The Secret Of The Unicorn Queen - Sun Blind

by Unknown

  "Whatever you want to ask will have to wait," said Myno, coming up behind them. "Illyria wants to talk strategy now—with all of you.

  Sheila followed Kara and Myno to Illyria's tent, where the other riders had gathered. They were sitting on the grass in front of the tent, as ragged a bunch as ever there was. Not one of them had a tunic that wasn't ripped, patched, stained, and faded. Dian, Sheila noticed, was sit­ting next to Darian, and Sheila couldn't help feeling an irrational stab of jealousy.

  Illyria stepped out of her tent and the riders fell quiet. It might have been a trick of the light, but the Unicorn Queen looked even more beautiful than usual. Her thick braids of silver hair seemed to catch the afternoon sun and positively glowed, Her tanned skin looked even darker,

  "Yes," she began, "we've come to a very pretty place. And I think we'll be here for a few nights, at least. But we have work to do. We're less than two hours from An­sar. I've never been there, but I'm told that the city lies at the foot of the mountain that is Dynasian's fortress."

  "That means," Myno broke in, "that either he or his men see everything that goes on in the city."

  "We've sworn a vow to free the unicorns," Illyria went on. "If what Yvere told us is true, then our course is clear. We must find a way into the fortress and free them." She looked at her band with a wry smile. "As my brother so accurately pointed out, we re not exactly an inconspicuous bunch. If we even approach the city looking like this—or riding the unicorns—we can expect to find ourselves in Dynasian's dungeons."

  "But we need to find a way into that fortress," Myno added. "And we want to make contact with the rebel forces. So we'll need disguises."

  "I can fashion disguises," Nanine said, "but not out of willow leaves. I'll need two or three bolts of cloth."

  "That's easy," Dian said. ''I'll slip into the market­place and steal them."

  "There’s no need to steal," Kara said.

  "You expect me to walk in looking like this and ask to buy cloth?" Dian demanded.

  "She has a point," Darian said reasonably.

  "There'll be no stealing," Illyria ruled. "However, Dian does have a point." She slipped into the tent and returned with a small leather pouch. "Here's twenty pieces of silver. I don't expect you to bargain for the cloth, but you can leave this as payment for the merchant. It will more than cover the cost."

  She turned to Nanine. “Do you think you could work up something for her to wear into Ansar . . maybe using one of the tents?"

  Nanine gave a sullen nod. Tents obviously did not fit her idea of suitable fashion.

  "You can use mine," Kara volunteered.

  Sheila was torn between admiration for Kara's selfless­ness and being outraged at having to give up the tent they had worked so hard to assemble.

  "I don't like this,'' Myno muttered. “It's too risky. What if she's caught? What if she gets lost?"

  Dian began to sputter indignantly, but Illyria silenced her with a look. "Dian," she said, "I know your bravery, but perhaps this is one mission you should not undertake alone."

  Myno flashed the Unicorn Queen a broad grin. "And I've got the perfect partner for her," she said. "Sheila, tonight you'll let Nanine do what she can about disguising you. Tomorrow at dawn you leave for Ansar with Dian."

  4

  In The Marketplace

  Sheila tugged irritably at the thick dress that covered her. Although Nanine had done the best she could for them, both Sheila and Dian looked as if they were wearing small tents—which they were! The heavy, worn material was stiff with dust and dirt, and though Nanine had tried to make the garments shapely by adding belts, the fabric stuck out at weird angles from their bodies. Worse, the dresses, if you could call them that, were ankle length. After weeks in cutoffs and a tunic, Sheila felt as if she were walking in a bag. Also, she had grown so used to riding Morning Star that it had never even occurred to her that she and Dian would have to walk to Ansar.

  Sheila was absolutely miserable. The sun was beating down on them, she was trapped in this horrible hot "dress," she was probably going to be arrested for stealing, and to top it all off, she was stuck with Dian.

  Dian looked no happier than Sheila. And, except for growling, "You'd better not get us caught," she hadn't said a word since they left the camp. Sheila suspected that if either one of them could have figured out a way to argue with Myno, Dian would have had a different partner.

