Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming

Chapter 3

In the evening he put Charming out of the way with a magic sleep. Then he headed for his conjuring room. Frike was there, humming to himself as he topped off vials of agius regae, bloodswart, hellbane, and other herbs and simples which wizardly demons find useful.

"Put that crap away," Azzie said. "I need to do some conjuring. Bring me ten cc's of bat's blood, some demonswart, and a half gill of black hellebore."

"We're all out of black hellebore," Frike said. "Would toadswart or anything else do?"

"I thought I told you to keep the stock up."

"I'm sorry, master. I developed a taste for it."

Azzie snorted.

"Stuff'll stunt your growth," he observed, "and make your palms hairy. Bring me some heliogabulus root then. It will have to suffice."

Frike brought the root and, following Azzie's directions, arranged it around a pentagram which was set into the stone floor with mother-of-pearl. He lighted the black candles, and Azzie intoned the invocation. The words employed many double glottal stops, a common feature of the ancient language of evil. Presently, a wisp of gray and purple smoke appeared in the circle. It expanded, filled out, grew larger, taller, thicker, and finally resolved into the tall figure of Hermes Trismegistus.

"Hail, Great One," Azzie said.

"Hi there, Little One," Hermes said. "What seems to be the trouble?"

Azzie related his difficulties with Charming. Hermes said, "You made an error in telling him about the Princess, Azzie. You assumed that things happen in real life as they do in fairy tales, and that Prince Charming would fall madly in love with Princess Scarlet from one look at the miniature."

"Isn't that how it happens?"

"Only in fairy tales."

"But this is a fairy tale!"

"Not yet it isn't," Hermes said. "After it is all over and retold by a bard, then it becomes a fairy tale. But for right now, that condition has not been met. You can't simply show a young man a picture and expect him to fall in love with it. You must use psychology."

"Is that a special spell?" Azzie asked.

Hermes shook his smoky head. "It is what we call a science. It is the science of human behavior. There's nothing like it in the world yet. That's why everyone is so wonky. No one knows why they do what they do because there's no psychology."

"Well, what do I do?"

"The first thing is to wipe out Charming's memories of 'your telling him about Scarlet. A small dose of Lethe water ought to do the trick. Not a great deal, just enough so that he will forget your recent conversation with him."

"And then?"

"Then I will tell you what to do next."

There was no trouble procuring Lethe water. Hermes brought it in a small crystal flask, and Azzie administered it to Charming. That evening, Azzie and Prince Charming dined together in the big walnut-paneled dining room. Frike served, splashing the soup as usual because of the way he lurched when walking. When the smoking joint had been taken away and the cream tarts eaten, Azzie said, "By the way, Prince, I shall be going out of town for a while."

"Where are you going, Uncle?"

"I have some business to attend to."

"What business, Uncle?"

"My business is none of your business. Frike! Bring me the keys!"

Frike scuttled off and crabbed back with a big bunch of keys set around an iron ring.

"Now pay attention, Prince. I am leaving the keys of the manor in your keeping. This big one is for the front door. The small one opens the back door, and the other small one opens the stable. Here is the key to the cellar where we keep the wine, the beer, and the preserved meats. The one with the curlicues opens my chest of spells. You can play with them if you like; they're not currently armed."

"Yes, Uncle." Charming took the keys. One caught his eye, a small silver key with elaborate arabesques around its haft.

"What about this one?" Charming asked.

"Ah," Azzie said, "that one. Did I leave that on the key ring?"

"Yes, you did, Uncle."

"Well, don't use it."

"But what is it?"

"It opens the small door at the far end of my sleeping chamber. And then, using the other end, it opens a small brass-bound oaken chest in that room. But you must not go through that door and you must not open the chest."

"Why not, Uncle?"

"It would take too long to explain," Azzie said.

"I have time," Charming said.

"Of course you do. You have nothing but time, have you? But I do not have any time. I must be off immediately. Just take my word for it, there will be a bad result if you open that door. So don't do it."

"Yes, Uncle."

"Scout's honor?"

Charming held up his right hand in the salute of the Scouts of Knighthood, a new organization for young knights in train­ing. "I swear, Uncle."

"Good boy. And now I must be off. Farewell, lad."

"Farewell, Uncle."

Charming accompanied him to the stables, where Azzie mounted a fiery Arabian.

"Softly now, Belshazzar!" Azzie cried. "Farewell, nephew. I'll see you in a couple of days, a week at the outside."

Charming and Frike both waved until Azzie was out of sight.

An hour later (a short hour, since the glass ran fast) Charm­ing said to Frike, "I'm bored."

"Another game of Rheumie?" Frike asked, shuffling the cards.

"No, I'm tired of card games."

"What would you like to do then, young sir? Lawn tennis? Quoits? Push and shove?"

"I'm sick of all those namby-pamby pastimes," Charming said. "Can't you think of anything interesting?"

"Hunting?" Frike suggested. "Fishing? Kite flying?"

"No, no..." Prince Charming narrowed his eyes, then looked up. His features took on a look of animation. "I know!"

"I await your pleasure, sire."

"Let's go peek in the room I'm not supposed to look into."

Frike had been well schooled. Concealing the smile that threatened to break out, he said, "We couldn't do that!"

"Could we not, now?"

"Certainly not, sire. The master would be dreadfully cross."

"But he wouldn't have to know, would he?"

Frike's expression revealed that he had never thought of that. "You mean... not tell him?"

"That is precisely what I mean."

"But we always tell the master everything!"

"Let's make an exception this time."

"But why?"

"For a game, Frike, that's why."

"Oh ... A game." Frike seemed to ponder. "I suppose that would be all right, if it's only a game. Are you sure it's a game?"

"Frike, I swear to you, it is only a game."

"Well then," Frike said, "so long as it's only a game."

"Let's go!" Charming cried, bounding up the stairs four at a time, the keys jingling in his hand.

Outside the manor house, Azzie, who had parked his horse in the wood and returned on foot, or rather, on wing, since he had fully operational wings beneath his resplendent tunic, hov­ered above the high bedroom window and smiled to himself. He had never heard of this psychology stuff Hermes had spoken about, but it was going all right so far.