The Midnight Unicorn, page 3
“We must send the girls to safety,” said the king. “They may be the kingdom’s only hope for the future.”
It was agreed that they should tell just two people. The more people that knew, the more chance there was of the plan leaking out to the wrong parties. So the king and the queen each called their closest confidant up to the chamber, and asked for their help.
For the king this was of course his old nanny. For the queen, it was Maneo the sorcerer. They both stood by the cradle, gazing at the infants while the queen told them the plan.
“If there had been time for a baptism then you would have been chosen as godparents, each responsible for one twin, but the latest events mean that there is no time for official ceremonies. We hope that you will each accept this responsibility nonetheless and keep our daughters far from those who mean them harm.”
Nanny pursed her lips. “Let me take them both. I have experience of raising children. Not like this man of magic—”
“No. This is my instruction,” interrupted the queen. “At this moment in time, the sisters are safer apart and the further apart the better. Maneo – travel with your charge to the west of the kingdom. Nanny – to the east. When … if … the time is right, we shall find you there.”
The king took a plain wooden chest from the dressing table and unlocked it with a tiny brass key. He removed two red velvet bags and handed one each to Nanny and the sorcerer. “These bags are stuffed with gold coins. You and the babies should not want for anything. This should pay for whatever they need, whether it is food, shelter or staff.”
“There is something else.” The queen removed a silver pendant from around her neck. A circle, the size of a coin. She twisted the pendant and the circle snapped in two. It was, in fact, two necklaces joined together. She unwound the chains and handed one necklace to each godparent.
“I pray that all our family members will escape to safety. I pray that the girls will be reunited shortly. But I hand you these necklaces as proof of my love for my children. When they are old enough, they should wear these pendants every day so that, when the time is right, they will recognize each other again.”
The queen reached in the cradle and drew out the sleeping Alette. She held her close and breathed in the scent of her head as she did her favourite flowers. She passed Alette to Maneo, who held her competently if coolly. Then she reached for Audrey, who gurgled a little and moved a curled hand to her cheek. To her, the queen whispered something that none of them could hear. Nanny reached for the baby expertly, tucking the blanket around her and holding the stray little hand close to her own body.
The queen had managed to stay composed throughout this exchange, but now that she’d handed over her babies she felt the pain physically, as if she were detaching limbs from her own body. Yet this was something she had to do. For the babies. For the kingdom. For her own peace of mind. When it was done, she turned from the nanny and the sorcerer, crying with great heaving sobs as she continued to pack essential items into a trunk.
The king placed a kiss on each of his daughter’s foreheads and said goodbye, hoping that it was not for the last time.
THE TUNNEL
“Come with me,” said the nanny. Maneo followed her down the steps of the south tower, across a courtyard and through a heavy wooden door. Then she bustled along the corridor and down a stone staircase until they emerged at one end of a busy kitchen, full of people and noise. Copper pots clattered, the fire crackled and pans bubbled. The red-faced cook sang a song that seemed to mainly consist of curse words and everyone shouted over it. The smell of a bird roasting over the fire made Maneo’s stomach grumble. There was so much going on that you could have driven a pony and trap through the kitchen without anyone giving you a second glance. The kitchen hands barely noticed the nanny and the sorcerer, let alone the fact that they were carrying the two royal babies. Had they seen the bundles in their arms, they would have probably assumed that they contained firewood or ingredients.
Nanny led Maneo into the dry larder – a small square room lined with shelves. Onions and herbs hung in one corner and smoked sausages were strung up on the other side. The air was cool and pungent. Nanny pointed to a wooden crate behind Maneo. “Move that grain chest,” she whispered.
The chest was half empty and Maneo pushed it easily to one side, to reveal a wooden trapdoor. Nanny nodded to him to open it, which he did. “This tunnel leads to the back of the castle. Long ago, when I joined the castle staff, this was how deliveries were brought to the royal kitchen. I used it myself – standing out in the woods behind the castle to greet the carts. But since the new wing was built, access to the kitchen has been via the side door. No one, save the rats, has used the passageway for years now. I’d be surprised if they even remember it exists.”
Maneo nodded. “It’s perfect.” He passed Alette to the nanny and stepped inside, down the stone steps. Nanny followed carefully with the babies, closing the trapdoor behind her. The sudden cold made them shiver and the babies started to cry in unison.
“Shhh, shhh, shhh,” said Nanny, rocking them gently.
“They won’t hear us out there in the kitchen,” said Maneo. “We are well insulated down here. Besides, did you hear what a hullabaloo they were all making?”
Nanny made a sound that was something like agreement.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Maneo, “but I am about to cast two spells and there will be some bright flashes.”
Maneo cast his first spell. Despite the warning, Nanny jumped and both babies cried harder at the sudden flashes. This was a spell of light, illuminating the whole tunnel with a flickering light of the sort you might expect from a dying candle. After the initial shock this gentle light seemed to soothe the babies somewhat.
The second spell locked the trapdoor behind them and, inside the larder, there were creaks and scrapes as the grain chest moved back into position. No one would find the trapdoor in a hurry and if they did, it would be locked.