  The road that led into Ansar was broader than any road Sheila had ever seen and crowded with travelers on their way to the city markets. There were merchants driv­ing donkeys, soldiers on their war horses, and families on foot. Animals were everywhere—goats, pigs, and dogs roamed freely, as if they were going to Ansar on their own. Sheila found herself darting out of the way of a cart loaded with chickens only to nearly collide with a woman bal­ancing a huge basket of fruit on her shoulder. With relief, she realized that no one they had passed had given her knapsack a second look. It was just one more bundle on the way to market.

  The sun was nearly overhead when Dian gasped, "There it is!''

  Sheila, who had been staring at the road, wishing they had shopping malls in this place, looked up, startled.

  She expected a city and what she saw was a huge wall built of thick sand-colored stones. And though the wall was high, it was completely dwarfed by the mountain that rose to the right of it. The odd thing about the mountain was that it looked as if its top was completely level. It figured that Dynasian would level a mountain for his own purposes.

  "The city's inside the wall?" Sheila asked.

  "Walled cities usually are," Dian replied.

  Sheila decided to ignore the jibe. "How are we going to get in?"

  "The same way everyone else is," Dian said in a bored tone. “There are gates into the city. We just go up to a gate, explain who we are and what we want, and then they let us in."

  "Oh, great," Sheila muttered. “My name is Sheila McCarthy and I ride with the Unicorn Queen and I've come to Ansar to get some cloth for disguises so we can break into Dynasian's fortress."

  Dian snorted with laughter. "Let me do the talking, all right?"

  Sheila shrugged, but thought that for once it was prob­ably a good idea.

  A line had formed in front of an iron gate in the wall. Two of Dynasian's soldiers stood guard, and a shiver ran through Sheila as she recognized the menacing helmets and armor. The line moved slowly, and she began to get nervous. The soldiers were obviously questioning everyone carefully and she hadn't even thought of a good alibi. She had always been a terrible liar, What if she slipped up and they caught her at it? What would happen if they questioned her and Dian separately and their stories didn't match?

  "Listen," Dian said in a low voice, "if they question you, answer with words in your language that can't pos­sibly translate in this time. Then I'll explain you're my cousin from across the sea who doesn't speak any of the languages of the empire. Understand?"

  Sheila understood but didn't really believe it would work. Her stomach did somersaults as she waited. At last the elderly couple in front of them passed through the gate and it was Sheila and Dian's turn.

  The guards asked a series of rapid-fire questions in what Sheila recognized as Miolan, the language spoken throughout the southern part of the empire. Sheila didn't understand it at all; the southern language was almost completely different from the northern tongue spoken by the riders. But Dian answered calmly, pointing to Sheila as she went through her explanations.

  "Sheila?" one of the guards asked roughly. She nod­ded her head, and he said something that obviously was a question.

  Sheila looked at Dian desperately and got the usual bored expression. It was entirely up to her, and her mind was going blank.

  The guard repeated her name, then asked another sharp question.

  Frantically, Sheila searched her mind for a phrase that they couldn't translate. Of course! The name of Dr. Reit's time machine, the device that had gotten her into this mess in the first pla
ce.

  "Molecular Acceleration Transport Device," she an­swered clearly.

  The two guards gave her a puzzled look, then held a hurried conference. With a grunt the taller guard waved the girls through.

  “Where did you learn to speak Miolan?" Sheila asked.

  "My mother was from the south," Dian answered brusquely. "Now, just keep walking."

  Sheila was fascinated by the city that lay behind the walls. The first thing that hit her was the salt tang of the sea, but all she could see was the thick web of streets crowded with shops and houses.

  "Where's the water?" she asked Dian.

  "I think the harbor’s south." Dian pointed down one of the wider streets that was paved with stone. Like all the other streets, it took a sudden curve, so it was impos­sible to see to its end. Ansar looked like a puzzle designed by a madman. A street would go straight for about twenty yards, then curve, curve again, and double back on itself.

  "We've got to find a shop that sells cloth," Dian said.

