Stalking the Unicorn: A Fable of Tonight (8 page)

"Who
would
know?"

"I have no idea,” replied the elf as they reached the corner of the main thoroughfare. While throngs of pedestrians passed by and scores of draft animals traversed the street, paying no attention to the traffic lights, Felina began climbing a lamppost in pursuit of a small bat that was fluttering around the light. “I mean, a person who could speak endlessly about the habits and habitats of unicorns is hardly my idea of good company."

"What about a zoologist?” suggested Mallory.

"Sounds good to me,” replied Mürgenstürm. “Do you know any?” Mallory merely glared at him. Suddenly the elf snapped his fingers in triumph. “I've got it!"

"What?"

"The Museum of Natural History! They've got a stuffed unicorn on display there. They're bound to have all kinds of information about them."

"Will it be open?” asked Mallory dubiously.

"I know the night watchman. He'll let us in for a small financial consideration."

"How did a little green wimp like you ever come to spend any time in a museum?"

"There's a gallery there that's been closed for renovation, and the weather being what it is ... ah ... well, you know how these things are ..."

"That's where you take your conquests?” asked Mallory incredulously.

"Sometimes,” acknowledged the elf. “Just those who live in the vicinity. No more than three or four an evening.” He drew himself up to his full, if minimal, height. “And they're not conquests,” he added with dignity.

"They're not?"

"Well, not when I take them there,” said Mürgenstürm. “Only when I leave."

Just then Felina dropped lightly to the ground beside them and delicately wiped a piece of gray fur from her lips.

"I'm surrounded by appetites,” commented Mallory disgustedly. He looked up the broad thoroughfare. “Well, let's be going."

Just then a newsboy, a huge stack of freshly printed papers folded under his arm, walked by.

"Grundy Issues Warning!” he cried, holding a paper above his head with his free hand. “Read all about it! Grundy Issues Warning!"

"See?” said Mallory confidently. “He's so busy with other things he probably hasn't even seen Larkspur since he stole him."

A second newsboy approached them from a different direction.

"Grundy Threatens Mallory!” he hollered. “Extra! Extra! Grundy Threatens Mallory! Props and Midgets Lose Again!"

Mallory walked over to the boy.

"Let me see one of those,” he said, pulling some change out of a pocket.

The newsboy handed him a copy, and Mallory opened it up.

"'Mallory, Go Home While You Still Can!’ Warns Grundy,” he read aloud.

"Does he mean you?” asked Felina.

"I suppose so."

She smiled and rubbed against him. “You're famous!"

Mallory stared at the paper again, then looked at Mürgenstürm. “How the hell did he get a photo of me?” he asked at last.

The little elf shrugged. “He's the Grundy."

Suddenly a small boy wearing an Eastern Union uniform raced up and handed an envelope to Mallory.

"What's this?” asked the detective.

"Telegram, sir."

"You're sure it's for me?"

"You're John Justin Mallory, aren't you?"

Mallory nodded. “How much do I owe you?"

"It's been prepaid."

Mallory flipped him a coin, which the boy caught on the run, then ripped open the envelope.

MALLORY, DO NOT, REPEAT, DO NOT GO TO THE MUSEUM OR MAKE ANY OTHER ATTEMPT TO FIND THE UNICORN OR FLYPAPER GILLESPIE STOP YOUR LIFE IS AT RISK STOP THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING STOP

Mallory handed the telegram to Mürgenstürm, who turned almost white as he read it. A few seconds later it dropped from his trembling fingers and fell to the wet sidewalk.

"We decided to go to the museum less than two minutes ago,” said Mallory.

Mürgenstürm gulped. “I know."

"Even if we were wired for sound, it takes longer than that to write and deliver a telegram."

"Obviously not for the Grundy,” said Mürgenstürm in a quavering voice.

"I thought you told me he didn't have any magical powers."

"That's absolutely right, John Justin. Magic doesn't work, and I've always held that it's ridiculous for anyone in this enlightened day and age to believe otherwise."

"That how do you explain the telegram?” demanded Mallory.

Mürgenstürm smiled a sickly smile. “Maybe I was wrong."

[Back to Table of Contents]

10:22 PM-11:20 PM

Mallory looked around, studying the various stores.

