Guardians of the Wild Unicorns

by Lindsay Littleson

“Langcroft needs the unicorns.” Bitterness soured her voice. “You might be older, but you’re brainless. I can’t believe you’re going to inherit Langcroft when I’m the one who’s putting all the work into keeping it afloat.”

  “I didn’t ask Uncle Donald to make me his heir, Ailsa…” The man sighed. “Anyway, you have to tell him what’s happened.”

  “No way,” snapped Ailsa. “I’ll just say I’ve looked everywhere but can’t find the ruddy animal. Anything could have happened. Maybe it got lost, or fell into a loch.”

  “There’s no chance of keeping this a secret. I mean, somebody else might have seen you. There are people all over the place: climbers, ramblers, school kids on residentials.”

  Ailsa sighed impatiently. “Why do you think I let the animal roam all afternoon? The moor was like a kids’ playground yesterday. I had to wait until they all headed back. Trust me: there was definitely no one about last night.”

  “That’s what you think, you bampot.” Rhona’s whisper echoed round the narrow space and she gasped, horrified by the noise she’d made. But outside the conversation carried on.

  “And even if one of those wee brats filmed it and stuck it on YouTube, who would believe it? People would think it was a hoax. Unicorns don’t exist, remember?” Ailsa’s laugh was chilly. “Mind you, a horse with a glued-on horn is still an animal. People are so pathetically sentimental, they’d be less bothered if I shot a person.”

  The man gasped. “This really isn’t funny, Ailsa, though I don’t know why I’m surprised. You’ve always had a mean streak. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did to poor Thumper.”

  “I still don’t see why you got a pet and I didn’t,” she said airily. “I set your stupid rabbit free – it’s not my fault a dog ate him.”

  The air twanged with tension. A jagged rock was digging into Rhona’s back. The air was stale, the smell sulphurous.

  “I still think you should go and see Uncle Donald tell him what happened. Losing the stallion is going to wreck all his plans for a unicorn breeding programme.”

  Unicorn… Rhona finally remembered where she’d heard that voice before. She whispered in Lewis’s ear. “His name’s Alex McAllister. The storyteller from last night.”

  Lewis put a finger to his lips. Ailsa was speaking again, her voice icy.

  “You don’t get it, do you? We’re not telling Uncle Donald the stallion’s dead.”

  “Give me one good reason why not.”

  Ailsa’s voice was stone-cold. “Because I’m taking its horn.”

  “What? You can’t do that!”

  “What do you think we should do with it then? Donate it to charity? Unicorn horns are worth money – a lot of money. More than elephant tusks or rhino horns. Imagine what beautiful objects craftsmen will be able to make with them…”

  Alex snorted. “Nobody will ever believe they’re real. It’s a crazy plan.”

  “It’s been the plan all along, you dope. Remember last summer, when I went on safari to Africa? I wasn’t taking photos of giraffes and ruddy wildebeest, I was meeting traders. I’ll be able to sell the horns, alright, if I have DNA evidence that they come from an unknown species.”

  “Come on, Ailsa, talk sense.” Alex’s tone was mocking. “Even if you have a piece of paper to back you up, who’s going to believe that it’s a real unicorn horn? It’ll never work.”

  “It doesn’t matter. People will convince themselves the horn is real, if they want to believe it badly enough. Just like you and Uncle Donald have convinced yourselves these creatures have magic powers.”

  “But they do.” Alex spoke quietly, but with complete conviction.

  Ailsa scoffed. “If everyone else is as gullible as you, I’ll be a millionaire in no time. The fact that the horns are real is just a bonus.”

  Rhona crouched against the damp rock, feeling sick. Her brain filled with images she’d glimpsed on television: heaps of tusks, white as bone, long as spears; muddied elephant corpses buzzing with flies; tiny orphaned calves; blank-eyed poachers with guns slung over their shoulders. When terrible stuff like that came on the news, Mum tended to flick channels, back to the safety of celebrity quiz shows or cooking programmes, where ugly, tragic real life wasn’t allowed to intrude. And now animal poaching had come here, to this beautiful Highland moor. It was going on right in front of them and they were helpless to stop it.

  Alex was speaking, his voice trembling with disgust. “So let me get this clear. Uncle Donald told me this was a conservation programme, to boost the unicorns’ numbers. Are you telling me it’s a cover for a trade in horns?”

