Uniformed attendants welcomed her and led her inside. The ballroom was a blaze of color and light. At the far end was the orchestra. Princess Scarlet was dazzled. Never had she seen a spectacle such as this. It was like something out of a fairy tale, and the fact that she herself was something out of a fairy tale made it no less wonderful.

  "You must be Princess Scarlet!" Scarlet was being ad­dressed by a radiantly beautiful young woman of about her own age.

  "Are you Princess Cinderella?" Scarlet said.

  "How did you recognize me? Do I have soot on my nose?"

  "Oh, no ... I just assumed... having gotten your invi­tation... ." Scarlet was filled with confusion, but Cinderella laughed and put her at ease. "It was just my little jest! I am so glad you could come. I heard you are under a sleeping spell."

  "Actually it's a napping spell. But how did you hear about it?"

  "Word gets around in the domain of fairy tales," Cinderella said. "If you should need them, we have resting rooms upstairs, and a variety of stimulants if your spell responds to chemical means."

  "No need," Scarlet said. "I was able to get a temporary rescindment."

  "However you did it, I am very glad you could come. This is the debutante event of the season, you know. We have many eligible bachelors here, mostly of the nobility, but also a few enterprising and famous commoners like Jack of the Beanstalk and Peer Gynt. Come, let me get you a glass of champagne and introduce you to some people."

  Cinderella gave Scarlet a foaming glass of champagne and, taking her hand, led her around from one group of gorgeously dressed people to the next. Scarlet's head was awhirl, and the music - loud, rhythmic-was setting her dancer's toes to tap­ping. She was pleased when a tall, dark, handsome man in a gold lamé suit and crimson turban asked her to dance.

  They whirled around the dance floor. The turbaned man introduced himself as Achmed Ali. He was a fine dancer, con­versant with the newest steps. Scarlet had a dancer's quick instinct for dance steps, and so she soon found herself doing the straddle duck, the limping elbow, the pigmy hop, the de­lirious dogleg, and the double wolverine, all dance sensations of that eventful year of the Millennium. Achmed Ali seemed to float across the floor, matching her consummate skill with his own scarcely inferior efforts. The other dancers moved back to clear a space for them, so obviously superior were they to the common lot. The orchestra segued into Swan Lake, so balletic was the spectacle before them. Around and around Scarlet and Achmed whirled while the trumpets blasted and the steel guitars whined, turning ever more daring pas de deux, whirling, tap­ping, stamping, as the applause mounted. At last, for the finale, Achmed Ali danced her out of the ballroom and onto a little balcony.

  The balcony overlooked a little lake. The moon had just risen, and little silvery ripples moved slowly toward the dark shore. Princess Scarlet fanned herself with the Chinese fan that Supply had provided and, turning to Achmed Ali, said in formal tones, "Belike, sir, I've not seen thy match for overall all-in dancing eftsoons."

  "Nor I thine," Achmed answered gallantly. His face, which was spread neatly along either side of his hawk nose, had firm, finely cut lips of pale pink behind which teeth of a nacreous white could be seen when he smiled or lifted his lip in the small sneer with which he expressed emotion. He told Scarlet that he was a prince from the court of the Grand Turk, whose lands stretched from the misty frontier of eastern Turkestan to the sea-shrouded coastline of hither Asia. He described the splendor of the Grand Turk's palace, which had so many rooms that they were uncountable save by those skilled in mathematical necromancy. He told her of the palace's main features, the carp ponds, the mineral springs, the great library where could be found writings from all over the world. He mentioned the kitch­ens where delicacies of unusual splendor were prepared every day for the delectation of the ensemble of happy and talented young people who made up the court. He told her how she would dazzle all of the beauties of that court with the previously unheard-of splendor of her delicate and finely proportioned features. He declared that he, despite their short acquain­tanceship, was utterly and entirely smitten with her, and begged her to accompany him so he could show her the splendors of the Grand Turk's domain and, if she so desired, stay on for a while. He described the luxurious presents that he would shower on her, and he went on in that vein and similar veins and tendentious arteries of teasing promises for so long that the Princess' head was turned and turned again.

