THE LAST UNICORN

A scratching of flinty phrases this time, and Schmendrick's bloody hands flickering across the sky. Something gray and grinning, something like a bear, but bigger than a bear, something that chuckled muddily, came limping from somewhere, eager to crack the cage like a nut and pick out bits of the unicorn's flesh with its claws. Schmendrick ordered it back into the night, but it wouldn't go.

The unicorn backed into a corner and lowered her head; but the harpy stirred softly in her cage, ringing, and the gray shape turned what must have been its head and saw her. It made a foggy, globbering sound of terror, and was gone.

The magician cursed and shivered. He said, "I called him up one other time, long ago. I couldn't handle him then either. Now we owe our lives to the harpy, and she may yet come to call for them before the sun rises." He stood silent, twisting his wounded fingers, waiting for the unicorn to speak. "I'll try once more," he said finally. "Shall I try once more?"

The unicorn thought that she could still see the night boiling where the gray thing had been. "Yes," she said.

Schmendrick took a deep breath, spat three times, and spoke words that sounded like bells ringing under the sea. He scattered a handful of powder over the spittle, and smiled triumphantly as it puffed up in a single silent flash of green. When the light had faded, he said three more words. They were like the noise bees might make buzzing on the moon.

The cage began to grow smaller. The unicorn could not see the bars moving, but each time Schmendrick said, "Ah, no!" she had less room in which to stand. Already she could not turn around. The bars were drawing in, pitiless as the tide or the morning, and they would shear through her until they surrounded her heart, which they would keep a prisoner forever. She had not cried out when the creature Schmendrick had summoned came, grinning, toward her, but now she made a sound. It was small and despairing, but not yet yielding.

Schmendrick stopped the bars, though she never knew how. If he spoke any magic, she had not heard it; but the cage stopped shrinking a breath before the bars touched her body. She could feel them all the same, each one like a little cold wind, miaowing with hunger. But they could not reach her.

The magician's arms fell to his sides. "I dare no more," he said heavily. "The next time, I might not be able…" His voice trailed miserably away, and his eyes were as defeated as his hands. "The witch made no mistake in me," he said.

"Try again," the unicorn said. "You are my friend. Try again."

But Schmendrick, smiling bitterly, was fumbling through his pockets in search of something that clicked and clinked. "I knew it would come to this," he muttered. "I dreamed it differently, but I knew." He brought out a ring from which dangled several rusty keys. "You deserve the services of a great wizard," he said to the unicorn, "but I'm afraid you'll have to be glad of the aid of a second-rate pickpocket. Unicorns know nought of need, or shame, or doubt, or debt – but mortals, as you may have noticed, take what they can get. And Rukh can only concentrate on one thing at a time."

The unicorn was suddenly aware that every animal in the Midnight Carnival was awake, making no sound, but watching her. In the next cage, the harpy began to stamp slowly from one foot to the other. "Hurry," the unicorn said. "Hurry."

Schmendrick was already fitting a key into the snickering lock. At his first attempt, which failed, the lock fell silent, but when he tried another key it cried out loudly, "Ho-ho, some magician! Some magician!" It had Mommy Fortuna's voice.

"Ah, turn blue," the magician mumbled, but the unicorn could feel him blushing. He twisted the key, and the lock snapped open with one last grunt of contempt. Schmendrick swung the cage door wide and said softly, "Step down, lady. You are free."

The unicorn stepped lightly to the ground, and Schmendrick the Magician drew back in sudden wonder. "Oh," he whispered. "It was different when there were bars between us. You looked smaller, and not as – oh. Oh my."

She was home in her forest, which was black and wet and ruined because she had been gone so long. Someone was calling to her from a long way off but she was home, warming the trees and waking the grass.

Then she heard Rukh's voice, like a boat bottom gritting on pebbles. "Okay, Schmendrick, I give up. Why is a raven like a writing desk?" The unicorn moved away into deepest shadow, and Rukh saw only the magician and the empty, dwindled cage. His hand jumped to his pocket and came away again. "Why, you thin thief," he said, grinning iron. "She'll string you on barbed wire to make a necklace for the harpy." He turned then and headed straight for Mommy Fortuna's wagon.