"What sort of piker do you take me for?" Azzie asked indignantly, though the idea of charging rent had crossed his mind. "You're a guest. Where I come from, a guest is sacred."
"That's how it is where I come from, too," Babriel said.
"Big deal!" Azzie sneered. "For a Creature of Light to hold a guest sacred is no big matter; but for one of Darkness to do so is remarkable indeed."
"Just what I was going to say," Babriel said.
"Don't try to ingratiate yourself with me," Azzie said. "I know the tricks and I despise you and everything you stand for."
"That's just as it should be," Babriel said, with a smile.
"So you despise me, too?"
"Not at all! I meant that that was how it should be for you. You're what our archangels call a natural. It's a privilege to see you in action."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Azzie said, and found to his annoyance that he rather liked Babriel. He'd do something about that! To Frike he said, "Show him up to the little room in the attic."
Frike took an oil lamp, and bent nearly double, with his cane tapping ahead of him and his hump standing up like a whale surfacing, he walked to the stairs, followed by Babriel.
The stairs went up and up, past the polished corridors and rooms of the lower floors. As they went higher the stairs grew steeper and narrower, with here and there a tread missing. Frike stumped steadily along, and Babriel, tall and erect, his white cloak glimmering faintly in the candlelight, followed, bowing his head to avoid the low beams.
They came out at last on a landing near the top of the tall, high old mansion. At the end of the short dark hallway was a door. Frike opened it and entered with his lamp. By its flickering yellow light Babriel saw a small room with a ceiling so low he could not stand erect. There was a tiny leaded window high up, tilted at an angle to match the sloping roof. There was an iron cot and a small wooden nightstand. The room was just a little longer than the cot. The floor was thick with dust and the place smelled of cats in heat and ancient moths.
"Very nice," Babriel said.
"A trifle small, perhaps," Frike said. "Perhaps if you asked the master, he would let you have one of the third-floor suites."
"No need," Babriel said. "This will do nicely."
Just then there was a knock at the door.
"Who's there?" Frike asked.
"Supernal Delivery Service. Luggage for the angel Babriel."
"Ah, thank you," Babriel said. He opened the door. A man of medium height stood there wearing a deliveryman's cap. He handed Babriel a piece of paper and a pen. Babriel signed and handed back the paper. The deliveryman tugged at his forelock and disappeared.
"It's my luggage," Babriel told Frike. "Where should I put it?"
Frike looked around doubtfully. "On your bed, maybe. But then you'd have no place to sleep."
"It'll work itself out," Babriel said, and pulled his suitcase into the room. It was a very large suitcase and the only place there was room for it was on the bed, since he and Frike between them used up most of the available floor space.
Babriel looked at the room and said, "Do you think it'll go into the corner?"
Frike looked at the acute angle formed where the room's walls met. "You couldn't push a mouse's corpse into that corner, much less a big suitcase like that."
"Let's give it a try anyway," Babriel said. He pushed the suitcase off the bed and toward the corner. Although it was only a few inches from the end of the bed to the corner, the trunk kept moving. The wall, instead of stopping it, bulged outward to make room for it, and the other walls bulged out to stay in proportion. The ceiling lifted, too, and Frike soon found that he was in quite a large room rather than the tiny room he had entered.
"How did you do that?" Frike asked.
"Just one of those things you pick up when you move around a lot," Babriel said modestly.
Aside from growing larger, the room had also grown brighter, for reasons that didn't make themselves immediately apparent. Frike's eyes widened, then widened again as he heard a curious scuttling noise at his feet. He looked down and saw something small, about the size of a rat, scurrying out of sight. Frike blinked, and when his vision cleared he saw that the floor, which had been an inch deep in dust and cat droppings, had been freshly swept and polished. A certain panic gripped him.
"I'll tell the master you're settling in nicely," Frike said, and departed.
* * *
Five minutes later Azzie came up to Babriel's room. Azzie looked at it, twice as big as when he'd seen it last, brilliantly illuminated, nicely furnished, clean, fragrant with frankincense and myrrh, and with a small door at one side opened to reveal a fine tiled bathroom Azzie knew damned well hadn't been there before.
There was a standing closet, too, and its door was open, revealing dozens of Babriel's uniforms, of every cut and description, some with medals, and many with exaggerated collars and huge cuffs. Babriel had changed into one such. It was white and silver, and came with a peaked cap. Azziethought he looked so ludicrous as to appear sinister.
"Glad to see you're making yourself to home," Azzie said.
"I took the liberty of fixing the place up a little. I'll gladly restore it to original condition when I leave."
"Don't worry about it," Azzie said. "If I'd known you wanted fancy, you'd have gotten fancy. What's that?"
He pointed to a rectangular blob of nacre and ormolu that swung from Babriel's waist.
"Oh, that's my telephone," Babriel said. "So I can stay in touch with headquarters."
Azzie glared at the handset. "They haven't even issued ours yet!"
"You'll love them when you get them," Babriel said.
Chapter 7
It was fine September weather. Azzie became more accustomed to having Babriel living in his house. His room continued to expand, and Azzie had to ask the angel to do some shoring up because it was threatening to capsize the house with its weight and top-heavy leverage. And the training of Prince Charming went on. The young man seemed to be gaining confidence. Azzie had been feeding him a variety of herbal extracts, as well as other exotic ingredients such as powdered unicorn horn, dried banshee shit, and distilled corpse sweat. Charming was now able to hold his own against Frike with the wooden swords, even though Frike fenced with his lame left arm to make the contest more equal. There was definite progress, though it was difficult to say when the young Prince would be ready to face a real foe.
These were quiet days and nights. Azzie regretted only that Ylith was not present. It had been necessary to leave her in the enchanted castle to look after Princess Scarlet, whose rebellious ways were still something of a problem.
One evening, as Azzie was sitting in the living room smoking his pipe and feasting on a small plate of wolverine hearts with teriyaki sauce, there was a great commotion overhead. Babriel, who was reading one of his interminable books on how to be good, looked up startled as he heard the sound of hooves on the roof. Then there came a scraping sound mixed with swearing. They advanced to the chimney. Azzie could hear a loud grunting and moaning now, and at last something large worked its way down.
It was lucky that, it being a mild September night, no fire was going. Santa Claus emerged, some dark stains on his red suit, tasseled cap askew, a scowling expression on his smudged face.
"Why," Santa Claus demanded, "did you close the flues? It makes it very difficult getting through. And your chimney hasn't been cleaned in ages."
"Sorry, Santa," Azzie said. "I wasn't expecting you this time of year. Not that you come often to us demons, anyhow."
"That's because our charter says we are to bring presents first to humans. And there are more of them every day."