Red Unicorn Read online

  The only thing that had altered was that the hair of Liliam was snow-blonde, almost as pale as her dress.

  "Something has happened," said Lizra-Liliam, coolly to her sister. "Will you please tell me what?"

  "Nothing," said Tanakil.

  "Something," said Liliam. "There are all sorts of rumors. The war with the north has been over for a year, but they're now saying you caught a dangerous spy or assassin."

  "No," said Tanakil. "It was just some . . . an actress, dressed up to look like me. An insult. I expect one of my numerous enemies is responsible. I've thrown her in my private dungeon."

  "Very well," said Liliam. "If you're quite sure. What do you think, Jharn?"

  Behind Liliam, the tall slim figure of the counselor was only dimly to be seen. But he did not seem like Gasb. For one thing, this man's hair was very long, and exceedingly black and shining.

  "Well, madam," he said, "perhaps the princess would like me to question this actress. To be on the safe side."

  Tanakil turned away from them both. "Perhaps." She now appeared uncertain, yet excited. All at once no longer angry. Her face had softened and for a moment Tanaquil, in the pillar, saw that just as Jaive had declared, at her best Tanaquil's face could look quite beautiful.

  But there was something else, apart from this puzzle.

  There was something else about the voice of the man Liliam had called Jharn. Something that made Tanaquil too become smoothed yet unsettled. Something that made her heart beat so hard she thought the pillar started to rock about her.

  It was just then that the peeve got out of the sack.

  Had he eaten a hole? Whatever, there he was, thrashing across Tanaquil's en-pillared line of vision.

  The peeve pounced straight by the Sulkana, and hurtled against the long legs of the man called Jharn.

  For a minute there was a little confusion as the Sulkana rustled aside—she seemed far too stiff to hurry—Jharn came into full view, warding off the peeve's thrilled leaps and splutters, and the princess gave a squawk.

  Then much more spectacular confusion began as the veepe plummeted off its chest and threw itself headlong, spitting and yowling, at the peeve, who willingly met it.

  Veepe and peeve tumbled over the floor, over dainty slippers and masculine shoes, over the dizzy green tiles, biting and rending, bushy tails whacking like whips, kicking and honking disgustingly, brown and black fur flying up in clouds.

  X

  The dungeon was not so pleasant as the pillared room.

  But for a dungeon, she guessed, it was not too bad.

  There was quite a large high window, with bars ornamentally in the shape of lilies. A clean mattress and pillow lay in a corner, and there was a big jar filled with water. The floor had been swept. It smelled of nothing.

  Under the window, the peeve sat, washing carefully after the battle.

  Once the Sulkana had swept from the room, and her counselor gone after her, the princess called in her guard to prize the two frenzied fighters apart. There had been quite a few bitten fingers and colorful curses before the veepe was tied, scrabbling and gargling, to a pillar, and the peeve cornered. The guards seemed able to do little else with him. Although they told him some of the things they would like to do, which involved large bonfires and small fur coats.

  At last Tanaquil came out of the pillar; there was also a knob on the inside. This rather astonished some of the guards. She leashed the peeve using her sash. That brought back memories, none of them fond.

  She and the peeve were then taken by a back way, down a back stair, and pushed into the dungeon.

  The light had moved across the window since then. The green sky between the bars was tinged rosily at the bottom. She hoped, by now, Stinx was feeling better, wherever he was.

  Tanaquil had not said very much to the peeve. She had been lost in her own jumbled thoughts.

  Now, the peeve spoke.

  "Not Honj."

  "No, not really. Not our Honj."

  Ours. Mine. Not.

  The hurt of it was so unbearable she could bear it. She was stunned. Of all the things she had expected, and maybe she should have expected this too, (the talk of marriage) she had not reckoned that her only love would have his parallel self also in this world. Here his hair was black as coal, he dressed like a nobleman, and he was Lord Counselor Jharn, not Prince Honj, captain of the Locusts. But he was still about to marry the ruler, that must be so. To marry Liliam who was Lizra.

