Roger Zelazny - Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming

"That's your story, is it?" a knight asked.

"That's not my story, it's what happened."

The knight made a gesture. Two knights came out of a white pavilion carrying a baby-blue satin pillow between them. Lying on this pillow was a sword. It was dented, covered with rust, and its tassels were frayed, but it was recognizably Ex­calibur.

"Is this your sword?" the knight asked.

"Yes, though that's not how it looked when last I saw it," said Charming.

Speaking in a thin shaky voice, Excalibur said, "Thanks, fellas, I believe I can stand on my own."

The sword rose off the pillow, almost fell over, then bal­anced steadily on its point. The bright jewel in its pommel looked at Charming without winking.

"It's him, all right," Excalibur said. "He's the one who abandoned me on the field of battle."

The knights turned to Charming. "The sword asserts that you abandoned it on the field of battle. Is that true?"

"It wasn't like that," Charming said. "The sword is raving."

The sword swayed, then regained its balance. "My friends," it asked, "do I look deranged? I tell you, he threw me away for no reason at all and left me to rust on the hillside."

Charming made a gesture of finger to the temple, denoting that the thing referred to was crazy.

The knights didn't seem convinced. One said to another, in a clearly audible voice, "A little weird, perhaps, but definitely not crazy."

One of the knights, a tall gray-bearded man with the eagle-eyed look and thin lips of a spokesperson, took out a sheet of ruled parchment and a stylus.

"Name?"

"Charming."

"First name?"

"Prince."

"Occupation?"

"Same as first name."

"Present assignment?"

"Mission."

"What type of mission?"

"Mythic."

"Nature of mission?"

"Awaken Napping Princess."

"By what instrumentality?"

"A kiss."

After completing their questions, the knights retired to a quiet part of the field to consider what to do next, leaving Charming trussed hand and foot with silken cord and rolled under a hedge.

It seemed to Charming that these were not the ordinary run of knights. Their line of questioning was unexpected. Their faces, bony pallidities half-hidden behind moldering iron-and-wood casques, were unprepossessing. Charming overheard them talking as they moved off:

"What'll we do with him?"

"Eat him," came a reply.

"That goes without saying. But how?"

"Fricasseed is nice."

"We just had fricasseed knight last week."

"Then let's do the pony first."

"How?"

"What about roasted with fines herbes? Did anyone see any fines herbes around here?"

Charming immediately decided (a) knights didn't speak as he had supposed they did, or (b) these fellows were not knights at all but actually demons in knights' clothing.

A general consensus was reached on the fricasseeing. But they had some difficulty getting a fire going. It had rained recently in this part of the forest and there wasn't much dry wood to be found.

Finally, one of the knights caught a baby salamander. Pil­ing moist kindling against it and rapping its nose sharply when it tried to escape, they soon had a good blaze going. Two more knights turned to the creation of the sauce, and another pair made the marinade while the rest sang.

Charming knew he was in deadly peril.

Azzie was under way again, having given up the Seven League Boots in favor of his own demonic flying abil­ities. He flew and scanned the woods, noting a fire in the distance. He went to it, circled overhead, adjusted his vision, and saw Charming, trussed like a capon, await­ing fricasseeing aux fines herbes while the pony cooked and screamed.

"You can't do this to me!" it cried. "I haven't finished briefing him."

The demon knights kept on singing.

Quickly Azzie set down in the bushes nearby. He was considering things he might do to harass the knights and free Charming when, of a sudden, Babriel appeared beside him, resplendent in white armor, his dazzling white wings fluttering.

"Come to brag about your cathedral?" Azzie asked him.

Babriel looked at him sternly. "I hope you're not thinking of wading in there yourself, old man."

"Of course I am," Azzie said. "What do you think, I'm going to let my hero be eaten by renegade demons?"

"I didn't mean to intrude, but it is my duty to keep an eye on you. I can see that your Prince is in trouble. But you know the rules as well as I do. You mustn't help him. Not directly. You must not try to influence matters by your own actions."

"I've just got a few things for him," Azzie said. "A dagger. An invisible cloak."

"Let me see them," Babriel said. "Hmm. Dagger seems all right. Can't tell much about this cloak, though."

"That's because it's invisible," Azzie said. "But you can feel it, can't you?"

Babriel felt it all over.

"I guess it feels okay," he finally acknowledged.

"Even if it didn't," Azzie asked, "who'd know the differ­ence?"

"I'd know," Babriel said. "And I'd tell."

Prince Charming lay trussed up and feeling foolish. Why hadn't he paid attention to what the shaggy pony had tried to tell him? Now it couldn't continue the questing lecture. Why hadn't he believed? If you won't believe an oracular shaggy pony, what will you believe? It did smell good, though... .

Then he heard a sound. It sounded like someone saying, in a loud whisper, "Hey there!"

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Your uncle Azzie."

"I'm glad you're here, Uncle! Can you get me out of this?"

"Not directly, no. But I do have a couple of things for you."

"What?"

"The first is an enchanted dagger. It will cut your bonds."

"And the second?"

"A cloak of invisibility. You can use that to get out of the mess you're in."

"Thanks, Uncle! I'd do the same for you!"

"I doubt that," Azzie said. Aiming with care, he dropped the dagger. It went point first into a log beside which Charming was propped.

"Got it," Charming said.

"Good boy. Now here's the cloak of invisibility. Be sure to read the instructions. And above all, do not remove them under penalty of law! Good luck! I'll see you a little later."

Charming heard something soft falling, landing near him with a hushed whisper. That would be the cloak. After the enchanted dagger had cut his bonds, he looked for the cloak but couldn't find it. That figured, he realized. It wouldn't be easy to find an invisible cloak, especially on a dark night.

The demon knights were returning. They were singing,

Fair is foul and bread is dead

Put pease pudding in his head

And stuff his gut with fine persimmons

Till he looks like Jack Fitzsimmons.

No one had ever explained the meaning of this verse. It was very old, from a time when men found obscurity a com­forting way of life.

The demon knights sprawled about the campground then, grunting, stretching, chuttering, yawning. With an occasional belch and considerable scratching, they settled themselves quickly.

Charming turned to the cloak. It wasn't there again. Then he caught sight of the tag, a small square of cloth with phos­phorescent writing on it. It said, DO NOT REMOVE THIS TAG UNDER PENALTY OF DIVINE PUNISHMENT. PLEASE READ IN­STRUCTIONS ON OTHER SIDE. Charming tried to read the in­structions on the other side but they were not illuminated.

He arranged the cloak around himself as well as he could and started walking softly among the sprawled ranks of war­riors.

A slight inconsistency in the height of the ground caused him to stumble and brush against one of the figures.

" 'Ere there!" An unsteady hand reached out and seized him. "Boys, ye ken what I've found?"