The Unicorn's Tale Read online

  The Unicorn's Tale

  R. L. LaFevers

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  ...

  ...

  ...

  ...

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  On Unicorns

  Nathaniel Fludd

  BEASTOLOGIST

  BOOK FOUR

  ILLUSTRATED BY KELLY MURPHY

  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN BOOKS FOR CHILDREN

  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN HARCOURT

  BOSTON NEW YORK 2011

  Text copyright © 2011 by R. L. LaFevers

  Illustrations copyright © 2011 by Kelly Murphy

  All rights reserved. For information about permission

  to reproduce selections from this book, write to

  Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  Houghton Mifflin Books for Children is an imprint of

  Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  www.hmhbooks.com

  The text of this book is set in ITC Giovanni.

  The illustrations are pen and ink.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication

  Control Number 2010025118

  ISBN: 978-0-547-48277-4

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  DOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  4500284476

  THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MY GRANDMOTHER,

  PRINCESS GARBUTT,

  WHO TUCKED ME SAFELY UNDER HER WING AND

  WHISKED ME OFF

  ON MANY WONDERFUL ADVENTURES,

  PROVIDING A SAFE HAVEN

  WHENEVER LIFE GOT OVERWHELMING.

  —R.L.L.

  FOR MY ANIMAL-LOVING NIECE, ANNA.

  —K.M.

  Chapter One

  OCTOBER 1928

  "I STILL DON'T UNDERSTAND why we had to come to France," Nate grumbled as he dragged his rucksack on the ground behind him. Not liking the bumpy ride, his pet gremlin, Greasle, scampered up the pack's buckles and straps to Nate's shoulder.

  "We came to France because our lives can't stand still while we wait for news of Obediah Fludd to surface," Aunt Phil explained. "We still have a job to do, Nate. And today, being a beastologist brings us to France."

  She stopped walking and Nate bumped into her. "Sorry," he mumbled, embarrassed.

  Aunt Phil reached out a hand to steady him. "We have scouts everywhere, keeping an eye out for Obediah. If he's spotted, we'll know soon enough. Now, pull yourself together. We've work to do."

  Cornelius, Aunt Phil's talking dodo, sniffed. "If the boy were a true Fludd, he wouldn't snivel so much."

  As Nate glared at him, Greasle piped up. "Seems to me there was a certain dodo doing an awful lot of sniveling this morning. Something about nots wanting to be left home alone."

  Cornelius raised his beak into the air and fluffed his feathers. "I wasn't sniveling. I was being cautious. I'd already been attacked once, you know."

  "You weren't attacked!" Greasle scoffed. "A door accidentally falled on you."

  "Enough!" Aunt Phil said.

  "He started it," the gremlin muttered.

  Nate let himself fall a few paces behind and lowered his voice. "Bickering with Cornelius is not going to help convince Aunt Phil to let me keep you," he pointed out.

  Greasle's shoulders drooped. "I know. But I can't stand it when that overstuffed pigeon be's mean to you."

  "Are you two planning on joining us anytime soon?" Cornelius drawled.

  Nate looked up to see that the dodo and Aunt Phil had reached the farmhouse, and he hurried to catch up. A flock of chickens had stopped scratching in the dirt to stare curiously at Cornelius.

  Nate sent the dodo a sly look. "Relatives of yours, Cornelius?"

  The dodo clacked his beak in annoyance.

  "Don't worry about him," Greasle told the chickens. "He's just a big fat chicken who can't even lay eggs."

  Just as Aunt Phil whirled around to give everyone another scolding, the farmhouse door burst open. A short, round man tumbled out into the yard. He wore a black cap and smelled of garlic and sausage. "Dr. Fludd! I had nearly despaired of your arrival!"

  "I'm sorry, Monsieur Poupon. We came as soon as we got your message. It does take an hour or two to cross the channel—even in an airplane. Now, what's all this about a guivre infestation?"

  "Le dragon showed up in my well two days ago and won't budge."

