The Unicorn's Tale Read online

  Nate scowled at her, and she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Nate seethed inside. What she was up to?

  "How do you know where to find the beasts, then?" Obediah asked, clearly suspicious.

  "How did you?" Aunt Phil asked. "How were you able to locate the phoenix and the basilisk and the wyverns without The Book of Beasts?"

  Obediah smiled. "Oh, that was clever of me, wasn't it? I borrowed—stole is such an ugly word, don't you think?—a couple of maps of Africa when I visited the boy's home. I came upon a map of Dinas Emrys when I was, er, visiting your house."

  Nate frowned. "Wait. You didn't search my house until after you returned from Africa."

  Obediah gave an unpleasant smile. "That was the second time I'd visited your house, boy," he said. "The first time, I stopped by and had tea with your nanny. What was her name? Miss Lumpton, I believe. She and I had a lovely visit. I'm afraid you were upstairs, sick with the mumps, so I didn't get a chance to meet you that time. She was kind enough to give me a tour of your father's study and workroom. She was such a dull old thing. It was easy enough to sneak a map or two when she was bleating on about how worried she was and wondering what would happen to her when you finally went to join your parents. Now, enough chatting. Hand over the book."

  "I told you, I don't have it. I've been a practicing beastologist for well over forty years. I have all the beasts' locations memorized at this point."

  Nate wondered if Obediah would know she was lying. He'd searched her house himself and not found it. Would he go along with her claim?

  Obediah weighed her words. "Very well. I will give you forty-eight hours. That should be enough time to get back to Batting-at-the-Flies, then return here to Broceliande. If you do not return to this exact spot with The Book of Beasts by then, I will take what I need from the unicorn and you will never find the boy's parents. No one will ever find them. Alive."

  Chapter Eleven

  POINTING OUT THAT FAUNS WERE OF NO VALUE TO HIM, Obediah let Aunt Phil untie Mr. Sylvan so he could return to the cottage with them.

  As soon as they stepped out of the clearing, Nate turned to Aunt Phil. "Why didn't you give—"

  "Shh!" She reached out lightning fast and clamped a hand over his mouth, surprising him. "Voices carry. And who knows whether or nor that poor little uldra is following us. Say nothing until I tell you it is safe. Do you understand?"

  With her hand still clamped firmly over his mouth, Nate nodded. Aunt Phil removed her hand and looked solemnly at the gremlin huddling on Nate's shoulder. "Greasle, dear. I have an enormous favor to ask of you."

  Greasle stepped a little closer to Nate's neck. "I don't likes the sound of that," she whispered.

  Aunt Phil took a deep breath. "Having Obediah so near the unicorn is a disaster waiting to happen. If Luminessa gets wind of him, she might get violent and try to do him serious injury. Or kill him."

  "Seems to me that would be a good thing," Greasle said.

  "With Obediah dead, we would have no way of learning anything further about Nate's parents. Greasle, only you can keep Luminessa properly calm until this ugly dance has played itself out. Could you—would you—please stay with her until Nate and I can return with a way out of this mess?"

  Nate heard a little gulp right by his ear. "All by myselfs?" Greasle asked in a small voice.

  "Yes, I'm afraid only you are small enough to go undetected by Obediah. I'm also hoping that your scent will be so unfamiliar to the uldra that he won't realize you are even there."

  Greasle's eyes grew huge. She looked up at Nate. "Does I have to?"

  Nate was torn. He didn't want to put the gremlin in any danger, but they didn't dare risk a showdown between Obediah and the unicorn. At least not until he'd freed Nate's parents.

  "No," Aunt Phil answered. "You don't have to."

  Nate felt Greasle relax slightly.

  "But if you do," Aunt Phil continued, "you will earn a place in our household for as long as you'd like."

  Greasle's ears poked up. "You means it?"

  "I mean it. You can stay with Nate as long as you want."

  Greasle groaned and put her hands on either side of her head, as if she were in pain.

  "I'm sorry," Aunt Phil said. "I know I'm asking a lot, but I don't have any other choice."

  Greasle looked up at Nate. "Should I do it?"

  Nate looked down into her little scrunched face. "I think this is a decision you have to make," he said.

