He climbed back into the cockpit and set his rucksack on the seat. Cornelius climbed up on top of it, like a step stool. "I'll need a little boost, I think."
Nate placed his hands on the dodo's solid backside and pushed. The dodo gave a fluttering hop but didn't quite make it over the side.
"A bigger boost, if you please, and mind the tail feathers!" the dodo said over his shoulder.
He was a surprisingly dense bird, and far heavier than he looked. Nate pushed again, this time harder. Maybe too hard. The dodo, propelled by Nate's push and his own
flapping momentum, shot over the side of the plane and landed with a graceless splat. He squawked, then gathered himself clumsily to his feet.
"You're welcome," Nate muttered under his breath, then went to help Aunt Phil with the guivre. He'd rather handle a slippery, floppy dragon than that stupid dodo—at least the guivre didn't think Nate was worthless.
"All right," Aunt Phil said when she spotted Nate. "I'll take the head, you take the tail. The closer we get to the river, the more excited the guivre will get, so you'll need to hang on tightly."
She stepped into the cargo hold and carefully pulled the net-wrapped dragon toward her. Leaving him wrapped in the netting, she grabbed his head, and Nate—after a few tries—managed to snag his tail. "Let's go, then," Aunt Phil said, and headed for the river.
The guivre seemed to have lost some of his energy from being out of water and didn't wriggle quite as much as he had before. Even so, Nate was hot and sweaty by the time they reached the riverbank. When the guivre caught sight of the river, he quickly became overjoyed. He bucked and rolled, trying to get to the water. "Hold on!" Nate laughed. "We're almost there."
"On three," Aunt Phil ordered. "One, two, THREE!" With a gentle swing, they launched the creature out past the riverbank and into the river. Before they had even let go, he was diving into the water, rolling and splashing and corkscrewing until he'd completely disappeared.
Nate smiled at the playful beast. He would never have dreamed a dragon could be so unscary.
Without warning, the guivre burst through the surface of the river one last time and launched a stream of clear, cold water straight at Nate and Aunt Phil. It caught Nate on top of the head, and he spluttered in surprise. Aunt Phil laughed. "You're welcome!" she called out as the guivre dived back beneath the surface.
Chapter Four
AUNT PHIL CAME OVER and put her hand on Nate's shoulder. "Now, that was a job well done."
Enjoying the warm, satisfied feeling inside him, Nate had to agree.
"Let's go find Mr. Sylvan, shall we, and see what's wrong with our unicorn."
A tiny voice spoke in Nate's ear. "Ask her now."
He glanced down at his shoulder. "What?"
"Ask her abouts keeping me while she's all happy about that big worm you just rescued."
Nate glanced nervously at Aunt Phil. The gremlin had a point. His aunt was in a good mood. He gathered up his courage and fell into step beside her. "You said we would talk about keeping Greasle as a pet once we finished with the wyverns."
"Oh, Nate, there are too many things to think about right now, with the guivre and the unicorn and Obediah. We'll talk about it later."
Later. Always later, Nate thought with a sigh. They walked along in silence for a while before he spoke again. "Where do you think he went?"
"The unicorn is a she, actually."
"No. Obediah. Where do you think he'll go next?"
Aunt Phil gave a grimace of frustration. "I don't know."
"But if you had to guess..." Nate knew he should just be quiet, but he couldn't help himself. It was like an itch he had to scratch.
Aunt Phil shrugged helplessly. "I can't understand what the man is up to, so I can't even begin to predict what he'll do next."
Nate thought about that for a moment. "What'll we do if we can't find him again? How will we ever learn more about my parents' disappearance?" Nate flinched. He hadn't meant to ask that last question out loud.
Aunt Phil stopped walking and turned to put her hands on his shoulders. Nate swallowed nervously. "Nate, if I thought for one moment your parents were still alive, I'd charge off to Spitsbergen myself and look for them. But they're not. Your father would never have given up The Geographica if there was a breath left in his body."
"But if Obediah has The Geographica, why'd he search your house? Or my house, for that matter?"