  Sheila looked at the colorful maze of shops and stalls that surrounded them. Rows of clay jars and bowls filled one doorway, fruits and vegetables another, gleaming brass bowls and lanterns a third, The sweet scent of fresh-baked bread wafted up from the end of the street, and Sheila realized she was starving. After all, they hadn't eaten since they left camp early this morning.

  "I have an idea," Sheila said. "Why don't we buy some bread for lunch, and we can ask the shopkeeper where to find the cloth."

  Dian shot her a scornful look. "We can't afford to attract anyone's attention. Tell your stomach to be pa­tient.''

  "Look," Sheila began angrily. She was tired of Dian acting like such a know-it-all. But Dian ignored her and walked briskly ahead, turning the corner of yet another narrow lane. With a sigh, Sheila followed. She felt as if she was being led into the heart of a maze.

  The street that Dian had entered was even narrower than the others, and smelled of leather goods. Here the crowded stalls were filled with sandals, tanned hides, and saddles. It didn't seem like the place to find cloth, but Dian turned another comer, and suddenly they were in a lane where the leather gave way to weavers' shops and stores that sold dye and sacks filled with raw cotton.

  For a moment Sheila lost sight of Dian, and then Dian emerged from a small shop. She stood waiting for Sheila to catch up.

  Sheila peered into the open doorway of the shop, where wooden shelves were piled high with neatly folded fabric. They had obviously come to the right place.

  "Have you ever stolen anything?" Dian asked abruptly.

  "No," Sheila admitted.

  "That's what I thought. Of all the people for Myno to give me-"

  "I wasn't given to anyone," Sheila retorted. ''Besides, we re not actually stealing. You have the silver, don't you?"

  Dian lifted the pouch at her side. "Here's what we'll do," she said. "You'll go into the shop first and distract the shopkeeper. Ask about cloth, the weather, anything. Just keep him busy. Meanwhile, I'll get the cloth and leave the money. When you hear me cough, you'll know I'm leaving. Wait a few seconds and then follow me out."

  "What if he doesn't speak our language?”

  "He does," Dian answered, "I went about halfway in and heard him. You won't have any problems as long as you don't say anything stupid."

  That does it, Sheila thought. One more remark like that, and you're on your own.

  "Go ahead," Dian said, giving her a push toward the shop. "Keep him busy."

  Sheila resisted the impulse to punch Dian in the nose, and instead concentrated on pretending to shop for ma­terial. It wasn't hard to fake interest. The fabrics were beautiful. She found herself drawn to a shelf of silk—rich purples, emerald greens, and a red cloth edged with golden thread. She thought of the times she had bought material for home ec class—corduroys, denim, and once some hor­rible satiny stuff that kept getting stuck in the sewing machine. She had never seen anything like these silks, This was the kind of stuff that princesses in fairy tales wore.

  "There's something you like?" asked a smooth voice behind her.

  Sheila turned to see the shopkeeper, a round middle-aged man with dark hair slicked back from his face.

  "Yes," Sheila said.

  The shopkeeper looked at her expectantly. Clearly, he was waiting for a mote specific answer.

  "I mean, I-I like them all," Sheila said truthfully.

  The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows.

  Oh, this is going well, Sheila thought. We're carrying on a great conversation here. She forced herself to think of a question: "Where are the silks from?"

  "From Ansar, of course," the man said in a voice that let her know she had just asked a dumb question. The merchant's eyes narrowed. "Do you want to buy?"

  "I-I'm just looking now," Sheila said. "I want to buy a gift for my . . . my sister . . . and I've been looking all day."

  "You're alone?" the shopkeeper asked in a surprisingly concerned tone.

  Sheila wondered if she was making a mistake when she answered, "Yes." The shopkeeper was making her very nervous.

  "Young girls shouldn't walk alone in this city," he said gruffly. "The people are uneasy . . . things have been seen.”

  Sheila turned her head to check on Dian. Near the back of the shop Dian was examining the cloth the way any customer might. For a supposedly accomplished thief she was certainly taking her sweet time about stealing.

  Sheila brought her attention back to the shopkeeper and tried to sound interested in what he'd said last. "Why is the city uneasy?"

