Stalking the Unicorn: A Fable of Tonight (13 page)

"Illegal ones?"

Eohippus shook his head. “They were perfectly legal. My trainer thought that I might have sore muscles, and the drugs were designed to mask the pain.” He whinnied again. “They crippled my sister, who didn't know her ankle was sore until it shattered, but I was perfectly healthy."

"Just slow,” said Mallory.

The little horse nodded his head sadly. “Just slow,” he agreed unhappily.

"Well, not everyone can be Seattle Slew."

"He was my uncle,” noted Eohippus.

"Really?” said Mallory. “I almost went broke trying to find horses to beat him."

"He'd run down the backstretch and the trees would sway,” recalled Eohippus in awestruck tones. “And I wanted so badly to be like him! It's what I was born to do—to run so fast that my feet barely touched the ground, to pierce a hole in the wind. And, oh, how I tried! I ran my heart out"—he paused tragically—"but I just didn't have the ability."

"So what happened?"

"One day I was running at a bush-league track in New Mexico, and I was losing touch with the leader, like I always did after half a mile or so, and my jockey began whipping me—and suddenly my saddle slipped and he fell off."

"Your trainer didn't tighten the girth properly."

"That's what
I
thought,” said Eohippus. “But that night I noticed that I had to reach a little higher than usual to eat my oats. And when my exercise girl kicked me during a workout the next day, my saddle slipped again. That's when I realized I was shrinking. Every time I was hit, I got a little bit smaller.” He paused. “Finally I got too small to run, and they retired me—but I kept right on shrinking. Then the entire truth finally dawned on me—that anytime
any
horse was whipped or abused in a losing cause, I got smaller. That was when I changed my name to Eohippus—the first horse. There's something of me in all racehorses, and something of them in me."

"How long has it been going on?” asked Mallory.

"For about ten years now,” said Eohippus.

"You don't seem to have shrunk since we started talking,” said Mallory, “yet they must be running races and whipping racehorses
somewhere
in the world right at this moment."

"They are,” answered Eohippus. “But now that I'm so small, the change in me is proportionately small, so that you can hardly notice it from one week to the next."

"How did you wind up here in Central Park?"

"This is a stable for used-up old racehorses who escaped the glue factory,” explained Eohippus. “Most of them pull wagons; a few carry fat little children around the bridle paths."

"Don't tell me you pull wagons,” said Mallory.

"No,” said Eohippus. “But I feel comfortable here."

Mallory heard a very distinct horse-laugh directly behind him. He turned, and saw a dark equine face looking at him.

"There's nothing comfortable about it,” said the dark-faced horse. “We're a bunch of broken-down wrecks, just marking time on the way to the grave or the dog-food factory."

"You sound bitter,” said Mallory.

"Why shouldn't I?” replied the horse. “We're not all like Eohippus here, any more than we're like Man o’ War or Secretariat."

"Very few horses are like Man o’ War or Secretariat,” remarked the detective.

"That's because very few are as healthy!” snapped the horse. “I was a racehorse for six years, and I never took a sound step, never spent a day without pain. I used to feel my jockey's whip dig into me while I was running on swollen legs and inflamed ankles, and I'd wonder what I had done to make God hate me so."

"I'm sorry to hear it,” said Mallory.

"You weren't so sorry the day you threw your tickets in my face and told my trainer to chop me up for fishbait."

"I
did that?” asked Mallory, surprised.

"I never forget a face."

"Then I apologize."

"That gives me a lot of comfort,” said the horse bitterly.

"I get emotional at the track,” said Mallory uncomfortably.

"People
get emotional at the track. Horses never do."

"That's not entirely true,” said Eohippus gently. “There are exceptions."

"Name one,” challenged the horse.

"I remember Ruffian,” said Eohippus, his tiny face lighting up at the recollection. “She
loved
the racetrack.” He turned to Mallory. “Did you ever see her?"

"No, but I've heard she was really something."

"The best filly that ever lived, bar none,” said Eohippus decisively. “She was in front from her first stride to her last."

"And she was dead six hours later,” said the dark-faced horse. “Her last stride shattered her leg."

