The Unicorn Thief

by R. R. Russell

  “This is the back door to one of the castle kitchens. Just smile and wave if anyone looks,” Ben said.

  Dead birds and pigs hung from the ceiling on one side of the room. Twig’s smile froze on her face. Stomach churning, she focused on the chop-chop-chopping of a hefty cook. At the cook’s elbow, a pile of diced onions grew bigger with every chop. A young girl scooped the onion bits into a wooden bowl. The cooks and their helpers seemed too focused on their work to really look at Twig and Ben.

  When they’d made their way through the kitchen, Ben opened another door, and they entered a bare stone hallway. From the sound and smell of things, the doors along that corridor led to other kitchens and storerooms.

  They wound their way past a steamy laundry and climbed a narrow stone stairway. Ben opened the door at the top, and they entered an empty corridor, constructed of much finer stone and covered with a long strip of dark blue carpet.

  “You know where we’re going?”

  “Of course. Don’t worry.”

  Muffled footsteps sounded on the carpeted stone floor behind them. Twig grabbed Ben’s arm.

  “Quick!” He flung open the nearest door and pulled her in, then pushed it shut just as a shadow passed by in the corridor outside.

  The door was still open a crack; if Ben had latched it just then, whoever was out there would’ve heard it for sure. Twig shrank back against the wall. It was covered with brightly painted bookshelves. Ben leaned into the wall on the other side of the door.

  The shadow disappeared. Twig reached out and put her hand on the door. She eyed Ben questioningly. In or out?

  He mouthed, “Shut it.”

  Twig pushed the door, as quietly as she could, until it latched.

  They stood there a moment longer, then Ben let out a long breath.

  “Are we okay here or what?” Twig said.

  “We’re fine. This is the library.” Contrary to his words, Ben looked pale with nerves—as though he might even be making a great effort at keeping whatever was left of the meal the Eastlanders had fed them from coming up.

  Ben turned his back on Twig and strode past rows of books to a wall covered with wooden cubbyholes. In those cubbyholes were rolls of paper, most of them coated with dust and discolored with age. Maps.

  Ben scanned the rows of maps. A large globe mounted on a polished wooden pedestal caught Twig’s eye. She spun it slowly on its axis. A hand-painted green mass was surrounded by watery waves of blue. “It doesn’t look like Earth.”

  Ben looked over his shoulder. “It isn’t. It’s Terracornus.”

  “There’s even more water here than there is on Earth, compared to the land.”

  Ben shrugged. “It’s only a guess. So little of Terracornus has been explored. We only know it’s round,” he said, giving the globe a swift spin, “because of what we know about the Earth Land. We have some books from when people first came here. We also have some books my great-grandfather brought here.”

  “Edward Murley?”

  Ben nodded. “We have diagrams of telescopes but no telescopes. Books but no printing presses…”

  “Or computers.”

  “No computers. Not even close. Things are always changing in the Earth Land, and they change so fast.”

  “They don’t change much here?”

  “Not really. Not until a few years before I was born. The things that have changed since—they seem fast. But I’ll bet they’re not, compared to the Earth Land.”

  Twig turned the globe slowly, running her hand over its painted surface. She paused on a small blob of land, which she’d assumed was part of Terracornus. It was separated from Terracornus by a strip of water. Painted in all capitals right across the middle were the words Earth Land.

  “That’s the Earth Land?”

  “People have come to think that all there is to the Earth Land—to Earth—is the island. They know there’s an island, and they know there’s a passage. And so they think the passage to the Earth Land is a sea passage. They know that their ancestors used to live there, and so did the unicorns, but they don’t believe Earth is another world.”

  Twig laughed softly. “Who would believe that? And who would believe the passage is a door in a tree trunk?”

  “Exactly. A world that’s beside ours and yet not really near it? Terracornians don’t have any easier a time imagining that than you did before you saw it.”

  “And no one has explored that far?” Twig pointed to the part of the globe labeled Earth Land again.

