He moved forward. He heard the worm rustle, then say, “That’s not the right way.”
Azzie stepped back. “What way should I go?”
“I still haven’t made up my mind whether to help you or not.”
“You’d better decide pretty soon,” Azzie said. “The offer isn’t open indefinitely.”
“Oh, all right,” Tom Wormbrood said. “I guess I’ll help. Take the tunnel on the farthest right.”
Azzie did so. As soon as he entered it the ground gave way beneath his feet. He was falling. He just had time to scream, “But you said this one was safe!”
“I lied!” the worm cried. “Ha-ha!”
Azzie was falling, falling.
But it was only a short drop. Five feet perhaps. And to his right was a metal door, marked with a faintly phosphorescent EXIT.
Cursing, he pushed through.
Chapter 13
In Augsburg, Frike was wringing his hands, pacing up and down the front yard, watching the sky for a sign of the return of his beloved master. Then he saw a tiny dark speck, which resolved itself quickly into Azzie.
“Oh, master, at last you have returned!”
“As quickly as I was able,” Azzie said. “I was detained by a family of dwarves, a load of dragon manure, a work wheel, and a schizophrenic worm. I hope you have had as pleasant a time and kept a watch on Prince Charming.”
Frike’s face twisted in sorrow. “I watched out for him, sire, as well as I was able. Dragon manure?”
“Dragon manure. Did he break my stricture and go to the locked room upstairs?”
“That he did, master.”
“And once within it, did he find the small locked casket in the upper drawer of my bureau in the closet?”
“He went to it at once, master,” Frike said.
“And opening it, did he find the little miniature of the Princess Scarlet?”
“That he did, sire, that he did.”
“Then why don’t you tell me in your own ill-chosen words what transpired next?”
“Well, sire, the Prince looked upon the visage of the Princess, then looked away, then looked again. Holding the miniature in his left hand, he tugged at his lip thoughtfully with his right. He cleared his throat, going ‘ahem, ahem,’ like a man who knows not what to say yet feels under a compulsion to say something. He set the miniature down very gently and turned and walked a stride or two away. Then he returned and raised it again. Then he put it down, looked away, and with his left hand this time, pulled gently at his upper lip.”
“This is a wonderful detailing, Frike,” Azzie said. “But could you get to the nitty-gritty, as the heart of the matter is sometimes described?”
“Most certainly, sir. After bemusing himself with repeated looks, or I could more properly call them glances, at the portrait of the young lady in question, he turned to me and said, ‘Frike, this girl is a corker.’ ”
“Those were his words, eh?”
“His very words, sir. I didn’t know what to respond to that, master, so I made a low bestial noise deep in my throat, figuring the young man could interpret it in any way he pleased. Was that all right, sire?”
“Very judicious, Frike. And what happened?”
“Why, master, he paced around a time or two, and then he turned to me and said, ‘Why has Uncle Azzie been keeping this from me?’ ”
“A-ha,” Azzie said.
“Beg pardon, sir?”
“Never mind, it was a meaningless interjection. What did you say to him?”
“I said, ‘For reasons best known to himself, young Prince,’ and again made the low bestial noise in my throat.”
“That was well done, Frike. And what happened after that?”
“After more staring at the painting, and fumbling with his lip, and various other movements which I leave out for the sake of brevity, he said, ‘Frike, I must have her.’ ”
“I knew my scheme would work!” Azzie said. “What else did he say?”
“That was all for the first day,” Frike said. “By the second, he was getting impatient. He wanted to know where you were.
Since he is a dutiful lad, he wanted your permission before he set forth after her.”