Stalking the Unicorn: A Fable of Tonight (15 page)

"I understand that you know something about unicorns,” began Mallory.

"Wrong! I know
everything
about unicorns. I've been studying them for close to forty years.” She looked at him sharply. “What's
your
interest in them?"

"I'm hunting for one."

"Excellent!” she said happily. “I'm always glad to talk to a fellow sportsman, Mallory. There's nothing quite so invigorating as staring into the bloodshot little eyes of a bull unicorn as he prepares to charge!"

"I believe that this particular unicorn has been domesticated,” replied Mallory.

"What a shame!” said Winnifred. “They're such noble sport in the wild! Ah, that's the life, Mallory—the sun overhead, the wind in your face, surrounded by your loyal trolls, hot on the trail of a unicorn with a record horn! And, oh, the smell of unicorn steak cooking over an open fire! It makes my heart beat faster just to think of it!
That's
where you should be, Mallory—out in the wilderness, not hunting some poor brute who has probably been reduced to wearing a bridle and saddle.” She paused. “You know, if this were even ten years ago and I still had my trusty .550 Nitro Express, I'd volunteer to take you along on a
real
unicorn hunt."

"I'd be honored to have you with me on this one,” said Mallory.

She smiled wistfully, then sighed deeply. “I'd just be in the way, a fat old woman who's short of breath and spends most of her time living in the past. You don't need me, Mallory."

"You're exactly what I
do
need,” said Mallory. “I'm not a hunter; I'm a detective."

"A detective?"

He nodded. “The unicorn I'm after was stolen this afternoon. I've got until daybreak to find it."

"You mean it's right here on the streets of Manhattan?"

"Well, I doubt that he's still on the street,” replied Mallory. “But he's somewhere in the city. And,” he added, “I don't begin to know how to go about finding him."

"It's quite a challenge,” she mused, trying unsuccessfully to hide her interest. “Your employer wants it by dawn, you say?"

"That was the stipulation."

"Hmmm. That doesn't give us—excuse me:
you
—much time.” She turned to him. “Who do you think stole it?"

"I
know
who stole him: the Grundy, and a leprechaun named Flypaper Gillespie."

Winnifred frowned. “Why would the Grundy want to steal a unicorn?"

"It was Larkspur,” said Eohippus.

"Larkspur?"
she exclaimed. “That puts an entirely different light on it! Of course I'll help you, Mallory.” She frowned. “The problem is that you're going to need more help than I can give you."

"I thought you knew everything about unicorns,” said Mallory.

"About their habits, and how to track them down, yes,” explained Winnifred. “But I don't know very much about that ruby in his head, or what the Grundy can do with it. We're going to have to enlist the aid of an expert."

"On unicorns?” asked Mallory, confused.

"On magic."

"Then the ruby
does
have magical powers?"

"If its powers aren't magical, they're so close to magic that it makes no difference."

"Shouldn't we make some attempt to find out if it's magical?” asked Mallory. “There may be certain precautions we have to take."

"That's why we're going to pay a call on the Great Mephisto,” she said firmly. “He'll know—and if the stone
is
magical, he'll be able to tell us what to do."

"He's a magician?"

"The best."

"Where can we find him?” asked Mallory.

"He's very fond of a little bar on the next block,” replied Winnifred.

"Would he go there on New Year's Eve?” asked Mallory.

"Why not?” replied Winnifred. “He has nowhere else to go.” She checked her wristwatch. “There's every likelihood that he'll be there in the next twenty or thirty minutes."

"He'd better be,” said Mallory. “I've still got a deadline. My client will be put to death at sunrise if I haven't got Larkspur back by then."

"Oh? Who are you working for, Mallory?"

"An elf named Mürgenstürm. Ever hear of him?"

She shook her head. “The name is unfamiliar to me. What's his connection to Larkspur?"

"He was supposed to be guarding him when the Grundy stole him."

"That's very curious,” said Winnifred.

"What is?"

"Placing such a valuable animal in the care of a single elf. He must be quite formidable, this Mürgenstürm."

Mallory smiled wryly. “As a matter of fact, he's the most scatterbrained, oversexed, cowardly little bastard I've ever met."

"That doesn't fit,” Winnifred announced firmly. “Something's very wrong here, Mallory."

