The first thing he needed was a servitor. He decided to consult the landlord about this requirement.
“Of course you must have a servitor,” the fat landlord said. “I was amazed that such a fine gentleman as yourself didn’t come equipped with servants and a considerable traveling chest. Since you have money, that shouldn’t be hard to put to rights.”
“I need a special sort of servant,” Azzie said. “One who may be called upon to do deeds of a most unusual nature.”
“Might I inquire,” the landlord asked, “just what nature your excellency is speaking about?”
Azzie looked keenly at the landlord. He was fat and complacent looking, but there was a sinister cast to his features. This man was no stranger to evil deeds. He was a man who would stop at nothing, and who knew a sort of glee at the thought of evil deeds, finding in them the excitement his normal life lacked.
“Landlord,” Azzie said, “the deeds I will require may not be entirely within the ken of the king’s law.”
“Yes, sir,” the landlord said.
“I have prepared here,” Azzie said, “a little list of the requirements I need in a servitor. I wish you could tack this up somewhere. …”
He handed a sheet of parchment to the landlord. The landlord took it, moved it back and forth to get into reading range.
It read: “Servitor needed, a man not squeamish, accustomed to blood and gore, honest and reliable, up for anything.”
He read it several times, then said, “A man like this might be found, if not in our village of Hagenbeck, then in nearby Augsburg. But I shall be pleased to nail this on our front wall, along with the listings for hay and oats, and we shall see what comes of it.”
“Do that,” Azzie said. “And send me up a flagon of your best wine, in case the wait becomes onerous.”
The landlord louted low and took his departure. Within minutes he sent up the servant girl, a poor creature with deformed face and halting gait, carrying not only the flagon of wine, but also some small cakes which the cook had baked just that day. Azzie rewarded her with a silver penny, for which she was pathetically grateful. He then sat himself down and feasted. Demons do not really require food, of course, but when they take human form they also take on human desires. This appetite for food was one of them. Azzie dined well, and afterward sent for the blackbird pie he could smell baking in the inn’s well-founded kitchen.
It was not long before the first applicant knocked at his door. He was a tall young man, thin as a weed, and with wild light blond hair that floated around his head in a sort of nimbus. His clothing was presentable, although much patched. He held himself well, and bowed low when Azzie opened the chamber door.
“Sire,” the stranger said, “I read your notice belowstairs, and I have come quickly to present myself to you. I am Augustus Hye, and I am a poet by trade.”
“Indeed?” said Azzie. “This is a somewhat unusual post for a poet.”
“Not at all, sire,” Hye said. “Poets must perforce deal with the most extreme of human emotions. Blood and gore would suit me fine, since they would prove good subjects for my poems, in which I will consider the vanity of life and the inevitability of death.”
Azzie was not entirely satisfied with what he heard. The poet didn’t seem really suited for the task. But Azzie decided to give him a trial.
“Do you know the local graveyards?” Azzie asked.
“Of course, my lord. Graveyards are a favorite place for poets who crave contemplation to bring to their minds great and dolorous deeds.”
“Then hie you to such a place this evening, when the moon is down, and bring me a nicely aged human skull, with or without hair, it makes no difference. And if you can bring me some ladies’ fingers, all the better.”
“Ladies’ fingers, sire? You are referring to the confection of that name?”
“Not at all,” said Azzie. “I am referring to the actual and literal objects.”