  Greasle turned back to Aunt Phil. "Is that nasty mans really going to hurt that slobber-tongued horse?"

  "He easily could. Especially if she gets frightened and threatens him in any way. But with you, a young maid, around, she will remain calm."

  "And I'll get to stay with Nate forever?"

  "Forever."

  Greasle's face wrinkled as she thought long and hard. Finally she said, "Okay, I'll do it," and Nate breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  "That's our gremlin!" Aunt Phil said. "Can you find your way back there or do you need me to give you directions?"

  Greasle studied the trees. "It's thattaways." She pointed in the exact direction of the bower.

  "Excellent. Get yourself over there and tell Luminessa what's happened. And keep her calm, at all costs."

  Greasle gave a snappy salute, then jumped from Nate's shoulder to the ground. "Don't takes too long," she told them.

  "We won't," Nate promised, then watched as she disappeared into the trees.

  It was a long, tense walk back to Mr. Sylvan's cabin. Nate seethed with ugly thoughts and angry questions the whole way. Every single thing he loved or cared about seemed to hang in the balance: his parents, Greasle, even his future as a beastologist.

  Once they reached the cottage and went inside, Nate rounded on Aunt Phil. "I told you I saw frost," he reminded her. "I told you." That wasn't what he had planned to say at all. He'd wanted to shout, Why didn't you give him the stupid book? What are we going to do about my parents? But that was what had come out.

  "You did, Nate."

  Her agreeing didn't make him any less angry. "You should have listened to me." He wasn't sure what exactly he wanted from her. An admission, an apology, something.

  "What? What happened?" Cornelius asked, looking from one angry face to the other.

  "Obediah," Aunt Phil said shortly. "I'm afraid he followed us to the unicorn's bower."

  The dodo made a whistling sound and threw Mr. Sylvan a withering look. "A fine caretaker you turned out to be." He sniffed. "I thought that was the whole point of having a faun do the caretaking—their ability to sense changes or disturbances in the forest."

  "Obediah had an uldra do the actual following," Aunt Phil explained. "An uldra's scent isn't known to the fauns, and even if it was, the chill an uldra produces deadens the sense of smell."

  "So what does that black sheep of a Fludd want?"

  "The Book of Beasts. He'll trade the unicorn for it." She glanced at Nate. "Along with Nate's parents."

  "What?" squawked Cornelius.

  As Aunt Phil explained exactly what had happened, Nate went over to the window. He was so restless, so eager to do something, that he was afraid he'd explode. And he missed Greasle already. Her small jokes and grumbles, the way she tried to make him feel better about things. It was as if he'd left a piece of himself back there.

  His misery ignited into anger. He folded his arms and glared at Aunt Phil. "If you'd trusted me, listened to me, then you would have known something was wrong. Instead, you acted as if I was just making things up and being a dumb little kid." His voice trembled with all the things he wanted to shout at her.

  Aunt Phil ran her hand through her hair, mussing it. "I know. It was wrong of me. I'm sorry. I was preoccupied with the unicorn, and wondering where Obediah would strike next, and worried that you were giving yourself false hope about your parents."

  "But I was right about them," Nate whispered.

  Aunt Phil's face twisted with regret. "You were."<
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  Then Nate dropped his gaze and stared down at his toes. "Why didn't you give him the book?" he asked in an even tinier whisper.

  "Oh, Nate!" Aunt Phil threw her arms around him and hugged him close. Part of him longed for the comfort she offered, but he was too angry with her to accept it. He wriggled out of her grasp. "Why?"

  Aunt Phil sighed and sat back on her heels. "I can't, Nate. It is my sworn duty to protect The Book of Beasts, and the animals it contains, with my life."

  "But my parents!" he said, his voice rising.

  "Do you know just how many Fludds have given their lives to protect that book, those beasts? If I hand it over, all their sacrifices will have been for nothing. I can't do that, Nate. We'll think of something else, some other way to get your parents back and keep the unicorn safe. I just need a little time to come up with an idea. Now, come on. Let's pack up our things and get back to the house. I want to put some feelers out among my contacts. If your parents are truly only hours away from Batting-at-the-Flies, one of my contacts should know. I find it hard to believe that Obediah has managed to fool us all."

