Stalking the Unicorn: A Fable of Tonight

by Mike Resnick

  "Well, he'd damned well better not! That wasn't part of the deal!"

  "It doesn't matter,” said Mallory. “None of us are in any danger at the moment."

  "Why don't you tell me why you think so, and I'll decide whether or not you're right,” said Mephisto sulkily. Suddenly the magician noticed that his teeth were chattering, and he wrapped his cape around himself again. The chattering continued.

  "All right,” said Mallory. “Do you know where the Grundy's flunkies are?"

  "Committing crimes, I suppose,” said Mephisto. “Or maybe hunting for his enemies,” he added morosely.

  Mallory shook his head. “They're hunting for Larkspur.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I'll tell you something else."

  "What?"

  "They're not going to find him."

  "What makes you say that?” asked Mephisto.

  "Because he's dead."

  "How do you know?” demanded the magician, startled. “Have you seen his body?"

  "No."

  "Then what makes you think he's dead?"

  Mallory pulled out the leather strap. “The desk clerk found this in Gillespie's room. He thought it was a dog leash.” Mallory paused. “But Felina says there haven't been any dogs in the room, and if this thing had been attached to a dog, she'd have smelled it.” He tossed it to Mephisto. “It's a lead shank. You attach it to a halter to lead an animal around."

  "All that means is that Gillespie stole Larkspur,” protested Mephisto. “We already know that."

  "It means more than that,” replied Mallory. “He'd never have packed it away in his room if he thought he'd be needing it again."

  "Unless he already turned Larkspur over to the Grundy,” pointed out the magician.

  "Then why is the Grundy livid? Where are all his flunkies?"

  "He's always in a bad mood,” replied Mephisto. “As for his flunkies, New Year's Eve is prime mischief-making time for them. Do you know how many businesses they can loot and how many drunks they can roll before sunrise?"

  "He's furious because Gillespie has double-crossed him, and his henchmen are hunting for the unicorn,” repeated Mallory confidently.

  "How can you be so sure?” said Mephisto dubiously.

  "Because we're still alive,” replied the detective. “He knows that we're looking for Larkspur. He hasn't had any luck on his own, so why kill someone who might lead him to what he's looking for?"

  "Stop saying we!" snapped Mephisto nervously. “He doesn't know about me!"

  "It doesn't make any difference. You're safe as houses until he finds the ruby. I'm the one with the problem."

  "You?"

  Mallory nodded. “How long will that membrane stay open now that Larkspur's dead?"

  Mephisto rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It's difficult to say. It all depends on what time he was killed. I'd guess you have between three and five hours left.” He looked up suddenly. “My God, what a tragedy!"

  "I thank you for your concern,” said Mallory, startled by the magician's earnestness.

  "I'm not referring to you,” said Mephisto.

  "Thanks a heap."

  "It's the city!" said Mephisto fervently. “Do you know what will happen to it?"

  "Nothing,” said Mallory.

  "You're wrong! Crime will run rampant! There will be muggings and rapes and murders! The streets won't be safe to walk!"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Who do you think commits most of the crimes in your Manhattan?” said Mephisto. “People from here! Didn't you ever wonder why so few perpetrators of violent crimes ever get caught? It's because they go to your world to commit them, and then come back here to avoid pursuit! And now they're all going to be trapped here! Life will be intolerable—it will be just like your Manhattan!"

  "You'll adjust,” said Mallory. "We did."

  "How do you adjust to acts of mindless violence?"

  Mallory opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly realized that he had no answer. A noise behind him saved him from having to admit that fact to Mephisto.

  Mallory and the magician turned to find a uniformed night watchman unlocking the door to the Stock Exchange from the inside.

  "You!” said the man, pointing at Mallory.

  "Me?” asked the detective, startled.

  "You came here with a cat-person, didn't you?"

  "Yes."

  "I thought so. I saw you through one of the windows."

  "What about it?"

  "You'd better come with me,” said the watchman. “She sneaked in here somehow or other, and I can't get her out."

