And justifiably; because all three of the monster’s heads were the same, and the face on each of them was identical to the one Asaf had so far encountered on one camel-riding magician, one magic-carpet-riding Grand Vizier, one man-eating Centaur, one seven-headed magic bird and, improbable as it may seem, one evil but enchanting houri. It was a face that was starting to get on Asaf’s nerves.
“Tremble!” the monster commanded, a mite self-consciously. It was the tone of voice a policeman might use when arresting someone who, on closer inspection, turned out to be his elder brother.
“Bog off,” Asaf replied. He turned on his heel and started to walk back to the van.
“Wretched mortal, I shall devour…” the monster started to say; then it realised that its audience was fifteen yards away and walking briskly. It scampered after him; a manoeuvre that wasn’t helped by the goat’s feet.
“Wretched… mortal… I…” it puffed. “Here, wait for me!”
Asaf turned and scowled, hands on hips. “Look,” he said, “I told you the last time. I’m not interested. Go away.” He turned and quickened his pace, and the monster had to sprint to keep up with him.
“But I shall devour… oof!”
Before the monster could halt its teetering run (imagine Godzilla in a pair of two-inch-heel court shoes, each shoe on the wrong foot) Asaf had whirled round and prodded it hard just below the navel. It wobbled for a fraction of a second and then sat down hard on a sharp boulder.
“Ouch!” it said. “That hurt.”
“Good.” Asaf grabbed a pointed ear and twisted it. “Look, chum, so far I’ve killed you twice, imprisoned your soul in a bottle, thrown you off a cliff and nailed your ears to a tree. What exactly do I have to do to you before you get the message?”
“I’m only doing my job,” the monster replied.
“Find another job, then,” Asaf snapped. “Carpentry, for instance. Plumbing. Chartered surveying. Anything which doesn’t involve meeting me ever again. Otherwise,” he added, “I shall get seriously annoyed. Got it?”
“Finished?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” The monster clicked its tongues. “Now then, where was I? Oh magnanimous one, spare my life and I shall…”
“Hold on,” Asaf interrupted, turning the ear in his hand a few degrees clockwise. “This doesn’t involve three wishes, does it, because I’ve had all that and as far as I’m concerned you can take your three wishes and you can—”
“No, it doesn’t,” replied the monster irritably. “And my ear is not a starting handle. Thank you very much.”
“Get on with it, then.”
“Spare my life,” growled the monster, “and I shall show thee the most wondrous treasure.” It glanced up with its unencumbered heads. “Interested?”
“Not very,” Asaf replied. “But it’s an improvement. Go on.”
“Not three leagues from here,” said the monster, “there lies an enchanted castle, under whose walls—”
“Hold it.”
“Well?”
“Three leagues,” said Asaf. “What’s that in kilometres?”
“Fourteen and a half,” snapped the monster. “Not fourteen and a half kilometres from here there lies an enchanted castle, under whose—”
Asaf shook his head. “No way,” he said. “A fifteen-kilometre detour on these roads, there and back, that’s best part of an hour. We wouldn’t reach Istanbul till gone nine.”
“Hoy!” the monster broke in angrily. “We’re talking about a wondrous treasure here.”
“Sorry,” Asaf replied. “Not even with free wine-glasses.” He gave the ear a final twist, for luck, and let go. “So long,” he said. “I have this strange feeling we’ll meet again soon. Till then, mind how you go.”
“Gold!” the monster yelled after him. “Silver! Precious stones!”
“Balls,” Asaf replied.
“You can’t do this,” screamed the monster. “I’ve signed for it now, they’ll have my guts for—”
“I expect you’re used to that by now,” Asaf said. “Ciao.”
“Bastard!” The monster shook its many fists, spat into the dust and started to sink into the ground. Asaf walked a few more yards, and then stopped.
“Hey!” he said.
The monster paused, waist-deep in the earth. “Well?”
“Did you say gold?”
“Yes.”
“And silver? And precious stones?”
