Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming Part 3

"And what do I have to do?"

"Just open your hands."

"Well, all right," said Rognir, who, like most dwarves, couldn't resist a profit.

"Here you are," Azzie said. He gave Rognir two of the smaller diamonds, one ruby with the tiniest flaw, and three perfect emeralds.

Rognir accepted them and looked at them uncertainly. But aren't these mine?"

"Of course! They are your profit!"

"But they weremine to begin with!"

"I know. But you loaned them to me."

"I did? I don't remember."

"You remember accepting the profit, don't you, when I offered it?"

"Of course. Who turns down a profit?"

"You did quite right. But your profit was based on loaning me the stones so I could make your profit from them. Now you have several of them back. But I still owe you those that I returned as well as the rest. They are princ.i.p.al. In a year you will get them all back. And you have already gotten the profit."

"I'm not so sure of this," Rognir mused.

"Trust me," Azzie said. "You've made a wise investment. It has been a pleasure to do business with you."

"Wait a minute!"

Azzie scooped up the rest of the stones and, not forgetting the piece of felixite, vanished into the upper world. Demons are able to vanish, of course, and this generally gives them a working sense of theater.

Chapter 6.

It was long since Azzie had visited Rome. This city was an especial favorite of demons, and they had long been ac-customed to travel there for sight-seeing, sometimes indi-vidually, often in groups of hundreds, complete with women and children demons, and accompanied by guide demons who lectured on what had gone on in this place or that. There was no lack of good things to see. Above all, the cemeteries were high on the list of attractions. Reading the tombstone inscrip-tions afforded much amus.e.m.e.nt and cemeteries were good mel-ancholy places for reflection, what with their tall dark cypresses and ancient moss-covered monuments. And, too, Rome was an exciting place to be in those days, what with the continual electing of this Pope and excommunicating of that Pope, as well as the opportunity to help things go a little worse.

And it was especially exciting because this was the Mil-lennium, the year A.D. 1000. Otto III was Holy Roman Em-peror, and there was much contesting between his German followers and the Italians who supported the local candidates. The Roman n.o.bles were regularly up in arms against Otto, and there was continual attack and rout. It wasn't safe for a human to walk the streets after dark, and there were perils even by day. Bands of lawless mercenaries roamed the streets, and woe to man or maid who fell into their hands.

Azzie flew in just at dusk, when the sun was setting over the Adriatic, illuminating the domes and towers of Rome with brightness while the terra-cotta rooftops were already darkened with evening gloom. He flew low over the twisted streets, dip-ping down to take an appreciative look at the Forum and the Colosseum. Then he gained alt.i.tude again and soared to the Palatine. Here there was a very special cemetery, the Narbozzi, and this was the place where the demons, since time out of mind, had been holding their annual poker games. With luck, the game would be held here again this year.

The Narbozzi cemetery, stretching for many hectares along the undulating northern limit of the Palatine, was covered with marble sarcophagi, stone crosses, and family tombs. Azzie wan-dered among the Narbozzi's overgrown gra.s.sy ways, which became clearer to him as the sun went down, for demons see better at night, it being their natural medium. The cemetery was large and he feared he might miss the location of the game altogether. He hoped not. He had his good-luck amulet, Rog-nir's felixite, securely wrapped in parchment with a sign of King Solomon on it. Also in his pouch were the gemstones of Rognir's heap, his stake for the coming game.

He hurried along, and soon the twilight had given way to full night. A horned moon appeared overhead, and Sirius the Dog Star glowed red in the heavens, a fine omen for evil. There was a sound of locusts and a throbbing of frogs from the nearby swamps. Azzie began to wonder if he had come to the wrong cemetery - Rome at this time held the world record for ceme-teries of high antiquarian interest. It would take him too long to check them all out, and he didn't even have a complete list.

He was just starting to curse himself for his lack of pre-paredness- he should have gotten in touch with the Super-natural Convention Committee to find the exact location of the game-when he heard a sound, rea.s.suringly unhuman. He moved toward it, and it distinguished itself as laughter. It was coming from the east side of the Narbozzi, the side known in antiquity as "the Accursed." As he came closer he heard oaths being sworn, and then he made out the tremendous kettledrum laughter of Newzejoth, one of the great lords among demons, the sound of whose voice was unforgettable. Swiftly he flew to the source of the sound.

