But the pages, when they returned with the breastplate and helmet and riding-boots, reported that the sword was nowhere to be found, so Clarence had to content himself with a more ordinary weapon. At the last moment the Queen tried to detain him. "No, Clarence!" she cried, "you mustn't go. Your life is too valuable to be risked--there are enough going without _you_! Stay here--if only to protect us!"

"Hang it all, Mater!" he said, "you can't expect me to stay here and have them saying I shirked!" And he went off to the stables with the Marshal and other members of the Court.

"It'll be no good!" groaned King Sidney. "It's as likely as not that beast has eaten the poor girl by this time!"

"I can't believe anything quite so horrible as that has happened, Sidney," cried the Queen. "It has only delivered her into that wretch's power--which is quite horrible enough! But there's hope still. The Baron says Prince Mirliflor is quite near here--and he's sending him to rescue her. And a real prince like dear Mirliflor _ought_ to be a match for that miserable Rubenfresser and his dragon too!"

"If he could get at them he might be," said the King lugubriously; "but that's just what he can't do!"

On finding herself borne swiftly through the air by a dragon, Edna had done what was the correct thing to do in the circ.u.mstances--she had promptly fainted. She opened her eyes to find that she had been deposited uninjured, on a truss of straw in a Courtyard. On her right was the ma.s.sive front of Castle Drachenstolz; before her were its lofty walls and the grim towers that flanked its heavy gate; to the left were the stables, from the windows of which some of the black carriage horses looked out, their wrinkled lips exposing their long yellow teeth in ghastly grins. Some distance away the owner of the Castle was caressing the dragon, which lay with its huge wings compactly folded, giving its unconscious imitation of a tremendously powerful dynamo. On perceiving that she had returned to consciousness the Count came towards her, followed by the ex-Astrologer Royal, who was smirking and rubbing his hands.

"I couldn't do without you," began the Count by way of explanation, "so as I couldn't come myself I sent Tutzi for you."

Edna resolved to bear herself with all the dignity of a Queen's daughter. She sat up and felt for her _pince-nez_, and, discovering that it was intact, she adjusted it on her nose. "Considering," she said, "that all is at an end between us, you had no right whatever to send your dragon to bring me here. It was a thing that no _gentleman_ would have done!"

"Wouldn't that great and learned gentleman you told me of--the one whose name I always forget--have done it?" he inquired.

"Nietzsche," said Edna, instructively superior even in such a crisis; "most certainly not. Even if he had _owned_ a dragon!"

"You told me he did," he insisted; "a great meta-something dragon that talked and said, 'Thou shalt not.' But if he wouldn't send _his_ dragon for anybody, he would approve of my sending mine for _you_, because I was doing as he advised, and acting exactly as I thought fit."

She realised the hopelessness of reasoning with him. "You thought fit to act most improperly," she said severely, "and you will gain nothing _by_ it, you know!"

"Oh, yes I shall," he said, "or I shouldn't have done it."

"You are quite mistaken," she a.s.sured him, "if you are imagining I shall ever consent to renew our engagement now I know what you _are_."

"I'm what you wanted me to be," he said, "a Superman."

"You're not, you're an--an Ogre. I couldn't possibly bring myself to become an Ogress!"

"You wouldn't make much of an Ogress," he said dispa.s.sionately. "You haven't the build for it. But I'm not an Ogre even yet. It's not _my_ fault. I meant to begin with those pages of yours--but you all seemed to have some ridiculous objections. Then I've sent Tutzi out to forage and pick up a small child or two, but the peasants round here are so selfish and unneighbourly that they never give him the chance--actually shutting all the children up indoors!"

"What else can you _expect_?" she demanded indignantly. "Surely your--your better self must see that even to _attempt_ to devour poor helpless children is--is too perfectly disgusting for words!"

"It's disgusting when one doesn't succeed," he admitted; "I see nothing in it to object to myself. Of course the average man may, but you've taught me what to think of _his_ opinions."

"You entirely misunderstand me," said Edna. "But I've no wish to discuss such subjects with you now--I insist on your allowing me to go home at once."

"Before I do that," he said, "you must write a letter on my behalf to your parents."

"I don't mind asking them to overlook the way you have treated me, and a.s.suring them that you regret it and will behave yourself properly for the future," conceded Edna, "if you mean _that_."

"I _don't_ mean that," he said; "I don't _want_ to behave properly--what _they_ would call properly. I want to lead a fuller life than I can while I'm cooped up in my own Castle. You see, it's no good having the Will to Power if you're not allowed any opportunities of exercising it.

And I'm not, with guards stationed all round my walk to see that I don't get out. I might set Tutzi at them, it's true, but he is the only dragon I've got, and it would be very annoying if they hurt the poor thing. So you must get the King to send me free permission to go wherever I choose and do whatever I like. Then I can make a start as an Ogre. At present I'm hampered at every turn!"