"I don't know," Aunt Phil said. "I have no idea how the man's mind works or what exactly he's after. But you have to let go of this idea that your parents are still alive. There is absolutely no evidence to support your belief, and it will only bring you heartache."
She was so certain, Nate realized. So absolutely certain. He was desperate to wipe that certainty off her face. They are alive! he wanted to shout. But it was clear she wouldn't change her mind, no matter what he said. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would distract him from the tangle of hot ugly feelings that were threatening to swamp him.
Sensing his distress, Greasle reached out and stroked his arm.
Aunt Phil gave him a brisk pat on the back. "Besides, Nate, that man won't stay hidden for long. Like a bad penny, that one is. He'll turn up soon enough. Shall I tell you of unicorns while we walk?"
Nate didn't want to talk about unicorns, but apparently he didn't have any choice since she wouldn't talk about Obediah. Not trusting his voice, Nate nodded.
"Unicorns are one of the rarest creatures on earth. Their numbers have dwindled drastically in the past two hundred years, especially the Unicornis europus."
Nate found he was interested in spite of himself. "You mean there's more than one kind of unicorn?"
unicornis europus
"The exact number of species is a matter of some debate among experts. The Unicornis europus is the one you've probably seen in stories and on the tapestries in museums, as it is indigenous to Europe.
It looks very much like a small horse or large deer with cloven hoofs, a long tufted tail, and a horn sprouting from its forehead. But there are other species as well. One of them, the monocerus, is quite hardy. It is best known as the rhinoceros and thrives on the plains of Africa."
"Rhinos aren't unicorns!"
"Actually, they are. Or one type of unicorn, anyway. It was the rhino that Marco Polo described on his journeys to Asia. And even though no one refers to them as unicorns anymore, they are still hunted for their horns."
"Why would anyone want their horns?" Nate asked.
Cornelius snorted. "Oh, honestly. The boy is hopeless. Why would anyone want their horns, indeed."
unicornis monocerus
"Quiet, you," Aunt Phil told the dodo.
"Oh, looks!" Greasle said, pointing to the sky. "A bird what can fly!"
Cornelius sent the gremlin a quelling glance but shut his beak with a snap.
Aunt Phil cleared her throat in warning to the both of them before continuing. "Unicorn horns are extremely rare and worth quite a lot of money. Queen Elizabeth the First had one that was valued at ten thousand pounds. They are able to remove poison from both food and water. Ground up into powder, they act as a very effective healing agent. Some say they even bestow long life."
"Do the unicorns have to be dead for the horn to work?" Nate asked.
"No, but try telling that to all the rabid hunters over the centuries." Aunt Phil's voice was thick with disgust.
"So wouldn't Obediah want the horn for himself, like he wanted the wyverns' treasure?" Nate knew he needed to stop bringing up Obediah, but he couldn't help it. He braced himself for a scolding, but Aunt Phil's next words surprised him.
unicornis elasmotherium
"Normally I would agree with you, Nate, but you see, according to Mr. Sylvan, the unicorn's symptoms have been growing over the last several weeks, getting especially worse the past two. As you and I both know, Obediah couldn't have been anywhere near her, as he was with us in Africa."
Frustrated at her answer, Nate kicked a
t a pinecone on the forest floor.
"Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Then there is the Unicornis elasmotherium. It is related to the monocerus as the elephant is to the woolly mammoth."
"But I thought the woolly mammoth lived back in the Ice Age," Nate exclaimed.
"Very good, Nate! Yes, they did. But there are reports that the elasmotherium lived during recorded history as well. The first and last reported sighting was by Sir Mungo Fludd during his travels through the area we now call Mongolia. He claims to have seen one with his own eyes, being hunted by the local people of the steppes.
chinese qilin
"Then, of course, there is the Chinese qilin, which we Western beastologists know very little about. Crespi Fludd, one of Mungo's sons, was the first to hear of this creature during his extensive travels to China. It's not very much like other unicorns, having the head of a lion and being covered in green scales. The only true similarity is the long, curling horn that protrudes from its head. In fact, some suspect that it is not a unicorn at all, but a horned chimera."