  "Perhaps I could be of some assistance,” said Mephisto. “I'm a magician."

  "I don't care who the hell takes her out of here, as long as someone does,” replied the watchman irritably. “I called the cops, but it's New Year's Eve and they're too damned busy.” He paused. “The bastards actually told me to chase her out myself!” He turned on his heel. “Follow me."

  Mallory and Mephisto fell into step behind the watchman as he led them across the marble floor of the outer lobby and up to a set of huge double doors that opened onto the trading floor.

  "She's in there,” said the watchman, backing away.

  "You're not coming with us?” asked Mallory.

  The watchman shook his head vigorously. “You couldn't get me into that place for a million bucks!"

  "Why?” asked Mephisto suspiciously. “It's just the floor of the Exchange, isn't it?"

  "Right."

  "Then why are you afraid to go there?” persisted the magician. “Thousands of people work there every day."

  "If it was daytime I wouldn't have any problem,” said the watchman. “But it's different at night."

  "Different in what way?” asked Mallory.

  "Ghosts!" whispered the watchman.

  "Ghosts?"

  The watchman nodded. “Every night at midnight they start wailing and moaning, and they don't quit until maybe an hour before sunrise. The whole damned place is haunted."

  "If you won't go in there, how do you know that the cat-girl is there?” asked Mephisto.

  "I saw her,” replied the watchman. “She must have climbed up an outside wall and come in through an open window. Anyway, I saw her climb down the main stairway and sneak onto the floor on my security monitor."

  "And she's still in there?” asked Mallory.

  "She hasn't come out. Of course, I won't vouch for the fact that she's still alive."

  Mallory walked to the door and opened it, while the watchman edged away. “Come on,” he said to Mephisto.

  "I'm considering possible courses of action,” replied the magician hesitantly.

  Mallory looked around the trading floor. “There's nothing here."

  "Hah!” said the watchman.

  "You're sure?” asked Mephisto.

  Mallory made no reply, but began walking into the gargantuan room, which was dominated by the overhead ticker-tape screen. Stacked against the sterile walls were literally hundreds of computer terminals and screens and telephones, with still more efficient data and communications stations scattered across the shining, polished floor. He walked down the artificial aisle formed by the technical marvels, and after a moment's hesitation Mephisto followed him.

  Suddenly the door slammed shut behind them.

  "Felina!” called Mallory.

  "Here,” said an unhappy voice, and Mallory looked up to see the cat-girl perched atop a huge computer complex.

  "What are you doing here?” asked the detective.

  "I told you—something was dying."

  "And you ate it,” concluded Mallory.

  "It cheated!” she said, morally outraged.

  "Cheated? How?"

  She shrugged. “It vanished."

  "It dissipated,” said a hollow, mournful voice.

  "Who's that?” demanded Mallory, spinning around.

  "You've nothing to fear,” said the voice. “I mean you no harm."

  "Where are yo
u?"

  A transparent lavender form started to coalesce in the air about fifty feet away, just above a mainframe computer. It disappeared, then took shape again in the middle of an empty aisle, an elongated figure with two dark, empty, staring eyes and a mouth of indeterminate proportions. Its outline was vague and seemed to wither away into nothingness toward the bottom.

  "I apologize if my appearance startles or frightens you,” said the apparition. “I used to be able to do much better."

  "Who are you?” asked Mallory.

  "I am a Genie of the Market.” It paused. “In fact, I am the very last Genie of the Market."

  "Was that you doing all that moaning and wailing?"

  The Genie's outline wavered, and some of the color seemed to leave it. “That was my final companion, pouring out his grief and misery before he died,” it said mournfully.

  "He vanished!” pouted Felina.

  "I don't know exactly what a Genie is supposed to look like,” said Mallory, “but you don't appear so healthy yourself."

  "I am dying,” sighed the Genie, turning a pale gray.

  "Why?"

  "Lack of sustenance. I am starving to death in a world of plenty."

  "What do Genies of the Market eat?” asked Mallory.