The demons were camped in a little hollow between the great marble sarcophagus of Romulus and the more recent tomb of Pompey. They were in a small grove surrounded by a circle of ilex trees. Although they had been there no more than a few hours, the area already showed the signs of chaos and squalor which characterize demon gatherings. Huge vats of ichor had been brought in for refreshment. There were fires here and there, and kitchen familiars roasted people-parts of many dif-ferent nations over hot charcoal.

Azzie was soon made welcome by the other demons. "Light meat or dark?" a succubus asked him. But Azzie had no time to eat, delicious though the young humans appeared to be, all golden brown from the spit.

"Where's the game?" he asked.

"Right over there," the succubus told him. She was an Indian demon, as Azzie could tell by the ring in her nose and the fact that her feet were turned backward. She smiled at him seductively. She was indeed beautiful, but Azzie had no time for dalliance right now, nor the appet.i.te, because gambling fever was raging in his veins, and he hastened toward the circle.

The card-playing demons were gathered in a circle lit by balefires and tallow candles made of unsavory waxy substances. There was also an outer circle of demons, gathered to watch and comment on the action. As Azzie came to the circle a big hand was in progress. In the pot were a scattering of gold coins, some silver denarii, and a human torso, worth plenty since blood was still dripping from the stumps of its arms and legs. The final bet was made, and a small, potbellied demon with skinny arms and legs and a great long nose (a Laplander, to judge from his reindeer sweater) won it and raked it all in.

"New player!" someone called out, and they slid over and made room for Azzie.

Azzie sat down, laid out his jewels in front of him, and was given cards. He was cautious at first. It had been quite a while since he had sat in on a game. This time, even with the lucky amulet of felixite, he was determined to be cautious, bet only good hands, fold when he was in doubt, and do all the other things that poker players, human or demonic, are forever telling themselves to do. He converted some of his gems into body parts and began to play. There in the darkness, lit by the uncanny green-tinged flames of the balefires, the game went on, with demons laughing and swearing as fortune s.h.i.+fted from one to the other.

Demons playing poker are jolly companions as long as things are going well for them. They start out a game in fine high fettle, betting entire human heads and raising limbs with gay abandon. All this is accompanied by the sorts of jokes demons consider hilarious but other beings consider in poor taste.

"Anyone for a hero sandwich?" one of the serving demons asked as a tray of human parts was pa.s.sed around.

Azzie's caution soon left him. He began to plunge, betting more and more wildly. He was thinking of the Millennial Evil Deeds banquet and how much he would like to partic.i.p.ate. If only he could be a winner!

He really wanted to represent evil in the great Millennial contest between Light and Dark.

But unfortunately, his pile of parts kept dwindling. He knew he was betting wildly, stupidly, demoniacally, but there was nothing he could do about it. Caught up in the pace of the game, he scarcely noticed how the bigger demons seemed to be getting all the big pots. What was going wrong with his felixite? Why wasn't he winning any big hands?

Then it occurred to him that all demons carry good-luck charms, and the more important the demon, the better the charm he could afford. It stood to reason that the charms of the others were nullifying his own charm. He was being wiped out again! It was unthinkable, and very unfair.

The night pa.s.sed rapidly, and it wasn't long before Azzie noticed a faint lightening in the eastern sky.

Soon it would be dawn, when the game would have to break up, unless someone had the keys to a private tomb. At this point Azzie had lost most of what he had started with.

Feelings of rage and chagrin flooded his foxy head. The hand he was holding was another bust, a pair of deuces and three middle cards. He was about to fold it and give up when a feeling came over him. No, not exactly a feeling, more a sensation. It was a warm glow that came from the vicinity of his pouch. Was his good-luck amulet trying to tell him some-thing? Yes, it had to be! And it occurred to him that if the felixite really wanted to help him, it would wait for a single hand, then put all its capacity into winning that one for him.

So certain was he that this was the true state of affairs that he wagered recklessly on his bad hand, raising again and again.

He was given his final cards. He didn't look at them, but continued betting.

There came the showdown. Spreading his cards, Azzie saw his deuces, and saw that he had picked up another pair of deuces. He was about to declare two pairs, when it dawned on him that he had four of a kind. No one else was even close. The others grumbled and threw in their cards. The pot, biggest of the night, was raked over to Azzie.