  She fully expected to hear another story of Dynasian's soldiers harassing the citizens and so was unprepared for his answer. ''Our streets are haunted," the man said quietly.

  "Haunted?" Sheila had seen a lot of strange things since entering this world, but ghosts were not among them.

  The shopkeeper nodded. "An apparition of an old man. He appears and then vanishes and then reappears. Out seers say he is searching for something—or someone."

  "Tell me,” Sheila could barely control her excite­ment- "do you know what he looks like?"

  "Everyone knows. He is tall, thin, with white hair. He wears a strange white tunic and light leggings . . “

  It was Dr, Reit-Sheila was sure of it! It had been almost a month since Sheila had seen her friend. The last time the scientist had appeared in this world had been the night she and Illyria had been held in Dynasian's prison. It was Dr. Reit's ghostly form that had made their escape possible. And while Sheila had been incredibly glad to see him, she had been dismayed to learn that he didn't know how to get her back to her own world. Worse, he didn't know if he would ever be able to find her again. Now he had been seen in Ansar. That must mean he was searching for her.

  "Where was the ghost last seen?" Sheila asked, trying to sound suitably scared.

  But before the shopkeeper could answer, Sheila heard a furious coughing behind her. Dian had taken the cloth and was ready to leave.

  "Um—I have to go now," she said hurriedly. "Thanks for warning me about the ghost."

  Quickly she made her way toward Dian and almost started laughing. The slim, athletic girl had hidden the cloth inside her dress and now looked positively fat. With­out speaking the girls left the shop. Dian was walking with a weird waddle.

  "Did you leave the silver?" Sheila asked. She had grown to like the shopkeeper and felt bad about taking the cloth this way.

  Dian looked pale. "I forgot."

  “You what?"

  "You try hiding enough material to clothe eight people, and see what you remember!"

  "Then give it to me now," Sheila demanded as they rounded a corner onto a street that smelled of cinnamon and spices.

  "Why? What are you going to do?"

  ''I'm going to leave it for him, of course.''

  Dian's strong hand gripped Sheila's wrist. “Are you crazy?" she demanded, shaking her. "We can't afford to go back in there."

  Sheila had about had it with Dian. She reached out and
ripped the leather purse from Dian's side, then before the other girl could protest, she ran back toward the shop.

  "You, girl, stop!" bellowed an angry voice.

  Sheila looked up in alarm to see the shopkeeper run­ning toward her.

  "Thief!" he screamed. "You leave my shop and my goods leave with you!"

  Oh, no, Sheila thought. This was not the way things were supposed to turn out. Quickly she tossed the pouch of coins toward the shopkeeper, then never even knowing if he stopped to pick them up, she turned and ran.

  She knew that she couldn't lead him to Dian—Dian who actually had the stolen goods. Cursing the bulky dress, she ran for all she was worth.

  Behind her she could hear the shopkeeper's footsteps. She just prayed it was only the shopkeeper. If he called the soldiers, she wouldn't have a chance. She tore down the narrow streets, with no idea of where she was going. Then she saw it—a large coil of hemp on the side of the street, a perfect place to hide.

  Sheila crouched down behind the coil of rope and caught her breath as the shopkeeper ran past. But the man realized almost at once that she was no longer ahead of him. He stopped and turned, eyeing the row of stalls sus­piciously. Sheila scrunched even lower behind the rope. It was only a matter of time now before he found her unless . . unless she distracted him. Sheila grinned as she remembered his being frightened of the ghost. Then she reached for her backpack and pulled out her tape player. She would need a man's voice, and the stronger the better. Quickly she grabbed a Springsteen tape and put it in, pressed the "on" button, turned the volume all the way up, and sauntered out into the street.

  "There you are, you little-" The shopkeeper's angry words were cut off as Springsteen's voice began to pound out the words to "Born to Run." Very funny, Bruce, Sheila thought as she watched the shopkeeper back away from her.

  "That ghost you spoke of," Sheila said, in what she hoped was her spookiest voice. "His spirit has found me. He travels with me now. Listen . . .”