"True,” said Eohippus sadly. “I lost a whole inch that night.” He shook his head. “You'd almost think the Grundy had bet against her."

"The Grundy?” said Mallory eagerly. “What do you know about him?"

"He's the most powerful demon in New York,” replied Eohippus.

"Why would he want to steal a unicorn?” continued Mallory.

"Other than the usual reasons?"

"I don't know. What are the usual reasons?"

"Ransom, for one."

Mallory shook his head. “No. He hasn't made any demands."

"Well, there's always the horn. It's worth a fortune on the black market."

"Does he
need
a fortune?"

"No."

"What else is a unicorn good for?"

"Not much,” said the dark-faced horse contemptuously.

"Under what circumstances was it stolen?” asked Eohippus.

"It was in the care of an elf named Mürgenstürm, and it was stolen about ten hours ago by the Grundy and a leprechaun called Flypaper Gillespie."

"I've heard of him,” said Eohippus thoughtfully. “He's a formidable character in his own right."

"Do you have any idea where I can find him?” asked Mallory.

"No. But I don't like the thought of
any
animal being abused. If you'll wait until the snow lets up tomorrow morning, I'd like to join you."

"I can't wait,” said Mallory. “In fact, I've already stayed here longer than I should. There's a deadline."

"What kind of deadline?” asked Eohippus curiously.

"Mürgenstürm's guild is going to kill him if I don't find Larkspur by sunrise."

"Larkspur?"
whinnied Eohippus, startled, and all up and down the row of stalls the name was repeated in awed tones.

"Is he something special?” asked Mallory.

"He is if the Grundy's got him!” said Eohippus.

"I don't think I understand."

"Once every millennium a unicorn is born that possesses a nearly perfect ruby embedded in its forehead, just below the horn,” said Eohippus. “It's rather like a birthmark."

"I take it Larkspur has one."

"He does,” said the tiny horse.

"And that makes him worth enough money to interest even the Grundy?"

"Money has nothing to do with it,” said Eohippus. “The ruby provides a doorway between worlds—and it is a source of enormous power in itself. The Grundy has two such stones already, which is why he is the Grundy. Who knows what he'll become once he adds a third one?"

"Everyone keeps telling me that magic doesn't work here,” complained Mallory, “and yet it seems to be the single governing force of this place."

"The stones aren't magical,” said Eohippus. “They have certain properties, totally consistent with the laws that govern the physical universe, that create a permeable membrane between universes and allow their possessor to channel his electromagnetic brain waves more efficiently than anyone else."

"What would they do if they were magical stones?” asked Mallory, confused.

"The same thing,” said Eohippus.

"Then the difference is semantic."

"The difference is scientific,” the little horse corrected him.

"But the result is the same."

"In essence."

"What do you suppose the Grundy plans to do with this power?"

"He's already got everything he wants from
this
world,” said Eohippus. “I would imagine he'll want to expand into your world next. Forgive me for jumping to conclusions, but you
are
from that other Manhattan, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I
thought
you didn't go there just to bet on horses."

"Why?” asked Mallory.

"All this harping about magic, as if the means were more important than the result. All that really matters is
what
the Grundy will do with Larkspur's stone, rather than
how
he will do it."

"I'll go along with that,” agreed Mallory, walking to the door. “I'd better be on my way."

"Where will you go?” asked Eohippus. “Whether the unicorn you were following was Larkspur or not, you'll never be able to pick up his trail in this blizzard."

"I know. I think the only option left to me is to find a phone book."

"Why?"

"I need to hunt up a Colonel Carruthers, if he lives in Manhattan."

"What does Carruthers have to do with Larkspur?” asked Eohippus.

"Nothing. But he seems to be the only unicorn expert around; at any rate, he's the only one I know about.” He paused. “If Mürgenstürm shows up, tell him to check out Carruthers’ address and catch up with me there."

"I'm coming with you,” said Eohippus decisively: “You're a stranger here; you could waste hours just trying to find a phone book, let alone hunt down this Colonel Carruthers."

