by Anh Do
‘What was that?’
‘Let’s get some lights on.’
The overhead fluoros flicked on, starkly illuminating the interior of the supermarket. Footsteps sounded behind her, and the front door of the shop opened. Kelly was completely exposed, with no exit available. She put some distance between her and the spilled display, heading down the cereal aisle.
‘Spread out!’ called a voice, which she recognised as belonging to Raske, the Special Officer who had questioned her earlier.
‘Show yourself!’ yelled a man, whose voice she didn’t know, from near the check-outs.
Kelly ducked into a cross-aisle, past the cans of tomato soup. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to feel the other presences in the shop. Someone entered the aisle she had just left, and started moving along it towards her. His thoughts were dark, and his whole vibe was ugly.
I could be at home watching the game. I’m gonna make her pay for ruining my evening with the boys. Maybe I’ll pick her up by the neck and squeeze…
Kelly ducked into the aisle parallel to his. Once she was alongside him, she braced herself against the floor – then flung herself at the shelf and sent it crashing down into the next aisle.
The metal framework fell on an officer with a muscle-puffed chest, jars of chili sauce breaking all over him as he cursed.
The man, pinned under the shelf, was floundering. For a moment they stared at each other, and Kelly saw his badge said Officer Tony Bottinger. He had suffered lots of small cuts, and now chili sauce was getting into them. She couldn’t help but smirk.
‘What are you laughing at, you blasted unicorn?’ Bottinger shouted. ‘I’m going to stuff your head and hang it on my wall!’
Running feet approached, and Kelly raced away down the aisle and around a corner. Unicorn? As far as nicknames went, she didn’t mind it.
‘Leave him there!’ she heard Raske snap. ‘If we stop, she’ll get away.’
‘What?’ said Bottinger in disbelief. ‘Get this thing off me!’
‘We’ll come back for you, you oaf,’ replied Raske.
‘But chili sauce is getting in my eyes!’
Raske’s thought floated to Kelly. So this girl has some fight in her, eh? Maybe I can use Delgado as bait.
Kelly smiled. She was surprised that she could smile in such circumstances, but her ability to hear thoughts made her feel powerful.
Delgado went clomping off, and she could sense that he was making noise deliberately.
He’ll draw her out, thought Raske. I’ll move quietly and keep him in sight… and stun her when she attacks him.
Kelly padded up the aisle next to where Raske was sneaking along. She came to the toy section and spotted string bags full of marbles. Carefully, she took one down, then stooped to ground level so she could see Raske’s feet under the shelf.
Delgado’s clomping grew more distant, and Raske quickened his steps to keep his subordinate in view. Grinning, Kelly opened the bag and poured the marbles out under the shelf. Raske gave a yelp of
surprise as he lost his footing and smashed down on his back, knocking the wind out of himself.
Kelly whipped around the corner into the fresh food section and picked up a watermelon. Raske blinked up at her and tried to draw his stinger, but Kelly brought the watermelon down on his head. Pink pulp exploded everywhere, and Raske fell back, unconscious.
What was that? WHAT WAS THAT?
Delgado’s thoughts sounded panicked. Kelly remembered that he was young, and could not have been a Hornet long. She raced for the check-outs, grabbed one of the microphones and flicked it on.
‘Clean up in Aisle One,’ she said, her voice booming through the store. ‘Watermelon mess in Aisle One.’
‘Come out with your hands up,’ called Delgado in a wavering voice.
‘I don’t think so, Officer Delgado,’ she broadcast, and sensed a tremor go through him at the sound of his name.
I need backup, he thought.
Kelly dropped the mic. Backup could get here within minutes. There was no more time for fooling around.
She sped from the check-outs and rounded a corner to see Delgado fumbling for his comstick. When he saw her, he forgot the stick and raised his stinger towards her shakily.
‘Don’t move. I have you in my sights.’
Kelly tossed her golden mane, her horn glistening in the harsh lighting, then sped off down another aisle. The zzz! zzz! of electrical bolts passed through the air she had just vacated. She tore around the shop in a few seconds and came back at Delgado from behind. He was frantically looking back and forth, but he couldn’t suspect she had moved that far, that fast. He turned just in time for her to careen into him and send him flying.
Delgado’s stinger flew from his grip and bounced, shooting a bolt into a sprinkler above and setting it off. He landed in a daze, water raining down on him.
Kelly ran for the front door and wrenched it open.
‘All units! Suspect fleeing Clyde’s on foot!’
Bottinger, covered in sauce, staggered towards her with eyes blazing.
‘You can’t escape us, girl! We’re everywhere! Don’t you know that?’
‘Sorry you missed the big game tonight,’ said Kelly, and enjoyed the look of surprise in his eyes. ‘Say hi to the boys for me.’
She dashed into the carpark, the sound of zzz! zzz! following her into the night.
10
Good Friends
William stormed into his private chamber, which did not look like it belonged on a plane. The carpet was plush and red, and always made him feel like he was walking through flames.
Elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceiling and tinkled prettily whenever there was turbulence. In the corner, a four-poster bed was stuffed with the feathers of a thousand geese. The walls were a veneer of marble – his engineers had insisted thick slabs would impact on the plane’s speed, the worthless cretins. On them hung his most treasured paintings. He’d ordered them to be placed here so they could be with him at all times; his jet was more of a home than any of his castles, thanks to his frequent travels.
William stopped in front of the portrait of his parents.
‘You understand, don’t you, dear Mother and Father? You understand why I have to have her.’
Arthur and Catherine James gazed upon him with implacable expressions. His father was dressed in a suit that cost more than most people’s annual income, and wore a black rose on his lapel. He looked like William, but more fleshed out, healthier and harder. He had been merciless in business, and taught William some harsh lessons – and William had learnt them well.
Catherine was the more intimidating of the two, a raven-haired woman with a prouder jawline than either husband or son. Any threat to her family had been answered with calculated reprisal, and she had no qualms about throwing the weight of their vast fortune or network of contacts against anyone she felt deserved it. With William she had often been distant, but it made the times when she was warm all the more precious.
This painting was among the few in his collection that he had not painted himself, yet it was his most valued. It never occurred to him that there was a lesson in that.
‘She clearly belongs in my collection,’ William told them. ‘Beauty is just an idea unless it can be possessed!’
Just like love, he thought, his eyes growing misty.
William’s parents had been killed when he was just nineteen, run off the road on the way home from a function. The other car had not been found, and even though it had never been proven, William had always suspected foul play. His parents had had plenty of ruthless business rivals, and any of them could have been responsible.
Whoever the culprit, William was satisfied they had been served justice. Having learnt everything his parents had to teach him, he had taken over their empire and run all their competitors into the dirt. He had sunk billions into acquiring every bit of the Kingdom he could, every asset money could buy. The KG had started as a private secu
rity firm contracted to guard him at all times, but as their ranks and funding swelled, they had grown into William’s private army.
After that, no king, queen, politician or businessperson had been able to stand against him. And once he had discovered the Grail and the Ring, taking ultimate control of the Northern Kingdom was easy.
‘I guess,’ he told his parents, ‘if you had not died, I might not have taken over so completely.’ William paused, as if waiting for a response. ‘Yes, as far as silver linings go, that one sparkles brightly.’
Still, whether William would admit it to himself or not, he resented his parents for leaving him so suddenly. Abandoning him to the wolves, the hangers-on. Everyone wanted something from him. No one could be trusted. The only thing that could be trusted was wealth, power, and the things it could get you.
He moved to the next portrait. It depicted three men, and he’d enjoyed painting it very much.
At school, William’s poor health and awkward manner had left him without friends. It seemed that not even his family’s vast wealth was enough to make him popular. Then one day, aged sixteen, he’d had an idea. He paid a trio of popular boys to include him in their circle. They had taken his money and, for a day, pretended to be nice to him. All was going to plan until the other kids started to tease the trio for befriending the school dropkick, and, without skipping a beat, they had turned on William and beaten him up.
Decades later, it had been easy enough to track them down. Now their portrait reminded him not to trust anyone.
‘Enjoying the view, lads?’ William said jovially. ‘Might have some new company to hang beside you soon. Would you like that?’
The three men stared back with fear in their eyes, fear which William had chosen to keep in the picture when he painted them.
‘Oh, you must be lonely,’ he chuckled, ‘and missing your families. I wonder if your wives have moved on by now. How are your kids? Hopefully not beating up anyone at school!’
William moved back to the middle of the room and addressed the entire collection.
‘In any case, I’m excited to let you all know that you will soon be joined by my latest and greatest acquisition: the beautiful Golden Unicorn. You’d enjoy that very much, wouldn’t you?’
The paintings stared back at him, as lifeless and static as ever.
‘Of course you would!’ said the Collector, and laughed. ‘And the good news is, you won’t have to wait long!’
11
The Seeker of Lost Things
Stanley entered the KG supply room carrying a small backpack. The guard on duty glanced up from his netpad.
‘Can I help you, sir?’
‘I hope so!’ said Stanley. ‘I want to see if we have any zoom lenses. Got an old book to translate, you see. It’s got the smallest writing, you wouldn’t believe it. You know, the interesting thing about ancient dialects is …’
The guard’s eyes glazed over. He waved Stanley through – the Chief Archaeologist was well known to all, and roamed the jet as he pleased.
Stanley moved past him into a long metal cage filled with cabinets, shelves and racks of equipment.
He opened a door to the optics cabinet and glanced back at the guard. The man was facing away, reading an article on LifeScape titled ‘Top Ten Burrito Recipes’. Stanley slipped along to the weapons rack.
He took a couple of blue EMP grenades and put them in his backpack, using Prophecies and Portents to keep them apart so they wouldn’t clink. He also took a small concealable stinger pistol and slipped it into his jacket. Then he moved back to the optics cabinet and picked up a small box of lenses.
‘Found them,’ he informed the guard in a jolly tone as he walked past, waving the box. The soldier grunted in response, still clicking through recipes.
‘Approaching the Capital,’ came the pilot’s voice over the PA. ‘Please take your seats.’
