Ariel (2 page)

* * *

The unicorn waited patiently outside the pharmacy. How to describe what she looked like in the bright sun? Neon milk? She looked at me strangely as I came out. I was probably pale. No doubt my walk was uncertain.

"Bad," she decided.

I tried to smile. It didn't work. "Yeah," I said. "Bad."

I shouldered my backpack and slung the Aero-mag. "Come on—let's find a library."

* * *

If the pharmacy had been undisturbed, the library was a veritable temple. It was untouched and unlocked: not very big, probably twenty or thirty thousand books, but at least there were a lot of high windows and it was well-lit inside. A fine layer of dust had coated everything. The electric clock on the wall had frozen at exactly four-thirty.

The unicorn looked over my shoulder as I thumbed through card-catalog drawers. I couldn't find anything between UNICEF and UNIFORMS, so I looked under MYTHOLOGY. There were about a dozen books listed; I found them, sat down on the floor, leaning against a bookshelf, and began reading.

I learned some damned interesting things—for instance: Unicorns are symbols of purity. The horn is supposed to have healing properties. They are generally meek and shy, but fight ferociously when cornered. They are traditionally pictured as being cloven-hoofed. My unicorn (
my
unicorn!) wasn't. No illustrations showed the prism effect of the light on the coat, nor did any have silver hooves. The
Encyclopedia Britannica
said the legend had originated in Greece about the time the Greeks began trading with the Egyptian Empire, and that it probably sprang from muddled accounts of the oryx or the rhinoceros.

I laughed, and the unicorn watched curiously.

You had to be a virgin to touch a unicorn  .  .  .  .

A flush crept up my neck. Okay, so I'd touched her. Being a virgin had some advantages after all. Hooray.

I read until the light was too dim to see by, then set the book aside, rubbed my eyes, and made a small supper. The unicorn just wanted another piece of candy.

I was dying for a cigarette. Earlier in the day I had opened up the pack and found them gone.

"Hey," I'd said to the unicorn, "did you do something with my cigarettes?"

"Bad," was all she replied.

To vent the jitters I was getting from my nicotine fit, I decided to take a walk around the library. There was a browse-a-book section filled with art collections and paperbacks, and on one stand was a largish softcover that had a painting of a unicorn on the front. It was golden and quite beautiful, but nothing compared to the real thing. I picked it up and held it high, squinting in the dying light.

Ariel
, proclaimed the title.
The Book of Fantasy
.

"Ariel." I said it out loud, liking the sound. It was light and sounded like silver. What the hell. I couldn't keep calling her "unicorn," and Ariel was as good a name as any and better than most.

I carried the book to the unicorn. "Ariel," I told her. "That's your name, okay?"

She snorted.

"I'll take one snort to mean yes and two for no."

One more snort.

"Ariel it is, then."

I set it atop some books on magic and witchcraft I had put aside to read while I walked the next day. Ariel seemed to know I was getting ready to go to sleep and began to pace restlessly around the library. She had tried to lie down earlier, but the splint was too uncomfortable.

I squirmed into my sleeping bag and sleep came quickly.

Just before I dozed off I thought,
I wonder if she'll ever learn more than baby talk?

Two

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child.

—Shakespeare
, King Lear

"Hey, Pete—get your ass in gear!"

Ariel and I traveled along the abandoned Interstate. We usually didn't say much as we walked; there didn't seem to be a need to. But today I was lagging behind somewhat. I was footsore and fatigued; she was eager and almost hyper. I got the feeling she was a bit apprehensive about going into Atlanta; she was in a hurry to get there and get out again.

I walked with my head bowed, watching the pavement seem to flow beneath my feet. Every so often one of Ariel's marvelous hooves slid along the asphalt and a stream of sparks scattered. The novelty of walking on paved road never seemed to wear thin on her.