  And the way Tanakil had changed. Did she love him here as Tanaquil the Mender had loved Honj, under a sky that was blue?

  "Because," said the peeve, in an intent voice, "him in here, like us."

  "Yes."

  "I come in here too, be with you."

  "That was very kind. Loyal. That fight was a bit . . . but anyway, I'm glad you did come. We need to think about it, too, how you got in. There was a gate, wasn't there, under the rock hill? The waterspout must have activated it."

  "Not gate," said the peeve. "In."

  Tanaquil nodded. "In by the gate. Like before."

  "Not, not. In," the peeve raised one paw, put it down.

  "You can't explain?" said Tanaquil.

  "Not got words."

  Frustrated, the peeve pretended he had a flea. He went into a flurry and toppled over. Perhaps trying to make her laugh.

  She must question the peeve again, when her head was more clear.

  She said, randomly, to ease the peeve's embarrassment, "Some of those men wanted to skin you."

  "Couldn't. Invunnyrubble."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Can't touch. Magic."

  "Oh yes, but that doesn't work here."

  "Does," said the peeve.

  Tanaquil recalled faint flashes she had taken for light off the soldiers' mail as they tried to capture the peeve. Was that the invulnerability after all? She raised her eyebrows. "Then how did they put you in that sack?"

  "You went with them. Me go too. Not bother."

  "I had to go. They were able to make me go with them. And tie my hands. And shove me in here."

  The peeve, one leg lifted behind his head, regarded her musingly. "Ump."

  Then he finished his wash, gave her a nod, turned, and ran straight through the wall.

  She saw him pass into, beyond the stone, head and body, legs, the tail squirreling through last. All gone.

  "What?"

  She stood in the dungeon of her double, the Princess Tanakil, gawking at the solid stone of the wall, until, presently, and with just as little fuss, the peeve came rather revoltingly, squidging back through again.

  "Rrm," said the peeve. "Feel like bread."

  "You're hungry?" she asked blankly.

  "Wall, wall. Like bread. Go through crumbs."

  "How did you do that?"

  "Do," said the peeve. "You do."

  Tanaquil looked from the peeve to the stone wall. From the stone wall to the peeve. "Are you telling me I can walk through a wall?"

  "Mupp," said the peeve encouragingly.

  Tanaquil's hands had been untied by one of the guard. Now she went to the wall and put her right palm on it.

  "How do I—?"

  "Just do."

  She paused. Mind over matter? If she thought she could, she could.

  "I'll just put my hand through this wall," announced Tanaquil casually. And put her hand through the wall, and her arm, up to the elbow. The peeve was right. The stone felt just like old bread.

  When they were both in the corridor, by the outside of the locked dungeon door, Tanaquil hesitated, looking up the back stair.

  Was this magic operating simply because they came from another world? None of them had seemed to have much magic in the hell-world she had entered with Lizra and Honj, Spedbo and Mukk. And in the Perfect World, she and the peeve had only caused harm.

  Also, why had she been able to walk through a wall, yet not able to resist capture?

  She thought, with dissatisfaction, probably it all depen
ded on what she truly wanted, or thought she could do. She wished to follow her double into the palace of Hoam, so had not allowed her invulnerability to work, which meant she was able, here, even to overcome the magic of the black unicorn! Now she wanted to be free, she was.

  What else was possible?

  She found out a few heartbeats later.

  Steps sounded on the stair.

  Tanaquil thought quickly, All right. If I can be—I'm invisible.

  And when the guard came down, he walked straight past her, only seeing the peeve, who presumably had not bothered to be invisible. "A veepe, eh. You shouldn't be here, old fellow." And the unwise man patted the peeve's head before going on along the corridor and out of sight.

  Tanaquil had trouble stopping herself from screaming with laughter. She should be at least startled. She was not.

  And where now? What now?

  She ran up the stairs, the peeve bounding after her, and both of them reached the upper door.

  Tanaquil said to the peeve, "You'd better be invisible too, for now. But not to me."

  "Surely," said the peeve. He shook himself. She could still see him quite distinctly. But she would take a bet, no one else would.

  They dove through the iron door.