  “We don’t have true ships here, only small fishing vessels that hug the coast, so no one has the chance to find out any different.”

  “But the unicorn thief—he found the passage and a key.”

  “Yes, he did.” Ben frowned as he rubbed a finger over a dusty engraved label below one of the cubbyholes. “Ah! Here it is!” He drew out a roll of paper tied with a black ribbon. “Help me unroll it, just to make sure.”

  Twig held the map while he plucked at the ribbon. Ben unrolled the map a few inches, then rolled it right back up, satisfied.

  Twig wanted to see it, but she knew they were in a hurry.

  “Now all we have to do is slip out of here, just the way we came.” Ben retied the ribbon while Twig held the map closed.

  Sneak out. Just like the unicorn thief. The reminder of what they were doing hit Twig in the gut. “Ben, wait. We can’t just take it. It’s—stealing.”

  “It isn’t stealing. You don’t understand.”

  “Can’t we just ask for it? If we explain why we need it—”

  “I shouldn’t have to explain anything!” Ben reached for the map, but Twig ducked away, behind the globe.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall. They stopped right outside the door. Twig darted across the room as the door handle began to turn. There was a heavy desk there that she could hide under—but the door opened before she could dive down.

  A grim-faced castle guard met Twig’s gaze. “What’s going on here?”

  Twig looked from the guard to the map in her hands and back again. She saw it in his eyes—thief!

  She dropped the map. Ben snatched it up. He tucked his too-long hair behind his ears and looked the guard straight in the face. Something else registered in the guard’s eyes.

  “You!”

  “We’re here to see the queen,” Ben said smoothly.

  What?

  “Oh, you’re going to the queen all right, like it or not!” The guard’s lip curled up a little, like he wanted to sneer. Or knock the stuffing out of both of them.

  Chapter 16

  Every part of Ben wanted to grab Twig and run, but that would get them nowhere. They were trapped. He could only hope that if he handled things right, it wouldn’t be for too long, and it wouldn’t be too late for Indy.

  “Fine,” he said. “Come on, Twig.”

  The guard grunted. Ben was pretty sure he was buying his act, but Twig wasn’t. Ben gripped her sleeve harder than he wanted to. She looked ready to bolt. If he thought she could make it out of here, he’d let her go and grab Wonder and Rain Cloud and save herself.

  Ben tucked the map into the back of his pants, under his tunic. He hesitated, then tore off the tunic. His cloak was in Rain Cloud’s saddlebag, and he didn’t feel quite himself without it, but at least he could get rid of this ridiculous disguise.

  Twig frowned at him, then removed her tunic too. The guard snatched up the discarded garments—evidence of their sneaking. While he was bending down, Ben untucked his shirt and pulled it over the map.

  Even free of the tunic, a stream of sweat trickled down Ben’s neck. They were about to enter the queen’s banquet room, where she and her courtiers would be entertained by singers, storytellers, and jugglers while they waited for the feast. It was sure to be an entrance Her Majesty would never forget.

  ***
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br />   The floor of the queen’s banquet room was covered with something strawlike that Twig couldn’t identify. Lighthearted chatter, with a pronounced lilting accent, filled the room. The voices erupted in laughter. A boy in brightly striped clothes tumbled to the floor, followed by a series of colorful balls. One stayed balanced, spinning on his nose. The strangely, richly dressed people assembled around the table applauded the jester.

  A woman sat at the head of that table, smiling thinly, eyes gleaming with self-importance. Twig knew at once that she must be the queen. Her light brown hair was swept up in an elaborate style of braids woven through with colored ribbon and held in place with beaded silver pins. Here and there a small, brightly dyed feather was poked artfully through the piles of hair. The other ladies around the table wore similar hairstyles, only less high and less ornate.

  The men were dressed in pants and shirts similar to those Ben wore, only they were looser fitting and brightly colored. Ben stuck out clearly as a boy of the woods and the fields, they as men of the castle—men of prowess, maybe, for most of them looked very strong and a couple had faces that were scarred—but men who, at least today, were dressed for show.