“Yes.”
“Stay there, I’ll be right with you.”
Asaf turned and hurried back. The monster was leaning on its elbows, drumming its fingers on a rock.
“You really like causing problems, don’t you?” it said.
“You do realise I’m stuck here till they can get a maintenance crew out?”
“Gosh,” said Asaf. “Sorry about that.”
“Either you can materialise,” grumbled the monster, “or you can vanish. One or the other. You try mixing the two, you get stuck.”
“That was thoughtless of me,” Asaf admitted. “By the way, I don’t think I caught your name — your actual name, that is. Like, when you’re off-duty.”
“Neville.”
“I’m Asaf.”
“Hello.”
“Hello. Now, about this gold.”
“And silver.”
“Quite. How exactly do I set about—?”
“And precious stones.”
“Great.” Asaf broadened his smile a little. “Can you give me specific directions, because then I won’t have to trouble you to come with me, I can just…”
The monster shook his heads. “Oh, no, you don’t,” it said. “This time we do it by the book.”
Asaf sagged a little. “Do we really have to?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Sure? I mean, wouldn’t it be far simpler if you just drew me a map or something?”
“Out of the question,” Neville replied. “First, you’ve got to fight the hundred-headed guardian of the pit, and then—”
“Hang on,” said Asaf. “This hundred-headed guardian. That’ll be you, right?”
Neville bit his lips, then nodded. “That’s right,” he mumbled.
“And I win, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you get killed.”
“Yup.”
“Again.”
Neville furrowed all his brows simultaneously. “Yeah,” he said. “A bit pointless, really, isn’t it?”
“Futile, if you ask me.”
“Anyway,” Neville went on, “after you’ve killed the hundred-headed guardian, then you’ve got to guess the secret riddle of the Mad Witch of the North—”
“You again, right?”
Neville nodded. “In a frock,” he added. “Three sizes too small, too. Stops your circulation.”
“Must be awful.”
“It is. After that,” he went on, counting off on his fingers, “there’s the monstrous cloud-stepping ogre—”
“Guess who.”
“Followed by the wicked Grand Vizier who tries to have you thrown in the snake-pit…”
“You again?”
“No,” Neville replied, “that’s my cousin Wilf.”
“Ah. Let me guess, you’re the snakes.”
“You got it.”
“I escape, naturally?”
“Naturally.”
“The snakes, I anticipate, aren’t quite so fortunate?” Neville shuddered. “I do so hate death by drowning,” he added. “Makes your ears go pop. I always get this headache, stays with me the whole of the rest of the day.”
“In fact,” Asaf said, “the way I see it, I’m going to have to spend the rest of today, and probably most of tomorrow as well, kicking shit out of you, and it’s all a foregone conclusion anyway.”
“Wretched, isn’t it?”
“Childish,” Asaf agreed. “Look, couldn’t I just beat you to a jelly now and get it all over with in one go?”
There was a long pause. “Put like that,” said Neville slowly, “it does sort of make sense.”
“In fact,” Asaf went on, “a token clip round the ear would probably do just as well.”
Neville frowned. “I’m not sure about that,” he said. “Standing orders specifically require—”
“Yes,” Asaf interrupted, “but who’ll ever know? I won’t tell anybody.”
“You won’t?”
“Scout’s honour.”
The monster thought about it for a while. “Can I get you to sign a receipt?” he asked. “Just for the books, you understand.”
“Sure,” said Asaf.
“Deal!” The monster cried, and it reached down into the bowels of the earth. A moment later its hand reappeared holding a parchment, a quill pen and a bottle of ink. “So much more sensible this way,” it said.
“Quite.”
“So if you’ll just sign here…”
“Where your finger is?” asked Asaf, unscrewing the ink bottle.
“That’s it. Goodbye, idiot!” he added. “See you in Hell!” And, so saying, it grabbed Asaf by the scruff of the neck, squashed him head-first into the ink bottle and screwed down the cap.
And vanished.