The Unicorn Girl. Michael Kurland
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baritone boomed.
Chester looked. His sleepy expression vanished. “Those?” he asked prodding the air in front of him with the alto recorder.
“‘Those,” I told him. “You see them too?”
He nodded. “What do you think we’re on?”
The centaur cantered up to us. “Glad to see you’re all right,” he said. “Who are your friends?”
“Chester and Michael,” Sylvia identified. “They’re going to help us find Adolphus. This,” she told us, “is Ronald.”
“That’s the idea,” the centaur said, looking us over. “Mobilize the locals.”
The cyclops and the redhead joined us and were introduced. The cyclops was named Giganto, but he assured us it was just a stage name. “My nom-de-carnival,” he said. “But it will do for fetching and carrying, calling and scribbling. You’d never be able to pronounce my real name. It’s Arcturian, of course.”
Of course? I wondered.
The redhead was named Dorothy, and at close range she was stately and beautiful. She was beautiful at a distance too, but I’m nearsighted, and most girls look blurredly good to me at a distance. Her skin was fair, her hair was long, her features were delicate and proud, and her dress clung like the one Praxiteles sculpted onto his Aphrodite. She extended her hand to each of us in turn. I shook it, and was surprised at her strength. Chester pressed it gallantly to his lips.
“Delightful,” she said. “Tell me, was’t you I heard tootling upon the flageolet?”
Chester bowed, holding his alto before him like a gift offering. “Fair lady,” he said, “was it pleasing to you?” Chester always was partial to redheads.
No one, I reflected bitterly, was going to believe this tomorrow morning. Including me. I wasn’t too sure that I believed it now. Then I thought of the subminiature camera I carried in my pocket in case of fire, flood or natural disaster: A color print would be reassuring to look at in the future. I slid the camera out of my pocket and checked meter. The light multiplier was really going to have to prove itself. There was less light out here than inside the Trembling Womb. I focused as best I could on Giganto.
There was the sound of galloping; the mighty hoof beats of the great centaur Ronald, and the camera was snatched from my hands.
“Now look,” I yelled, but I was yelling at Ronald’s retreating end.
“What’s happening?” Giganto boomed.
Ronald swiveled around, waving the camera. “He was going to use this,” he explained.
I pointed an outraged finger at the horse’s front end “What’d he do that for?”
Chester shrugged. “Bad man black box steal away soul, he suggested.
“Now, now,” Giganto said, rolling his voice off the local mountains. “You know there’s no taking pictures of the performers without a special permit. You’ll get the camera back after the show.”
“That’s right,” Dorothy agreed, shaking a stern finger at us. “It’s nothing against you. It’s policy.”
“What show?” I asked.
“What show?” Chester echoed.
Sylvia tossed her long hair through a figure eight “What show indeed! I’m certainly not going to take part in any show until we find Adolphus.”
The bushes behind us snapped and a white figure, dimly fluorescent in the dark, appeared. Sylvia clapped her hands. “Adolphus!”
The figure got closer and resolved itself into a man and woman clutching hands and stumbling forward together, staring with wide eyes at Ronald.
“My god!” the man declared. “That stuff was supposed to be coffee!”
“I told you tamarind was some kind of dreadful drug,” the woman said. Then she noticed Giganto. “Yarp!” she said, pointing. “Yarp!”
The man looked up, following her outthrust finger. “My god,” he remarked, standing stock still and staring stupidly. “God, god, god.”
“Now that you’ve reaffirmed the Trinity,” Dorothy said sharply, “is there something in particular you wish?”
“No, sir,” the man said. He was shook. “Come on, Lizzy, let’s find our car.” Pulling the woman behind him, he quavered off into the parking lot.
The circus people went into a huddle to discuss ways of retrieving Adolphus And believe me, you haven’t seen a huddle until you’ve seen one with a centaur in it. I took a step closer to Chester.
“Do you swear it?” I whispered.
“What?”
“No altering of my perception: No LSD, no DMT, no PJ, no reality pill, no pot, no hash....”
“Now you know pot couldn’t do this.”
“After you’ve had hold of it for a while, anything could do everything. I remember that meatloaf you made....”
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Dorothy announced, breaking up the huddle. “We have to find Adolphus as soon as possible, preferably before morning. We’ll break up into separate search parties. The two natives will go with Sylvia, since the fifing might attract him. Back down the twisty road toward camp. The rest of us will have to scatter through the woods. Have you all your silver whistles?”
Each of the circus people-cyclops-centaurs produced a thin silver whistle and brandished it in the air. Sylvia was wearing hers on a fine silver chain around her neck.
“Fine,” Dorothy continued. “If you find Adolphus, or have any trouble, use the whistle.”
A pair of headlights swung silently around the lot, and an electric pulled up to us. Our frightened friends were in it. The man stuck his head out and stared intently at us for a long moment. “I shall write to The Barb about this,” he said in a tight voice.
“Don’t be silly,” the woman said as the car pulled away. “You know you can’t write.”
Giganto went off into the woods, chanting “Haroom, haroom,” under his breath like a rehearsing foghorn. Ronald adjusted his tie, nodded, and trotted away.
“I’d like to thank you for helping us,” Dorothy said. “I’ll see that you both get free passes. Good luck.” She shook hands with each of us. “Watch out for Sylvia, if you would. She’s very bright and capable, but she does tend to be a bit impulsive.”
“I’ll stay close to her,” I assured Dorothy.
“Now, Dorothy, I can take care of myself. It’s Adolphus we should worry about. He’s never been in the wild before.” Sylvia smiled up at me. “But I thank you, good sir, for your assistance.”
“And your friend for his beauteous tootling,” redheaded Dorothy added. “Would you consider a short gig with our circus while we’re here in Nueva España?”
“Gig?” I asked.
“That’s circus for job,” Sylvia told me.
“I know,” I said. “But somehow—”
“Nueva España?” Chester asked.
“Go off, people. We’ll talk later.” Dorothy shooed us down the narrow path leading away from the parking lot.
“Chester,” I said, feeling the gravel crunch under my feet, “how long has this path been here?”
“Why,” he said. Then he stopped. “Wait a second.”
“What is it?” Sylvia asked, turning back to us.
“There’s a stone wall all around the parking lot.”