"What are you looking for, John Justin?” asked Mürgenstürm. “I thought we were going to the museum."

"First things first,” said Mallory. “Where can I find a gun shop?"

"There's one on the next block,” said Mürgenstürm. “But I thought you never carried a weapon."

"I was never threatened by a demon before,” said Mallory, heading off in the direction the elf had indicated. “Will it be open on New Year's Eve?"

"Why not?” responded Mürgenstürm. “More people are shot on New Year's Eve than any other night of the year."

They reached the store in another minute, and Mallory turned to the elf. “I think one shopping binge a night is enough for Felina. Why don't you stay out here and make sure that she doesn't wander off?"

"Why bother?” asked Mürgenstürm. “She's obviously no longer any use to us as a tracker."

"Because I have a feeling that we're going to need all the help we can get."

"Even incompetent help?"

"You can't always choose,” replied Mallory. “Find me someone competent and we'll talk about leaving her behind."

"You're the boss,” said Mürgenstürm with a shrug.

"We'll get along fine as long as we all remember that,” said Mallory, and entered the store alone.

There were a number of customers inspecting the various weapons. A trio of uniformed military men seemed to be comparing notes on rapid-action repeating rifles; a huge, bearded warrior dressed in furs and a metal skullcap was hefting a number of battle-axes; a chalk-white woman with long black hair and high, arching eyebrows was holding an ornate dagger, striking assorted dramatic poses in front of a mirror; another woman, complaining about her husband in a loud voice, kept sending a clerk back for larger and larger handguns; a Gnome of the Subway, looking apprehensively at the doorway every few seconds, was examining various types of ammunition; and perhaps a dozen other customers of varying sizes and species were simply browsing aimlessly.

Mallory stopped at a display case of pistols, then wandered over to a wall that held a number of tribal spears in small metal clamps. He continued browsing, discovering a number of weapons that made absolutely no sense to him. Finally he walked up to the main counter.

"May I help you, sir?” asked a slight, balding man with a drooping moustache.

"I hope so,” replied Mallory. “What kind of gun will stop a leprechaun?"

"Leprechauns?” said the man with a pleased smile. “Ah, there's nothing quite like hunting leprechauns in the rain! How many of the little beggars do you plan to blow away, sir?"

"Just one."

The man nodded sympathetically. “They're getting harder to find every year. Not like the good old days, eh?"

"I guess not."

"How much of a sporting chance do you want to give him?"

"None,” said Mallory.

"Quite right, sir,” said the salesman, trying unsuccessfully to hide his disapproval. “I assume your license is in order?"

"License?"

"For slaughtering leprechauns,” explained the salesman patiently.

"I didn't know I needed one."

"I'll bet you left it at home, sir."

"I don't have one."

"Certainly you do, sir,” said the salesman persuasively. “If you didn't have one, you couldn't buy a gun to kill the little bastard with, could you?"

"I left it at home,” said Mallory.

"You look like an honest man,” said the salesman. “I see no reason why I shouldn't take your word for it.” He reached beneath the counter and withdrew a small pistol. “Here's just the ticket, sir. Ten shots, one in the chamber and nine in the stock, accurate up to two hundred feet.” He laid the pistol down on the counter and placed a box of ammunition next to it. “Will there be anything else?"

"Yes,” said Mallory. “How do you kill a demon?"

"It all depends. We have a complete line of talismans and amulets.” The salesman reached into another cabinet and withdrew a long crystal wand. “Or you could use
this
little baby here! Sweetest little weapon you've ever seen. Guaranteed to demolish every demon below the level of the Fifth Circle."

"I don't feel comfortable with magic,” said Mallory. “What kind of gun will do the trick?"

"None. And I'll thank you not to refer to this as a
magic
wand, sir,” said the salesman haughtily. “This wand works by strict scientific principles, just the same as our amulets and talismans: it refracts light to create invisibility, it ionizes the air around your antagonist and thereby eliminates his oxygen supply, it seeds clouds to create thunder and lightning, it—"

"All right,” said Mallory. “I'll take it.” He picked up the wand and examined it. “How do you make it work?"

"The spells are included with the instructions."

"Spells?"

"There are certain key words that trigger various responses from the microchip in the handle,” explained the salesman. “The rest of it is just for dramatic effect."

