“Hellfire!” Azzie said. “I’m stuck with a middle son who’s a coward! What am I to do?”
“Since he is still unformed, there’s hope of changing his mind. Perhaps you could convince him that he’s a younger son. Then he will be more fit for the quest.”
“Will that stop him from being a coward?”
“I’m afraid not,” Hermes said. “It will help, of course, especially if you tell him stories of how fierce his ancestors were. But his cowardice is an innate tendency not to be cured by exhortation.”
“What do you suggest, then?” Azzie asked.
“The only known cure for cowardice,” Hermes said, “is an herb known as gutsia sempervirens.”
“Where does it grow?” Azzie asked. “And does it really work?”
“Its efficacy is unquestioned. Gutsia, or the nerve plant, as it is also known, imbues a man with rashness and blindsightedness. You must administer it in small doses, otherwise courage turns into foolhardiness and the hero is killed before he ever gets properly started.”
“It’s hard to imagine Charming being foolhardy.”
“Give him a dose of gutsia about the size of his smallest fingernail, and you will see results that will surprise you. But remember, it’s always best to balance it off with something else, like coolandria, the herb of careful forethought.”
“I’ll remember that,” Azzie said. “Now, where am I to find this gutsia?”
“That is the real problem,” Hermes confessed. “Back in the Golden Age there was a lot of it about, and no one bothered to eat it, since courage wasn’t needed in those days, only capacity for enjoyment. Then came the Age of Bronze, when men fought each other, and the Age of Iron, when they fought not only each other but all other things as well. In those days, men consumed the herb in great quantities. That is one of the reasons why the men of old had such prowess. But the race of humans almost died away from too much warfare pursued too courageously. With the climate change that the new age brought, the gutsia plant died off. And now it is to be found in only one place.”
“Tell me where that is,” Azzie said.
“It is on the back shelves of Supply,” Hermes said, “where the remaining plants were dried and then put into tinctures of ichor for eternal preservation.”
“But I already asked Supply for something of that sort! They said they had never heard of such a thing!”
“That’s very like them,” Hermes said. “You must find some way to get them to make a really exhaustive search. I’m sorry, Azzie, but there’s nothing else I can think of that will suffice.”
This was a problem, because Supply was acting less and less cooperative. In fact, Azzie had the impression they had written off his quest and were now taking long naps and waiting until something else came up. Azzie knew he was in trouble. He talked to the Prince, recounting to him the heroic deeds of his imaginary ancestors and urging him to copy them in all respects. The Prince wasn’t interested, however. Even when Azzie brought him small portraits of Scarlet, done by demon artists who could be counted on not to leave out any pulchritudinous feature, the young man still seemed uninterested, and talked about opening up a dress shop when he was a little older.
Chapter 6
It was early evening. The August sun had been beaming down all day on the mansion in Augsburg. Azzie was sitting in the big roughhewn easy chair, reading one of the fliers that the Department of Infernal Affairs put out from time to time. It was the usual thing, an exhortation to everyone to do bad for the common cause, and a list of infernal activities around the nation. There was a calendar of birthday announcements for changelings who had been put into human cradles while the real human babies had been taken away to be remodeled and sent to populate the tribe of Aztecs in the New World, whose blood sacrifices had aroused general admiration. There were house-burning celebrations and Pit sales. All the usual sorts of things, with a few snippets of news here and there. Azzie read, though he was not really interested. Sometimes you found something useful in these homely items, more often not.