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

by Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming [lit]

"But in this case it's really true!"

  The clerk smiled unpleasantly. "Sure it's true, same as all the rest."

  Azzie decided to leave Charming's training in the hands of Frike, who seemed to frighten Charming just a bit less than did Azzie himself. Azzie betook himself to Princess Scarlet's castle to see how the preparations were going there.

  He came down on the outskirts of the enchanted forest. He had spent a lot of time and thought on this, and Supply had been pretty good about getting him what he wanted.

  He stood at the edge of his forest, peering in. It was green and bosky, just as a forest should be. Azzie advanced into it. No sooner was he within the green confines than the trees began to move, and their limbs swung down slowly to grasp and seize him. Azzie eluded them with ease. The forest hadn't really received its full complement of fabulous animals and other strange creatures. And the branches moved so slowly that even a dimwit like Charming could avoid them without difficulty. Damn it, he thought, why was Supply holding out on him?

  Angry, he flew back to Augsburg to see how Frike was proceeding with the training. He found his servant sitting on the front stoop eating an apple.

  "What's the matter?" Azzie said. "Why aren't you exer­cising him?"

  Frike shrugged. "He said he'd had enough. He said that he had decided to take a vow not to kill any living thing. Would you believe it, he's turned vegetarian and is considering joining a monastic order."

  "Now that is entirely too much," Azzie said.

  "Agreed, sire," Frike said. "But what can you do about it?"

  "I need some expert advice on this one," Azzie said. "Go prepare my magic powders and the Amulet of Expedition. It's time for me to do some conjuring."

  Chapter 5

  At first Azzie thought his spells weren't working because Hermes didn't appear no matter what he did. He tried again, with the big candles made from dead-man's wax that he saved for really difficult occasions. This time he could feel the spell working. He projected power into it and felt it racing through the aether, spinning through the crack between the worlds, nosing around like a questing bird dog. Then Azzie heard a grumpy voice saying, "All right, I'm awake now." And a few moments after that, the heroic marble-white body of Hermes appeared before him. The god was still combing his long brown hair, and he seemed more than a little annoyed.

  "My dear Azzie, you should know better than to use a peremptory spell to call me like that. We spirit-advisers have our personal lives, too, you know. It's not nice to have to drop everything and get conjured up by some young demon like yourself."

  "I am sorry," Azzie said. "But you've been so generous to me in the past . . . and my problem now is very dire."

  "Well, let's hear it," Hermes said. "I don't suppose you have a glass of ichor around."

  "Of course I do," Azzie said. He poured the ichor into a goblet carved from a single amethyst. While Hermes sipped at it Azzie explained his difficulty with Prince Charming.

  "Let me see. . . ." Hermes said. "Yes, I remember some old writings on the subject. What your Prince Charming is doing is known classically as the Hero Refusing the Quest."

  "I didn't know heroes could do that," Azzie said.

  "Oh, yes. It's quite common. Do you know anything about your hero's family?"

  "He doesn't have any family!" Azzie said. "I created him all by myself!"

  "Yes, I know you did," Hermes said. "But recall what we learned of his legs. All his body parts have remembrances, especially the heart."

  "He has a coward's heart," Azzie admitted. "I never looked into the rest of the family."

  "I'll check it out for you," Hermes said. He vanished, not in a cloud of smoke as common demons vanish, but in a great flash of fire. Azzie admired the exit. It was something he would really like to learn.

  Soon Hermes returned. "It is as I suspected. Your cadaver with the coward's heart was the middle of three sons."

  "So? What does that mean?"

  "In the Old Lore, the middle son is usually the worthless one. The eldest son inherits the kingdom. In the ordinary course of things, the youngest son goes out on the quest and wins a kingdom. The middle son just hangs around and never does much. It's nature's way of balancing the qualities."

  "Hellfire!" Azzie said. "I'm stuck with a middle son who's a coward! What am I to do?"

  "Since he is still unformed, there's hope of changing his mind. Perhaps you could convince him that he's a younger son. Then he will be more fit for the quest."