“Now the spells are cast, let me take Alette,” said Maneo, reaching for the baby. He held her at arm’s length and jiggled her.
Nanny was horrified. “Not like that! Glory be. You’d jiggle her teeth out if she had any.”
“This is not the time for childrearing advice,” snapped Maneo as the baby started wailing again. “We must get these babies out as quickly as possible, crying or no crying.”
There was just enough headroom in the tunnel for Nanny to stand, although Maneo had to stoop. It was cold and smelled of damp. Cobwebs covered the walls and ceilings. If somehow they got trapped in here, they would never be found. The steps led down for a time and then up, in a gentle V shape, as they travelled under the moat.
At the other end of the tunnel, Maneo pushed hard on the trapdoor and it creaked open. They emerged into the woods and looked around, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the light. No soldiers. No enemies or even friends. Just an ordinary woodland clearing flanked by mature trees: a large oak, a pair of silver birches and a tall and slender sweet chestnut.
They were free.
“We need to cover our path. No one must notice how we escaped; we may need this route again one day. Stand back, Nanny.”
Nanny stood her ground. “Just so we are clear, I don’t accept orders from a nineteen-year-old, even if he happens to be the queen’s favourite.”
“Then I advise you to stand back.”
Nanny huffed a little and shuffled a few paces away.
“I advise you to stand well back.” Still clutching Alette, Maneo lifted his wand arm and began muttering a new spell. The wand sparked and a loud creak made Nanny turn. The tall chestnut tree swayed dramatically as if caught in a gale. It bent further and further to each side until the trunk splintered, sending shards of bark flying. The magnificent tree fell slowly, in a controlled manner, pushing through the leaves and branches of the surrounding trees until it was lying flat on the ground, right over the trapdoor to the tunnel.
Nanny looked neither surprised nor impressed. She wandered back over to Maneo and rubbed her hand over the bark of the fallen tree, tracing one of the horseshoe-shaped markings on its trunk. “Poor old tree,” she said. “It had to die to keep us safe.”
“The tree is not dead, Nanny. Merely resting until we need this route again.”
Nanny nodded. “I fear that may not be any time soon.”
“No,” said Maneo, looking at his feet. “Now, Nanny, I wonder if it would be a good idea for you to put both the babies into my care for now. I can keep them safe with my magic.”
“No chance of that! You heard Her Majesty! She said they were safer apart for now and I for one am sticking to my side of the bargain. Even if I think both the girls would be better off with me.”
Maneo bowed his head. “Very well, but—”
Before he could finish his sentence, a twig cracked. Someone was watching them. Maneo looked around and saw a boy standing in the bushes. This was a child who clearly spent a lot of time outside. He wore a pair of short, ragged trousers and his feet and torso were bare. He carried a fishing rod and a cloth bag.
Still holding Alette, Maneo strode towards the boy and gripped his shoulder with his free hand. “What is your name?”
“They call me the Boy River, sir.”
“And did you see anything?”
“I saw everything, I think, sir.”
The boy did not seem scared. He held Maneo’s gaze, and the sorcerer felt he could trust this child.
“Are you loyal to our queen, Boy River?”
At this, the boy nodded vigorously. “She is a true and noble ruler.”
“The queen and her family are in grave danger,” said Maneo. “Do you know these woods well?”
More nods.
“I need you to guide this woman and child out of these woods, quickly and quietly. Use the paths that no one else knows.”
He released his grip on the boy’s shoulder. “It is important that you do not tell a soul about this. Not now and not afterwards. Do you understand?”
“I do, sir.”
Maneo believed him.
“My gratitude for your silence.” Maneo one-handedly opened his drawstring bag and pulled out a small gold coin, which he handed to the Boy River.
Nanny gasped. “That is more than I am paid in a month.”
“This is an important job and the boy deserves proper payment. The first thing we can do for these babies is to get them as far away from Essendor as we can.”
“Thank you, sir.” The boy put the gold coin deep into the pocket of his britches and turned around to begin his journey, beckoning to the nanny to follow him.
“Head to the east,” said Maneo. “Take a cart or a coach that is heading in that direction. Tell them she is your aunty, or some other similar story. You understand?”
“They are safe with me, sir,” said the Boy River, taking long strides through the ferns. The nanny bustled along behind him with Audrey in her arms.
“Farewell, Maneo,” she called. “May the Midnight Unicorn protect you.”
Maneo nodded and put a hand to his hat, but as he walked away, he muttered to himself, “I suspect that the days of the Midnight Unicorn are gone.”
THIRTEEN
YEARS
LATER
CHAPTER FOUR
THE SORCERER’S DAUGHTER
Alette
Alette strode into the room and slammed the door. Her leather boots were plastered with mud, which she deposited in a trail behind her. She stood shivering by the empty hearth and wrung out her waist-length black hair into a rope, leaving a puddle on the stone floor.
Her father, Maneo, did not look up from his work. He sat at the scrubbed wooden table counting something small, like grains of rice, into the sample pan of a set of brass scales. It looked like a tedious task. Alette would have thrown in a handful of the stuff and hoped for the best. But the sorcerer was engrossed, counting out one tiny grain at a time.