  "I would like to go with you and see these things," Princess Scarlet said. "But I promised my aunt that I would return home immediately after the ball."

  "No problem," Achmed said. He snapped his fingers. There was a flapping sound in the air, and Princess Scarlet beheld a large and luxurious Persian carpet which had come seemingly from nowhere and hovered now at the level of the balcony.

  "This is a flying carpet," Achmed said. "It is a common means of transport in my land, and by utilizing it I can take you to the Grand Turk's court, show you around, and return you to this very spot before the evening is out."

  "It is very tempting, "Scarlet said. "But I really shouldn't. ..."

  Achmed Ali smiled a subtle smile of incredible attractive­ness and stepped from the balcony onto the carpet. He turned to Scarlet, extending his hand.

  "Come with me, beautiful princess," he said. "I am crazy about you and I will show you a very good time and respect you throughout and I will have you back here in plenty of time to return to your esteemed aunt as you had originally planned."

  Princess Scarlet knew she shouldn't. But the unexpected freedom, the temporary relief from the napping spell, the gran­deur of the ball, the mysterious and tantalizing presence of Achmed Ali, the glass of unaccustomed champagne, and the perfume of the Mater Delirium plant that grew beneath the balcony all combined to make her senses reel and cause a feeling of boldness to come over her. Scarcely knowing what she was doing, she accepted Achmed's hand and stepped onto the carpet.

  Chapter 8

  Cinderella was just about to go to the sumptuous buffet and get herself another glass of champagne, and per­haps a plate of sherbet, too, when a footman came up to her, bowed low, and said, "There is a someone, Princess, who wishes to converse with you."

  "A man?"

  "A demon, I opine, though manlike for all of that."

  "A demon," Cinderella mused. "I don't remember asking any demons."

  "I believe he came on his own recognizance, Princess," said the footman, straining to find enough time to mention that he, the footman, was himself a prince in disguise.

  "What does he want?"

  "I do not know," the footman said, brushing his wrist against his luxuriant mustache. "He claims it is a matter of great importance."

  This exchange might have gone on longer if at that moment Azzie hadn't come striding up with two doormen clinging to his coattails trying to restrain him.

  Azzie gave a shrug that sent them sprawling, and said, "You are Cinderella?"

  "Yes, I am."

  "And this is your party?"

  "Yes, it is. And in case you're thinking of crashing it, I have demons of my own whom I can call up at a moment's notice."

  "It seems that you invited my niece, Princess Scarlet, to your festivities."

  Cinderella glanced around. Several of the guests seemed to be taking an interest in the conversation, and the footman was still hanging around twirling his ridiculous mustache as he tried to insert himself and his bogus credentials into the pro­ceedings.

  "Come over here to the secret bower," Cinderella said. "There we can talk quietly."

  They walked to the bower.

  "You can put your broomsticks in the corner," Cinderella said.

  "I think I'll hold on to them. Enough small talk. Where's Scarlet?"

  "Are you really her uncle? You shouldn't have left the child alone so long in that enchanted castle. I didn't think it would do any harm to invite her to my party."

  "Where is she right now?" Azzie said, his foot tapping ominously.

  Cinderella looked around, but she couldn't see Scarlet. She called over a footman - another one, not the one with the mus­tache-this one had a little goatee-and told him to find Prin­cess Scarlet.

  In a moment the footman hurried back. "I am told she left with the turbaned gentleman, Achmed Ali."

  Azzie turned to the footman. "How did they depart?"

  "By flying carpet, milord."

  Azzie rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful. "And in what direction did they head?"

  "Due east, milord."

  "Do you know who this man is?" he asked Cinderella.

  "He's a nobleman from the courts of the Grand Turk, ruler of all Turkestan."

  "Is that all you know?"

  "Know you something al contrario?"

  "Did he tell you his court position?"

  "No, not specifically."

  "He is the Chief Procurer for the Seraglio of the Grand Turk."

  "How do you know this?"

  "I make it my business to know such things," Azzie said.