  "Will that stop him from being a coward?"

  "I'm afraid not," Hermes said. "It will help, of course, especially if you tell him stories of how fierce his ancestors were. But his cowardice is an innate tendency not to be cured by exhortation."

  "What do you suggest, then?" Azzie asked.

  "The only known cure for cowardice," Hermes said, "is an herb known as gutsia sempervirens."

  "Where does it grow?" Azzie asked. "And does it really work?"

  "Its efficacy is unquestioned. Gutsia, or the nerve plant, as it is also known, imbues a man with rashness and blind­sightedness. You must administer it in small doses, otherwise courage turns into foolhardiness and the hero is killed before he ever gets properly started."

  "It's hard to imagine Charming being foolhardy."

  "Give him a dose of gutsia about the size of his smallest fingernail, and you will see results that will surprise you. But remember, it's always best to balance it off with something else, like coolandria, the herb of careful forethought."

  "I'll remember that," Azzie said. "Now, where am I to find this gutsia?"

  "That is the real problem," Hermes confessed. "Back in the Golden Age there was a lot of it about, and no one bothered to eat it, since courage wasn't needed in those days, only ca­pacity for enjoyment. Then came the Age of Bronze, when men fought each other, and the Age of Iron, when they fought not only each other but all other things as well. In those days, men consumed the herb in great quantities. That is one of the reasons why the men of old had such prowess. But the race of humans almost died away from too much warfare pursued too coura­geously. With the climate change that the new age brought, the gutsia plant died off. And now it is to be found in only one place."

  "Tell me where that is," Azzie said.

  "It is on the back shelves of Supply," Hermes said, "where the remaining plants were dried and then put into tinctures of ichor for eternal preservation."

  "But I already asked Supply for something of that sort! They said they had never heard of such a thing!"

  "That's very like them," Hermes said. "You must find some way to get them to make a really exhaustive search. I'm sorry, Azzie, but there's nothing else I can think of that will suffice."

  This was a problem, because Supply was acting less and less cooperative. In fact, Azzie had the impression they had written off his quest and were now taking long naps and waiting until something else came up. Azzie knew he was in trouble. He talked to the Prince, recounting to him the heroic deeds of his imaginary ancestors and urging him to copy them in all respects. The Prince wasn't interested, however. Even when Azzie brought him small portraits of Scarlet, done by demon artists who could be counted on not to leave out any pulchri­tudinous feature, the young man still seemed uninterested, and talked about opening up a dress shop when he was a little older.

  Chapter 6

  It was early evening. The August sun had been beaming down all day on the mansion in Augsburg. Azzie was sit­ting in the big roughhewn easy chair, reading one of the fliers that the Department of Infernal Affairs put out from time to time. It was the usual thing, an exhortation to everyone to do bad for the common cause, and a list of infernal activities around the nation. There was a calendar of birthday announce­ments for changelings who had been put into human cradles while the real human babies had been taken away to be re­modeled and sent to populate the tribe of Aztecs in the New World, whose blood sacrifices had aroused general admiration. There were house-burning celebrations and Pit sales.
All the usual sorts of things, with a few snippets of news here and there. Azzie read, though he was not really interested. Some­times you found something useful in these homely items, more often not.

  Then, as his eyes grew heavy, as he began to drowse in front of the fireplace, there came a vast knocking at the high main door of the mansion. It boomed so loudly that Azzie half jumped from his chair. Prince Charming, who was copying Greek dress patterns from a clay tablet onto parchment, was up and gone before the last clap had echoed away down the bosky glen. Only old Frike maintained his imperturbability, though this was not courage on his part: the sudden heavy noise had frightened him into immobility, as the rabbit is said to freeze when the falcon thunders down on him with angry wings and grasping talons.

  "Pretty late for a caller," Azzie mused.

  "Aye, sire, and pretty loud, too," Frike said, unfreezing enough to tremble all over.

  "Pull yourself together, man," Azzie said. "It's probably some traveler who has lost his way. Put up a big kettle of water and I'll see who it is."

