again.

  He pushed the key cautiously into the keyhole. It slid in with an unctuous click.

  He put the slightest pressure on the key, toward the left, just to see what would happen. The key turned as though by itself, and the lock clicked back.

  Oliver reached out and turned the handle. The door opened. He removed the key and put it in his pocket.

  He peeked through. Behind the door was a long, dimly lit passageway that seemed to extend for a great distance, losing itself at last in gloom. Sir Oliver knew this passageway didn't lead to anyplace in the inn, or even in the forest outside. It led to God knew where, and he was expected to go in.

  Frightening…

  But think of the reward!

  A momentary vision flared before him. It was himself, dressed in red armor, astride a mighty charger, at the head of a company of heroes, entering a city and being acclaimed by all and sundry!

  He stepped into the passageway, not really ready to commit himself but more in the spirit of a boy putting his toe into what might be very cold water.

  As he stepped in, the door to his room at the inn closed behind him.

  Sir Oliver gulped, but he didn't try to retreat. Some faint presentiment had told him something like this was likely to happen. How else did adventures start but that something gives you a push and then there you are, committed?

  He began to walk down the passageway, very cautiously at first and then with growing energy.

  Chapter 6

  There was enough light to see by, though Oliver was unable to make out how it was produced. It was an even gray light, like twilight, and it was a sad light, almost an ominous light. He kept on walking, and the passageway seemed to stretch on and on. Thin, leafy branches hung from the walls on both sides; they gave a pleasing rural effect.

  He continued walking. The floor beneath his feet changed slowly into a real forest floor, and a natural luminescence lighted his way. He couldn't see far ahead, however, as there were leafy branches everywhere.

  After a while the tree cover became thinner, and he came out into a grassy meadow. At the end of that meadow was a small castle, situated on its own little island, with a moat and drawbridge. The drawbridge was down.

  He entered the grounds of the inner keep and saw a door before him. It swung open as he approached.

  Inside was a nicely laid out living room with a fire burning merrily in the fireplace. A lady was sitting on a small stool to one side of the doorway; she rose to her feet and turned to him.

  "Welcome, sir knight," she said. "I am Alwyn, with a y, and I bid thee welcome. My husband is away killing people, but the hospitality of my house demands that I ask you to stay for dinner, and then to offer you a bed to sleep in, and finally, breakfast in the morning."

  "Sounds good to me," Oliver said. "What I'd really like to know, though, you don't happen to be holding a magic horse for me, do you?"

  "A magic horse? What color magic horse?"

  "Well, that's it, you see, I don't really know. I was told there was a magic horse just ahead for me, and it would lead me to a golden candlestick. After that… Actually, I'm a little unclear as to just exactly what is to happen after that. I believe I am to be lord of a large body of armed men. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

  "No," Alwyn said. "I really have a very small part in this thing."

  She smiled. Her dark hair was lovely and tousled, her breasts high and well rounded. Oliver followed her inside.

  They passed through several rooms, all decorated in scarlet and black and silver and containing armorial bearings, arms, and dark portraits of stern-looking elders. In each fireplace a fire sparked and glowed gaily. They walked through six rooms altogether. In the seventh a table was set with a gleaming white cloth and silver service.

  "Do take a seat," Alwyn said. "Make yourself comfortable."

  A white kitten came under the archway and pranced and danced its way into the room. Alwyn gave a merry little laugh and bent to play with it. As she did so, Oliver seized the opportunity and exchanged plates with her. The two plates were almost identical, the only difference being that his had two radishes on the side and hers but one. He quickly placed one of his radishes on her plate to disguise his substitution. When she straightened up, Alwyn appeared to have noticed nothing.

  They ate, and Alwyn poured two glasses of Burgundy from a great bottle on the damask-covered table.

  Oliver found a moment when Alwyn's attention was taken up by a small foxhound that came into the room with a definite gamboling motion. Seizing the moment, he switched glasses. She didn't notice a thing.

  Congratulating himself, he now turned to his assault on the provender, his favorite sort of a battle by far.

  He ate greedily and drank deeply, for the food was of a luscious perfection. This was fantasy food, magic food, just nothing in the world like it. Soon he felt the unmistakable sensation of some opiatelike drug attacking his sensorium and making him dizzy and faint.

  "Is anything wrong, sir knight?" Alwyn asked as he slumped low in his seat.

  "Merely a moment of fatigue," Oliver said.

  "You've switched plates!" Alwyn said, staring at the knight's grimy thumbprint on her plate—proof enough of what he'd wished concealed.

  "No offense intended," Oliver said sleepily. "Old custom of my people. You take this stuff on purpose?"

  "Of course. Without my sleeping potion, I have a devil of a time dropping off at night," Alwyn said.

  "Damned sorry I took it," Sir Oliver said through rubbery lips and eyes that seemed already to be rolling back into his head to reveal that passage into dreams that he would rather not take. "How long before it wears off?"

  Her reply was lost in a crashing wave of sleep that broke over Oliver's head. He struggled in it like a man caught in raging surf; then he was out of the surf and falling deep into the black pool that lapped around him like a warm bath. He struggled to keep his head above the soapy marble waves sent by Morpheus.

  He wrestled with strange thoughts, unaccountable insights. And then, before he even knew it, he was
gone.

  When he came to again, the woman was gone. The castle was gone. He was in a different place entirely.

  Chapter 7

  When Ylith returned to the pilgrimage, she found all in a state of confusion. Sir Oliver had vanished suddenly during the night, leaving no trail. His valet, Morton Kornglow, was at a loss to explain his disappearance except through magic.

  That was all Ylith needed. She waited until she was alone in Oliver's room, then quickly performed her own enchantment. She used ingredients she always carried in her witches' kit—a thing she had never abandoned, despite her conversion—and soon, taking on a vaporous form, she was off and away, passing through the great forest into which Oliver had disappeared.

  Presently she came across the knight's trail and followed it to Alwyn's castle. Ylith knew Alwyn slightly from the old days. Alwyn was another witch, of the old, un- reformed kind, and Ylith knew she was probably doing a job for Azzie.

  It was time to scry out the immediate future. She had gathered enough evidence to direct the scrying instruments; now she set them to motion.

  The results were as she had hoped. Sir Oliver was currently going through an adventure with Alwyn.

  Azzie had set it up as simple enough to get through fairly quickly; afterward, Sir Oliver would have a longish walk. Then he would be out of the forest and on his way to his goal, which lay on the southern slope of the Alps in Italian territory.