  "Excitement. Suspense. Fear. Triumph.” The Genie began vanishing, and pulled itself together with an obvious effort of will. “Ah, you can't know what it was like to live here in the old days! To see billions made and lost in an hour, to live through Black Tuesday, to watch the robber barons make their raids and then claim their just and terrible vengeance!"

  "But billions are still made and lost every day,” noted Mephisto.

  "It's not the same,” said the Genie. “Look around you,” it continued, forming an arm and pointing to the endless rows of screens and terminals. “Where are the men, where is the activity? Once this place ran through paper by the carload; now can you see so much as a single wastebasket? Everything is done by computers. Orders are taken, trades are made, financial empires rise and fall—but there's no emotion to accompany it, no excitement. Where is the urge to build a personal fortune, the drive to destroy your opponent and trample him into the dust of Wall Street, the thrill of triumph and the despair of defeat? All is gone, dissipated on the wind, just like my companions."

  "Surely there is still some emotion left,” said Mallory. “Hundreds of people work the computers. They must feel elation and depression."

  "It's not the same thing,” said the Genie with a sigh that echoed through the cold, empty room. “They have no personal stake in what goes on here; most of the money belongs to pension funds and other institutions. Besides, the machines make the decisions; the men and women are just glorified clerks, carrying out their mechanical masters’ orders. Such feeble emotions as they feel constitute nothing more than a starvation diet to us. John D. knew that; that's why he chose to die."

  "John D.?"

  "My fallen companion,” said the Genie. “I am J. P."

  "For J. P. Morgan?” asked Mallory.

  "Yes,” said J. P. “Now there was a tyrant, a man of enormous hates and enormous loves!” The Genie began glowing a bright purple as he spoke of his long-dead namesake. “The week the market crashed, he spent two hundred million dollars of his own money trying to prop it up single-handedly. He must have given sustenance to fifty Genies all by himself!” The Genie, glowing ever brighter, was lost in a reverie of recollection. “And when he used to come in here after battling with Teddy Roosevelt, the air absolutely crackled with energy. You know, we used to have fistfights breaking out on the floor almost every day."

  "Times change,” said Mallory.

  "I know,” sighed J. P., his color fading. “And, like the dinosaur before us, we stagger off to extinction, not with a bang but a whimper. I don't even think I'll mind. It's very lonely to be the last of your kind. A day, a week, a month, and I'll be joining my lost companions."

  "I'm sorry,” said Mallory.

  "Don't be,” said J. P., a dull gray once again. “It happens to all species—including Man.” His outline seemed to become even less substantial. “John D., Cyrus, August—I'll see you soon, my friends!"

  And then he was gone.

  "Sad,” commented Mallory.

  "He cheated,” sniffed Felina.

  "He probably felt that he had been cheated,” commented Mallory pensively, “even if he never figured out exactly how or why."

  "We'd better go,” urged Mephisto. “Winnifred ought to be out front by now."

  Mallory nodded. “Come on, Felina."

  The cat-girl jumped lightly to the floor and raced to the door ahead of the two men.

  "Now get her out of here,” said the watchman as the three of them left the trading floor.

  "We're leaving right now,” said Mallory. “And I don't think you'll be bothered much longer by your ghosts."

  "Good riddance!” said the man. “The nerve of those damned ghosts—scaring decent men who are just out to make an honest living!"

  Mallory made no comment, and a moment later he, Felina, and Mephisto were standing on the sidewalk in front of the Stock Exchange. It had started to slush, a kind of half-rain and half-snow that had the worst features of each.

  "What time is it?” asked Mephisto, holding a hand to his forehead in a vain attempt to keep his glasses dry.

  Mallory checked his watch. “Two-thirty, give or take a minute."

  Mephisto frowned. “Damn! Something's happened to Winnifred!"

  "She's not that late,” replied Mallory soothingly.

  "I've known her for the better part of fifteen years,” said the magician, “and she's never once been late for an appointment."