  Azzie went to the door and threw back its massy bolts, twice-forged of vulcanite steel.

  Standing in the doorway was a tall figure dressed in white. He wore a simple golden helmet with dove's wings fastened to each side. He was clad in snow-white armor, and from his shoulders a white ermine coat depended. The figure was hand­some in an insipid sort of way, with large, well-formed features and big blue eyes.

  "Hello," the figure said. "I think I have the correct address. This is the residence of the demon Azzie Elbub, is it not?"

  "You got that part right," Azzie said. "But whatever you're selling, I don't want any. How dare you intrude on me in my hour of rest? "

  "Terribly sorry to impose, but they told me to get here as quickly as I could."

  "They?"

  "The steering committee of the Powers of Light Council on the Millennial contest."

  "You're from the Powers of Light?"

  "Yes. Here are my credentials." He took out a scroll tied with a scarlet ribbon and handed it to Azzie. Azzie unfurled it and read, in the heavy Gothic print used by the council, orders to permit the bearer, Babriel, an angel of the second order in the forces of Light, the right to go wherever he pleased and to observe all things that took up his interest; and that this general privilege also specifically applied to the demon Azzie Elbub, to whom he was now seconded as an observer.

  Azzie glared at him. "By what right do the Powers of Light send you here? This is strictly a Powers of Darkness production, and the other side has no right to interfere."

  "I can assure you, I have no intention of interfering. May I come in and explain further?"

  Azzie was so taken aback by the Creature of Good's ef­frontery that he made no complaint when the tall, golden-haired angel stepped inside the mansion and looked around.

  "What a nice place this is! I especially like the symbols on your wall." He indicated the right, or west, wall, where, set in niches, were a series of demons' heads done in black onyx. The demons had various aspects, including ape, falcon, asp, and from the New World, a wolverine.

  "Those aren't symbols, stupid," Azzie said. "Those are busts of my ancestors."

  "What about this one?" the angel asked, indicating the wolverine head.

  "That's my uncle Zanzibar. He emigrated to Greenland, arriving with Erik the Red, and stayed on to become a graven image."

  "What a far-traveling family you have!" said the angel, with an expression of admiration. "I do so admire evil for its dash and vigor. It's wrong, of course, but fascinating all the same. I'm Babriel, by the way."

  Frike now spoke up. "If you're an angel, where are your wings?"

  Babriel unbuckled his armor, beneath which, much cramped, was a pair of wings which unfolded to reveal them­selves colored a beautiful palomino.

  "What do you want?" Azzie asked. "I'm doing important work, I have no time to hang around and chat."

  "I told you, the Powers of Light sent me. It was decided by the high council that your entry in the Millennial contest was of great interest to us. Since it is so important an occasion, it seemed only fitting that we should dispatch an observer to make sure that you didn't cheat. Not that we are accusing you of that, of course. It just seemed businesslike of us to keep an eye on what you were up to, no offense intended."

  "I haven't got trouble enough," Azzie remarked. "Now I got to have an angel looking over my shoulder."

  "I just want to watch," Babriel said. "We hear a lot about evil where I come from, but I've never seen any close up."

  "It must be pretty dull where you come from," Azzie said.

  "It is, of course. But it's good, so of course we like it anyhow. But this chance of seeing a real demon in action- doing bad things-well, I must confess, the idea of evil titillates me."

  "You like it, huh?" Azzie said.

  "Oh, no! I wouldn't go so far as to say that. But I am interested, yes. And perhaps I can even be of some help."

  "To me? Are you kidding?"

  "I know it must seem odd. But Good, by its very nature, tends to be helpful, even in an evil cause. Real Good has no prejudice against Evil."

  "That's all I want to hear about good," Azzie said. "I hope you're not some missionary type here to convert me to the Other Side. It's no use. You understand what I'm saying?"

  "I'm sure I won't be any trouble," Babriel said. "And your own people have agreed to this."

  "Your scroll looks official enough to me," Azzie said. "Well, I've got nothing against it. Observe all you want. Just don't try to steal any of my spells."

