The Darkest Unicorn

by Alice Hemming

  Thandie was relieved to see that Kemi did not veer off towards Mount Opacus. She tried to guide Kemi, tilting her head in the direction that she wanted to travel, pressing gently with her knee in Kemi’s opposite side, as she might do with a horse. She found it difficult to tell if it worked, or if Kemi had understood her earlier request, but the wolf seemed to know where to go.

  They travelled towards the Grey Mountain – up and over it. Thandie grew quite cold as they flew over the peak. It was interesting to see the scenery change from green trees to grey rocks as they crossed over to the Essendor side. It was much more obvious from up in the air than from ground level. As soon as they were over the mountain, they began their descent. Kemi adopted a shallower angle for the downward flight, so Thandie didn’t slide quite as much as she had done before.

  Thandie kept her eyes open, and the first thing she saw when she was through the clouds was the reassuringly solid stone turrets of Essendor castle, flags fluttering in the breeze. The journey that would have taken her days took less than an hour for a flying wolf. Thandie wished that she could travel that way all the time. She would see the whole kingdom.

  They landed on the mountainside across from the castle, perhaps a mile away. It was a smooth landing. Kemi dropped down on to her paws more lightly than Thandie would be able to manage if she were jumping from a stool. She folded in her wings as she did so, and Thandie leaned to her right-hand side and tumbled out on to the soft grass.

  Kemi sat on the ground for a while, panting. It was a longer journey that the flight to the castle in the clouds had been. Flying wolves were not really meant to carry people, it seemed.

  Thandie thought of how the wolves had devoured the grat that Sander had thrown to them outside the castle in the clouds, and she felt bad that she had nothing to offer.

  “I’m sorry – I have no food,” she said, and stroked Kemi’s head.

  Thandie played them both a recovery tune on the pipe. Then Kemi got to her feet and walked to the nearby stream, where she lapped up the water thirstily. Thandie did the same, scooping it up with her hand and drinking from there.

  When they had finished, they looked at each other just as they had done in the woods earlier.

  “Do you want to come and meet my people … my pack?” Even as she asked the question, Thandie realized it was probably not a good idea. Kemi and her kind were shy creatures, who hid away in the mountains for a reason. The last thing they needed was for greedy people to come along and exploit their potential. Thandie had lived under King Zelos’s rule for long enough to realize that some people would do anything for power.

  By the looks of things, Kemi was not planning to stay around anyway. The rest of the pack would be missing her. She hoped that they didn’t mind her absence.

  Kemi came to Thandie’s side and rubbed against her briefly, in what Thandie interpreted as a gesture of farewell. Then she assumed her crouching position as she had done on the cloudy mountain. And Thandie watched her leap into the air. She had only witnessed this once, because the other times she had been riding the wolf herself. It was a more graceful leap than the one she had seen Conan perform, probably because Kemi had no rider on her back to weigh her down.

  Kemi soared into the air in the direction of Essendor, swooped in a low circle, then up towards the Grey Mountain. Thandie wondered if she would ever see the wolf again but she felt strongly that she would. Kemi didn’t seem the type to be affectionate towards just anyone. They had a bond.

  But for now, Kemi was going home.

  And so was Thandie.

  HOME

  Thandie

  Home. It was impossible to hear that word without an accompanying picture. Home, if you were lucky, was a place that meant warmth and security. A place where you could be yourself. A place where you could eat, laugh, argue, cry, think and be. Sometimes all of those things together.

  For a long time, Thandie’s vision of home had been quite clear. Home to her meant two people: Thandie and her mother. Home was their little stone cottage and their fierce love. For a long time after her mother’s disappearance, Thandie had clung stubbornly to that definition and refused to replace it with anything new. But since her journey, she had realized that a different place now really meant home to her. The table where she ate laughed and argued had many people squashed around it and there was often no space to think or be, let alone cry. But Madam Tilbury’s was Thandie’s home and as she emerged from the woods and caught a glimpse of the little house, tears sprang up in her eyes.

  Behind the tears was a little panic. What if they had written her off as missing? What if they had found a replacement for her? There were plenty of needy children in Essendor and only two beds in the little room she shared with Hetty. What if they were angry with her for disappearing and decided they didn’t want her back?

  But as these questions flapped in her brain like trapped birds, she saw a figure in the boys’ bedroom, looking out over the flat roof with a spyglass. It was too tall to be Tib. It must be Finch. Bird-watching, no doubt. But he hadn’t yet recognized her. She waved with both hands, high above her head. After a while, he looked in her direction, training his spyglass on her. He must have seen her. He disappeared from the window.

  Thandie kept on walking towards the house, still waving even though he had gone from view. Moments later, the front door swung open and three figures rushed out. Out of the house and towards her.

  She was home.

  FINCH, TIB AND HETTY

  Thandie

  All three of them ran in her direction, waving madly. The first to reach her was Finch. Good, strong, reliable Finch. He had grown even taller, she was sure, and he seemed to be growing a beard. He hugged her briefly and then stood back to gaze at her, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was back.