"What's a key-mee-ruh?" Greasle asked.
unicornis indicus
Aunt Phil frowned at the question. "It is a three-headed beast from Greece, which I will tell you about some other time. There is also the Unicornis indicus," she said, returning to unicorns. "But it has been so rarely seen that many beastologists doubt that it ever truly existed. The one and only sighting was by Mauro Fludd back in 1481, during his travels through India and Asia." Her sigh was full of longing. "I would dearly love to see one. According to Mauro, it was distinct among unicorns in that it was brightly colored. While its body was white, its head was dark red and its eyes dark blue. The horn was on the short side—only one and a half feet versus the more common three to four feet. But the colors! The base of the horn was white, the middle section black, and the sharp tip was crimson." She sighed again. "They say you can even recognize the bones of the creature, as they are the color of cinnabar. Watch your step, now. Some of those branches are rather low."
The forest had grown thick around them. The trees were now so tall that Nate couldn't see the tops of some of them, and they grew so close to each other that their branches were tangled together. It was quiet, too—as if the trees and leaves had absorbed all the sounds around them. The forest floor felt springy underfoot.
It was chilly in the shade of the trees, Nate realized, and reached down to button up his jacket. He could hear Greasle's teeth chattering, so he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She wrapped it around herself like a blanket.
"Why are there so few unicorns left?" Nate asked.
"Now, that is the sad part of the story, I'm afraid. For one, they were heavily hunted for centuries, everyone wanting a unicorn horn of his own. And if you didn't need the horn's healing powers for yourself, you could always sell it for its weight in gold. But other things affected the unicorn population, not just hunting. As more and bigger cities appeared, they ate into the beasts' forest habitat. Unicorns are very solitary creatures and need large, uncluttered territories. But nowadays, everywhere you look, there is a new village or town springing up, like toadstools after a rain. Then came the Great War." Aunt Phil's face grew very grim.
"Miss Lumpton mentioned the Great War in one of her lessons. The war to end all wars, she called it."
"Let us hope so. That long, bloody battle lasted four years. Not only was it devastating for the people involved, it did terrible things to the unicorn population as well. The sheer horror and death and agony of war affected the unicorns like a poison. The mortars and bombs, the toxic gases released, all of those things took a huge toll on the unicorns. We lost most of the remaining ones during that time."
Nate was silent as he digested this tragedy. War sounded too horrible to imagine.
"Ah, look," Aunt Phil said. "Here's Mr. Sylvan's house now."
Nate looked up to find they were in a small clearing. A cozy little cottage sat backed up against the trees. It had wooden sides, bright blue shutters, and a cheerful yellow door. The window boxes were full of orange and purple flowers, and on the roof, a tiny chimney stuck out at a jaunty angle, like a feather in a cap.
As they drew closer, Nate heard strains of a lovely, haunting melody floating on the air. "Is Mr. Sylvan making that music?" he whispered.
Aunt Phil rolled her eyes. "No, that is Mr. Sylvan's gramophone. Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun, by Debussy. Mr. Sylvan claims it was written in honor of his grandfather."
"I prefer 'Clair de lune,' myself," Cornelius muttered.
Just then, the front door opened and Mr. Sylvan himself stepped out. Nate's mouth fell open.
From the waist up, Mr. Sylvan was shaped like a man, although a strangely dressed one. He wore a tweed vest and a red silk necktie, but no shirt. However, from the waist down...
"What happened to his legs?" Greasle whispered.
Nate could only shake his head in surprise. From the waist down, Mr. Sylvan was shaped like a goat.
Chapter Five
"NATE, I'D LIKE YOU TO MEET MR. SYLVAN, caretaker of the forest of Broceliande and head faun of Lodge Two Hundred Forty-Seven."
Mr. Sylvan put his hand out to shake. Nate remembered to close his gaping mouth before grasping it. It was a solid hand, with calluses on the palm.
"Mr. Sylvan, this is my nephew, Nathaniel Fludd, the new beastologist-in-training."
"Very pleased to meet you, I'm sure," Mr. Sylvan said. But Nate was too busy staring at the two small horns sprouting from the top of Mr. Sylvan's head to return the greeting.
However, while Nate was staring at the faun, the faun was staring at the dodo. His eyebrows rose up in puzzlement. "Have you brought me a"—he squinted—"a giant duck, then?"