"Oh?"

She nodded. “Why would the elves’ guild entrust Larkspur to someone like that? They've got a reputation for being the finest security force around. Why should they take the most valuable thing they've ever had to protect and place it in the charge of an elf such as you've described?"

Mallory frowned. “It doesn't make much sense, does it?"

"It certainly doesn't,” agreed Winnifred. “Could he have lied to you, Mallory? Could it be an inside job from start to finish?"

"I doubt it."

"Why?"

"Three reasons,” answered Mallory. “First, he hired me to clear him with his guild. Second, he was genuinely terrified when he found out that Larkspur was in the Grundy's possession. And third, the Grundy keeps trying to scare me off and has already tried to kill me.” He shook his head. “No, the Grundy stole the unicorn; I'm sure of it. But suddenly I've got a batch of questions about that little green wart."

"You mean Mürgenstürm?” asked Eohippus.

Mallory nodded.

"For example?” said Winnifred.

"I know you have detectives in your Manhattan. Why did he come to
my
Manhattan for one?"

"That's easy enough to answer,” said Winnifred. “Any detective from
this
Manhattan would have spotted the flaws in his story. This addle-pated, incompetent act you describe wouldn't have fooled anyone who knew Larkspur's value.” She frowned. “But as for why he wanted a detective in the first place, or why he's putting on this act...” Winnifred shrugged. “I have no idea."

"You and me both,” muttered Mallory. “And then there's Felina."

"Felina?"

"A cat-girl. She's been tagging along with us since half an hour after I arrived. I wonder if
she's
in on whatever's going on?"

"I wouldn't worry too much about a cat-person,” said Winnifred. “If they have any loyalty at all, it isn't for sale, and I certainly wouldn't trust one to keep a secret.” She paused and looked at him sharply. “Perhaps you'd better return home, Mallory. Since Mürgenstürm obviously lied to you, you're under no obligation to remain here."

"Most of my clients lie to me the first time around,” replied Mallory. “It's an occupational hazard. And this one is paying me enough for me to officially believe him until dawn.” Suddenly he got to his feet. “Get your coat. We can't stay here."

"But Mephisto almost never shows up before one o'clock,” protested Winnifred.

"Then we'll wait for him."

"What's the matter, Mallory?"

"I left a message for Mürgenstürm to meet me here. And while I may officially believe him, I don't think I trust him."

Winnifred walked immediately to a closet, pulled out a white, ankle-length fur coat and a pair of boots lined with the same fur, and led the detective and Eohippus out of the room and up the long flight of stairs.

The snow had stopped when they reached the street, and Winnifred started off to her right.

"Hi, John Justin Mallory,” purred a familiar voice. “That's a tasty-looking little animal you have with you."

Mallory looked up and saw Felina perched atop a streetlamp.

"What are you doing up there?” he asked.

"Sitting,” she said, her eyes never leaving Eohippus, whom Mallory had set down on the ground.

"How long have you been here?"

"I don't know."

"How did you find me?” demanded Mallory.

She smiled and jumped lightly to the ground. “You're much easier to follow than a unicorn,” she said, squatting down next to Eohippus. “Cute little, sweet little, fat little, chewy little tidbit,” she crooned in a singsong voice.

"Uh ... Mallory?” said Eohippus nervously.

"This is Felina?” asked Winnifred.

Mallory nodded. “She was helping me track down a unicorn in the park when dietary considerations intervened."

Felina reached out her hand to touch Eohippus, and Winnifred slapped it. The cat-girl jumped back quickly, spitting and hissing.

"You are to leave him alone,” said Winnifred firmly. “Do you understand?"

Felina snarled at her.

"Do that again, young lady, and I'll put a leash on you,” said Winnifred.

Felina's demeanor abruptly changed from aggressive to subservient.

"A high-spirited species,” Winnifred explained to Mallory. “You have to lay out the ground rules and let them know who's in charge right at the start, or you're just asking for trouble.” She looked at Felina. “Now, we're not going to have any more problems about touching the little horse, are we?"

Felina smiled and shook her head. Mallory decided that it was a little too toothy a smile, and decided to pick Eohippus up and tuck him under his arm.