  "One guivre can hardly be considered an infestation," Aunt Phil pointed out. "Besides, you are having an unseasonably warm autumn. Perhaps this one just needs to cool off for a bit—"

  "Non! He may not cool off in my well. Le guivre, he carries disease, the plague! All my family, my animals, will become sick if you do not remove him at once."

  "Nonsense." Aunt Phil bristled. "That is merely an old rumor started in the Middle Ages. It has long been proven false. Guivres carry no diseases."

  The farmer's face grew red and he clenched his fists. "Are you saying you won't remove him?"

  "No. I am simply pointing out that you have nothing to fear but inconvenience. Come along, Nate. Let's go see to the guivre. We'll let you know when we've finished, Monsieur Poupon."

  With that, Aunt Phil headed back down the walkway. "I don't want that poor guivre around him any longer than necessary," she muttered to herself.

  She was so annoyed with the farmer that she marched right past the path leading to the well. Not wanting this to take any longer than it had to, Nate stopped and called her back. "I think this is the way," he said, pointing to a low wall of thick gray stone.

  "Now, that is clever," Cornelius drawled. "Finding a well in plain sight. I take back everything I ever said about your lack of Fludd skills."

  "If you can't say something helpful, then don't say

  anything at all," Aunt Phil told the dodo. To Nate, she said, "Thank you."

  When they came to a stop in front of the well, Greasle whispered in Nate's ear, "What's a guivre, anyway?"

  "I don't know," he said. "But we're about to find out. Now, be quiet so I can pay attention." He didn't want to miss a thing. Aunt Phil might quiz him on it later. Or it could turn out to be a matter of life and death. One never knew with her.

  She set her pack on the ground, then leaned over the well. "Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing down into the dark depths.

  In answer, a great gushing stream of water shot out of the well. Aunt Phil leaped back, avoiding the hosing. Unfortunately, Nate didn't. The jet of water cascaded down on his head.

  "Sorry about that," Aunt Phil said as he wiped the water from his eyes. "I should have warned you."

  Nate wrung the water from his coat, glad they were having a warm autumn. On his shoulder, Greasle gave a quick shake, flinging the water from her oily skin.

  Aunt Phil turned back to the well. "Thank you, dear, but I didn't need any water today," she called down. "I actually wanted to have a little chat with you. Do you have a moment?"

  The splashing stopped, then slowly, something big and slithery began to rise up out of the well's depths.

  Chapter Two

  A POINTED GRAY SNOUT EMERGED. It was followed by a smooth, round head with fleshy horns on either side where ears
should have been. His eyes were large and round and had very long eyelashes. They made him look rather cute, Nate thought. If you didn't count the fact that he was snakelike and thicker than Nate's whole body. "Is he scared of us?" Nate asked Aunt Phil.

  "No, just shy. He's worried we'll try to frighten him by removing our clothes."

  Nate gaped at her. "Why would we do that?"

  "People used to think that taking off their clothes and waving their arms and generally acting like idiots would scare guivres away. Another old wives' tale, I'm afraid. Now, do you have those fish we brought?"

  "In here," Nate said, patting the basket that hung from his side.

  "And right ripe they are," Greasle whispered, pinching her nose.

  "Very well," Aunt Phil said. "I want you to take one out and jiggle it. Be sure the guivre sees it, and once he has, slowly back away. With luck, he'll be so hungry that he'll follow the fish. Once he's out of the well, I'll catch him in the net and we can safely relocate him."

  "O-okay." Wondering if the guivre had any teeth, Nate reached into the basket and pulled out a cold, slimy fish. Wrinkling his nose, he held it as far out in front of him as possible.

  "Here you go," he said, giving the fish a vigorous jiggle. The sudden movement startled the guivre so badly, he dived back into the well.

  "Gently, Nate. You don't want him to think the fish is attacking."