  The first to look up at Twig and Ben was a young man, still in his teens, sitting at the right hand of the queen. He jolted a little, and his lips parted as though he were going to speak, but then he put a hand on the queen’s arm instead.

  The young man must be some royal relative. His chair was nearly as big and elaborately carved as the queen’s, and when he touched her, she responded with a look of easy familiarity. A couple of the others regarded Twig and Ben, one with blatant curiosity, the other with an expression of perplexity and disdain.

  The young man whispered to the queen, and she looked right at Twig and Ben.

  “Ben,” she said in a tight, tense voice. Just Ben.

  The clown stood up. The spinning ball fell from his nose. The queen signaled to the corner, and a bulky figure Twig hadn’t noticed before stepped out of the shadows and strode over to her. He scooted her chair back for her as she stood. There were murmurs as Ben made his way toward the head of the table. Twig wanted to run, but she stumbled after him.

  “Your Majesty,” Ben said right away, without a bow, without a greeting.

  “So.” The queen waved her hand casually, but a little quaver in her voice betrayed the truth that Ben’s appearance meant something to her. “You’ve finally come. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you came without your father.” Her tone sharpened with anger. “Does Darian know you’re here?”

  Twig held her breath. She wanted to drag Ben out of here. Away from this woman whose eyes were now burning with contempt.

  Ben squared his shoulders. “Darian, leader of the herders of Westland,” he said, “is dead.”

  Ben’s face had that hardness to it—hardness against the depths of pain that echoed in his eyes. Every time Twig saw it, she found herself missing the man she’d never met.

  The queen stiffened too, but hers was the stiffness of shock. The anger vanished, and a small, anguished sound escaped her lips. The young man, who’d risen to the queen’s side, gripped her arm.

  “We knew it was going to happen, Mother.” His voice strained in an effort not to crack. “You did everything you could.”

  “Yes. And you have been by my side these years, Griffin.” The queen forced a smile. “And our young herder is back, unharmed.”

  Ben took another step forward. “Unharmed, Your Majesty. But not back. I—”

  “No? You have not come back to me, Ben of the Island? Not even with such news?”

  “No. Nor will I ever. I haven’t forgotten my oath.”

  “Your oath! Perhaps it’s time for you to learn a new lesson about allegiance! Guards!”

  But the prince—if that was what they called a queen’s son here—had already grabbed hold of Ben with one hand. With the other, he drew Ben’s dagger and cut the belt from Ben’s waist. The belt, bearing Ben’s sword, fell to the floor with a muffled clatter. Before she could think, someone drew Twig’s sword and cast it aside.

  Ben’s sword was closer, so Twig dove for it, sending bits of the strawlike stuff flying. She pulled it free of its sheath, but a boot stomped down on the back of her hand. Twig cried out in agony. The hard, heavy heel lifted, and the guard it belonged to kicked the sword away with the toe of his other boot. Bolts of pain streaked through Twig’s hand. She couldn’t move her fingers. She tried to get up, but now the sharpness of the boot- heel was in the middle of her back. As long as she stayed still, he didn’t press any harder, but every slight movement—

  “Neal!” Ben commanded. “Let her go!”

  Twig heard the ladies at the table gasp, the chairs of the men scrape back; there was stone beneath the straw. Cold, hard stone. They were ready. Ready to do something—to help Twig and Ben or to harm them? How silly. Of course they wouldn’t rise against their queen; they were her courtiers. Twig didn’t need to understand Terracornus to understand that.

  “She is no enemy of the queen!” Ben shouted at the guard. Then he turned to the queen. “What are you doing? She’s just a girl!”

  “And you,” the prince said, tightening his grip on Ben, “are a prince of Westland. Show some respect for your queen. Your mother.”

  His what?

  “Neal,” the queen said in a voice of commanding calm, “let the child stand.”