“I have been worried about you, my daughter,” he said.
“Worried about me? Worried that I might have been struck by lightning or swept away in the swirling torrents?” Alette laughed at the idea. She had been exploring these wild territories since she could totter on her own, turning pebbles in the brook and reaching for minnows. She could look after herself and her father knew it.
The sorcerer stood up and handed Alette a blanket. He spoke quietly, in a measured fashion. “I worry not for your safety in the storm, for what lightning bolt would dare to touch you when you are full of temper?”
Alette wrapped the blanket tightly around her hair and shoulders. Her temper had eased now.
“Where did you go?” her father asked.
Alette did not reply.
“Did you go to the forest?”
Alette raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “Yes, I ran to the forest. Then I ran to the river. I ran along the bank until the mud spattered my legs and then I stood by the water until the sound of the torrents nearly deafened me.”
“Why?”
“To escape this place. This cold place that is my home, my schoolroom, my … prison!”
The sorcerer nodded.
“And I stood by the waterfall until the sound filled the empty silence in my head. The silence of being here. The clock ticking. The potions slowly dripping into their glass vessels. You – and the irritating way you clear your throat!”
Her father stared at her, as if trying to read her mind. “You adopted your changed form.”
Alette nodded.
The sorcerer tightened his fists and the knuckles grew white. His voice still did not rise. “We have spoken of this. Of the danger.”
“What danger? Not a soul saw me. Unless you count the forest creatures or the fish in the river. There is no one in this desolate place.”
The sorcerer said nothing.
“I can’t help it, anyway,” said Alette.
The sorcerer shook his head. “You can help it. You have to help it. You must control this power and not let it control you.”
He took a deep breath. “There is something else.” The sorcerer could not read minds but sometimes he knew her too well.
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“After I stood by the waterfall for a time, I was calmer. But I was hot from the running so I went to the river’s edge to drink. I bent my head to the water and I saw a creature looking back.”
“Your reflection.”
“Yes. But there was another, next to me. She looked almost like me but not quite. I turned to greet her, but there was no one there.”
“The water was agitated by the storm, no doubt. This distorted the reflections and made you see things that were not there.”
Alette raised her eyebrows. She would not be fobbed off by this unlikely explanation. “I saw another. Another like me. This was not the first time and I know that she is significant. You cannot lie to me, I must know. Who is she?”
THE TWISTED DOUGH
Audrey
Usually, Audrey sang while she worked, but today, nothing was going her way so she didn’t feel in the mood. She had burned a batch of currant buns, and put twice the salt in the usual bread recipe. Another batch of buns was now in the oven upstairs. Mother said that this time she would take them out when they were ready.
Rather than waste the ingredients, Audrey took the oversalted white dough and began to pull, twist and roll. She was known in the village and beyond for her decorative breads. In the window of the bakery were a round wreath and a tall sheaf of wheat, painted with egg wash and baked to a shiny golden brown. Her father used to joke that since Audrey has taken over the window display, no one shopped with their competitor. This was funny because there was no competitor. There were only fourteen families in Lullgrove and no other bakeries for miles around.
Audrey smiled at the thought and continued kneading and shaping the stretchy dough. She had promised to make something special for the midsummer celebration next week. She breathed in the smell of the warm yeast and hardly thought what she was making. But the shapes began to form… A hill. Houses. Stairs from the bottom of the hill, twisting and turning all the way to the top. A castle, with pointed turrets and flags flying. A city. It felt like a real place to her. Like somewhere she had been before. But something was missing…
“What do you think, Shadow?” she whispered.
“To whom are you talking now?” asked Mother, her voice echoing down the wooden staircase. Her ears were as sharp as ever.
“Oh, no one.”
Her mother came down the stairs, red-cheeked and wearing a floury apron. She plonked the tray of loaves on the counter and a cloud of flour puffed up, obscuring her from view for a second. “You are getting too old for imaginary friends, Audrey. How many times do I need to tell you?”
“Sorry, Mother.” Audrey lowered her gaze. Mother was usually so good natured and easy to please but she was irritated by any mention of Shadow.
Shadow had been there in Audrey’s mind for as long as she could remember. She was as real to her as Mother and the memory of Father. Audrey spoke to Shadow at night when she was sad or lonely, sometimes asking Shadow for advice. There was no way she could give her up.
Shadow was speaking to her now, she felt. Sending her a picture. The message seemed to travel straight to Audrey’s hands, which were working quicker than ever. She wetted the dough by dipping her fingertips in a small bowl of water. That would help the tiny pieces stick.
Mother dusted off her hands on her apron and came and stood behind her daughter. She placed her hands on Audrey’s shoulders and gave them a tender squeeze. Then she gasped, staring down at the unbaked bread. “What is this?”
Audrey stopped and looked down at her creation. There was no doubt it was her best yet. Very lifelike, and those final touches had brought the whole scene together. A side view of two sleek horses, heads dipped and muzzles almost touching. No, not horses. Unicorns. A unicorn and her shadow.
Audrey’s mother cried out suddenly and crumpled at the waist. Audrey turned to catch her a second too late. Mother hit her head on the floor with a soft thump. She had fainted.
