Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming

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," Azziesaid.

"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 it 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.

"Who's there?" Frike asked.

"Supernal Delivery Service. Luggage for the angel Ba­briel."

"Ah, thank you," Babriel said. He opened the door. A man of medium height stood there wearing a deliveryman's cap. He handed Babriel a piece of paper and a pen. Babriel signed and handed back the paper. The deliveryman tugged at his forelock and disappeared.

"It's my luggage," Babriel told Frike. "Where should I put it?"

Frike looked around doubtfully. "On your bed, maybe. But then you'd have no place to sleep."

"It'll work itself out," Babriel said, and pulled his suitcase into the room. It was a very large suitcase and the only place there was room for it was on the bed, since he and Frike between them used up most of the available floor space.

Babriel looked at the room and said, "Do you think it'll go into the corner?"

Frike looked at the acute angle formed where the room's walls met. "You couldn't push a mouse's corpse into that corner, much less a big suitcase like that."

"Let's give it a try anyway," Babriel said. He pushed the suitcase off the bed and toward the corner. Although it was only a few inches from the end of the bed to the corner, the trunk kept moving. The wall, instead of stopping it, bulged outward to make room for it, and the other walls bulged out to stay in proportion. The ceiling lifted, too, and Frike soon found that he was in quite a large room rather than the tiny room he had entered.

"How did you do that?" Frike asked.

"Just one of those things you pick up when you move around a lot," Babriel said modestly.

Aside from growing larger, the room had also grown brighter, for reasons that didn't make themselves immediately apparent. Frike's eyes widened, then widened again as he heard a curious scuttling noise at his feet. He looked down and saw something small, about the size of a rat, scurrying out of sight. Frike blinked, and when his vision cleared he saw that the floor, which had been an inch deep in dust and cat droppings, had been freshly swept and polished. A certain panic gripped him.

"I'll tell the master you're settling in nicely," Frike said, and departed.

* * *

Five minutes later Azzie came up to Babriel's room. Azzie looked at it, twice as big as when he'd seen it last, brilliantly illuminated, nicely furnished, clean, fragrant with frankincense and myrrh, and with a small door at one side opened to reveal a fine tiled bathroom Azzie knew damned well hadn't been there before.

There was a standing closet, too, and its door was open, revealing dozens of Babriel's uniforms, of every cut and de­scription, some with medals, and many with exaggerated collars and huge cuffs. Babriel had changed into one such. It was white and silver, and came with a peaked cap. Azziethought he looked so ludicrous as to appear sinister.

"Glad to see you're making yourself to home," Azzie said.

"I took the liberty of fixing the place up a little. I'll gladly restore it to original condition when I leave."

"Don't worry about it," Azzie said. "If I'd known you wanted fancy, you'd have gotten fancy. What's that?"

He pointed to a rectangular blob of nacre and ormolu that swung from Babriel's waist.

"Oh, that's my telephone," Babriel said. "So I can stay in touch with headquarters."

Azzie glared at the handset. "They haven't even issued ours yet!"

"You'll love them when you get them," Babriel said.