Roger Zelazny - A Farce To Be Reckoned With

"This situation with Azzie and his play is even more serious than we'd anticipated. It seems our demon has acquired a variance from Ananke herself, giving him express permission to perform miracles in the furtherance of his plan. Furthermore, Ananke has ruled that we of the Light are not to be accorded any more special privileges simply because we are Good. I also have it on authority that Azzie has some scheme that would abstract Venice from real time and set it up as a special entity. Do you know what that means?"

"Not exactly, sir, no, I don't."

"It means that this noisome demon can, potentially at least, rewrite history to his heart's content."

"But sir, an abstracted Venice would have no effect upon the mainstream of human history."

"That's true. But it could be used as a model for those dissatisfied souls who think history ought to be something other than what it is — an account of human tribulation and suffering. The concept of Rewriteability undermines the entire doctrine of Predestination. It releases mankind into a realm where Chance can play an even greater part than it already does."

"Hmm, that's serious, sir," Babriel said.

Michael nodded. "The very order of the cosmos could be at risk here. Our long-established preeminence is being challenged. The principle of Good itself has become moot."

Babriel gaped at him.

"But at least it does one thing for us," Michael went on.

"What's that, sir?"

"It releases us from the galling strictures of fairness. It means we can take off the gloves. This is no longer a gentleman's game. At last we can lay aside our compunctions and get in there and fight."

"Yes, sir!" Babriel said, though he hadn't been aware that too much in the way of compunctions had guided Michael's actions to date. "What, specifically, do you want me to do?"

"We have learned," Michael said, "that Azzie is onto a scheme now involving a magic horse."

Babriel nodded. "That sounds very like him."

"To hear is to obey!" cried Babriel, springing to his feet. He flew through the corridors with a great beating of wings. This was serious!

In not much more than a trice he was back on Earth. Taking but a moment to orient himself, he flapped his way to the manor house of the Sforzas and came down lightly in the courtyard.

It was just past dawn, and the count's household was still asleep. Babriel looked around, then went to the stable. From within he heard the unmistakable sounds of a man with a maid, complete, as it was, with giggles and soft squishy noises. He heard a neighing sound, then found, tethered close by, a white stallion with finely wrought saddlebags. He soothed the noble steed and untied its reins. "Come with me, my beauty," he said.

Kornglow found himself lying on a pallet of straw, caught up in a tangle of arms and legs, only half of which were his. The sun was shining brightly through cracks in the half-finished walls of the stable, and a smell of straw, dung, and horses assailed his nostrils. He untangled himself from the woman with whom he had coupled in such abandon, hastily pulled on his clothes, and got to his feet.

"Why such a rush?" Leonore asked, awakening. "Stay."

"No time, no time," Kornglow said, stuffing his shirt into his breeches and his feet into his boots. "I'm supposed to be on an adventure!"

"Forget the adventure," Leonore said. "You and I have found each other. Why ask for more?"

"No, I must not tarry! I must get on with it! Where is my magic horse?"

Kornglow searched through the stable, but the horse was nowhere to be found. All he could locate was a small piebald donkey tied to a half paling. It brayed at him, its mouth open and its yellow teeth bared.

Kornglow looked at it searchingly and said, "Has some enchantment so altered my steed? It must be! If I ride it away, no doubt it will change back in the due course of time!"

He untied the donkey and mounted; he kicked it hard in the ribs, making the creature amble into the courtyard.

The animal didn't like the idea, but Kornglow urged it on. The donkey ambled across the chicken yard, past the kitchen garden, and all the way to the manor gate.

"Hello, there!" Kornglow shouted at the gate.

A man's heavy voice from within called out, "Who is out there?"

"One who would seek the hand of the Lady Cressilda!"

A large balding man in shirt and pants and chef's toque came out. Scowling and unfriendly, he said,

"Have you taken leave of your senses? The lady is married! Her husband cometh even now!"

The door opened further. Out stepped a tall nobleman in fine attire, stern faced and haughty, with a rapier at his hip. "I am Rodrigo Sforza," he said in a voice that would have to be described as ominous. "What seems to be the trouble?"

The cook bowed low and said, "This lout says he comes for the hand of Cressilda, your lady wife."

Sforza fixed Kornglow with a steely gaze. "Say you so, fellow?"

Kornglow now perceived that something was wrong. His way was supposed to have been prepared for him. It was probably the loss of the magic horse that had put him in this strait.

He turned and tried to prod the donkey to a gallop. It set its heels and bucked, throwing Kornglow violently to the ground.

"Call my guards!" cried Sforza.

His men came hurrying around the corner, buckling up their doublets and strapping on their swords.

"To the dungeons with him!" cried Sforza.

And so Kornglow soon found himself in a dark hole, his head ringing from numerous blows.

Well, Morton," Azzie said, "this is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into."

Kornglow sat up, blinking. One moment before he had been alone in Sforza's dungeon, nursing his bruised head and contemplating his unhappiness. The cell had been bare, with no more than a scattering of moldy straw on its earthen floor, and there had been little Kornglow could do to make himself comfortable. But now he was outside again. Kornglow was getting awfully tired of all these sudden moves, and the strange wavelike motions they involved tended to upset his stomach.

Azzie was standing before him, splendid in a blood red cloak and soft leather boots.

"Your Excellency!" Kornglow cried. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"Are you, indeed? I'm afraid I must tell you, you have compromised your adventure before it even got properly started. How on Earth did you misplace the magic horse?"

Kornglow fell back on the excuse that all men used in that day and age. "I was tempted by a sorceress, most noble one! I am a mere man! What could I do?"

He then described his adventure with the fair Leonore. Azzie detected a familiar hand in this.

"The horse was there at the beginning of your adventure?" Azzie asked.

"Indeed it was, Your Excellency! But when I looked again, it was gone, and there was only a donkey.

Could you bring me another, sir, that I might try again?"

"Magic horses aren't so easily procured," Azzie said. "If you'd known how we had to search for that one, you would have taken better care of it."

"But surely there's some other magical object we could use instead," Kornglow said. "Must it be a horse?"

"I suppose we might come up with something."

"I'll do it right this time, Your Excellency! Oh, but there is one other thing."

"What is it?" Azzie said.

"I'd like to change my wish."

Azzie stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I had asked for the hand of the fair Cressilda in marriage, but I've since reconsidered. She's apt to hold it against me because I'm not gently bred. But fair Leonore suits me to a T. I'd like her as my prize."

"Don't be silly," Azzie said. "We already have you down in tide books as getting Cressilda."

"But she's already married!"