Charming Prince - A Farce To Be Reckoned With Part 31

"Because it cuts directly to the heart of the matter," the woman said. "There's a game afoot, put forth by a certain demon who is known to friends of mine."

"He said Lady Cressilda would be mine," Kornglow said.

"Easy enough for him to promise," the woman said. "I am Leonore, a simple milkmaid to all appearances, but in truth rather more, I a.s.sure you. I am here to tell you that the lady you're considering tying yourself to is a b.i.t.c.h of purest nastiness supreme. Winning her will be like d.a.m.ning yourself to the deepest pit of h.e.l.l."

Kornglow was much surprised at this speech. He looked at Leonore with an interest that grew more intense as the seconds pa.s.sed by. "Lady," he said, "I know not what to do. Could you perchance advise me?"

"That I could," Leonore said. "I will read your palm, and that will tell all. Come over here where we can be comfortable."

She led him back into the stable, to a corner where the hay was piled in soft comfortable heaps. Her eyes were wide and wild and had the color of magic, and her touch was featherlight. Taking his hand, she drew him down beside her.

Chapter 4.

All reports seemed to show that Azzie's projected play was exciting considerable attention across the Spiritual World, that there was even betting going on, and that upsets seemed to be happening. The main upset of course was the sudden release of the old G.o.ds. Zeus and that lot. These were many matters that needed Michael's urgent attention, and it was with this in mind that he agreed to see the angel Babriel.

Babriel's interview with the archangel took place in the executive boardroom of the Heaven Gate Office Building in downtown Central Heaven. Heaven Gate was a lofty and inspiring building, and the angels loved to work there. Next to the ineffable joy they felt at being close to the Highest, there was also the pleasure of working inside an architectural gem.

It was early evening, and a gentle rain was falling over the City of Good Vibes, as Central Heaven was also called. Babriel hurried down the marble corridors, making little twenty- and thirty-foot soaring flights to save time even though there were signs everywhere saying NO FLYING IN

THE CORRIDORS.

He came at last to Michael's suite of offices in the right wing, knocked, and entered.

Michael was at his desk, with various reference works open on the table around him. A computer hummed softly to one side. The lighting was soft and golden.

"About time," Michael said, with a momentary show of pique. "I've got to send you out again at once."

"What's up, sir?" Babriel asked, sitting in one of the upholstered love seats facing the archangel's desk.

"This situation with Azzie and his play is even more serious than we'd antic.i.p.ated. It seems our demon has acquired a variance from Ananke herself, giving him express permission to perform miracles in the furtherance of his plan. Furthermore, Ananke has ruled that we of the Light are not to be accorded any more special privileges simply because we are Good. I also have it on authority that Azzie has some scheme that would abstract Venice from real time and set it up as a special ent.i.ty. Do you know what that means?"

"Not exactly, sir, no, I don't."

"It means that this noisome demon can, potentially at least, rewrite history to his heart's content."

"But sir, an abstracted Venice would have no effect upon the mainstream of human history."

"That's true. But it could be used as a model for those dissatisfied souls who think history ought to be something other than what it is - an account of human tribulation and suffering. The concept of Rewriteability undermines the entire doctrine of Predestination. It releases mankind into a realm where Chance can play an even greater part than it already does."

"Hmm, that's serious, sir," Babriel said.

Michael nodded. "The very order of the cosmos could be at risk here. Our long-established preeminence is being challenged. The principle of Good itself has become moot."

Babriel gaped at him.

"But at least it does one thing for us," Michael went on.

"What's that, sir?"

"It releases us from the galling strictures of fairness. It means we can take off the gloves. This is no longer a gentleman's game. At last we can lay aside our compunctions and get in there and fight."

"Yes, sir!" Babriel said, though he hadn't been aware that too much in the way of compunctions had guided Michael's actions to date. "What, specifically, do you want me to do?"

"We have learned," Michael said, "that Azzie is onto a scheme now involving a magic horse."

Babriel nodded. "That sounds very like him."

"There's no reason we should just let that go on as he has planned. Get you to Earth, Babriel, to Lord Rodrigo Sforza's mansion, and do something about the magic horse that even now waits in the stables for Kornglow."

"To hear is to obey!" cried Babriel, springing to his feet. He flew through the corridors with a great beating of wings. This was serious!

In not much more than a trice he was back on Earth. Taking but a moment to orient himself, he flapped his way to the manor house of the Sforzas and came down lightly in the courtyard.

It was just past dawn, and the count's household was still asleep. Babriel looked around, then went to the stable. From within he heard the unmistakable sounds of a man with a maid, complete, as it was, with giggles and soft squishy noises. He heard a neighing sound, then found, tethered close by, a white stallion with finely wrought saddlebags. He soothed the n.o.ble steed and untied its reins. "Come with me, my beauty," he said.

Chapter 5.

Kornglow found himself lying on a pallet of straw, caught up in a tangle of arms and legs, only half of which were his. The sun was shining brightly through cracks in the half-finished walls of the stable, and a smell of straw, dung, and horses a.s.sailed his nostrils. He untangled himself from the woman with whom he had coupled in such abandon, hastily pulled on his clothes, and got to his feet.

"Why such a rush?" Leonore asked, awakening. "Stay."

"No time, no time," Kornglow said, stuffing his shirt into his breeches and his feet into his boots. "I'm supposed to be on an adventure!"

"Forget the adventure," Leonore said. "You and I have found each other. Why ask for more?"

"No, I must not tarry! I must get on with it! Where is my magic horse?"

Kornglow searched through the stable, but the horse was nowhere to be found. All he could locate was a small piebald donkey tied to a half paling. It brayed at him, its mouth open and its yellow teeth bared. Kornglow looked at it searchingly and said, "Has some enchantment so altered my steed? It must be! If I ride it away, no doubt it will change back in the due course of time!"

He untied the donkey and mounted; he kicked it hard in the ribs, making the creature amble into the courtyard.

The animal didn't like the idea, but Kornglow urged it on. The donkey ambled across the chicken yard, past the kitchen garden, and all the way to the manor gate.

"h.e.l.lo, there!" Kornglow shouted at the gate.

A man's heavy voice from within called out, "Who is out there?"

"One who would seek the hand of the Lady Cressilda!"

A large balding man in shirt and pants and chef's toque came out. Scowling and unfriendly, he said, "Have you taken leave of your senses? The lady is married! Her husband cometh even now!"

The door opened further. Out stepped a tall n.o.bleman in fine attire, stern faced and haughty, with a rapier at his hip. "I am Rodrigo Sforza," he said in a voice that would have to be described as ominous. "What seems to be the trouble?"

The cook bowed low and said, "This lout says he comes for the hand of Cressilda, your lady wife."

Sforza fixed Kornglow with a steely gaze. "Say you so, fellow?"