  "Sorry," he mumbled. He jiggled the fish again, this time more daintily. The guivre slowly peeked back over the edge of the stone wall, then tilted his head to study the fish. A tongue snaked out, and the serpentine body began to ooze out of the well, longer and bigger than Nate had even imagined. When the creature had uncoiled, he was twice as long as Aunt Phil, and Nate was filled with an overwhelming urge to run away. Only Cornelius's sneering gaze held him in place. He'd show that dodo who the real chicken was.

  "That's it." Aunt Phil's voice was encouraging. "Just a little bit farther now ... Perfect!"

  On the word perfect, she cast the net over the guivre. The dragon bucked and wiggled like a live electrical wire, making it impossible for Aunt Phil to get a decent hold. In the end, she had to throw herself on top of the writhing creature. "Give him the fish, Nate! Quick!"

  Nate tossed the fish at the guivre. He stopped midstruggle, opened his mouth, and neatly caught the fish, all in one fluid motion. That gave Aunt Phil just enough time to get the net secure. "Good job," she huffed, then pushed to her feet. "We'll each take an end and carry him back to

  the plane. We flew over a nice lake a short ways back. We'll relocate him there."

  Nate tried to grab hold of his end, but the guivre slapped his tail back and forth playfully, like a kitten. "Hold still," Nate grunted. Finally, in desperation, he flung himself on the tail, trapping it beneath his body.

  He and Aunt Phil trudged back to the plane, the guivre bucking and twisting the whole time. Cornelius followed, calling out unhelpful directions. "Watch out for that rock. There. Yes, that one. Pick up your feet!"

  By the time they reached Aunt Phil's Sopwith, Nate felt as if he'd been in a wrestling match.

  "On three," Aunt Phil said. "One, two, three!" On the final count, Aunt Phil gave a mighty heave. Nate had no choice but to do the same. With a dull thump, the guivre landed on the floor of the cargo hold. Aunt Phil quickly shut the hatch. "There," she said, wiping her hands on her pants. "That wasn't too hard, was it?"

  Nate agreed. Compared to some of the things they'd done—such as chase down the basilisk—that had been downright easy.

  "You stay here," Aunt Phil said. "I'm going to tell Monsieur Poupon we've finished up."

  Nate knelt and tried to wipe his hands off on the grass.

  "Hey, look," Greasle said, pointing at the horizon. "A bird what can fly!"

  Cornelius pointedly ignored her, but Nate looked up. Something was headed their way, but it wasn't flying like any sort of bird he'd ever seen. It zigged and zagged crazily, slowly losing altitude, as if it could barely stay in the air. It pointed its little beak at the plane, gave one final flap of its wings, and belly-flopped onto the hood with an audible oomph. It lifted its head long enough to give one feeble coo, then lay gasping for air.

  Greasle scampered forward. "It's not food!" Nate called out, remembering the last carrier pigeon Greasle had met.

  "I knows," the gremlin said scornfully over her shoulder. "It's one of them carrier pigeons." She lifted one of its wings, then let go. It flopped lifelessly on the plane.

  As Nate drew closer, he saw a small scroll tied to the bird's left foot. The pigeon cooed again. "I think it wants us to read the message."

  Another coo of agreement.

  Nate's heart began to beat faster. Maybe it was news of Obediah. Maybe he'd finally been spotted and they'd have a chance to ask him some questions!

  Hands trembling with excitement, Nate reached down and gently untied the note. The poor little pigeon gave one last faint coo, then fell silent.

  Shoving the note into his pocket, Nate grabbed the canteen from his rucksack and poured some water into the lid. He lifted the pigeon's head and dribbled a few drops of water down the exhausted bird's throat. It cooed again, this time a little bit stronger.

  The pigeon seen to, Nate retrieved the note from his pocket and unrolled it.

  "What's that?" Greasle asked, staring down at the strange marks on the paper.

  "I don't know. Code, maybe?"

  "It looks like one of them chickens walked through a mud puddle, then did a little dance," Greasle said.

  Nate felt a small jab on his arm. When he looked up, Cornelius was craning his neck, trying to see the note. "I bet I know what it is. Let me have a look."