  “You did it!” he said. “We heard. Ma and Berwick have gone to find you. They’ve taken a coach around the road to meet you. How did you miss them?”

  So the news had reached them. “I took a shortcut,” said Thandie. More detailed explanations about flying wolves could wait.

  “You’ve done a very good thing, Thandie,” he said.

  Hetty was next to reach her but she held back and let Tib catch up. He was running slowly and lopsidedly, one arm holding something in his jacket. He didn’t embrace her, but greeted her with a wide, warm smile. “I’ve got a surprise for you!”

  He opened the flap of his jacket and there in the crook of his arm was a yellow, fluffy duckling. “My egg hatched,” he said proudly.

  Thandie reached out and gently stroked the fluffy down with a single finger. “So I see.”

  “Guess her name,” he said.

  Thandie tapped her chin. “Quackles?”

  “No!”

  “Webster?”

  “No! Her name is Thandie. I called her that just in case you didn’t come back.”

  “But I did come back, didn’t I?”

  Tib nodded happily. “Yes, just like you promised. Maybe I’ll give her a new name now.”

  Tib put his left hand in Thandie’s and leaned up against her, still holding his duckling in his right arm.

  Hetty was the last to greet her.

  It was strange, but despite their arguments, Hetty was the one she had thought about most on her journey. Perhaps the one she’d missed most. Like a sister.

  Hetty stood back, hands in the pockets of her apron, not looking in Thandie’s direction. Thandie had to go right up to her, Tib shuffling alongside. Was Hetty still angry after all this time?

  When Hetty looked up, her eyes were full of tears. She looked wary of Thandie, as if she didn’t know what to expect. They just looked at each other for a couple of moments and then Thandie reached out to Hetty with her free arm. Hetty returned her hug and started crying properly, on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you. And I’m sorry for the way I was when you left but I felt like the whole thing was my fault – daring you to go off in the dark – and I didn’t know how to s
top you… I thought something had happened to you…”

  Thandie squeezed all the sorries and all the love she could manage into a one-armed embrace. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I was before. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed having someone to play and sing with and share a room with and I’ve even missed our squabbles and not-speaking.”

  Hetty laughed in between her tears. “Me too.”

  Thandie grinned. “It’s good to be home,” she said.

  BACK ON THE ROOF

  Thandie

  Ma Tilbury and Berwick weren’t yet back, so the four of them looked after one another that day. They didn’t ask Thandie too many questions, and they told no one yet that she was home. She would need to speak to the royal council, to tell them everything that she knew, but not yet.

  That evening, they sat on their old favourite spot, the roof, until Tib decided he was ready for bed. They all agreed that they were just as tired, especially Thandie, who would be happy to sleep for a week.

  “I want Thandie to tuck me in tonight,” said Tib.

  “Of course you do,” said Hetty, kindly, kissing him on the head and leaving the room.

  Tib jumped into bed and sat up, waiting for her to perch on the end.

  “Here, this is yours,” said Thandie, handing him the catapult. “It’s broken, I’m afraid.”

  Tib inspected it. “That’s OK, it looks easy to fix. Did you use it to fight the bad unicorn?”

  “No.”

  His face fell.

  “Not to fight the unicorn, but it did come in very useful.”

  Tib looked satisfied with this and stashed the catapult in the drawer of his nightstand. He lay down and Thandie tucked the blanket all around, the way that he liked. It was a much cooler night then it had been before she left.

  “Can I have a story?” he asked.

  Thandie smiled. She had plenty of stories to tell, about castles in the clouds, laughing lakes and flying wolves. She knew that Tib would love to hear all about her adventures but she wasn’t sure if she was quite ready to tell him. Not yet.

  “I can do better than a story. I bet you didn’t know that I could play the pipe?”

  Tib shook his head and Thandie brought out her pipe. “This is the most powerful tune I know. This song freed the stolen ones.”

  She put the pipe to her lips and played Linnell’s song. Only now it wasn’t Linnell’s song any more. It belonged to her and Tib and anyone who wanted to play it. Tib snuggled right down so that just his eyes were peeping over the coverlet and listened. Thandie thought he might be falling asleep but when she had finished playing, he moved the blanket under his chin and said, “I like it. Does it have any words?”

  Thandie nodded, put down the pipe and started to sing. She tried not to worry that her voice wasn’t as sweet as Linnell’s. Tib wouldn’t mind; he was just glad to have her home. And the words said everything she wanted them to.

  “To me you are the mountain,

  To me you are the sea,

  To me you are the forest,

  You’re everything to me.”

  Tib yawned. “Thandie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Shall we take my duck to the pond tomorrow?”

  “I would like that, yes. Goodnight, Tib.”

  THE END

  EPILOGUE

  Ma Tilbury and Berwick returned the next morning, delighted to have their foster daughter home. The royal council interviewed Thandie. She told them everything she knew, about the castle in the clouds, and the Greatest Unicorn.

  They went there with an army, just in case. They found the castle. Deserted and crumbling away. It seemed that buildings built with magic alone did not last long. Not a soul there. Thandie checked that last part: there was no old woman lying dead in a back room? But, no. Not a soul.