  The boot lifted. Twig scrambled to her feet. She would’ve sprinted for the door, but she knew that was hopeless, and besides, she couldn’t leave Ben here, whether these people were his family or not.

  “Come here, child.” The queen crooked her long, pale fingers.

  Twig approached, holding her now-throbbing hand against her chest. She looked the queen in the face, and the woman seemed just then to realize—or to care—that her royal cheeks were wet with tears. Tears for her lost husband? But why hadn’t he been by her side all along? Why wasn’t he king?

  The queen produced a silk handkerchief from inside the sleeve of her gown and dabbed carefully at her cheeks with it. She slipped it back into her sleeve and gave Twig a strained smile. “What is your name, child?”

  “Twig—Your Majesty.”

  “Twig, may I see your hand?”

  Twig hesitated, then extended her injured hand.

  “And the other one?”

  The queen slipped her palms under Twig’s. They were cool and soft. “Such delicate hands. And I’m afraid my faithful Neal has been a bit of a brute in his eagerness to protect me. I do fear he’s broken this one.”

  Neal bowed stiffly. “Your Majesty, forgive me.”

  She let go of Twig’s hands to wave off Neal’s apology. “An automatic reaction. She was reaching for a sword. And it’s certainly an unexpected situation—a child threatening the queen.”

  “I wasn’t trying to threaten you. I was trying to protect Ben.”

  “Ah. It is a noble endeavor, to try to protect Ben.” The queen glanced at him with a sad smile, and a fresh tear escaped her eye. Ben flushed. His eyes flashed with anger. “I understand completely. You see, that is what I’m trying to do right now.”

  “At what cost?” Ben said. “Thanks to you, six young girls were put in terrible danger. Twig is one of them. She’s from Lonehorn Island.”

  “That much is obvious,” said the boy the queen called Griffin, the boy who was apparently Ben’s older brother.

  “I’ve written to you about Dagger. If you had read my letters—”

  “I have read your letters, every one. And every one of them only assured me that I am right to—”

  “You are right to ignore the Earth Land, the land our ancestors came from, that all unicorns came from?”

  “The concerns of that world are no longer your concerns or mine. Let that world deal with them! There are no more guardians of Lonehorn Island! That was
my decree three years ago! Ben, I don’t know what possessed you to bring a child of the island with you here. But certainly you understand that you cannot be allowed to go back. And neither can she. Priscilla.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” A lady in a plain, pale blue dress hurried over.

  “See that this girl’s hand is tended to before she joins her friend in the dungeon. Neal, away with him. At once!”

  Chapter 17

  Twig tried to settle herself in the corner of the cell. She winced. It was impossible to move the rest of herself without moving her hand. The ice had long melted, and the coolness of the minty poultice was no match for the pulsing heat of pain. Twig had never been hurt like this on the outside. She thought of her stepsister, Emily, being lifted into the ambulance after her bike fell apart and she collided with a car, crying out in pain. A broken leg, a broken arm, a concussion. Twig’s stepmother, Keely, had sent Twig to live with the Murleys because she thought Twig had rigged Emily’s bike to hurt her.

  Twig sniffed back a cry. How had this all happened? How had all her hopes for a life with Daddy turned out like this? All those long, dark afternoons she’d spent after school, back when she was living with Mom. She’d been relieved to be at home, to escape the taunting at school, but then she’d felt so hollow and alone there, while Mom was lost in her own little world. Twig had spent those hours thinking about warm socks and hot things to eat, but more often thinking about Daddy. Daddy coming to rescue her.

  She would imagine his tires spinning on the gravel, sending it flying in a cloud of dust as he whirled his pickup to a stop. He’d come running up to the porch, stride right over the empty space where one of the steps was supposed to be, and bang on the door—no, he’d just throw it open. Never mind that he wouldn’t know Mom had broken the lock to get in there in the first place; no lock could stop him. Twig would run to him, and he’d scoop her up and take her away and they’d be together, just the two of them, until Mom got things straightened out. And then she’d be the old Mom again, and it would be just the three of them.