"I wouldn't advise trying it," Hermes said, and vanished.

Westfall waited until Hermes' smoke had faded away. Then he turned to the box. "Miss Ylith?"

"What is it?"

"Could we have a talk, you and I?"

"Open this box and let me out. I'll give you talk."

Westfall shuddered at the sound of rage in her voice. "Maybe we should wait a little while," he said. "I need to think this out." Ignoring her curses, he walked to the other end of the chamber and settled down to think. But he didn't take his eyes off the box.

Westfall kept the box on his nightstand. He did have to sleep occasionally, but he wakened himself periodically to make sure Ylith was still in there; he had become concerned that she would get out on her own. He began to dream that she was about to open the box, or that it had opened during the night.

Sometimes he woke up screaming.

"Listen, miss," he said, "what say we forget all about this? I'll let you go and you leave me alone. Is that okay?"

"No," Ylith said.

"Why? What do you want?"

"Indemnity," Ylith said. "You can't expect things to happen as easily as that, Westfall."

"What will you do if I let you out?"

"I don't honestly know."

"You won't kill me, though, will you?"

"I might. I just might."

It was a standoff.

Chapter 8

Pietro Aretino was somewhat surprised to find a red- haired demon at his door that day in Venice in

1524. But not too surprised. Aretino made it a point never to be put out of countenance by anything.

He was a big man, his own red hair receding from his high brow. Thirty-two years old that month, he had spent all his adult life as a poet and playwright. His verses, which combined the utmost scurrility with an exquisite sense of rhyme, were recited and sung from one corner of Europe to the other.

Aretino 'was able to live well on the expensive presents that kings, noblemen, and prelates were forever forcing upon him to induce him to desist from attacking and mocking them. "Pray take this gold salver, good Aretino, and be so kind as to disinclude me in your latest broadside."

"Good evening to you, sir," Aretino said, keeping a respectful tone until he knew whom he was insulting.

"Have you some business with me? For I think I have not seen your race.

"We have not met before this," Azzie said. "Yet it seems to me that I know the Divine Aretino through the luscious sagacity of his verses, in which a sound moral point is never far behind the laughter."

"It is good of you to say so, sir," said Aretino. "But many hold that there is no moral content whatsoever to my lines."

"They are deceived," Azzie said. "To scoff at the pretensions of mankind, as you unerringly do, dear master, TS to point up the excellencies of that which the churchmen are usually all too willing to dismiss."

"You speak out boldly, sir, in favor of those deeds that men consider evil."

"Yet men perform the Seven Deadly Sins with an alacrity they do not display in their high-minded quests for the good. Even Sloth is entered into with a greater alacrity than accompanies the pursuits of piety."

"Sir," said Aretino, "your viewpoint is my viewpoint. But let us not remain here on the doorstep, gossiping like a pair of old crones. Come into my house, and let me pour you a glass of a fine wine I recently brought back from Tuscany."

Aretino led Azzie inside. His house, or rather his palazzo, was small though luxurious. The floors were carpeted with thick-piled rugs sent by the Doge himself; tall waxen tapers burned in bronze candelabra, and the flames sent streaks of light down the cream-colored walls.

Aretino led the way to a low-ceilinged sitting room decorated with rugs and wall hangings. A charcoal brazier took oil the wintry chill that still hung in the air. He gestured to Azzie to make himself comfortable and poured him a glass of sparkling red wine from the crystal decanter that stood on a little inlaid table nearby.

"Now then, sir," said Aretino, after they had toasted each other's health, "tell me how I may be of service to you.

"Say rather," said Azzie, "that I wish to be of service to you, since you are the preeminent poet and satirist in Europe and I am but a simple patron of the arts who wishes to set forth an artistic enterprise."

"What exactly did you have in mind, sir?" Aretino asked.

"I would like to produce a play."

"What an excellent idea!" cried Aretino. "I have several that might suit your purposes very nicely. Allow me to fetch the manuscripts."

Azzie held up a hand. "Although I have no doubt as to the supreme perfection of everything you have written, my dear Aretino, something already written will not do. I would like to be involved in a new enterprise, a piece that would make use of a particular conception of mine."

"Of course," Aretino said, for he was familiar with men who wished to produce works of art, coming up themselves with the conception but leaving the dull work of the actual writing to someone else. "And what, sir, do you propose for the theme?"

"These are the usual sorts of moral propositions," Aretino said. "Do you wish to confute them?"

"Indeed I do," Azzie said. "Even though they are the very stuff of everyday folk wisdom, some of us know that matters do not always come out this way. My play would prove the contrary to what is generally maintained by the mumble-mouthed do-gooders. In my play, the Seven Deadly Sins will be shown as the true path to a fine life, or in any event, as no impediment to it. In brief, my dear Aretino, I wish to produce an immorality play."

"What a noble conception!" cried Aretino. "Oh, I applaud you, sir, for your great notion that single-handedly attempts to oppose the centuries of mealymouthed propaganda with which men have tried to convince themselves to do the conventional thing no matter how they opposed it. But let me point out, sir, that it will be difficult to mount such a production without bringing down upon our heads the hypocritical wrath of Church and State. And besides, where will we find a cast? Or a stage that isn't claimed by the Church?"

"In the play I want to produce," said Azzie, "I do not contemplate such a formal procedure as actors, stage, and audience. The play will unfold naturally; we will give our actors a general sense of the situation, and let them work out the lines and action for themselves, in a free-form and unpremeditated manner."

"But how would you have your play prove its moral unless you foreplan the outcome?"

"I have a few thoughts on that," Azzie said, "which I will share with you when we are in agreement on the project. Let me just say that the machinery of worldly cause and effect is something I can manipulate to good advantage to get the results I desire."

"It would take a supernatural being to make such a statement," said Aretino.

"Listen to me closely," Azzie said.

"I listen," said Aretino, somewhat taken aback by Azzie's suddenly commanding manner.

"I am Azzie Elbub, a demon of noble lineage, at your service, Aretino," Azzie said, making a negligent gesture with one hand, at the end of which blue sparks of lightning flashed.

Aretino's eyes opened wide. "Black magic!"

"I avail myself of these infernal stage effects," said Azzie, "so that you might know at once with whom you are dealing."

Drawing his fingers together, Azzie produced a large emerald, then another, and another. He turned out six of them and lay them side to side on the little table where the wine stood. Then he made a pass over them, and the emeralds shuddered and collapsed into a single large stone, the largest emerald the world had ever known.

"Amazing!" said Aretino.

"Amazing!" said Aretino again. "Can such a trick be taught?"