  ***

  The plane ride from France took forever. Nate was so agitated, he could barely sit still. Cornelius kept giving him dirty looks and finally got so frustrated with Nate's squirming that he snapped at him with his huge, heavy beak.

  "Sit still!" he complained. "You're crimping my tail feathers."

  Nate glanced at Aunt Phil up in the cockpit. Between the roar of the engine and the rushing wind, she couldn't hear a thing. "I don't care about your stupid tail feathers," he told Cornelius. "Why do you even need feathers, anyway? You can't fly. Except in a plane."

  The dodo lunged forward and snapped at Nate again, this time catching his forearm.

  "Ow!" Nate narrowed his eyes, then reached over and plucked out one of the dodo's tail feathers.

  Cornelius gave a squawk of protest and snatched for the feather with his beak. Nate held it out over the edge of the cockpit, then let it go.

  The dodo's mouth opened in surprise, then clacked shut. "My feather!" he wailed.

  Immediately, Nate was filled with remorse, but he

  couldn't bring himself to apologize. "You bit me," he pointed out.

  Cornelius whipped his hind end around and backed up so that his rump was squashed against the front of the cockpit, safely out of Nate's reach. They ignored each other for the rest of the trip, and Nate couldn't help but wonder if Cornelius would tell on him. He was sure that yanking tail feathers was something a true beastologist would never do.

  Chapter Twelve

  AUNT PHIL LANDED just as the sun was setting. They'd cut the timing close, as there was barely enough daylight to bring the plane in. As soon as it touched down, Nate scrambled out of the cockpit and waited impatiently for Aunt Phil to dismount.

  "So what's your plan?" he asked.

  She took off her leather helmet and looked around. "Where's Cornelius?"

  "He's still in the plane."

  She went over to the plane and lugged the dodo out of the cockpit with a grunt. Nate held his breath, wondering if the bird would tell on him, relieved when Cornelius contented himself with sending Nate a withering glare.

  "So what's your plan?" Nate repeated as they headed to the house.

  Aunt Phil ran her hand through her hair. "I haven't got one yet, Nate. I'm still thinking."

  "But we're running out of time!" he said.

  "We've still got a good forty hours left. First we need to get some food, then some rest so we can think clearly."

  Nate grumbled, but Aunt Phil didn't budge. After setting her things down in the hall, she headed for the kitchen and lit the stove. He followed and sat at the kitchen table, watching her, willing her to think of some brilliant plan that would bring his parents home safely.

  It was a silent dinner of sardines on toast. Even Cornelius didn't say much. When they'd finished, Aunt Phil sent Nate up to bed. There was no way he would be able to sleep, but he didn't bother to argue. As he clomped up the stairs to his room, he heard her shouting into the telephone. "Check with the selkies. If Nate's parents came from the north, the selkies might have seen them. And the barnacle geese. They're nosy busybodies. If anyone matching Horatio or Adele Fludd's description came their way, they'll have noticed."

  Once in his room, Nate found he missed Greasle even more. The room, which had begun to feel familiar, now just felt empty. Prisonlike. He threw himself on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  He wanted to do something. Something that would allow him to get his parents back. He needed a plan.

  He sat bolt upright as an idea crashed into his head. It was so simple, he was surprised he hadn't thought of it before. He'd get The Book of Beasts and take it to Obediah himself. Once his parents were free, then they could all work on getting the book back so Obediah couldn't find any more beasts.

  Nate swung his legs off the bed. Aunt Phil might think the beasts were more important than his parents, but he didn't. He hadn't sworn any dumb oath, either.

  He tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack. The hall was dark and silent. Aunt Phil's bedroom was all the way down at the end. Did she keep The Book of Beasts in there with her at night? She might, so he would try there first.

  Nate crept silently down the hall until he came to her room. He put his ear to the closed door but heard nothing—no snoring, no rustling of covers. If Aunt Phil was in there, she was being awfully quiet.

  He placed his hand on the knob and turned it oh-so gently, ready to stop if it gave so much as a squeak. Then he slowly pushed the door open.

  The room was dark, so it took his eyes a moment to adjust. When they did, he saw that Aunt Phil's bed was empty. In fact, it didn't look as if she'd even been up there yet.

