Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming

"That's sad, no doubt," Poldarge said. "But why tell us? We have no glacial ice here."

"Of course not," Ylith said. "But you are beings of the air, well accustomed to towing helpless creatures from Earth to their damnation."

"True. But what has this to do with your Prince and Prin­cess?"

"I thought," Ylith said, "that you might lend a hand in the preserving of their bodies. It is cold that is needed, the cold of the upper reaches of the atmosphere."

The Harpies conferred among themselves. Then Poldarge said, "Very well, sister, we will take care of these bodies for you. Where did you say they were?"

"In the mansion of the demon, in Augsburg. The way to find it-"

"Don't worry," Poldarge said. "Harpies can find any place on Earth. Sisters, come with me!"

Poldarge spread her dark wings and sped into the upper atmosphere. Two more Harpies followed.

Ylith watched them go. Harpies were known to get easily bored. She had no assurance they wouldn't abandon their charges, and return to the river and their eternal mah-jongg game. But they had a tradition of honor among peers. She just hoped they felt her a member of that select group.

Ylith went aloft now. She had an idea where Azzie might be.

Chapter 9

When the Harpies went off to carry back the bodies, no one had thought to notify Frike. The first thing he learned of the new arrangement occurred when a pair of Harpies burst through the window. He was sitting on a low stool in Azzie's laboratory, listening to the drip-drip of melting ice and waiting for Ylith to return. Suddenly there was a great fluttering and a bad smell.

For the purpose of efficient flight the Harpies had retracted their legs, so their wide, brazen wings supported only a trunk with prominent breasts and a head. They cawed in loud grating voices and voided themselves over everything.

Frike yelped and ducked under the table. The Harpies spun around the room, buzzing and shrieking. When they spot­ted the coffins, they flapped over to them. "Stay away, you wretches!" Frike shouted. He went after them with a set of fire tongs. The Harpies turned and attacked him, driving him from the chamber with their steel-tipped wings and green-tipped nails. Frike hurried after a bow and arrow. Before he could fetch them, the Harpies had lifted the Prince and Princess and, flapping heavily now, rose into the air. Frike at last located the weapons and hurried back. But the Harpies were gone, risen high into the sky, and vanishing into the crack between the real and the unreal. Frike shook his fist and then sat down. He hoped Azzie wouldn't ask him to explain too much. He had very little idea what had happened.

But for that matter, where was the master?

Chapter 10

Azzie had been working in his laboratory when he felt the familiar psychic tug which tells you that you are being conjured. It is a sort of pull that starts from the inside of your stomach. Not unpleasant, but always an unwelcome signal of what lies ahead. It would be all right, perhaps, to be conjured when you were just sitting around without anything much to do. But people tend to call you up just when you are most heavily engaged in something delicate.

"Damnation!" he said. Everything was off schedule, and there was no way of telling how long the castle would stand unattended, its obsolescent spells ru

And here he was flying through the air, unable to recite his counterveillance in time to prevent what was happening. Not that it necessarily would. These general spells often fail in specific situations.

Azzie passed out during this transition. When he re­covered, he had an ache in his head. He tried to stand up, but he seemed to be on some slippery surface. Every time he rose, he fell down again. He was also a little sick to his stomach.

He was lying inside a pentagram. You can't get any more conjured than that.

This was not the first time he had been conjured, of course. Every demon who wishes to lead an active life among mankind must become accustomed to being conjured many times, since mankind plays tricks on demons just as demons do on people. There never has been a time when men and women did not conjure up demons. There are many folktales to that effect, telling of the triumphs and failures of the humans who have trod such a path. What is not told is how often sensible ar­rangements are arrived at, since even souls are commodities that can be purchased fairly. It is an ancient arrangement: the demon furnishing various kinds of work in return for a soul. Kings are good favor granters and many of them have had demon servants. But it is not a one-sided situation. Many de­mons have had kings as servants.

"See, Father, I told you he'd come!"

That was the voice of Brigitte. A triumphant voice. And there she was standing in front and above him, a dirty-faced little girl who had used the promise she had wrung from him to call him up now.

"Looks like you did, all right," a man's heavy voice said. It was her father, Thomas Scrivener. The fellow seemed to have regained his senses. But, of course, he lacked his memory of the Pit and of his meeting with Azzie. Azzie was thankful for that. Once humans got too much knowledge, they became dan­gerous.

"Oh, it's you," Azzie said, remembering the little girl who had caught him with a spirit-catcher back when he was shep­herding her father. "What do you want?"

"My promise!" Brigitte said.

Yes, it was true; Azzie owed her a promise. He would have dearly loved to forget it. But the world of magic registers promises between humans and supernatural creatures as facts of physical import. It was impossible for Azzie not to deal with this.

"Well," Azzie said, "open one of the sides of the pentagram and let me come out and we'll discuss it."

Brigitte leaned forward to rub out a line, but her father seized her and pulled her back. "Don't let him out! You'll lose all power over him!"

Azzie shrugged. It had been worth a try. "Master Scriv­ener," he said, "tell your little girl to be reasonable. We can clear this up quickly and I can be on my way."

"Don't listen to him!" Scrivener said to his daughter. "De­mons are rich. You can ask for anything you want! Anything at all!"

"I'd better explain about that," Azzie said. "That is the popular superstition, but I can assure you it is not true. Demons can only fulfill wishes within their individual powers. Only a very high demon, for example, could grant you great wealth. I, however, am a poor demon working on a government grant."

"I'd like a new doll," Brigitte said to her father. Azzie tensed and leaned forward. It didn't quite constitute a wish, since it hadn't been directed to him. But if she would say it again...

"A doll, Brigitte?" he asked. "I can get you the most won­derful doll in the world. You've heard of the Queen of the North, haven't you? She has a special little toy house with tiny figures that do the work, and pet mice that run in and out, and other things besides, I don't quite remember what. Shall I fetch it for you?"

"Wait!" Scrivener shouted, still drawing Brigitte back. "He's trying to cheat us, daughter. This demon has wonders at his fingertips. He can make you rich, can make you a princess-"

"No, nothing like that," Azzie said.

"Ask for something big!" Scrivener said. "Or better yet, give your wish to me, and I'll wish for enough to make us both rich, and then I'll get you all the dollhouses you could ever dream of."