  Nate tilted the note in the dodo's direction. Cornelius studied it with one bright yellow eye, then sniffed. "Ogham," he announced. "It's ogham script. A very old form of writing used by those who live in the forests. Philomena will know how to read it."

  Even if you don't. The dodo didn't actually say that, but Nate heard it all the same.

  Chapter Three

  IGNORING THE DODO'S UNSPOKEN SNUB, Nate ran up the path to the house. Aunt Phil met him halfway. "Ho-ho! Where are you going in such a hurry?"

  "A note," Nate huffed. "A pigeon came with a note. Maybe there's news of Obediah?" There was nothing he wanted more than to track down the one man who might know something about what had happened to his parents. Nate handed Aunt Phil the message, then nearly danced with impatience while he waited for her to read it.

  When she was done, she gave a small shake of her head. "It's not about Obediah, I'm afraid."

  "It's not?" Nate's excitement whooshed out of him like a deflating balloon.

  "No. It's from Mr. Sylvan, the caretaker of Broceliande forest. There is a problem with the unicorn. It seems she's been acting quite oddly and Mr. Sylvan is afraid she might be ill."

  Not only was it not about Obediah, but it was something that would distract Aunt Phil from pursuing him! And while a unicorn was interesting, it didn't seem nearly as interesting to Nate as finding out more about his parents. "That's too bad she's sick, but people and animals get sick all the time."

  "Actually, Nate, unicorns never get sick. They are famous for their healing abilities. For a unicorn to become ill is very serious indeed."

  Nate's heart sank. "We're going to go to this forest place, aren't we?"

  "We have to, Nate. If one of the last unicorns on earth is unwell, it's up to us to tend to her." Her voice held a note of gentle reproach.

  Nate had an idea. "Do you think Obediah made the unicorn get sick?"

  Aunt Phil thought for a moment. "I don't think so. The caretaker would have known about any intruder."

  "Maybe not," Nate pointed out. "Dewey didn't know there was an intruder when he called you about the wyverns being on the rampage."

  "True, but Mr. Sylvan is very different from Dewey, as you'll soon see."

  "But what about Obediah?" The question jumped out of Nate. "It seems to me the
longer we wait to go after him, the better chance he'll have of disappearing."

  "What would you have me do, Nathaniel? There are a dozen different directions the man could have taken. A dozen different beasts he could be hunting, even as we speak. If we run after the man, there is a very good chance we'll be going in the wrong direction, taking us even farther away from him."

  Helpless frustration washed over Nate. He reached out and kicked a small rock. It ricocheted off the stone well, narrowly missing Cornelius. Greasle snickered, but Nate hardly even noticed.

  "Now," Aunt Phil continued, "let's get back into the plane and head out. We'll drop the guivre off on the way. There's a lovely river that he'd like, just on the border of Broceliande. We'll take him there instead of the lake."

  ***

  It was a short flight from the outskirts of Paris to where they were going. In no time, a shadowed forest appeared below, surrounded by a grassy meadow. Aunt Phil pointed the nose of the plane downward and began the descent.

  As they drew closer and closer to the ground, Aunt Phil continued to head for the trees. Just as Nate began wondering if she was going to try to fly through them, they hit the meadow with a thud. They finally bounced to a stop, just inches from the forest. "We don't want to have to carry the guivre any farther than we have to," Aunt Phil called back to Nate.

  Nate crawled out of the cockpit and grabbed his rucksack. Cornelius blinked his big yellow eyes at him. Nate pretended he didn't know what the dodo wanted. Let Aunt Phil take care of him, if she was so keen on bringing him along, Nate thought.

  He jumped down to the soft grass below, pausing long enough for Greasle to leap from the plane's wing to his shoulder.

  "Nate, would you see to Cornelius while I open the cargo hold?" Aunt Phil called over to him.

  Nate huffed out a breath of annoyance, then slowly walked back to the plane. He hated this part.