  "Procurer! Surely you don't mean - "

  "I mean," Azzie said, "that Princess Scarlet is at this very moment being transported across international boundaries for purposes of white slavery and imperial prostitution."

  "I had no idea!" Princess Cinderella said. "Where is my grand vizier? Strike Achmed Ali's name from the guest list! Put a double line through it! My dear demon, I can't tell you how sorry I am-"

  But she was talking to herself. Azzie had already leaped to the rail of the balcony and, pausing only to activate the brooms' drive mechanisms, soared off onto the ambient air, going east, due east.

  Flying carpets are swift, powered as they are by the strongest spells of mighty djinns. But they are not aerodynamically ef­ficient and tend to be unstable. The leading edge of a carpet in flight invariably curls up like the front of a toboggan and pro­vides an airfoil that slows flight. Still, Achmed was making good time. As for Scarlet, she had started to think about her situation and found it a little less delicious than she had earlier. As she looked at Achmed, sitting tailor fashion at the carpet's controls, she noticed the cruel lines etched down his face, which somehow she had overlooked earlier, and the angry way his black mustache curled down and then back up again, termi­nating in needle-sharp waxed points. It occurred to her that she had been just a touch precipitous when she had accepted this invitation. It was only then that she thought about Prince Charming, her intended. He might even now be entering the enchanted castle. What if he arrived and didn't find her and went away and found someone else? Would she be doomed to live alone under the napping spell for the rest of her life? Was there any salvation for Napping Beauties who have the bad luck not to be found by their Prince Charmings? And anyhow, what was she getting herself into and was this Achmed really sincere?

  "Achmed," she said, "I have changed my mind."

  "Indeed?" Achmed said, in an offhand way.

  "I want to go back to Cinderella's party now."

  "The Grand Turk's court is just a little way from here," Achmed said.

  "I don't care! I want to turn back right now!"

  Achmed turned to her, and now his face was ugly with machismo, self-pride, hatred, bad faith, as well as a touch of pusillanimity. "Little Princess, you have chosen this adventure, and now there is no turning back."

  "Why are you doing this? " she asked. "There comes a time when only the truth will suffice.

  "It is my job," he replied, "and my master, the Grand Turk, will reward me well for adding you to his seraglio. Need I put it any clearer?"

  "I'm not going to any seraglio! I'll die first!" Scarlet said. She moved to the edge of the carpet. Peering over, she saw, far below, the isles of Greece, dark lumps in a milk-white sea. She decided that things weren't so extreme as to warrant sui­cide, at least not yet.

  She shrank back to the middle of the carpet, already mourning the handsome young prince who she seemed destined now never to meet. She brushed back her long hair, which was getting ratty from the wind, and saw, behind her-for that was the direction in which she turned in order to ease a crink in her neck-a tiny speck in the sky moving directly toward them. The speck grew, and hope blossomed in Scarlet's heart, and she turned away so as not to betray her emotions or her dis­covery to Achmed.

  Azzie, driving the two broomsticks at full throttle, saw the flying carpet ahead of him, outlined fantastically against the full moon, and he closed in, his eyes slitted against the airstream. His rage seemed to power the broomsticks even faster. He gained rapidly on the flying carpet, and then, coming up behind and above it, nosed the broomsticks over into a power dive.

  The first thing Achmed Ali knew about this was when he heard a great sound that surpassed even the roar of the slipstream and, turning, saw a fox-faced demon astride two blazing broom­sticks, diving down on him from above. Achmed threw the carpet into a sideslip, hanging on to Scarlet with one hand as the carpet fell through the sky. Scarlet shrieked because they seemed certain to crash. But Achmed pulled out only a few feet above the shining sea. He turned the carpet to bring its spell-powered thunderbolts into play. Not for the first time did he wish he had the new super thunderbolts, but the Grand Turk, profligate in matters concerning his seraglio, was stingy when it came to updating the armament of his flying carpets.

