Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming Part 27

"Laugh at me? I'll show thee - "

Another voice joined in the laughter. It was Charming, standing beside her, his arm around her waist.

Charming, up-dead! The dagger had not been employed for its fell purpose! Azzie stepped back in confusion.

They were alive, those two, and somehow love had won out over the ancient predestination of Azzie's curse. Seeing these beautiful young people together, the audience of angels and demons was moved; there wasn't a dry eye in the place.

"This isn't what I meant!" Azzie cried. "This isn't what I meant at all!"

But this was what he had produced: a merry little tale of love and redemption which caught everyone's fancy and en-sured that Good, not Evil, would win the destiny of men's souls for the next thousand years.

VESPERS.

The Owl of Hermes

Chapter 1.

Ylith's slim fingers wenttap tap tap on the door that led into Azzie's alchemical lab.

"Azzie? I know you're in there."

No answer. Babriel, standing at her side, said, "I guess we'd better try again." Ylith did so.

"Azzie! Come on! Let me in! It's me and Babriel here. We know you had a serious disappointment.

We're your friends. We want to be near you."

There "was a harsh grating sound. The steel rod that served as the door bolt was withdrawn. The beamed wooden door of the alchemical lab opened a few inches. Frike's long-nosed face appeared.

"Is the master here, Frike?" Ylith asked.

"Oh, yes, miss. He's inside. But I wouldn't go near him right now. He's in a rather foul mood. It's not impossible he would do somebody a mischief at this time."

"Nonsense!" Babriel said. "Let me speak with him!"

He pushed his way in through the door.

Azzie was seated on a little throne he had set up in one corner of the laboratory. He lounged there in his purple cloak, with an orange tam o'shanter pulled over one eye. He looked like h.e.l.l. His eyes were bloodshot. Tankards and bottles of ichor were strewn around the floor. There were other bottles on nearby shelves, jocund in their fullness, within easy reach.

"Come now, Azzie!" Babriel said. "You've put up a very good contest. Remember, it's not winning or losing that counts, it's how you play the game."

"You've got that entirely wrong," Azzie said. "What counts is winning. How you play the game counts for nothing."

Babriel shrugged. "Well . . . Different rules, different di-vine imperatives, I suppose. But you really should stop drinking now, old man. Here, let me help you up."

He extended an arm to Azzie. Azzie gripped it with one hand and tried to claw it with the other. Babriel deftly fended him off and helped him to his feet.

"After all, old man," Babriel said, "what does it matter who wins, really?"

Azzie stared at him. "Am I hearing you correctly?"

"Well, yes, of course. I mean, as Creatures of Light and Darkness we must take the long view. We all serve life and death, intelligence, and all the other supernal forces."

"I shouldn't have lost," Azzie said. "It's because I got no cooperation from the Powers of Darkness. You yourself, Ba-briel, my opponent, were more help than people on my own side. That's the trouble with evil. It's not cooperative, not even with itself."

"Don't take it so hard," Babriel said. "Come with us, Azzie. We'll all go to the Awards Dinner and have a few laughs."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Azzie said. "The d.a.m.ned Awards Din-ner. All right. I'll be there in a bit. You go on ahead, though. I've got a few little things I have to do first. How's the Gothic whatchamacallit coming?"

"They're just finishing the bell tower," Babriel replied.

As they departed Babriel said to Ylith, "You know, we really ought to do something nice for Charming, for the won-derful way he managed his part."

"What a fine idea," she replied.

Azzie gnashed his teeth.

When they were gone, he summoned Frike.

"Did you ever hear anything like that?" he asked him.

"Like what, master?"

"Like those two sappy-faced so-called friends of mine. Did you hear them talking on the way out? Such nonsense! Can you imagine? They want to reward Charming for a job well done."

"Yes, master," Frike said. "Very funny, ha-ha."

"I thought so, too," Azzie said. "Well, I think we will give Master Charming a little acknowledgment of the part he's played in s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up my drama by taking from him the life that was my gift to him. I can't kill him myself, though. Not directly. There are rules. Stupid rules, but rules all the same, that prohibit a demon from savaging and killing a human being for no reason at all."

"Oh, that's too bad, master," Frike said.

"Yes, I've always thought that, too," Azzie said. "But I believe we can get around it."

"Oh, master, how will we do that?"

"Frike," Azzie said, "how would you like to be an avenging warrior for a change instead of a cringing servitor?"

"Sounds nice," Frike said. "How do we do that, master?"

"We've got plenty of body parts left over," Azzie said, "and I'm a master at the art of human sculpture.