Perched on Nate's shoulder, Greasle slapped her knee and gave a great guffaw of laughter. The faun glanced at her, rubbed his eyes, then opened them again.
Cornelius gave the faun a cold, disdainful stare. "I am a very rare Raphus cucullatus," he said, twitching his tail feathers in annoyance.
"Otherwise known as a dodo," Aunt Phil said dryly. "And I'm afraid he's not a present, but my traveling companion."
"A scaredy-cat is more like it," Greasle muttered in Nate's ear.
"Ah, yes, well, do come in," the faun said, looking a bit dazed. "I imagine you'd like a cup of tea after your journey. Although I had hoped you'd be here a little sooner," he added, with a faint note of reproach.
"We were delayed relocating a guivre," Aunt Phil explained.
"I suppose you relocated him into one of my rivers," Mr. Sylvan said with a sigh.
Aunt Phil grinned. "Yes, actually. Just outside the forest. It's plenty big enough, and most of you lot know enough not to be frightened by him."
Mr. Sylvan's cottage was dark inside and smelled faintly of pipe tobacco. Next to the fireplace, an umbrella stand held a half-dozen long-handled toasting forks. A battered copper kettle full of flowers sat on the only table. Mr. Sylvan removed the flowers, filled the kettle with fresh water, then put it on to boil. "Have a seat, have a seat," he clucked at them.
Nate looked around, but all the chairs were piled high with books and newspapers and notepaper.
"Oh, forgive me." Mr. Sylvan hurried over and dumped the piles onto the floor. "I've been very hard at work on my book."
Nate's eyebrows shot up but he didn't say anything. Mr. Sylvan threw Aunt Phil a worried glance. "Is the boy mute?" he asked in a low voice.
"No," Aunt Phil said with a wry smile. "And he's not deaf, either."
Deciding he should say something, Nate cleared his throat. "What sort of book are you writing?" he asked.
"A history on the nature of forests, from a faun's perspective, of course. I don't feel anyone but a faun can truly understand the forest. Ah, there's the kettle." He leaped up, his hooves making a hollow clatter on the wood floor. He sprinkled a handful of tea leaves into the kettle, gave it a stir or two, then poured it into three thick mugs. He handed one to Aunt Phil
, then Nate. Nate stared down at the bits of twigs and flower petals floating on the surface and wondered what sort of tea it was. He pretended to take a sip, then set the mug down carefully.
Aunt Phil took a hearty sip of hers, then sighed in satisfaction. "Now, Mr. Sylvan, tell us what is wrong with Luminessa."
"Well, it first started a few weeks ago, when her mood became a bit standoffish."
From what Aunt Phil had told him of unicorns, that didn't sound all that unusual. Nate hoped they hadn't been called out here for nothing. "Didn't you say unicorns like to be alone?" he asked Aunt Phil.
But it was Mr. Sylvan who answered. "True enough, Mr. Fludd, but do you know why it is that fauns are caretakers of unicorns?"
"No, sir."
"It's because of this." He stood up and pointed to his goat haunches, which made Nate smile.
Mr. Sylvan smiled back. "We are only half-human. Our other half is also a creature of the forest, much like the unicorn. Because of that, we are only half as threatening to a unicorn as a human. They tolerate our presence fairly well."
"But you say she hasn't been tolerating your presence?" Aunt Phil asked.
"No, she's been irritable and snappish, chasing me away when I come up to check on her. She's also become a right little thief, nicking things that don't belong to her. The first thing I noticed missing was my tablecloth, the lovely chintz one you gave me three Christmases ago. She took it off the clothesline. Next were the tea towels. The following week, she reached that long horn of hers through the window and snagged the pillow off my bed!"
Aunt Phil frowned in consternation. "That is odd behavior. Especially for Luminessa."
"And that's not all." The faun shifted uneasily in his chair.
"What else, then?" Aunt Phil asked.
The faun stood up again, his face turning red. "She even took a bite out of me! Right here, see?" The faun turned around and presented his hindquarters to Aunt Phil.
The Unicorn's Tale Page 2