Stanley went to the main cabin and found the Collector already buckled into his velvet seat. Behind him was Captain Aiken, with three Elite goons.
William waved at the seat across from him. ‘Join me, won’t you?’
Stanley sat as the plane descended. He was acutely aware of the weaponry he was hiding, and hoped his jacket wasn’t bulging.
‘Everything all right?’ asked William.
‘Yes, Soul Collector. Just a bit of a headache.’
‘Make sure you pop a cure-all, then. I want you sharp for this hunt. The Golden Unicorn must be mine.’
Stanley was shocked to hear William call her that. Had he somehow figured it out?
‘That’s an … interesting name for her, Collector.’
‘Pretty obvious really,’ sniffed William. ‘She’s got golden-blonde hair and a magnificent horn sticking out of her forehead. What would you call her? Miss Pointy?’
He snickered at his joke, and Stanley relaxed a little. William had just given the girl an accidentally accurate nickname, that was all.
‘So,’ said William, ‘by now you’ve had time to consider all this, I’m sure. What has caused this girl’s transformation?’
Stanley pursed his lips and made a show of being thoughtful. He had played dumb for too long already, and had to give the Collector something or the man would suspect he was holding back.
‘She’s unique, that’s certain,’ he said. ‘And her behaviour on the recording demonstrates a functionality to her adaptations. Her speed and the defence mechanism of a horn seem to operate in synergy. It makes me wonder if there is some design to her, rather than a random mutation.’
‘Interesting,’ said William. ‘You think she might have been genetically modified?’
‘Possibly,’ said Stanley.
‘But what about that light that shone from her? Surely that speaks of magic.’
Stanley frowned. ‘Collector, I would like to visit Capital Hospital. A doctor examined her there, and X-rays were taken.’
‘We can have them sent to your netpad,’ said William. ‘I’ve already had a look myself.’
‘Yes, but I would like to speak to this Doctor Sidhana directly. There may be some clue he did not think to include in his reports. You know how people are – sometimes they need to be probed. Sometimes they know more than they realise.’
William chuckled. ‘You sound like Aiken. Very well. I’ll head to the Capital’s KG Headquarters and speak to the mother. You go to the hospital. Keep me updated on any developments.’
‘As you say, sire.’
After touchdown, they exited the jet to a line of black cars with tinted bulletproof glass waiting on the tarmac, glinting in the midday light.
William moved straight to a car. ‘Aiken, your lot is with me.’ He turned to a couple of regular guards, two young men. ‘You two, take Mr Solomon to Capital Hospital.’
Stanley sat in the back of the car as it wove between grey buildings. He pulled Prophecies and Portents out of his backpack and pretended to examine it. He reached into his jacket and retrieved the stinger, using the book to shield it from view as he dialled down its strength. His stomach was doing somersaults. He was not used to this kind of thing, but he could not help the Golden Unicorn if she was a prisoner of the Collector – or worse, if she was painted. He had to find her before William did.
‘Pull over here, please,’ he said.
‘Our orders are to take you to Capital Hospital.’
‘I know,’ Stanley snapped. ‘But I’ve just spotted something which may lead us to the Collector’s prize. Shall I tell him that you didn’t help me when I asked?’
The guard in the passenger seat nodded to the driver, and they pulled into a side street.
‘Thank you,’ said Stanley. He raised the stinger from behind the book and shot the driver on the shoulder – zzz!
The other man twisted around in surprise, his hand going to his holster, but his seatbelt prevented him. Stanley hoped the young guards wouldn’t be punished badly for letting him escape.
He zapped the young man in the chest.
/> Stanley wound the window halfway down. He grabbed a grenade, slid his thumb across a panel to arm it and a digital timer appeared, counting down from ten. With three seconds left, he threw the grenade out the window and ducked down in his seat.
There was no great blast, or even the sizzle that Stanley expected. Instead there was a very low whumpf, a moment of silence and then …
On the main road, cars ground to a halt. Lights failed in the surrounding buildings. Lifts stopped. People started panicking. Most importantly, security cameras blacked out. The EMP grenade had knocked out all electrics in a two-block radius.
Stanley shouldered his backpack, got out of the vehicle and put on a cap to cover his face as best he could. Until power was restored, he would travel unseen by the surveillance network. He walked swiftly through growing crowds of confused people pouring out of buildings and motionless cars.
He knew this was a massive gamble. Was this riddle really going to lead him to the Golden Unicorn? Was he the ‘seeker of lost things’, or had he made an incredible mistake?
His plan was to find somewhere to hide until he could figure it out. What is it that the more you take, the more you leave behind? For the life of him he couldn’t solve the riddle, but if he could find somewhere quiet and spend more uninterrupted time studying the book …
Stanley checked his backpack, and his stomach sank. The book was not in there! What had he done with it?
Then he remembered using it to cover the stinger while he adjusted its strength. He hadn’t returned it to the backpack.
I’m on my own, he thought in despair. I’m never going to be able to…
Stanley arrived at a garden entrance and stared at the sign, disbelieving. ‘Footsteps!’ he murmured, with growing amazement. ‘The more you take, the more you leave behind!’