"Help us, someone," he heard a faint, feminine voice calling from down in the stygian gloom.
"Did you hear that?" Shea asked.
Quixote said, "I heard, Sir Geraldo—maidens in need of rescue, pleading for help. A knightly duty is that, and what an honor it will be to test my arm against the Devil himself. Sancho Panza will hold our horses. Sancho!" he yelled. "Wait for us here."
"It will be my pleasure," Sancho called back.
Quixote smiled. "He is ever a faithful and willing squire, who, out of obedience and love for me, abstains at all times from garnering glory for himself. Someday, for his obedience, I shall make him governor of an island." The Knight of the Woeful Countenance sighed. "If I live to give him that honor. But for now, it is of no matter. Let us go to Hell."
So saying, Quixote caused the light on his blade to burn even brighter. He leapt to the coach's threshold and made to step down onto the road to Hell. As he tried to cross the threshold, however, he was stopped fast—held in place by an invisible wall. "Ho, what magic is this?" he shouted, and slashed his sword against the unseen barrier. "By God's own right hand, let me pass," he roared.
"IT IS BY GOD'S OWN RIGHT HAND THAT YOU CANNOT, QUIXOTE" God said. "YOUR OATH PREVENTS IT."
Quixote started and stared up at the heavens. "But I seek to fulfill my oath by rescuing the Lady Florimel from Hell."
Thunder rumbled and the ground shook as God spoke again. "YOU CANNOT. SHE'S NOT THERE— AND YOU CANNOT INVOLVE YOURSELF WITH OTHER KNIGHTLY DUTIES UNTIL YOU ARE FREED OF YOUR OATH TO SIR CHALMERS"
"Who, then, cried out for help?" Quixote asked.
"A LITTLE FLOCK OF PRINCESSES, ABDUCTED FROM A NEARBY CASTLE BY FRESTON AND KEPT IN THIS COACH UNTIL MALAMBROSO CONSIGNED THEM TEMPORARILY TO HELL"
Shea leaned over and spoke softly into Chalmers' ear. "Even if he can't help us, we can't just leave them down there, you know."
Chalmers looked green. He swallowed hard and tried to put his hands in the nonexistent pockets of the tunic. "Perhaps we could ride to the castle from which they were abducted and tell the inhabitants we know their whereabouts.
Shea raised one eyebrow, but said nothing.
Chalmers harrumphed. "Perhaps not. Well, I just hoped—" He fixed Shea with a sudden fierce glare, and Shea heard an unexpected urgency in his voice. "I wasn't kidding about owing Hell. If I go in, there isn't any way I'm going to get out. I have a fair amount of magic left on my balance before total disaster hits— but..."
"What do you have to do to pay on your balance?" Shea asked. "Any idea?'
Chalmers chewed on his upper lip and nodded.
"Hell in this universe apparently offers enchanters either a sort of cash-on-delivery plan, or the installment plan. If the loan officer decides you're on the C.O.D. plan, a devil is sent to collect your soul as soon as you've used up the magical credit you were allotted." Chalmers peeked into the coach and stared gloomily down the long, dark road into Hell. "Fortunately for me, I apparently qualified for the installment plan—which may stave off the inevitable long enough for me to figure a way out of this mess. In the meantime ..."
"Yes," Shea said. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Chalmers from under lowered brows. "In the meantime, what do you have to do to make your payments?"
"Well, I could sacrifice a virgin ... ah, steal a few infants from their mothers ..." Chalmers stared off into space, avoiding Shea's eyes. "Or make the village cows go dry, or start a plague—anything of that sort."
"I assume you're planning on defaulting on your payments."
Chalmers snorted. "No matter what I do, there's going to be hell to pay. I dare not enter Hell, Quixote cannot, and if you go alone, you won't have much chance of success. But the princesses must be rescued." He stood, thinking hard. Shea noticed a sly smile stealing across the other man's face. "Of course," he whispered, "I may have a few useful cards to play. Fenwick! Get up here, by damn!"
