“Nonsense!” Babriel said. “Let me speak with him!”
He pushed his way in through the door.
Azzie was seated on a little throne he had set up in one corner of the laboratory. He lounged there in his purple cloak, with an orange tam o’shanter pulled over one eye. He looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot. Tankards and bottles of ichor were strewn around the floor. There were other bottles on nearby shelves, jocund in their fullness, within easy reach.
“Come now, Azzie!” Babriel said. “You’ve put up a very good contest. Remember, it’s not winning or losing that counts, it’s how you play the game.”
“You’ve got that entirely wrong,” Azzie said. “What counts is winning. How you play the game counts for nothing.”
Babriel shrugged. “Well . . . Different rules, different divine imperatives, I suppose. But you really should stop drinking now, old man. Here, let me help you up.”
He extended an arm to Azzie. Azzie gripped it with one hand and tried to claw it with the other. Babriel deftly fended him off and helped him to his feet.
“After all, old man,” Babriel said, “what does it matter who wins, really?”
Azzie stared at him. “Am I hearing you correctly?”
“Well, yes, of course. I mean, as Creatures of Light and Darkness we must take the long view. We all serve life and death, intelligence, and all the other supernal forces.”
“I shouldn’t have lost,” Azzie said. “It’s because I got no cooperation from the Powers of Darkness. You yourself, Babriel, my opponent, were more help than people on my own side. That’s the trouble with evil. It’s not cooperative, not even with itself.”
“Don’t take it so hard,” Babriel said. “Come with us, Azzie. We’ll all go to the Awards Dinner and have a few laughs.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Azzie said. “The damned Awards Dinner. All right. I’ll be there in a bit. You go on ahead, though. I’ve got a few little things I have to do first. How’s the Gothic whatchamacallit coming?”
“They’re just finishing the bell tower,” Babriel replied.
As they departed Babriel said to Ylith, “You know, we really ought to do something nice for Charming, for the wonderful way he managed his part.”
“What a fine idea,” she replied.
Azzie gnashed his teeth.
When they were gone, he summoned Frike.
“Did you ever hear anything like that?” he asked him.
“Like what, master?”
“Like those two sappy-faced so-called friends of mine. Did you hear them talking on the way out? Such nonsense! Can you imagine? They want to reward Charming for a job well done.”
“Yes, master,” Frike said. “Very funny, ha-ha.”
“I thought so, too,” Azzie said. “Well, I think we will give Master Charming a little acknowledgment of the part he’s played in screwing up my drama by taking from him the life that was my gift to him. I can’t kill him myself, though. Not directly. There are rules. Stupid rules, but rules all the same, that prohibit a demon from savaging and killing a human being for no reason at all.”
“Oh, that’s too bad, master,” Frike said.
“Yes, I’ve always thought that, too,” Azzie said. “But I believe we can get around it.”
“Oh, master, how will we do that?”
“Frike,” Azzie said, “how would you like to be an avenging warrior for a change instead of a cringing servitor?”
“Sounds nice,” Frike said. “How do we do that, master?”
“We’ve got plenty of body parts left over,” Azzie said, “and I’m a master at the art of human sculpture. Come with me. Lie down on yonder marble slab.”
“Master, I’m not sure this is such a wonderful idea.”
“Shut up,” Azzie said. “Don’t argue with me. Remember, I can replace your personality as easily as I can change your body.”
“Yes, master, of course.” Frike lay down on the table. Azzie found a scalpel and sharpened it on his heel.
“Will it hurt?” Frike asked.
“Of course it will hurt,” Azzie told him. “Anesthesia hasn’t been invented yet.”
“What did you say hasn’t been invented yet, master? Ana-something?”
“Never mind. Bite down hard on your lip. I’m going to begin cutting.”
Chapter 2