"And this will definitely work against any demon I run across?” asked Mallory.

The salesman shook his head. “Only those below the Fifth Circle. What type of demon do you expect to be confronting?"

"I don't know. But if it's any help, he's called the Grundy."

"You want to kill the
Grundy?"
gasped the salesman.

"Only if it's necessary."

"Your name wouldn't be Mallory, would it?"

"It would."

The salesman grabbed the wand back. “Go away!"

"You don't have anything that will help me?"

"You're in the wrong place!” whimpered the salesman, crouching down and hiding behind the counter. “The only thing you need is a Bible."

"The Grundy's affected by Bibles?"

"No, but you might want to learn a quick prayer or two before he finds you."

"What do I owe you for the gun?” asked Mallory.

"One hundred seventy-five dollars."

"All I have are hundreds,” said Mallory. “You're going to have to get up and make change."

"Just put a hundred on the counter and leave!"

Mallory, aware that everyone in the store was staring at him with expressions varying from shock to pity, picked up the pistol and the box of ammunition, put them in his pocket, and walked back into the street, where he found Mürgenstürm and Felina waiting for him.

"What now, John Justin?"

"Now we go to the museum.” Mallory paused. “I don't suppose they'll have a stuffed leprechaun?"

"Certainly not!” said Mürgenstürm, morally outraged. “You might as well ask if they have a mounted elf on display!"

It took them fifteen minutes, via elephant and subway, to reach the museum, a huge and ancient structure of stone and steps and spires.

"The perfect example of Gothic Baptist architecture,” commented Mürgenstürm admiringly as they approached the main entrance.

"I didn't know there
were
any examples of Gothic Baptist architecture,” replied Mallory.

"There are here,” said Mürgenstürm, ascending the broad stairs. When he reached the top, he went to a small door about fifty feet to the right of the main entrance and knocked vigorously.

"Hold your horses!” said a voice. “I'm coming!"

A moment later the door opened and an elderly man, his white hair thinning and uncombed, stuck his head out. “Oh, it's you again,” he said when his eyes fell on the little green elf. “You know, Mürgenstürm, you've really got to do something about that libido of yours."

"My feelings precisely,” echoed Mallory.

The old man stared at him for a moment, then made a face and turned back to Mürgenstürm. “Your tastes are getting more degenerate by the hour,” he said.

"You misunderstand the situation,” said Mürgenstürm.

"If I do, it's not without cause,” said the old man.

"John Justin, I want you to meet my friend Jebediah,” said the elf. “Jebediah, this is the world-famous detective, John Justin Mallory."

Jebediah squinted at Mallory and nodded. “World-famous, eh? Well, come on in—but leave the cat behind."

"You mean Felina?” asked Mürgenstürm.

"You see any other cats?” asked Jebediah.

"But she's not a cat. She's one of the cat-people."

"Same thing,” said Jebediah with a shrug. “She'll upset the exhibits."

"I thought this was a museum,” interjected Mallory.

"It is."

"Aren't the exhibits all dead?"

"Of course."

"Then how can she upset them?” persisted the detective.

"Look,” said Jebediah. “It's cold and it's raining, and I've got no intention of standing here in the doorway answering stupid questions. If you want to come in, leave her outside."

Mallory turned to Felina. “Wait here,” he instructed her. “We'll only be a few minutes."

She made no reply, but merely squatted down on her haunches, staring at some fixed point in space that only she could see. In the dim light it seemed to Mallory that her pupils had expanded to entirely cover her irises. He reached out to give her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, which she avoided without seeming to move, and finally he shrugged and followed Jebediah and Mürgenstürm into the interior of the museum.

"Impressive, isn't it?” asked the elf.

Mallory looked around the huge, marble-floored central hall. The arched ceiling was a good forty feet high, and a pair of reconstructed pterodactyls seemed to be hovering over him, suspended by nearly invisible support wires. Dominating the hall was the skeleton of an enormous tyrannosaur, its jaws filled with row upon row of long, jagged teeth.

"Mean-looking son of a bitch,” he commented.

"Didn't there used to be an elephant here?” asked Mürgenstürm, indicating the area where the dinosaur stood ready to pounce. “A big one, with huge tusks?"