Come with me. Lie down on yonder marble slab."

"Master, I'm not sure this is such a wonderful idea."

"Shut up," Azzie said. "Don't argue with me. Remember, I can replace your personality as easily as I can change your body."

"Yes, master, of course." Frike lay down on the table. Azzie found a scalpel and sharpened it on his heel.

"Will it hurt?" Frike asked.

"Of course it will hurt," Azzie told him. "Anesthesia hasn't been invented yet."

"What did you say hasn't been invented yet, master? Ana-something?"

"Never mind. Bite down hard on your lip. I'm going to begin cutting."

Chapter 2.

Prince Charming was leaning out of one of the high win-dows of the Enchanted Castle. He was in a good mood, lazy and well pleased. Love does that to a man, at least for a while, and Charming was in the first rush of it.

Still, it was disconcerting to see, as he watched through the window, bits and pieces of the Enchanted Castle disap-pearing.

He looked again, toward the stables. Half of them had disappeared while he was looking the other way.

He reminded himself that they'd have to get out of here soon. This castle wasn't going to last long, the way the power of its protective spells was running down.

"Darling! Come down! Our guests want to meet you!"

Scarlet's voice floated up the staircase to the bedroom where Prince Charming was supposed to be arranging his tunic. He liked to have his clothes look good. He knew this party was a big occasion for Scarlet, because this was the time she was bringing over Cinderella and other storybook friends.

Charming wasn't completely sure how he liked having all his friends imaginary beings from folklore, but it seemed to be working out all right.

He was interested in the way the Enchanted Castle worked. As he stood there, watching, he could see a piece of the entrance road which led under the castle wall. Suddenly a section of the wall vanished. A stone gargoyle on one of the battlements disappeared.

"Charming!" Again, Scarlet's voice. "Where are you?"

A slight petulance to the voice ... It occurred to Charming that he didn't know his sweetheart very well.

He had a.s.sumed that the eternal happiness promised to them in the fable was of the self-creating, self-adjusting kind, not meaning he had to do adjustments himself. All right. . . .

With a final glance at his appearance in a tall mirror, he departed and went down the stairs. Below him, in the great ballroom, an orchestra in black tie and white perukes was saw-ing away at something polyphonic. The guests stood about, under the great crystal chandeliers, sipping champagne and nibbling canapes.

There was Scarlet, arm in arm with Cinderella, who had become her greatest friend. It had been Cinderella's idea to have a waking-up party for Scarlet. It would also serve as an engagement parry for Scarlet and Prince Charming.

Prince Charming recognized two famous Irishmen among the guests. They were Cuchulain and Finn McCool. Looking around, he saw other heroes from France, Germany, from the Orient - Roland, Siegfried, Aladdin.

They saw him, and a round of applause went up. There were exclamations of "Well done, old man!"-the words one wants most to hear after having awakened the Napping Prin-cess. They sang a rousing chorus of "For He's a Jolly Good Hero."

Yes, moments didn't get much better than this, Charming decided. Even if bits of your enchanted palace are breaking away, even if Princess Scarlet has a bit more of a whine than you might have wished, his moment of triumph was sweet.

So he felt all the more trepidation when there came a loud pounding on the gate. It reverberated through the castle, and every guest stood still and gazed at the doorway.

Prince Charming said to himself, Rats! Good events don't usually introduce themselves so emphatically.

"Who is it?" he called.

"One who would crave a favor," came a m.u.f.fled voice from outside.

Charming was about to say no, but then he realized that on this day of his triumph he had to face up to what came along. Storybook heroes who are about to marry the Napping Princess don't refuse to answer the door of the Enchanted Castle to anyone, no matter how bad the premonitory vibes.

"Well," Charming said, "I really don't have time for a big favor, but maybe a little favor ..."

He unbarred the door. The man who entered reminded him of someone. But where could he have met this tall, grim-faced warrior with the brazen helmet pulled down about his ears?

"Who are you?" Charming asked.

The warrior pushed back his helmet. Charming found him-self looking into the bearded half-mad face of Frike.

"Frike!" Charming said. "It's you! But there's something different about you ... let me think a moment. . .

. I've got it! You used to be rather small and hunchbacked, and now you are quite tall, well muscled, and with no indication of a limp."

"You are observant," Frike said, smiling in a bloodthirsty manner.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"As for that," Frike said, "my master, Azzie, sent me."

"I hope he is well."

"He is fine. He has sent me here to fetch him something which I shall put in here."

Frike opened a leather satchel he carried. Within it was a sharp odor.

"Vinegar!" said Charming.