  Soon after, Princess Alette returned from her quest with a cure for Queen Audrey’s sleeping sickness. The beloved royal family was back, the curfew was lifted and the Midnight Unicorn returned to Essendor again. Nobody knew where their protector had been but the return of the unicorn meant that life would get back to normal again.

  For Finch, Hetty, Thandie and Tib, that meant swimming in the river, arguing on the roof and playing Merels inside the city walls as the sun went down.

  Acknowledgements

  A big thank you to Fiz Osborne, Emma Young, Pete Matthews and all at Scholastic for making this book happen.

  To my lovely friends and family.

  And to the Streamers for their ongoing writing support.

  HAVE YOU READ

  THE MIDNIGHT UNICORN?

  READ ON FOR AN EXTRACT…

  THE SNAPPED BOUGH

  The city of Essendor stood on a hill, a stone castle at its summit. Small but sturdy houses were squeezed into every available space and stone steps twisted and turned down the hill. One warm day in early autumn the red swallowtail flags fluttered on the turrets of the castle. A new queen, just married, sat on the throne and there was a celebratory feel in the air. Bunting hung in the market square where some street performers had attracted a crowd.

  An arched bridge led through a gap in the city’s walls and across the river to the fields beyond. Two young mothers crossed the bridge with their broods. One had an infant strapped to her back and the other held a child by the hand. Five more children walked or tottered along behind. The families were off to gather the first new berries of the season. They would each make a pie at the end of the day and if any berries were left over after baking, they would box them up to sell at the market. The hedgerows were so laden with fruit that they could pick blackberries all morning and never exhaust the supply.

  Some of the older children minded the younger ones; the others got to work, although the purple stains around their mouths and the lack of fruit in their baskets gave them away.

  The sweet, orangey smell of wild bergamot blew on the breeze. Time passed quickly, with singing, joking and city gossip. The women wondered about the price of goat’s cheese at the dairy stall, whether this warmer weather would last, and why the queen’s brother had left Essendor so suddenly.

  They were so engrossed in their chat that they barely noticed one of their youngest break away in search of his own entertainment. An old willow tree with an inviting Y-shaped trunk stood close by. The little one climbed up with fearless agility. He inched along a bough which hung over the river below. On another day, all may have been well, but today the wind was blowing in the wrong direction or the stars were not aligned as they should be. The brittle bough, which had held fast all summer, snapped.

  The sound of a branch splintering and a piercing shriek alerted the mothers. They dropped their baskets and rushed to the source of the cry, trying to piece together what had happened.

  The child had fallen six feet and now clung on to a rock protruding from the steep bank above the river. He was just two summers old.

  He saw his family looking and cried out in anguish. As the mother panicked, her eldest child began to scramble down the bank to retrieve him. But the descent was slow and the little one’s pink fists could not hold on. His grip loosened and he tumbled down the bank, head over heels in a sickening acrobatic display. He vanished under the water as the movement of the river turned him on to his stomach and carried him along.

  The mother gasped as if winded and the elder sister screamed, “He can’t swim!”

  The older children raced along the river, trying to keep up with the little boy as he tumbled along in the river’s current. The mothers followed, making sure that the younger ones were with them – they didn’t want to lose any more of their number. For a few yards, trees and overgrowth shielded the boy from view, then a little further along, the ground level dropped and there was a gap allowing access to the river. By the looks of things, anglers – possibly poachers – had fished there in the past. The families scrambled through and looked frantically up and down the river. The boy should have reached this point by now. His mother stared into the flowin
g water, holding on to her friend for support. The child was nowhere to be seen.

  But then, from behind them, came a cry. A powerful cry, from a healthy little boy. There he was on the bank, shivering behind a bush, wet through but unharmed. His mother rushed to him, hugged him tightly to her chest, stripped off his clothes and wrapped her shawl around him. He was mottled and red from the cold and would soon be covered in bruises, but he was still able to cry lustily. His mother’s embraces and some blackberries from the basket soon soothed him.

  The woman looked around for someone to thank. It was inconceivable that her son, who was unable to swim, could have made his way to the side of the rapidly flowing river and clambered up the steep bank. But there was no rescuer in sight.

  “Who pulled you out?” she asked the child.

  “’Orse,” said the little boy. “’Orse with a ’orn.” He indicated on his head where a horn might be found.

  The two women looked at one another questioningly.

  “A unicorn?” whispered the mother in disbelief.

  The boy nodded. “One ’orn.”

  “Was the unicorn silver?” asked the friend, who knew a thing or two about such animals. “With a spiralling horn and a flowing mane?”

  The boy shook his head. “Like midnight.”

  “A midnight unicorn,” whispered the mother to her friend. And louder into the empty woods, “Unicorn, if you are here, thank you for saving my child!”

  From that day, he was known as the Boy River. His story spread quickly across the city and he enjoyed some fame, which was soon forgotten. But the Boy River never forgot that he was the first to set eyes on the Midnight Unicorn of Essendor.