  “Uncle Donald thinks we’re planning a conservation centre for unicorns, but he’s an idiot. I’m running it and I’ve got other plans.”

  “Ailsa, you can’t be serious…”

  “I’m deadly serious. Maybe you didn’t notice while you were off partying at uni, but Langcroft is in deep trouble. The estate costs a fortune to run and Uncle Donald’s broke. That’s why we’ve had to let visitors in.” She gave a bitter laugh. “You might not care, but I do. Langcroft’s my home. Mine. I won’t lose it because you and Uncle Donald can’t face up to reality.”

  “But unicorn numbers are tiny. These are the only ones left in the whole world! You can’t take their horns—”

  “This is what’s happening, Alex: we’re going to breed the unicorns and we’re going to make money from their horns. Losing the stallion is a setback, but we’ve still got thirteen mares – one of them pregnant already – and two young colts. They’ll replace the stallion in the long term. Think of it as a unicorn farm. People breed alpacas, don’t they?”

  “It isn’t the same,” said Alex. Rhona thought he sounded close to tears again. “Not at all. You don’t hurt an alpaca when you shear it. For all you know, hacking the horn off a live unicorn might kill it. Uncle Donald will never let you do this, he loves unicorns! We both do, since—”

  Ailsa’s voice snapped like a trap. “Not again. I’m sick hearing about how brave wee Alex and kind Uncle Donald went on a camping trip together and rescued a unicorn from a peat bog. Blah boring blah.”

  Alex groaned. “Let it go, will you? Listen, I won’t be part of this. I won’t hurt any unicorns.”

  Rhona heard a scrabbling sound, boots slithering on mud.

  “Alex, where are you going? You’d better not be leaving me alone with this… situation.”

  “Watch me. I’ve had it with you. I can’t believe we’re actually related.”

  There was a loud click. Rhona’s breath caught in her throat. Beside her, Lewis gulped.

  “Put the gun down. Stop behaving like an idiot, Ailsa.” Alex sounded more irritated than afraid, but Ailsa’s reply was chilling.

  “I’m not joking, Alex. I’ll shoot you, just like I shot this stupid beast.”

  “You’d never get away with it,” There was anger in Alex’s voice, and a tremor of fear. “Uncle Donald will know you did it.”

  “Lots of poachers around, bro. Accidents happen.”

  Outside, silence fell. Rhona could hear the drip of water, steady as a clock’s tick. Then Alex spoke again.

  “Put that blasted thing away. I’ll help you get rid of the evidence, but I’m not going to do anything while there’s a gun pointing at my head.”

  Rhona tightened her grip on Lewis’s hand. His palms were sticky with sweat, his body rigid. His breathing was raspy and seemed so loud in the confined space that Rhona was afraid they’d be overheard.

  “Thanks, bro!” Ailsa’s voice was bright, as if nothing had happened. It made Rhona shiver.

  “Let’s go back and get a harness or we’ll never lift this beast.”

  “There’s a harness and a hoist in the stables,” said Alex, sounding defeated.

  “And a hacksaw.”

  “A hacksaw?”

  “Weren’t you listening? The value’s in the horn.”

  For endless minutes, Rhona and Lewis huddled, stiff and cramped, waiting until the Land
Rover trundled off.

  “We need to get out of here.” Rhona half-pushed Lewis towards the entrance and then tried to follow, feeling a flutter of panic when her jacket got wedged tight. Lewis helped tug her free, but then all his adrenaline seemed to seep away. His knees buckled and his legs wobbled. She sat him down on a rock and went over to pay her respects to the unicorn.

  Surely there’s something I can do for it, she thought, something to show that its death is mourned.

  As she wiped away tears, her hand brushed against the chain round her neck. Of course…

  “Rhona, we need to go. We need to be well away before they come back,” said Lewis.

  Carefully, reverently, Rhona ran her hand through the unicorn’s silken mane. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  11

  Lewis

  Rhona flung open the door of the Outdoor Centre and both of them toppled inside.

  “Woah!” Mr Deacon glowered at them, put his coffee cup down on the table. “What on earth are you two playing at?” He pointed an accusing finger at Lewis. “This note said you’d be back in half an hour! You’ve been gone for twice that. I was about to come and look for you.”