"The bar is just on the next block,” said Winnifred. “Actually, it's a very pleasant place. Large drinks, small prices."

"Then let's go,” said the detective.

"Right,” she agreed, striding off vigorously. “Suddenly I feel alive again. I'm out of that musty mortuary, and the game's afoot!” She took a deep breath. “Ah, smell that invigorating air, Mallory! It reminds me of the time I hunted the yeti in the Himalayas."

"I didn't know yetis really existed,” remarked the detective.

Winnifred laughed and turned around to better display her white fur coat. “What do you think I'm wearing?"

"I'm glad you're on
our
side,” said Mallory.

"And I'm glad you rescued me from another New Year's Eve surrounded by a batch of people who are just sitting around waiting to die,” she replied earnestly.

"What the hell is a vibrant person like you doing with them anyway?” asked Mallory.

"I really don't know,” she replied honestly. “I just drifted into staying there, and they made it so comfortable that before long it became too much of an effort to leave."

"That's why I stay in Manhattan,” agreed Mallory. “It may not be much, the air may stink and the streets may be unsafe, but somehow getting through the day has always seemed like less work than moving."

Suddenly she stopped and lifted her gaze to the cloud-covered heavens.

"Be on your guard, Grundy!” she shouted. “We may not look like much, we may lack your dark powers, we may not have your evil allies—but we're going to give you a run for your money, I promise you that!"

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12:27 AM-12:45 AM

"Do you like ragtime?” asked Winnifred as they approached the tavern.

"It beats the hell out of the stuff that passes for music these days,” replied Mallory. “As far as I'm concerned, it's been going straight downhill ever since the Andrews Sisters stopped recording."

"Good,” said Winnifred. “I think you'll like this place."

Mallory stopped in front of the building. “Are you sure you've got the right spot?” he asked her. “This joint's a Chinese laundry."

Winnifred chuckled heartily and opened the door, and a blast of frenzied ragtime music emanated from the dimly lit interior.

"Follow me,” she said.

Mallory, carrying Eohippus and followed by Felina, fell into step behind her as she briskly made her way to an empty table at the far end of the crowded room. Couples, foursomes, and even larger groups clustered around the tables and at the long mahogany bar, obviously enjoying themselves, while a number of white-jacketed waiters carried drinks on silver trays.

Most of the men were dressed in old-fashioned tuxedos, and Mallory noticed that a number of them wore spats. The women, all with short hairstyles and shorter dresses, seemed to be engaged in a contest to see which of them could look the most like Clara Bow.

"Mephisto's not here yet,” announced Winnifred after scanning the low-ceilinged, smoke-filled room. When they finally reached their table and seated themselves, she turned to Mallory. “Isn't this a charming little bistro?"

"The place is filled with gents and flappers,” he replied wryly, as the piano player ripped into a new tune and half a dozen patrons began dancing the Charleston. “Are they the cast of some Broadway show?"

"No, they're customers just like you and me."

"They may be customers,” responded Mallory, “but they're sure as hell not like you and me. What is this place, anyway?"

"The Forgotten Speakeasy,” answered Winnifred.

"Speakeasy?” he repeated.

She nodded, amused by his reaction. “It's been in continuous operation since 1925.” She lowered her voice confidentially. “In fact, they still make their own gin in one of the upstairs bathtubs. It's quite good, actually."

"Don't the customers know that Prohibition is over?” asked Mallory as he observed the clientele at play. “Or isn't it?"

"Oh, it's over,” she assured him. “And to be perfectly truthful, some of them probably don't know. This place is so popular that a number of them have never gone home. They talk about Lucky Lindy and Big Al, they wonder if talking pictures are just a passing fad, they think the market will never crash.” She pointed surreptitiously to a tall man who stood in a corner, his back to the wall, a toothpick in his mouth, flipping a silver dollar in his right hand. “See him?"

Mallory nodded.

"He was hired to assassinate a famous bootlegger,” she whispered. “Nobody's had the heart to tell him that the bootlegger died more than forty years ago."

A waiter approached them, and Mallory noticed that his hair, like that of all the other men, had been slicked down with grease.

"May I take your orders?"

"I'll have a hot toddy,” said Winnifred. She turned to Mallory. “You really should try one. They're quite invigorating."