"Where are you going, Uncle?"
"I have some business to attend to."
"What business, Uncle?"
"My business is none of your business. Frike! Bring me the keys!"
Frike scuttled off and crabbed back with a big bunch of keys set around an iron ring.
"Now pay attention, Prince. I am leaving the keys of the manor in your keeping. This big one is for the front door. The small one opens the back door, and the other small one opens the stable. Here is the key to the cellar where we keep the wine, the beer, and the preserved meats. The one with the curlicues opens my chest of spells. You can play with them if you like; they're not currently armed."
"Yes, Uncle." Charming took the keys. One caught his eye, a small silver key with elaborate arabesques around its haft.
"What about this one?" Charming asked.
"Ah," Azzie said, "that one. Did I leave that on the key ring?"
"Yes, you did, Uncle."
"Well, don't use it."
"But what is it?"
"It opens the small door at the far end of my sleeping chamber. And then, using the other end, it opens a small brass-bound oaken chest in that room. But you must not go through that door and you must not open the chest."
"Why not, Uncle?"
"It would take too long to explain," Azzie said.
"I have time," Charming said.
"Of course you do. You have nothing but time, have you? But I do not have any time. I must be off immediately. Just take my word for it, there will be a bad result if you open that door. So don't do it."
"Yes, Uncle."
"Scout's honor?"
Charming held up his right hand in the salute of the Scouts of Knighthood, a new organization for young knights in training. "I swear, Uncle."
"Good boy. And now I must be off. Farewell, lad."
"Farewell, Uncle."
Charming accompanied him to the stables, where Azzie mounted a fiery Arabian.
"Softly now, Belshazzar!" Azzie cried. "Farewell, nephew. I'll see you in a couple of days, a week at the outside."
Charming and Frike both waved until Azzie was out of sight.
An hour later (a short hour, since the glass ran fast) Charming said to Frike, "I'm bored."
"Another game of Rheumie?" Frike asked, shuffling the cards.
"No, I'm tired of card games."
"What would you like to do then, young sir? Lawn tennis? Quoits? Push and shove?"
"I'm sick of all those namby-pamby pastimes," Charming said. "Can't you think of anything interesting?"
"Hunting?" Frike suggested. "Fishing? Kite flying?"
"No, no..." Prince Charming narrowed his eyes, then looked up. His features took on a look of animation. "I know!"
"I await your pleasure, sire."
"Let's go peek in the room I'm not supposed to look into."
Frike had been well schooled. Concealing the smile that threatened to break out, he said, "We couldn't do that!"
"Could we not, now?"
"Certainly not, sire. The master would be dreadfully cross."
"But he wouldn't have to know, would he?"
Frike's expression revealed that he had never thought of that. "You mean... not tell him?"
"That is precisely what I mean."
"But we always tell the master everything!"
"Let's make an exception this time."
"But why?"
"For a game, Frike, that's why."
"Oh ... A game." Frike seemed to ponder. "I suppose that would be all right, if it's only a game. Are you sure it's a game?"
"Frike, I swear to you, it is only a game."
"Well then," Frike said, "so long as it's only a game."
"Let's go!" Charming cried, bounding up the stairs four at a time, the keys jingling in his hand.
Outside the manor house, Azzie, who had parked his horse in the wood and returned on foot, or rather, on wing, since he had fully operational wings beneath his resplendent tunic, hovered above the high bedroom window and smiled to himself. He had never heard of this psychology stuff Hermes had spoken about, but it was going all right so far.
Chapter 4
Ylith was just tucking a blanket about Princess Scarlet, who had dropped off to sleep in mid-conversation with her, when the knocking occurred upon the castle gate. It was not like Azzie to knock, and Ylith could not imagine any other visitor, there atop the glass mountain. Leaving the girl in the leather arms of the huge chair, she moved quickly out of the sitting room and headed for the castle's main hall. The sound came again as she traversed the high-ceilinged stone room.
She unlatched the normal-sized postern door beside the big gate, opened it, and looked outside. A tall, not uncomely figure, clad in white and gold, returned her gaze and smiled.
"Yes?" she said.
"Am I correct in assuming this to be the castle of the Napping Beauty, Princess Scarlet?" he inquired.
"You are," she replied. "But you can't be Prince Charming, can you? It's a little early, and those aren't the right eyes -not that I have anything against big blue ones, mind you."
"Oh, no," he answered. "My name's Babriel. I'm the observer for the Powers of Light. I'm a guest of Azzie's and I just thought I'd pop over and check out this end of the operation. Is everything proceeding in good fashion?"
"Why, yes," she said. "Won't you come in?"
"Thank you, I will," he replied.
"I'm Azzie's-associate," she said, "in this matter. My name's Ylith. Glad to make your acquaintance."
She offered a hand. He raised it and pressed it to his lips.
"Oh," she remarked, staring at her hand after he released it. "Uh, come this way. I'll take you to see the lady. She's napping now, of course."
"Of course," he replied, seeming to realize suddenly that he was still holding her hand and releasing it quickly, "if it is convenient."
"Certainly, certainly."
She turned and led him across the hall.
"Nice hall," he observed.
"Thanks."
"You and Azzie been together long?"
"Oh, we go way back. But we're not exactly-together- right now. Except on this project, I mean."
"Clever entry you have."
"I suppose so. It's all Azzie's idea. I'm just helping him out, for old times' sake."
"I see. Brotherhood of Evil and all that," he said. "Sisterhood, too, of course," he corrected quickly.
"Sort of. This way," she said, leading him out of the hall and into the sitting room. "There she is. Napping Beauty. Pretty, huh?"
"Lovely," he remarked.
Ylith blushed as she realized he was looking at her. Immediately, he suffered a coughing spell.
"May I get you something to drink?" she offered. "A little ichor, perhaps?"
"Please."
"Have a seat. Be comfortable."
She hurried off, returning in a few moments with a pair of drinks.
"Here. Thought I'd join you," she said.
"Thank you."
He sipped it slowly. She seated herself nearby.
"I take it the project goes well," Babriel repeated after a time.
"Oh, Azzie has his problems, I understand," she answered.
"You must be a great help and comfort to him."
"I wouldn't know," she replied. "He's been somewhat uncommunicative. "
"I don't understand."
"The last time we talked he was a trifle -cold. It may be he has more problems than I realize, or it may just be -"
"What?"
"That he's just that way - to me."
They sipped their ichor in silence for a time. Then: "It is in the nature of evil to be nasty, I guess," Babriel observed. "Even to its friends and allies."