"I'll have to carry you,” said Mallory, bending down to lift the tiny animal into his arms. “The snow is over your head."

"It's not over
my
head!” said a huge chestnut horse at the far end of the barn. “I can carry you both."

"No,” said a roan gelding, “I'll carry them."

"Silence!” thundered the dark-faced horse, reaching down and opening the latch to his stall door with his teeth.
"I'll
carry them."

"I thought you hated me,” said Mallory as the horse approached him.

"I do,” replied the horse coldly.

"Then why—?"

"To reinforce my hatred. Rage is all I have left—and rage, like love, takes constant nurturing."

"Yeah. Well, when you start slipping and sliding, just keep telling yourself that you hate the Grundy more."

Mallory opened the door, carried Eohippus to a mounting block, and gingerly mounted the dark-faced horse.

"Well, for better or worse, here we go,” said Mallory as they went out into the blinding snow.

"Hold onto my mane,” said the horse as he walked out into the blinding snow.

"You're not thinking of
running
through this stuff, are you?” asked Mallory apprehensively.

"Time is of the essence, is it not?"

"Getting there in one piece is at least as essential, and I've never ridden bareback before."

"Then you'll have to learn, won't you?” said the horse with a note of satisfaction.

"The ground is covered with ice. You'll hurt your legs again."

"I will cherish my pain. It will remind me of you."

"Your name doesn't happen to be Flyaway, does it?” asked Mallory sardonically.

"My name,” answered the horse, “is legion."

The horse broke into a run, while Mallory, with Eohippus tucked under his arm, clutched at its snow-covered mane with desperate fingers, his black cloak flapping in the wind like some giant winged creature of the night.

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Midnight-12:27 AM

Eohippus stood shivering in the snow as Mallory leaned against the side of the booth, thumbing through the pages of the phone book.

"Is Carruthers listed?” asked the little horse.

"Colonel W. Carruthers,” read Mallory. “I don't suppose there can be two of them."

He pulled a coin out of his pocket, inserted it in the phone, and dialed the number.

"No answer,” he announced a few moments later.

"He's probably ushering in the New Year,” suggested Eohippus. “What about his address?"

Mallory checked the book again. “124 Bleak Street,” he said, frowning. “I've never heard of it."

"It's between Sloth and Despair,” said the dark horse.

"Those are streets?” asked Mallory.

"They are in
this
Manhattan."

"And you've been to Bleak Street?"

The dark horse nodded. “I pulled a death cart after one of the Grundy's plagues."

"A death cart?"

"The Grundy plays for keeps,” said Eohippus grimly.

"I guess he does,” acknowledged Mallory. He laid Eohippus across the dark horse's withers and clambered awkwardly onto the horse's back. Then he clutched Eohippus to his chest and wrapped the dark horse's mane around the fingers of his right hand. “All right,” he announced. “Let's go."

The dark horse started trotting across the stark white landscape of Central Park, which seemed to shimmer and glow in the ghostly light. After they had proceeded for a quarter of a mile, Mallory noticed that the flat landscape had become punctuated with eerie shapes.

"What the hell is
that?"
he asked, pointing toward the largest of them.

"A snowman,” replied Eohippus.

"It's not like any snowman
I
ever saw,” said Mallory.

"Well, actually, it's a snow gorgon."

"Some kid's got a hell of an imagination,” said the detective.

"Yes,” agreed the tiny animal. “The feet should be much larger."

"You mean something like that actually exists in this world?” demanded Mallory.

"Of course,” replied Eohippus.

The snow structures became increasingly complex, culminating in a castle that could have housed a small battalion.

"Beautiful work,” commented Eohippus. “Notice how all the bricks are made of ice—and I'll bet the drawbridge actually works."

"Who could have built it?” asked Mallory, looking around for some sign of life. “It's only been snowing for twenty or thirty minutes."

"Who knows?” replied the tiny horse. “Why not just appreciate it before it melts?"

"Not knowing things bothers me,” said Mallory. “I suppose that's why I became a detective."

"It's just as beautiful whether you know who created it or not,” said Eohippus.

"Not to me, it isn't,” replied Mallory doggedly.