  They returned into the apartment of Tanakil, the big, pillared room. To this the back stair led. No one was there. They investigated quietly.

  From the pillared room led a bedroom, with fantastic clothes thrown all over the floor and bed. In the ceiling were gold and silver stars, but in one place a slice of pudding had been flung up at them, rather spoiling the effect. The veepe was also asleep on the bed, but it did not wake.

  In the bathroom, on the wall, somebody—Tanakil?—had drawn a picture rather well of pure, stiff, silvery Liliam, with a moustache and horns.

  There was a final door. It did not give, so Tanaquil passed through, leaving the peeve to eat Tanakil's sandalwood soap.

  "She said she was a witch. It's her sorcerium."

  The chamber was not large, but packed by stands with glassy globes, ancient books, herbs growing in pots or dried and stored in labelled jars, bowls of powders, antique bones, spells jotted down in chalk on the walls. On a broad table stood a great darkened mirror. It was a sorcerous mirror. To Tanaquil, who had grown up with Jaive, there was no mistaking it. The peeve ran in, pranced about, lost interest, ran out again.

  An apparatus with crystal tubes and bulbs had exploded at the table's far end. Splotches of bright green lay about; the same shade as the strands in Princess Tanakil's hair.

  Why did she break things? Why did her spells go wrong? Why was she so full of rage?

  She loved Jharn-who-was-Honj. And he was going to marry Sulkana Liliam. Did Tanakil need another reason?

  Tanaquil thought: I know how she feels. Yes, I'm sure I'm that angry too. I could have killed Lizra. Honj said he had to stay with her and I thought he had to stay with her. Poor little Lizra, so sad and all alone. But I wanted him and he wanted me. And we said good-bye for ever.

  "Oh hell," said Tanaquil. And the last intact glass bulb in the apparatus burst in twenty bits.

  As she was staring, she heard a vague sound beyond the room. The peeve suddenly reappeared half in, half out of the closed door, with a bar of soap in his mouth.

  "Them back."

  Bubbles blew aromatically from his snout.

  Tanaquil and the peeve sneaked through the solid door, across the bedroom, and peered invisibly around the bedroom door, out at the pillared room.

  Tanakil had just entered. After her walked Honj—no, Jharn. He shut the outer door somehow; perhaps they had fixed the door handle.

  Handsome, unique, but not unique at all, he stood looking at the princess with the red hair.

  She gave a stifled cry. He opened his arms. She went into them, and he held her.

  He loves her too.

  The same as us.

  The peeve blew an enormous scented bubble and loudly burped.

  "What was that?" asked Jharn, lifting his head.

  "It's only the veepe."

  They stepped back from each other. Went on looking into each other's faces. Very clearly, each was, at the moment, all the other one wanted to see.

  Now she's with him she's calmer, strong, quiet. Was I like this, with Honj?

  "What are we going to do?" said Jharn.

  "Why do you ask me?"

  "Because I'm lost, Tantal. Just lost."

  Tantal. A pet name. How much nicer than Tanakil.

  "She's so selfish," said Tantal-Tanakil.

  "Yes. But your father died. You hardly knew him, but she was with him all the time. And then she met me. She wants me to be her father, in a stupid way."

  "I know. Oh, Jharn."

  "I can't let her down. She was so brave in the war. You know how they tried to invade us but she was there, day and night, doing all the right things. She was so valiant. She only wants the best for all of us."

  "I hate her."

  "I know. Do you want me to tell her I'll leave her? Could she stand it?" He stood now more straight. "She'd probably throw us out. You'd lose everything you have. So would I. But is that what I should do? I will. Only tell me."

  Tanakil's eyes blazed. She lost her beauty and went very red. "Why should we lose everything? She wants to be Sulkana, and have you. I hate her, hate her."

  They stood, and strangely, turned away from each other. On the bed among the clothes, Tanakil's veepe had woken. It was snuffing the air suspiciously. If it could not see there were intruders, no doubt it could scent them. Not to mention the soap.

  Tanaquil heard her double say, "There is one plan."