In it, aside from the pile of golden coins and gems and miscellaneous body parts, was the hilt of a sword, its blade broken off, and tied around it, a red silk lady's favor. There was also a pair of human legs, in very good condition, scarcely gnawed at all. And a fair amount of lesser stuff, knucklebones, septums, a set of kneecaps, which he turned in for gold.

Azzie, being a true demon, would have gone on gambling as long as he had a penny or a body part to his name. But the sun had just peeped cautiously above the eastern horizon and it was time for everyone to leave the graveyard. Azzie stuffed his winnings into a stout canvas bag which he had been carrying around for just such a purpose. The beginnings of an idea were starting to form in his mind. It was still vague, but there was something there.

LAUDS.

Frike

Chapter 1.

After leaving the poker game, Azzie flew north. He had decided to look in on the great convention of demons being held at Aachen, Charlemagne's old capital, as part of the opening ceremonies for the Millennial contest. But strong head winds held him up, since being invisible and slightly tenuous does not reduce all air pressure and drag. By evening, he had gotten no farther than Ravenna. He decided to pa.s.s up the convention and found a nice graveyard to rest in outside the city walls.

It was a pleasant place, with plenty of big old trees, oaks and willows, a pretty combination, and, of course, cypress, the stately death tree of the Mediterranean. There were nicely de-caying tombs and mausoleums. In the distance, he could see the sagging graystone outline of the city wall.

He made himself comfortable near a weathered headstone. What he needed now was a cozy fire. He raided a nearby mausoleum and found several exceedingly dry cadavers. These, together with some dead cats, who had been poisoned by some busybody from the town, fed the flames.

As night wore on, Azzie found that he was getting hungry. He'd had a fine feed last night at the poker game, and demons can go a long time between meals, but flying into head winds all day had given him an appet.i.te. He emptied his sack to see what provisions he had left.

Ah, there were a couple of candied jackal's heads he had taken from the party, wrapped in a bit of moldy winding-sheet. They were delicious morsels, but they left him unfilled. He looked to see what else was in the sack and discovered the pair of legs he'd won.

They looked delicious but he didn't really want to eat them. He remembered some stirring of an idea when he'd first seen them, though now it was forgotten. He was sure there was something he could do with them other than eat them, so he propped them against a tombstone. They brought on an almost irresistible desire to soliloquize. Demons at this time thought nothing of traveling hundreds of miles to find a really good object to soliloquize over. It was an especially pleasant exercise on a desolate Italian upland "with a thrusting wind and the distant bark of jackals.

"O legs," Azzie said, "I warrant you trooped nicely to your lady's favor, and bowed well, too, since you are a pair of mus-cular and nimble legs, of the sort the ladies look upon with favor. O legs, I imagine you now, widespread in antic mirth, and then coiled tight together in that final paroxysm of love. When you were young, O legs, you climbed many a stately oak, and ran near running streams, and across the green friendly fields of your homeland. I daresay you dove over thicket and hedge as you careened your way.

No path was too long for you, and you were never tired."

"Think you so?" a voice said from above and behind him. Azzie turned and beheld the mournful cloaked figure of Hermes Trismegistus. He was not surprised that the mage had followed him here. Hermes and the other old G.o.ds seemed to follow a different destiny from demons or ghosts, a destiny unaffected by questions of good and evil.

"Good to see you again, Hermes," Azzie said. "I was just philosophizing over this pair of legs."

"I'm not going to stop you," Hermes said.

He had been floating in the air about five feet above Azzie's head. Now he drifted gracefully to the ground, bent, and ex-amined the legs.

"What sort of man do you suppose these belonged to?" Hermes asked.

Azzie turned and considered the legs. "A merry sort, ob-viously, for look you, they are still wrapped around with gaily colored woolen strips, of the sort that dandies and fellows who think well of themselves affect."

"A dandy, do you think?"

"Most certainly, for look how exquisitely the calves are turned. And notice how perfectly formed and finely muscled the thighs are. You might also notice the small foot, with high, aristocratic arch, well-shaped toes, and evenly clipped nails. Nor is there much in the way of callusing on the heel and along the sides. This fellow did not have to do much to get his living, certainly not with his feet! How do you suppose he met his fate?"

"I know not," Hermes said. "But we can soon find out."

"Have you some trick?" Azzie asked. "Some feat of con-juration unknown to the common lot of demons?"

"Not for nothing," Hermes said, "am I the patron saint of the alchemists, who invoke me when they concoct their mix-tures. They seek to turn base metal into gold, but I can turn dead flesh into living memory."