Fenwick's giggle echoed through the rolling hills. "CHALMERS, IM SO GLAD I WAS ASSIGNED TO YOUR ACCOUNT. I HAD THE GUYS IN MARKETING ROLLING IN THE AISLES WITH YOUR GOOD ENCHANTER LINE. A GOOD ENCHANTER! HE-HE-HE! BEST JOKE THEY EVER HEARD—SO WHAT YOU WANT, OH GOOD ENCHANTER? HE-HE-HE. he.'
Chalmers smiled cheerfully. "Oh, I thought we'd discuss my account. What would it cost me to give every peasant in this part of Spain a nice new milk cow?"
Fenwick's giggling took on a strained quality. "CHALMERS, YOU ARE A VERY FUNNY MAN, BUT PLEASE—NO MORE—IT GIVES ME INDIGESTION."
"I really want to know," Chalmers insisted. "What would it cost."
Fenwick stopped laughing. "HELLS ENCHANTERS DO NOT GIVE PEASANTS MILK COWS," he said haughtily. "UNLESS THE MILK WERE POISONOUS—" He sounded hopeful. "DID YOU MEAN POISONOUS MILK COWS, REED CHALMERS?"
"Nope. Nice, normal, healthy milk cows."
"THEN YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT BLESSINGS." Fenwick was clearly appalled. "HELL'S MINIONS DON'T BLESS. WHY—HALF A MILLION COWS AT ONE BLESSING PER COW, AND ONE NEGATIVE CREDIT PER BLESSING—ACCOUNTING WOULD HAVE MY HORNS IF I LET YOU PUT THAT ON YOUR LEDGER"
Chalmers squatted in the dirt and began drawing out the set-and-subset diagram again, and chanting under his breath.
Quixote and Panza came over and looked over his shoulder. Quixote asked Shea, "What is Sir Chalmero doing?"
"Giving a cow to every campesino in Spain," Shea said.
"My wife would like a cow," Panza said, looking more interested in the dirt scratchings. "She would have liked the chicken, too," he added thoughtfully.
"DON'T DO THIS," Fenwick pleaded. "THE OTHER DEMONS SERVE ENCHANTERS WHO STEAL THE SOULS OF YOUNG CHILDREN, AND DRIVE KNIGHTS MAD, AND DRINK BABIES' BLOOD. IF YOU GO AROUND GIVING OUT COWS, WHAT AM I GOING TO TELL EVERYONE?"
"Not my problem," Chalmers said, "but I'll tell you what. You have a couple of princesses down there that don't actually belong to you folks. If you accidentally misplace them back to their home, safe and sound and happy, I won't put half a million milk cows on my account."
"THAT WOULD BE A KINDNESS—YOU WANT ME TO DO A KINDNESS? WOULDN'T YOU RATHER CURSE SOMEONE? OR HAVE YOUR OWN CASTLE IN THE HILLS, FILLED WITH GOLD AND GUARDED BY DRAGONS?"
Chalmers raised both hands and, still squatting, began rocking back and forth. In a high-pitched, nasal voice, he started his incantation. "I swear by Hell and all its minions, by hoof and horn, give every peasant—"
Fenwick shrieked. "NO! I'VE DONE IT! THE PRINCESSES ARE HOME! DON'T DO THE COW SPELL!
Chalmers closed his eyes and called up his account sheet. There, with its amount in neither the debit column nor the credit column, but in a new third column, he read, "Rescued, three virgin princesses— from the bowels of Hell." The amount in the third column was almost as high as the collected amounts of all his other spells. He noticed how that entry seemed to glow and shift. Strange, he thought.
"Well, I suppose that means Teresa won't be getting a cow," Panza said. "I'm not surprised. The blessings of the rich are always the curse of the poor."
"We must go," Quixote said, suddenly.
"Why so, your worship?" Panza asked.
"I can once again feel the presence of the evil Malambroso, and Florimel with him. That way," he pointed, further down the road the four had been travelling.