  "I'd rather lose my right arm than steal from you!" Babriel said.

  "I believe you," Azzie said. "You really are a fool, aren't you? Never mind," he added, seeing Babriel's crestfallen ex­pression, "it's just my way of talking. There's plenty of food in the larder. No, on second thought, you probably wouldn't like that. Frike, get our guest some chickens from the village."

  "But I'd be happy to partake of whatever you eat," Babriel said.

  "No, you wouldn't," Azzie said. "Trust me on this. So how's Good doing these days?"

  "Our entry is coming along well," Babriel replied. "Foun­dations down and all that. Transepts, nave, choir in place -"

  "Entry? What are you talking about?"

  "Good's entry in the Millennial contest."

  "You're building something for it?"

  "Yes. We've inspired a master builder and enspirited an entire village for labor in a massive architectural undertaking. It will be a glorious structure - inspiring humanity to the higher things: truth, beauty, goodness - "

  "What do you call the thing?"

  "We rather like the term 'Gothic cathedral.' "

  "Hmm. And well, well. You guys stuck with an observer, too?"

  "Yes. Bestialial is checking it out."

  Azzie snorted.

  "He's not exactly field personnel," he said. "Desk type. Still . . . Sound, I suppose, when he's paying attention. So you think it's a good entry, huh?"

  "Oh, yes. We're happy with it," Babriel said. "And that's what Good is doing. But you know the saying, 'It's good, but it could always be better.' "

  "That's just how it is with Evil," Azzie said. "Come into the study. I'll pour you a shot of ichor."

  "I've heard of it," Babriel said, "but I've never had any. Is it intoxicating?"

  "It gets the job done," Azzie said. "Life being what it is, I mean."

  Babriel found this last statement opaque, to say the least. But when has good ever understood evil? He followed Azzie into the study.

  "Well then," Azzie said, "if you're going to stay, you're going to stay. I suppose you want to live here in the mansion?"

  "It would be more convenient for my duties," Babriel said. "I could pay rent. . . ."

  "What sort of piker do you take me for?" Azzie asked indignantly, though the idea of charging rent had crossed his mind. "You're a guest. Where I come from, a guest is sacred."

  "That's how i
t is where I come from, too," Babriel said.

  "Big deal!" Azzie sneered. "For a Creature of Light to hold a guest sacred is no big matter; but for one of Darkness to do so is remarkable indeed."

  "Just what I was going to say," Babriel said.

  "Don't try to ingratiate yourself with me," Azzie said. "I know the tricks and I despise you and everything you stand for."

  "That's just as it should be," Babriel said, with a smile.

  "So you despise me, too?"

  "Not at all! I meant that that was how it should be for you. You're what our archangels call a natural. It's a privilege to see you in action."

  "Flattery will get you nowhere," Azzie said, and found to his annoyance that he rather liked Babriel. He'd do something about that! To Frike he said, "Show him up to the little room in the attic."

  Frike took an oil lamp, and bent nearly double, with his cane tapping ahead of him and his hump standing up like a whale surfacing, he walked to the stairs, followed by Babriel.

  The stairs went up and up, past the polished corridors and rooms of the lower floors. As they went higher the stairs grew steeper and narrower, with here and there a tread missing. Frike stumped steadily along, and Babriel, tall and erect, his white cloak glimmering faintly in the candlelight, followed, bowing his head to avoid the low beams.

  They came out at last on a landing near the top of the tall, high old mansion. At the end of the short dark hallway was a door. Frike opened it and entered with his lamp. By its flickering yellow light Babriel saw a small room with a ceiling so low he could not stand erect. There was a tiny leaded window high up, tilted at an angle to match the sloping roof. There was an iron cot and a small wooden nightstand. The room was just a little longer than the cot. The floor was thick with dust and the place smelled of cats in heat and ancient moths.

  "Very nice," Babriel said.

  "A trifle small, perhaps," Frike said. "Perhaps if you asked the master, he would let you have one of the third-floor suites."

  "No need," Babriel said. "This will do nicely."

  Just then there was a knock at the door.