"Father and Mother," said Edna, "wouldn't hear of setting you free for such wickedness as that. It would be contrary to all their principles."

"What I think you called 'Slave-morality,' eh?" he said. "But you needn't tell them _why_ I want to get out. Besides, I've _other_ reasons. My carriage horses want airing, and I should like to drop in to lunch at the Palace now and then, as I used to. Not as your betrothed, you know--that's all over--but just as a friend of the family. I always enjoyed my meals at the Palace."

"Oh!" gasped Edna, "I'm sure, quite sure, they would never consent to receive you again. How _could_ they?"

"They would," he said, "if you told them what would be the consequences if they didn't."

"And--and--what _will_ the consequences be?" inquired Edna.

"Well," he replied darkly, "poor Tutzi will never reach his full growth on his present diet. I fancy he would rather relish a change."

"You _couldn't_ see me--me you were once engaged to--devoured by your horrible dragon!" she cried.

"Why not?" he asked cheerfully. "I am great enough now to be able to bear the sight of others' pain, as your learned What's-his-name said I ought to be."

"Listen," said the unhappy Edna. "If--if I write this letter will you promise me, on your sacred word of honour, to become a vegetarian at _once_?"

"Certainly," he said. "It won't _bind_ me, you know. You might put in the letter that I've promised to. Rather a good touch! Now go and write it at once, and I'll send Tutzi over with it. You can say, 'Please send answer by bearer!' Xuriel, show the Princess to a chamber and provide her with writing materials."

"If your Royal Highness will graciously come this way," said the despicable Xuriel, bowing low. Poor Edna had to follow him up a steep outside staircase to a gloomy room where deep-set windows commanded a view of the Courtyard below. He found some sheets of parchment and a reed pen, and lent her the inkhorn from his own girdle. As he was depositing these on a great oaken table, he glanced out of the window and gave a high cackling laugh.

"I fear my venerable and respected friend the worthy Court G.o.dmother must have met with some mishap," he sn.i.g.g.e.red. "For see, Princess, her dove-chariot has just descended, _without_ its Gracious occupant, on the roof of the bastion! Hee-hee! I trust--I sincerely trust that Tutzi may not so far forget himself as to snap up any of those dear little doves!"

And, so saying, he hurried to the Courtyard. Edna was naturally concerned at any possible accident to the Court G.o.dmother or her doves, but her letter had to be written, and it was not at all an easy letter to write. She got as far as: "Dear Father and Mother,--You will be relieved to hear that I am, so far, unhurt. But"--and there she stuck.

It was really _very_ difficult to find any plausible wording for the Ogre's preposterous terms.

Xuriel had rejoined his patron, and both were watching Tutzi with interest. He had already become aware of the doves and reared his head above the level of the bastion roof, where they were strutting about unsuspicious of danger. His hideous lidless eyes regarded them intently, with a view to selecting the plumpest bird.

"Those pigeons will be quite a treat for poor Tutzi," remarked Count Rubenfresser. "But what is that thing flashing there on the roof? There it is again! Can't you see it?"

Xuriel looked, and saw a thin scintillating ray of light which shifted capriciously from place to place. "It is the blade of a sword!" he said.

"More--it is the blade of the enchanted sword I sold to Prince Clarence."

"Fool!" said the Count, "how can any sword be there with no hand to wield it?"

"The Crown Prince is wielding it," replied Xuriel. "He is rendered invisible by the magic cap I made for the Court Chamberlain!"

"You had no business to make such things," returned the Count, "they were very properly forbidden. But Tutzi will very soon----"

Before he could say more there was another flash--a sweeping circle of light--and Tutzi's head flew from his neck, which sent up a column of blood.

"The wretch!" shrieked the Count, "the cruel, cold-blooded wretch, he's killed my Tutzi!"

"It will be _our_ turn next!" cried the little Astrologer Royal, too terrified to stir.

"Help!" the Count bawled, "we are attacked! Where _are_ you all?" A few retainers had run out to various doorways at his summons, but when they saw the dragon's great body rolling convulsively round the Courtyard, its hooked wings thrashing up the cobblestones, while its head bounded independently about, barking and snapping like a mad dog, they very prudently withdrew.

Xuriel had recovered strength to run, but he had not gone far before the head, probably quite automatically, seized his right calf and brought him down. There was another sharp glint of light--and his body was headless, like the dragon's. What with the endeavour to avoid Tutzi's head, and Tutzi's body, and the terrible sword flashes, all at once, the Count was kept pretty busy for the next minute or so. He rushed, leaping and yelling, roaring and dodging, from side to side and corner to corner, and then made a frantic bolt for the outer staircase, but he had only got half-way up when his head fell with a splash into a water-b.u.t.t below, while his body slid down to the bottom of the steps, where it lay in a limp crumpled heap.