  Lewis wanted to spill the whole story. This was too serious for two eleven year olds to deal with by themselves. They needed to pass the buck to a responsible adult. But he was struggling to get his own head round what had happened. How could he expect someone else to believe him, particularly if that someone was Mr Deacon? They weren’t exactly on good terms. He’d go as far as to say the teacher actively disliked him. Deacon was always picking on him, trying to make him do stuff he didn’t want to do, like work in groups or play team sports.

  In last term’s report Mr Deacon had written that Lewis needed to ‘develop his interpersonal skills’. Mum had laughed and said that, loosely translated, he meant Lewis was the class grump. Lewis had been pretty offended by the whole thing. It wasn’t against the law to prefer working on your own, was it?

  But this was serious, deadly serious. And this wasn’t about him.

  “We found a dead unicorn,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “We need you to call the police.”

  Mr Deacon raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, very funny. Ha blooming ha. Dead unicorn indeed. You’ve been a liability on this trip, lad. I thought you’d gone and got lost again. And Rhona, you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on him.”

  “He isn’t joking, Mr D.” Rhona pulled off her jacket. Her cheeks glowed, scarlet as traffic lights. “We only went for a dauner. But then we saw found a deid unicorn. Honest!”

  Mr Deacon’s eyes softened. “Oh, I get what’s happened,” he said, using a kindly tone Lewis wasn’t used to hearing. “That wasn’t a dead unicorn you saw. It would be a red stag. I’m afraid there’s always the risk of seeing an animal being shot up here in the Highlands. The gamekeepers have regular culls of the deer. I’m sorry you two had to see that, I really am.”

  Lewis shook his head. “Mr Deacon, it wasn’t a stag. It was—”

  “It was a stag, Lewis. Let’s stop this right now, eh?” Mr Deacon raised a warning hand, then picked up his cup and took a swig. “You’re back safely, and that’s the main thing.”

  There was a firm note in his voice, and Lewis got the message loud and clear.

  A door swung open and one of the catering staff bustled in, carrying a tray. She gestured at Mr Deacon with a jutting elbow.

  “I saw the two lassies coming in and thought you might like some lunch. The others took most of the ham, but I’ve made some cheese sandwiches.”

  Mr Deacon beamed. “Thanks, Janet. You’re a star.”

  Rhona growled, and gestured at Lewis, who felt his face flush.

  Leave it, Rhona.

  “We’re no’ two lassies. We’re one girl and one boy. You need to get yoursel’ some specs.”

  Janet peered at Lewis, her eyes narrowed, as if she thought he was trying to trick her. “You should get yourself a haircut, lad. How on earth was I to know?”

  Mr Deacon sighed. “There was no need to be rude, Rhona. The last thing we need is grumpy catering staff. They might run off and leave us to starve.”

  Rhona grabbed a cheese sandwich from the plate and took a large bite. “You should have said something yoursel’ then, shouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, you’re right. I should. I’m sorry, Lewis.”

  Lewis gawped. If he’d spoken to Mr Deacon like that, he’d have got the hairdrier treatment and double detention. “It’s OK. It doesn’t bother me. I know who I am,” he said.

  Mr Deacon grinned at him and gestured at the plate. “Come on, you two, let’s eat outside. It’s too glorious a day to be stuck indoors. And Lewis must be starving after all last night’s drama.”

  They headed outside and sat on a bench by the main entrance, munching and chatting away.

  The sandwiches were delicious, cheese and tangy pickle in thick slices of white bread. There were grapes too, and glasses of apple juice.

  Lewis was half-listening to Rhona and Mr Deacon’s chat when he heard a car engine, loud and throaty, as if the exhaust was shot. Looking up, he saw a beaten-up Land Rover, bumping over the rutted road, heading straight towards them.

  Rhona’s face was bright with panic.

  Mr Deacon shaded his eyes so he could check out the driver. “Someone’s in a hurry. This isn’t the M74, pal.”

  The Land Rover swerved to the right, braked too fast and slid to a halt by the bench. A girl swung down from the vehicle. Lewis guessed she was about nineteen. She was tall and angular, dressed in a tweed jacket, jeans and boots. Her hair was ash-blonde, cropped short.