  Before Achmed Ali could bring his standard-issue weapons to bear, Azzie was firing at him with jagged lightning bolts, the short, explosive, painful kind. Achmed dodged and swerved, but the bolts of lightning came closer and closer, singeing the edges of the carpet and spoiling its meager airflow character­istics. Achmed found that no matter how hard he tugged, the web and woof lines would no longer control the craft. The carpet tilted precipitously and Achmed had to grab an edge with both hands. Released from his grip, Princess Scarlet slid to the edge of the carpet, now tilted almost to the perpendicular, over the side, and into the air.

  She fell, and so great was her terror that not even a scream could come out of her paralyzed lips. The sea came up fast, and there was a steep little island in the middle of it rising at her with incredible rapidity.

  Death seemed certain. But at the last possible moment, as the needle-pointed rock pinnacles were reaching for her with hard granite fingers, Azzie swooped beneath her and scooped her up, draping her over the broomsticks like a sack of flour on a terrestrial pack animal. Scarlet could feel the g-forces build as Azzie barrel-rolled around the mountain and tried to break out of the dive that seemed sure to take them into the white-mouthed sea. And then he had pulled them out of it, and they were soaring into the air again, safe!

  "Oh, Uncle Azzie," Scarlet said, "I'm so glad to see you! I was so frightened!"

  "You were very naughty," Azzie said. "If it weren't so late in the game, I'd let you go to the Grand Turk's seraglio and make myself a new Princess Scarlet. My young Prince deserves a faithful heart!"

  Scarlet said, "I'll never run away again, I promise. I'll nap quietly in my chamber and await his coming."

  "At least a moral point about obedience has been made from all this," Azzie said, and turned the broomsticks in the direction of the enchanted castle.

  Chapter 9

  After recovering his credit card and putting Princess Scarlet back where she belonged, Azzie continued on to Paris, long one of his favorite cities. He had decided to stay away from Augsburg for a few days in order to give Prince Charming a chance to moon over the miniature of Prin­cess Scarlet which he had been forbidden to touch, and so fall in love with her according to the rules of psychology.

  What better way to pass some time than in riotous living in one of the satanic clubs that Paris was famous for even then?

  The one he chose, the Heliogabulus Club, was in a cave under Paris. After going down an endless flight of stone stairs, he came out in a grotto furnished with skulls and skeletons. Torches flamed in their iron wall-holders, casting gloomy shad­ows here and there. The tables were sarcophagi brought in by some ingenious entrepreneur from Egypt, where they have a never-ending supply of them. Coffins of the more ordinary sort served as chairs. Drinks were served by menials dressed in priests' cassocks and nuns' habits. These wretches also served as complaisant bodies for the orgies that climaxed most eve­nings' entertainments. Sex and death: it was one of Europe's first theme bars.

  "What'll you have?" a heavyset man in priest's garb asked Azzie.

  "Give me an expensive imported beer," Azzie told him. "And do you have anything to eat?"

  "Nachos," the servitor said.

  "What are they?"

  "Something which François the Expeditious brought back from the New World."

  So Azzie had the nachos, which turned out to be oat chips covered in a smelly Camembert with tomato sauce over them. He washed them down with a piggard of dark ale imported from England and started feeling better at once.

  As Azzie was eating he had the feeling that someone was watching him. He began looking around the room. There was a table in a far corner which was dark, unlighted even by a candle. He could perceive movement in the gloom. The sense of being watched seemed to emanate from there.

  Azzie decided to ignore it at first. He ordered up another plate of nachos and switched to wine. After a while he began to grow tipsy. Then, as the evening rollicked on, Azzie became drunk. Not just pig drunk, but demon drunk. That was very drunk indeed. He began to sing a little song that demons from Canaan sing when they are having a good time. The lines went:

  Oh, I am feeling no pain

  And I haven't any name

  For the fine old fun

  That often doth come

  When I'm drunk and feeling no pain.

  The song had several other verses, but he was having difficulty remembering them, or, indeed, anything else. It was very late. He had the feeling he'd been in this place a long time. Looking around, he saw that the other patrons had fled. What had they put into his wine? He was dizzy now; far more than tipsy, he was staggering drunk. There was an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he wasn't sure he could stand up. Finally, with great deliberation, he brought himself to his feet. "Who's doing this to me?" he said, but the words came out all garbled.