"That seems a useful trick," Azzie said. "Can you show me?"

"With pleasure," Hermes said. "Let's see how these legs spent their last day."

As is customary in conjurations, there was a puff of smoke and a sound as of a brazen gong. As Azzie watched, the smoke parted and he saw . . .

A young prince marching off in defense of his father's castle. A fair young man he was, and well set up for the warrior trade. He marched at the head of his troop of men, and they were a brave sight, their banners of scarlet and yellow fluttering finely in the summer breeze. Then, ahead, they saw another body of men, and the prince pulled his mount to a halt and called up his seneschal.

"There they are," the prince said. "We have them fairly now, between a rock and a hard lump of ice, as they say in Lapland."

This much Azzie saw. And then the vision faded.

"Can you read what fate befell him?" Azzie asked.

Hermes sighed, closed his eyes, lifted his head.

"Ah," he said, "I have tuned in on the battle, and what a fine engagement of armed men it is! See how furiously they come together, and hear the well-tempered swords singing! Yes, they clash, they are all brave, all deft. But what is this . . . One of the men has left the circle. Not even wounded, but giving retreat already! It is the former owner of these legs."

"Poltroon!" cried Azzie, for it was as though he could see the engagement.

"Ah, but he gets not off unscathed. A man is following, his eyes red with the blood fury, a huge man, a berserker, one of those whom the Franks have been fighting for hundreds of years, whom they call the madmen from the north!"

"I don't like the northern demons much, either," Azzie said.

"The berserker is running down the cowardly prince. His sword flashes - a sidewise blow struck with an uncanny com-bination of skill and fury."

"Difficult to strike such a blow," Azzie commented.

"The blow is well struck-the poltroon prince is cloven in twain. His upper half rolls in the dust. But his cowardly legs are still running, they are running now from death. Relieved of the weight of his upper body, they find it easy to run, though it is true they are running out of energy. But how much energy does it take for a pair of legs to drive themselves, when no one else is attached? Demons are pursuing these running legs, be-cause they have already pa.s.sed the boundaries of the normal, already they run in the limitless land of possibilities that is the preternatural. And now, at last, they totter a last few steps, turn, sway, and then crash lifeless to the ground."

"In short, we have here the legs of a coward," Azzie said.

"A coward, to be sure. But a sort of divine coward who would run from death even in death, so afraid was he that what had in fact happened would happen."

Chapter 2.

After Hermes left him to preside over a meeting of maguses in what would someday be Zurich, Azzie sat and brooded. Moodily he poked the legs. They were much too valuable to waste on snacking. That's what Hermes had implied in his usual roundabout fas.h.i.+on.

What should he do with them? He thought again about the great event, the Millennial contest. What he needed was an idea, a concept. . . . He stared at the legs, rearranged them this way and that. There must be something. . . .

Suddenly he sat up straight. Yes, the legs! He had it! A wonderful idea, one that was sure to make his name in circles of evil. He had an idea for the contest! It had come in a burst of demoniac inspiration. He must lose no time, must hurry and get it on record, get cooperation from the Evil Powers. What day was this? He calculated swiftly, then moaned. This was the last day in which entries could be made. He must go to the High Demon Council, and quickly.

Taking a deep breath, he propelled himself away from Earth to the region of Limbo where the high council was meet-ing. It is not generally realized, but demons have as much trouble getting in to see someone in the top level of command as mortals do. If you're not high up in the hierarchy, if you're not related to someone important, if you are not a gifted athlete, then forget anything immediate; you have to go through chan-nels, and that can take time.

Azzie didn't have time, however. Next morning, the High Committee would pick a winner, and the game would be set.

"I gotta see the Game Committee," Azzie said to the demon guard at the gate of the Ministry, the great group of buildings, some baroque and ornamental with onion-shaped domes, others severely modern and rectilinear, where the affairs of demons, imps, and other evil supernatural creatures were regulated. Many demons worked here as clerks: a lot of paper was required in the never-ending attempt to codify the behavior of super-natural creatures. The government of Supernatural Creatures of Evil was more extensive than any on Earth and employed most of the demons of h.e.l.l in one capacity or another. And this was despite the fact that the governing of demons had never been sanctioned by a higher power. The only recognized power above Good and Evil was the strange and misty thing called Ananke, Necessity.