  "Why don't you take a look around the corner?” suggested Mallory. “There's an entrance there too. Maybe she's waiting in the wrong place."

  Mephisto nodded and walked carefully down the sidewalk, which was decidedly slippery, then turned right at the corner. He returned a few minutes later, holding up his cape so that it wouldn't trail in the slush, then wrapping it around himself again when he reached Mallory.

  "No luck,” he announced grimly. Suddenly he looked around. “Where's Felina? If she's back in the Exchange again, I say we should just leave her there."

  "I sent her back to the Morbidium to wait for Winnifred and Eohippus, just in case they show up there for some reason,” answered Mallory.

  "Good idea,” said the magician. “I never did like cats, anyway."

  "Well, that leaves you and me,” said Mallory.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that our next logical step is to find out what happened to Winnifred and Eohippus."

  "It's obvious what happened to them,” replied Mephisto. “They ran into trouble."

  "Then we'd better get them out of it."

  "Look,” said Mephisto defensively, “I just agreed to do a little fact-finding. I have no intention of going up against the Grundy."

  "I thought Winnifred was your friend."

  "She is—but I wouldn't take on the Grundy if my own mother's life was at stake!"

  "You don't have to,” said Mallory. “He may not even know they're on our side."

  "Your side. Not our side."

  "I stand corrected,” said the detective. “Still, nobody's asking you to fight the Grundy."

  "That's exactly what you're asking me to do!” said Mephisto, his voice high and whining.

  Mallory shook his head. “You're a magician. I'm just asking you to use your powers to find out what's happened to Winnifred and Eohippus.” He paused. “You don't even have to leave your home. Just use your crystal ball."

  "And if the Grundy has them, he'll know I'm looking for them!” said Mephisto accusingly.

  "You'll just be a concerned friend of Winnifred's, not an enemy of the Grundy's,” said Mallory persuasively.

  "He'll know!” whined Mephisto. “He'll take one look at me and he'll know!"

  "Do you have anything else you can use besid
es a crystal ball?"

  Mephisto's brow furrowed in thought. “Well,” he said reluctantly, “I've got a magic mirror."

  "What does it do?"

  "Not much,” he said petulantly. “It doesn't like me."

  "Could it locate Winnifred and Eohippus?"

  "Maybe. It communicates with other mirrors."

  "Then can you use the mirror instead of the crystal ball?"

  "I don't know..."

  "You won't have to do anything else,” Mallory assured him. “If you can tell me where she is, I'll take it from there."

  "You mean that?” asked Mephisto, surprised.

  Mallory nodded.

  "I call that uncommonly civil of you!” said the magician.

  "Thanks. Now, tell me where you live."

  "Why?” asked Mephisto suspiciously.

  "How else am I going to meet you and find out what you've learned?” asked Mallory irritably, stepping back from the edge of the sidewalk as an enormous yellow elephant turned the corner and began sloshing up the street with its load of partying passengers.

  "Well?” persisted Mallory when the elephant had passed by.

  "7 Mystic Place.” Mephisto looked embarrassed. “Go down a flight. It's the basement apartment.” He paused. “I don't see any reason to pay twice as much money for the privilege of wearing myself out climbing endless flights of stairs."

  "7 Mystic Place,” repeated Mallory. He put his hands on his hips and looked around. “Now, while you're doing that, I suppose I'd better check with the police and the hospitals.” He paused. “I might as well start with the cops. If they haven't turned up yet, I can at least report them as missing. Where's the nearest station?"

  "It's about half a mile away,” said Mephisto. “But they'll just send you to the Missing Persons Bureau. You could save a step by going right there."

  "How do I find it?"

  "It's two blocks from here,” said the magician. “Just turn left at the next corner and then go straight, and you can't miss it."

  "Thanks. I'd better be going. I'll check in with you later."

  "You know,” said Mephisto, “maybe I'll come back with you."

  "To the Missing Persons Bureau?” asked Mallory, puzzled.

  "To your world,” answered the magician.

  Mallory stared at him curiously. “You?"