"Not even for that." Reconsidering, she spoke slowly. "Five years ago I sent a band in search of this fabulous drug, into the low-lying jungle that cloaks the Ancient Cities, the Cities that no man knows who built, there in the steaming swamps. Men have said that I was beautiful, yet, ironically, he for whom I have wrecked my empire scorned me. It was then I bethought me of this flask made in the immemorial years agone, which figured in legend as containing the essence of Beauty. Perhaps, I thought, with this I might win him from my rival. Today you have returned; successfully, I grant you; and demand yield of my power for that which I desire. I have been told bitter things--that I have ruled mercilessly and tyrannically. That I have, but I cared little for affairs of state since I became enamoured of my prince. He has neglected no indignity to impose upon me, but I cannot forget him. On the night of my Feast of Peacocks he sneered at the priceless dishes and fed his monkey from the place. The gutter-rat he has an infatuation for entertains him most skillfully, but he shares her with the soldiers. He prefers her florid charms to me. This I do not understand, but I command you, _give me that flagon_." He slowly shook his head. "No, Majesty, I cannot betray their faith. Fever took many lives in those crumbling ruins." "I warn you, I am desperate," she said imperiously, "give, or I shall take." He lowered his gaze and remained silent. Seeing he was adamant, she made a gesture with her head, and a slave stepped from the curtained alcove. "Take this man to the Room of Pain," she ordered. In consternation, he sought to dash the frail vessel to the tiles, but it was dexterously twisted from his grasp by the blackamoor. The princess laughed insanely. "My men did well to steal you from under his nose, my wench," she sneered to the helpless woman at her feet. "Let me see those carmine lips smile at this!" she added contemptuously, breaking the ancient seal covered with writing none could interpret. "You are startled? Yes, it is the Flagon! Watch, if you wish, for you may not see when I am finished with you." She drained the very dregs, and flung the stopper in her captive's face. For a long moment there was no change apparent in her flushed countenance. Then she noticeably paled. Her hair swiftly grew leaded and grey, her lips assumed a ghastly pallor, and a score of tiny wrinkles appeared on her smooth skin. She became an old hag, quite out of place in the splendour of the throne-room. SUPERNATURAL HORROR IN LITERATURE by H. P. Lovecraft (Copyright 1927 by W. Paul Cook) Part Three