  She looked back at the couple standing in the pillared room. At the other Honj and Tanaquil.

  "What? I'll do anything you say."

  He was weaker than Honj. Was he? Perhaps, Jharn had not had such a rough and tumble life.

  "I'll kill her," said Tanakil.

  "You'll kill . . . No. No, Tantal. You won't."

  "It's easy, with the right spell, some herbs. I won't make her suffer. Something kind. She'll sleep and not wake up. And then I'll be Sulkana. I will. And you can marry me."

  They were gazing at each other now. Their eyes burned with horror and possibility.

  Tanaquil, watching, felt deadly sick.

  And the peeve belched again, and the veepe jumped off the bed.

  "Want a bone?" the peeve sweetly asked the veepe.

  The veepe looked about, surprised. "Bone want. Me give," said the veepe. Ridiculously it seemed, it too could talk, but backwards.

  The peeve turned. Tanaquil saw he had stolen one of the antique bones from the sorcerium. As he thumped the veepe on the nose with it, there was a blinding flash of sorcerous lightning.

  Tanaquil, with the practice of years, gripped the peeve by the scruff, and just like one of her own mother's demons, dragged both of them down through the floor of the bedroom, hopefully into some saner, safer place.

  In fact, they landed in a guardroom, in somebody's snack.

  Some sort of yogurt dish went flying in all directions and as the three guardsmen started to tell each other their tea had 'gone off' like a 'cannon,' Tanaquil and the peeve scurried invisible to a corner, where only the licking noises of the peeve, removing the yogurt from his fur, caused accusations of mice.

  They listened to the guardsmen for about half an hour. Sometimes other guards came in.

  They were all talking eventually about some event tomorrow, the Rot-Chair Race on Forraday.

  It sounded devastatingly unimportant.

  In the end, Tanaquil and the peeve, invisible as air, swam up through the building to a great garden on the palace roof, looking out to sunset and sea.

  Here the peeve chased uncatchable moths in the green and rosy evening, and Tanaquil watched that coil of brilliant flowery stars come up, the ones she had observed from Domba's house.

  Other people strolled about. None of them saw Tanaquil or the peeve.
<
br />   She means to kill her sister.

  Would Tanaquil ever have—no. No, she never would. Lizra had been dear to her. She had loved Lizra. And yet, that made it worse.

  She sat up in the boughs of a tall magnolia tree, and thought, I have every power in this world it seems that any sorceress could want. How can I stop her? How can I make it right?

  In the end she must have dozed. She woke because a man was sitting under the tree talking to himself. The peeve was sitting in his lap, and he was stroking the peeve. So the peeve was visible, had decided to be.

  "To win a race isn't everything," said the man to the peeve.

  "Ufp," gobbled the peeve, who was eating a large cake that, perhaps, the man had bought for himself. The man drank from a bottle. He sounded a little drunk. It made Tanaquil—recalling the soldiers—like him.

  "Win or lose," said the man, "laughter's the thing. What's in that cake? It smells like sandalwood."

  XI

  Waking, Tanaquil stretched. And almost fell out of the magnolia. Probably that would not have mattered. She would just have floated lightly to the ground. Then again, if she had not by now realized she could float, who knew?

  "What a beautiful morning," said someone below.

  Tanaquil looked down through the creamy flowers, and saw the elegant commander, more casually dressed and without his plumed helmet. He leaned on the magnolia, gazing at a lovely black girl. "But, Velvet," said the commander, "I'm worried about him."

  "You always worry about your friends," said the girl. His hair was tight, crisp and curly. Hers gleamed and reached the ground.

  "Jharn is so . . ." the commander made a gesture. "He's unhappy, he's angry. He won't say why. He shouldn't marry the Sulkana."

  "No," said Velvet. "But you mustn't tell him."

  Tanaquil spied the peeve, emerging from a bush. The peeve sidled over to Velvet, and put a paw on her skirt. He had a red flower in his mouth, and his most extreme cute look.

  "The flower's for you, I think," said the commander.

  "Is it? For me? Thank you. Aren't you a sweetie. Whose veepe are you?"