Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming

"Tell me where that is," Azzie said.

"It is on the back shelves of Supply," Hermes said, "where the remaining plants were dried and then put into tinctures of ichor for eternal preservation."

"But I already asked Supply for something of that sort! They said they had never heard of such a thing!"

"That's very like them," Hermes said. "You must find some way to get them to make a really exhaustive search. I'm sorry, Azzie, but there's nothing else I can think of that will suffice."

This was a problem, because Supply was acting less and less cooperative. In fact, Azzie had the impression they had written off his quest and were now taking long naps and waiting until something else came up. Azzie knew he was in trouble. He talked to the Prince, recounting to him the heroic deeds of his imaginary ancestors and urging him to copy them in all respects. The Prince wasn't interested, however. Even when Azzie brought him small portraits of Scarlet, done by demon artists who could be counted on not to leave out any pulchri­tudinous feature, the young man still seemed uninterested, and talked about opening up a dress shop when he was a little older.

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 a

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 Mille

"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 Mille

"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."