Roger Zelazny - If at Faust You Don't Succeed

"Well, it was worth a try," Azzie said. "What will you do now?"

"I propose to take my rightful place in the contest. I don't know if I have time to get to Florence. But after that, the next act is to begin in London. I have already proposed to Charon that he take me there. It would be a pleasant change for him, to spend a day boating on the Thames."

Charon had been listening. Now he shuffled over, and, laughing his uncanny laugh, said, "Yes, Faust, it was agreed upon, but only on condition that you give me a Traveling Spell that will provide the motive power to take us there. The ship of the dead doesn't run through space and time on oars alone, you know."

Spell. My own is considerably depleted. Do you think you could spare me a spell recharge? Or better yet, give me a whole new Traveling Spell and Charon and I will be on our way."

"Certainly," Azzie said, and took a small spell out of his pouch, surreptitiously tore away the defective—don't use label the Board of Spell Standards had given to it, and handed it to Faust. "Best of luck," he said, and then conjured himself away.

He was very pleased with himself. He didn't have to worry about Faust. The fellow was going to neutralize himself, with a little help from a sly, fox-faced, spell-giving, egg-sucking demon.

"Earlier," Faust asked Helen, while Charon was preparing the boat for a new destination, "what did you mean by 'hah?"

Helen, beautiful and unapproachable, stood at the rail, watching the time fish gulp up odd moments. The dark water turned and roiled, and reflections of the deeds of men and gods played dimly on its surfaces.

Without turning she replied, "It is an expression of contempt, which is the emotion I feel for you and your sexist ways."

"Sexist? Me? But I'm Faust!"

"Good for you! But what about me? You may have a great intellect in some matters, but you still consider a woman an object to be fought over and won as a trophy in the ridiculous wars you men fight to prove such things."

"This line of argument doesn't sound like the Helen we've come to expect," Faust said. "You're talking like an intellectual rather than the pretty piece of puff pastry men have always taken you for. History doesn't record your views on the subject of men."

"That's because History is sexist," Helen said. "The winners get to tell their version of things. And why should it be otherwise? Might makes right and we become what you say we are. Talk about unfair typecasting!"

"What do you have to complain about?" Faust asked. "You're beautiful and famous!"

"But they've got me in an eternal ingenue role. My friends laugh at me. And why? Because fools like you keep on mooning about me and think they're hot stuff because they can enslave me."

Faust said, "Me, enslave thee? Say nay, fair Helen! For rather am I slave to thee, and stand obedient to your slightest whim."

"Yeah? Then how about taking me back to Hades where the demon stole me from?"

"Oh, well, that's out of the question," Faust said. "Come now, I'm trying to be gallant. You have to try, too."

"Hmm," Faust said, eyeing her with salacious eye. "A wise man might think your body good enough reward."

"You don't get the body, either," Helen said. "You'll have to kill me first."

Faust found himself thinking it might come to that. But he gritted his teeth. The funny thing was, he didn't even desire this woman very much. To own her, possess her, dominate her, yes, sure. But to make love to her? Faust found her formidable even when she was silent, and a virago when she was vocal. He marveled that the ancient world had never commented on Helen's conversational style.

"Look," Faust said, "let's be reasonable. There are only a few roles to play in this world of ours. I'm playing the role of possessor, though I can assure you it doesn't entirely suit me. I'm not at my best with imperious women. I like goosegirls, to tell the truth. But having you is the big time of aspiration, even if I don't go for it much personally. So I play my part. Now then, Fate, or Necessity, or Chance, or whoever it was, cast you in the role of the ultimate desired woman. You're supposed to be a paragon of seductiveness. It does no good for you to wish yourself something else. You've got your role and it's a good one. A lot of women would give anything to change places with you. And it's not bad, as roles go.

Even if you don't like it, at least try to not let down the side."

Helen considered for a while. Then she said, "Well, Faust, you say well and you talk bluntly. Now let me be equally blunt. Are you up to me? The Helen archetype is known everywhere. But I never heard of the Faust archetype."

"It came along after your time," Faust said, "but it is no less potent than your own. In the ancient world, men might have wished to be an Odysseus or Achilles. Nowadays, young men aspire to the Faustian ideal."

"Can you sum up that ideal for me?" Helen asked.

"It is difficult to capture in words the veritable quality of one's own numinosity. Let's just say that Faust wants more. It's quite a bit more than that, but that gives you an idea."

"A sort of latter-day Prometheus?" Helen asked.

"Perhaps so, Helen," Faust said, chuckling. "But with a difference. Prometheus ended up on a rock with a vulture tearing out his liver. Whereas Faust ranges free over space and time. With a little help from his friends, of course. And that's the difference between the old world and the new."

"I see you can keep up your end of a conversation," Helen said. "If nothing else." She chuckled, and Faust's titillation receptor cells went into a frenzied fibrillation until application of his powerful will caused them to quiet down again.

"Let us go on, then, Faust," Helen said. "I confess, I'm interested in seeing the contours of this new myth you're creating. Can you give me a hint as to what happens next?"

"Next we're going to get out of here," Faust said. "Charon! Is the boat ready?"

"You got that Traveling Spell?" Charon asked.

"Here it is," Faust said, handing it over. Charon felt along the lapstraked side of the boat and found the Motive Slot. Carefully he inserted the spell. Faust said the words that brought it to life. A spirit stood amidships and cast off the lines as the first ripple of motion rocked the boat. The motion came again.

There was a great cloud of smoke, green and gray in color, with ochre backlighting and little wispy nebulosities hanging from its extremities. Then the Traveling Spell kicked in. And suddenly, just like that, the boat took off.

Mack found himself walking on a road that ran straight between rows of poplars. He topped a little rise and saw, in the near distance, the spires of a noble city. The weather was warm and sunny. There were other people strolling along the road. They wore hose, tunics, soft boots, just like in Cracow, but with an Italian panache. Mack saw that Mephistopheles had dressed him in the same way. He proceeded through the gates into the bustling wonder that was Florence.

There was a lot of stir and turmoil in the narrow streets. Everybody seemed to be out, most of them in holiday clothing. Florence was in festive mood on this fine spring day. There were multicolored banners snapping in the breeze, flying bravely from many balconies and rooftops. They represented the various communes of the city. Food vendors were out in force, selling the newest taste sensation, tiny Renaissance pizzas. Armed riders in steel helmets coursed through the streets, pushing people out of the way in the manner of policemen of all times and ages. Mack passed close-packed stalk selling cloth, kitchenware, spices, swords, and knives. One stall had large porcelain plates for sale, another watermelon, a third, smelts.