  He tried to work up his courage to actually search through her things, but he couldn't. Instead, he tiptoed back out and closed the door behind him, then headed for the stairway. He did his best to stay close to the banister, where the stairs creaked the least. He paused on the bottom step. While he debated whether the book would be in the kitchen or her study, he heard the murmur of voices. He strained to hear what they were saying.

  "The boy will never forgive you," Cornelius said.

  "He will in time. He'll understand once he's older," was Aunt Phil's response.

  "Do you really think they are still alive?" the dodo asked. Nate held his breath as he waited for Aunt Phil's answer.

  "I'm not sure, " she said at last. " I certainly hope so, for Nate's sake as well as my own. But if they are, why did Obediah wait until now to make this offer? Why didn't he come forward sooner?"

  "Maybe he'd hoped he wouldn't need to?" Cornelius suggested. "Maybe he thought he could do whatever he planned using only The Geographica?"

  "Well, that's the thing. I'm not so sure he has The Geographica, which is partly why I worry he might not have the boy's parents. He didn't admit to having it, for one thing. If he did have it, surely he'd have gloated and rubbed my nose in it."

  "Then how did he know where to find the beasts?" Cornelius asked.

  "He told us he'd stolen the maps. One from me and a couple from a visit to Nate's governess. And we led him straight to the unicorn ourselves. I don't have all the answers, Corny. I just know all the pieces aren't fitting together quite right. We'll know more once my contacts begin reporting back, but I'm not particularly hopeful."

  Aunt Phil's words stole all of Nate's determination right out of him. He sat down on the bottom step. She thought Obediah was lying. She still wasn't convinced his parents were alive. He felt too discouraged to even climb back up the stairs to bed. Instead, he laid his head down on the hard wooden step and closed his eyes.

  ***

  Nate woke up to the smell of frying bacon. He was stiff and achy from sleeping on the step. He noticed someone had covered him with a blanket during the night.

  With a hollow, empty feeling, he realized he'd missed his chance to sneak around downstairs and ste
al The Book of Beasts. He'd never be able to pull it off in the broad light of day.

  His stomach gave out a grumble, so he blinked the sleep from his eyes and followed his nose to the kitchen. "Have you thought of a plan yet?" he asked.

  "Well, good morning to you, too," Cornelius drawled.

  "Hush," Aunt Phil told the dodo. "No, Nate. I haven't. Have you?"

  "No," he said glumly, taking a seat and planting his elbows on the table. He wasn't going to tell her about last night's plan to steal The Book of Beasts. "It's too bad we don't have two copies of The Book of Beasts," he mumbled.

  "Nate!" Aunt Phil turned from the stove to stare at him. "That's it! What a brilliant idea!"

  "What idea?" A tiny butterfly wing of hope fluttered in Nate's chest.

  "We will make a false Book of Beasts! One so true to life and with maps so close to the originals that it will take Obediah months to discover the treachery."

  Nate thought about it for a minute. It wasn't a bad plan, he decided. "But can you do that in the time we have left?"

  "I can. If you help me." They stared at each other for a long moment, and Nate felt all sorts of unspoken things in that silence. A peace offering for one, but also a plea for understanding, a hope that somehow they could patch things up between them.

  "Excuse me, but you're burning the bacon," Cornelius pointed out.

  Aunt Phil quickly turned back to the stove and removed the frying pan from the burner.

  "Okay. I'll help," Nate said at last.

  Over her shoulder, Aunt Phil gave him a tired smile. For the first time, he realized she'd aged considerably over the past few hours. Her face was normally full of energy and quick to smile, but now, now there were lines around her mouth and her cheeks sagged a bit.

  "Come on, then. Let's get started." She put their breakfast on plates and carried them with her as she led him into her big, cluttered library. Nate had never been in this room before. Every wall was lined with bookshelves, and every shelf was stuffed with a double row of books. More books were stacked on the floor, like leaning towers. There were two large tables and a cluster of small ones, and two desks faced each other from across the room. The walls were practically papered with maps. Hundreds more were rolled up and scattered throughout the room, tucked in corners, stacked like logs on the floor, and poking out of cubbyholes.