  Lewis noticed that Rhona’s hands were trembling as she zipped her parka up over the lower half of her face and pulled her hood down.

  “Stay calm,” he murmured. “Maybe it isn’t her. And even if it is, she’s never seen us before in her life.”

  “Good afternoon!” called the girl, striding towards them. “I’m Ailsa McAllister, gamekeeper at the Langcroft Estate. Are you staying here at the Outdoor Centre?”

  Mr Deacon ran a hand through his thinning hair and tried to smooth it down, but the wind was too strong and greying strands waved in the air like octopus tentacles. “Yes, we are,” gabbled Mr Deacon. “We’re on a school trip; we’ve come all the way from the East End of Glasgow. It’s an amazing experience for our pupils. Some of them have never been out of the city before. We’re having a fabulous few days, aren’t we, kids?”

  Lewis and Rhona nodded in agreement, though Rhona kept her face half hidden, chin tucked into her parka. Lewis was about to whisper that her disguise was pure rubbish, but when he glanced at her face he could see fear in her eyes.

  “Oh, yes. You must be from the group my brother Alex visited to do a storytelling session.” Ailsa smiled at Mr Deacon.

  She was very beautiful, in a chilly, elegant, fashion-model sort of way. Her lipstick was a slash of red, her eyebrows immaculate curves, her eyes cat-like, but Lewis thought her smile looked as friendly as a she-wolf baring her teeth. Even her voice seemed fake friendly, so unlike the way she’d spoken to her brother.

  “Yes, the kids really enjoyed the storytelling. It was good of your brother to come along,” said Mr Deacon, beaming. “I’ve heard great things about the Langcroft Estate’s outreach programme. You do impressive work for young people with your team-building activities.”

  “That’s my brother for you, always super-keen to help. And Uncle Donald loves to encourage children from inner-city areas to come along and explore the facilities – for free.” Ailsa smiled again, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We’ve always got hordes of children running around. Well, we’ll get a break tomorrow – a group has cancelled.”

  Mr Deacon’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh really? We tried to get a slot at Langcroft when we booked this trip, but you were full up… Is there any chance we could come along tomorrow morning instead?”

  Ailsa’s fix
ed smile didn’t slip, but Lewis saw annoyance flash in her eyes.

  “Of course, how lovely. We’ll look forward to that very much.”

  She can’t think of a reason to say no, Lewis thought, so she’s not as smart as she likes to think. And she obviously doesn’t have a clue we’ve seen the unicorn. The tension in his shoulders started to ease.

  “By the way,” said Ailsa. “I found something that might belong to one of your pupils.”

  She was addressing Mr Deacon, but her amber eyes swivelled between Rhona and Lewis.

  She rummaged in her pocket, held out one hand. A St Christopher’s medallion glinted in her gloved palm. Lewis glanced at Rhona.

  Rhona bit her lip, but said nothing.

  “That’s yours, isn’t it, Rhona?” said Mr Deacon, completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere. “I seem to remember asking you many times not to wear that medallion in the gym.”

  Rhona swallowed, held out a shaky palm. “I must have dropped it yesterday when we were abseiling,” she said. “Thanks for bringing it back. My mum gave it to me when I was small. It’s… it’s supposed to bring me luck when I’m travelling.”

  “Rhona’s always losing stuff.” Lewis tried to keep his voice casual, but even to him, his tone sounded fake.

  Ailsa turned towards him and stared, unblinking, as if she was trying to extract information from his brain.

  “Well, I’m delighted to be able to return it!” Ailsa turned to Mr Deacon and held out her right hand. “It has been a pleasure to meet you and your delightful pupils. Please do come tomorrow. I’ll get Alex to organise some outdoor activities for you all!”

  She got into the Land Rover and drove off, gears crunching.

  Mr Deacon rubbed his hands together. “Well, isn’t that terrific! Right, we’d better head inside so I can carry on with these reports.

  “Would it be alright if we stayed out here for a while?” Lewis racked his brain for an excuse. “Um… I was thinking I could start work on my personal research project. The capercaillie is on the RSPB’s red list. That means it’s in real danger of extinction. Scott says he thinks he heard one in the pine wood behind the Centre. I’ve got my sketchbook and binoculars with me…”