Roger Zelazny - Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming

"I would like to go with you and see these things," Princess Scarlet said. "But I promised my aunt that I would return home immediately after the ball."

"No problem," Achmed said. He snapped his fingers. There was a flapping sound in the air, and Princess Scarlet beheld a large and luxurious Persian carpet which had come seemingly from nowhere and hovered now at the level of the balcony.

"This is a flying carpet," Achmed said. "It is a common means of transport in my land, and by utilizing it I can take you to the Grand Turk's court, show you around, and return you to this very spot before the evening is out."

"It is very tempting, "Scarlet said. "But I really shouldn't. ..."

Achmed Ali smiled a subtle smile of incredible attractive­ness and stepped from the balcony onto the carpet. He turned to Scarlet, extending his hand.

"Come with me, beautiful princess," he said. "I am crazy about you and I will show you a very good time and respect you throughout and I will have you back here in plenty of time to return to your esteemed aunt as you had originally planned."

Princess Scarlet knew she shouldn't. But the unexpected freedom, the temporary relief from the napping spell, the gran­deur of the ball, the mysterious and tantalizing presence of Achmed Ali, the glass of unaccustomed champagne, and the perfume of the Mater Delirium plant that grew beneath the balcony all combined to make her senses reel and cause a feeling of boldness to come over her. Scarcely knowing what she was doing, she accepted Achmed's hand and stepped onto the carpet.

Cinderella was just about to go to the sumptuous buffet and get herself another glass of champagne, and per­haps a plate of sherbet, too, when a footman came up to her, bowed low, and said, "There is a someone, Princess, who wishes to converse with you."

"A man?"

"A demon, I opine, though manlike for all of that."

"A demon," Cinderella mused. "I don't remember asking any demons."

"I believe he came on his own recognizance, Princess," said the footman, straining to find enough time to mention that he, the footman, was himself a prince in disguise.

"What does he want?"

"I do not know," the footman said, brushing his wrist against his luxuriant mustache. "He claims it is a matter of great importance."

This exchange might have gone on longer if at that moment Azzie hadn't come striding up with two doormen clinging to his coattails trying to restrain him.

Azzie gave a shrug that sent them sprawling, and said, "You are Cinderella?"

"Yes, I am."

"And this is your party?"

"Yes, it is. And in case you're thinking of crashing it, I have demons of my own whom I can call up at a moment's notice."

"It seems that you invited my niece, Princess Scarlet, to your festivities."

Cinderella glanced around. Several of the guests seemed to be taking an interest in the conversation, and the footman was still hanging around twirling his ridiculous mustache as he tried to insert himself and his bogus credentials into the pro­ceedings.

"Come over here to the secret bower," Cinderella said. "There we can talk quietly."

They walked to the bower.

"You can put your broomsticks in the corner," Cinderella said.

"I think I'll hold on to them. Enough small talk. Where's Scarlet?"

"Are you really her uncle? You shouldn't have left the child alone so long in that enchanted castle. I didn't think it would do any harm to invite her to my party."

"Where is she right now?" Azzie said, his foot tapping ominously.

Cinderella looked around, but she couldn't see Scarlet. She called over a footman - another one, not the one with the mus­tache-this one had a little goatee-and told him to find Prin­cess Scarlet.

In a moment the footman hurried back. "I am told she left with the turbaned gentleman, Achmed Ali."

Azzie turned to the footman. "How did they depart?"

"By flying carpet, milord."

Azzie rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful. "And in what direction did they head?"

"Due east, milord."

"Do you know who this man is?" he asked Cinderella.

"He's a nobleman from the courts of the Grand Turk, ruler of all Turkestan."

"Is that all you know?"

"Know you something al contrario?"

"Did he tell you his court position?"

"No, not specifically."

"He is the Chief Procurer for the Seraglio of the Grand Turk."

"How do you know this?"

"I make it my business to know such things," Azzie said.

"Procurer! Surely you don't mean - "

"I mean," Azzie said, "that Princess Scarlet is at this very moment being transported across international boundaries for purposes of white slavery and imperial prostitution."

"I had no idea!" Princess Cinderella said. "Where is my grand vizier? Strike Achmed Ali's name from the guest list! Put a double line through it! My dear demon, I can't tell you how sorry I am-"

But she was talking to herself. Azzie had already leaped to the rail of the balcony and, pausing only to activate the brooms' drive mechanisms, soared off onto the ambient air, going east, due east.

Flying carpets are swift, powered as they are by the strongest spells of mighty djinns. But they are not aerodynamically ef­ficient and tend to be unstable. The leading edge of a carpet in flight invariably curls up like the front of a toboggan and pro­vides an airfoil that slows flight. Still, Achmed was making good time. As for Scarlet, she had started to think about her situation and found it a little less delicious than she had earlier. As she looked at Achmed, sitting tailor fashion at the carpet's controls, she noticed the cruel lines etched down his face, which somehow she had overlooked earlier, and the angry way his black mustache curled down and then back up again, termi­nating in needle-sharp waxed points. It occurred to her that she had been just a touch precipitous when she had accepted this invitation. It was only then that she thought about Prince Charming, her intended. He might even now be entering the enchanted castle. What if he arrived and didn't find her and went away and found someone else? Would she be doomed to live alone under the napping spell for the rest of her life? Was there any salvation for Napping Beauties who have the bad luck not to be found by their Prince Charmings? And anyhow, what was she getting herself into and was this Achmed really sincere?

"Achmed," she said, "I have changed my mind."

"Indeed?" Achmed said, in an offhand way.

"I want to go back to Cinderella's party now."

"The Grand Turk's court is just a little way from here," Achmed said.

"I don't care! I want to turn back right now!"

Achmed turned to her, and now his face was ugly with machismo, self-pride, hatred, bad faith, as well as a touch of pusillanimity. "Little Princess, you have chosen this adventure, and now there is no turning back."

"Why are you doing this? " she asked. "There comes a time when only the truth will suffice.

"It is my job," he replied, "and my master, the Grand Turk, will reward me well for adding you to his seraglio. Need I put it any clearer?"

"I'm not going to any seraglio! I'll die first!" Scarlet said. She moved to the edge of the carpet. Peering over, she saw, far below, the isles of Greece, dark lumps in a milk-white sea. She decided that things weren't so extreme as to warrant sui­cide, at least not yet.

She shrank back to the middle of the carpet, already mourning the handsome young prince who she seemed destined now never to meet. She brushed back her long hair, which was getting ratty from the wind, and saw, behind her-for that was the direction in which she turned in order to ease a crink in her neck-a tiny speck in the sky moving directly toward them. The speck grew, and hope blossomed in Scarlet's heart, and she turned away so as not to betray her emotions or her dis­covery to Achmed.