A unicorn is a rare enough thing to see; burdened ones are unheard of. But she never complained about having to carry one of my packs and whatever weapons I happened to possess at the time. Today I carried the blowgun, broken down and slung onto the magnesium frame of my backpack where I could get to it quickly. Two bags were slung across Ariel's back, and the handle of a pair of 'chuks dangled from a pocket. Poking from the top of her pack was a crossbow, which I'd use only if all else failed. It was powerful and good for long distances, but unwieldy and time-consuming to reload.

Ariel looked at me as I caught up to her. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Tired?"

I nodded.

"How much farther?"

I reached back and dug out the map from a side pocket, unrolled it, and traced a finger down a line marked
US 23/41
. "Let's see  .  .  .  . We left Macon when?"

"Two days ago."

"Right. We've been doing a little less than twenty miles a day, and it's about thirty miles as the crow flies. We ought to be in Atlanta sometime tomorrow afternoon."

"Shit—another night on the road." She had picked up many of my speaking habits. It's strange to hear a unicorn swear. Come to think of it, it's strange to hear a unicorn talk at all. "Hey, it's not so bad," I told her. "We could be spending the night in a city." Cities are where all the rejects hang out.

"Where, no doubt, you'd get us into another test of our defense capabilities."

She wouldn't leave me alone about Jacksonville, no matter how much I insisted it wasn't my fault. I'd gone to a trading bar to look over some equipment and weapons. I was always on the lookout for new things I might need.

Trading bars are nasty places. They serve as a combination bar/whorehouse/trading post/news center, and are mainly frequented by inner-city dwellers and loners "just passing through." Some loners have "buddies"—animals held to them by loyalty spells. Occasionally you see somebody with a
Familiar
—a person with an almost symbiotic relationship with a magical animal—like Ariel and me. As Familiars will fight ferociously to protect each other, and spellbound buddies will die to protect their masters, they aren't allowed in trading bars, so I had to leave Ariel outside. I didn't like it one bit and neither did she, but those were the rules and everybody abided by them—or else. She stood in front of a furniture store across the street, well away from a buddy-lion crouched beside the entrance to the trading bar. It watched us warily.

There were a few people inside, mostly loners, it seemed, looking at the weapons-display tables. Over to one side was the dark entranceway to the bar. I walked among supply aisles, looking for anything that struck my fancy. There were no prices on any items; you had to negotiate with one of the dealers. Haggling had become a fine art again.

At the end of the aisles was a guard shouldering a cocked crossbow, expressionlessly watching the customers. Nobody stole from trading bars.

At one aisle I reached for something—I think it was a small, folding camp stove—and picked it up to look it over. They'd want an arm and a leg for it, but it might be convenient sometimes. It was the only one on the shelf.

Somebody snatched it from my hand. I turned to see someone huge and hairy and looking like an almost human grizzly bear glaring down at me. "Hey, little fuck," he said, holding up the folding stove, "this mine. Saw first." His teeth were rotted. He stank. He wore a black leather vest, cut-off blue jeans, and combat boots.

"Sure, fine," I told him. "I was just looking at it. If you want it, go ahead."

"I want, I take anyhow, little fuck," he growled.

Since he already had it and I didn't really want it anyway, that should have been the end of it. But he just stood there like an oak tree, as if he expected me to say something.

I turned and walked into the bar.

It was lit by a few candles scattered here and there, and the air smelled heavy and pungent like a barn. I dropped my pack beside a barstool and sat down. The bartender came over to me.

"Yeah?" he said.

"Uh—" I hadn't wanted anything; I'd just come in to get away from that gorilla. "Do you have any Coke?"

"Coke?" He smiled a left-sided smile and I felt stupid and started to tell him never mind, but he bent down behind the bar. I heard a rattling as he unlocked something.

"It'll cost you," he said, straightening back up. "This stuff don't grow on trees." He held a small cellophane packet of white powder between thumb and forefinger.

I flushed. Cocaine! I'd wanted a Coke, you know—Coca-Cola.

"Where—where do you get this?"

"Guy comes in from New York twice a year, regular. Rides a griffin."

New York! I'd heard things about what New York was like now. They were horror stories.

He put his elbows down on the bar and leaned toward me "Just drops off these little bags and takes one of them." He nodded toward one of the three women sitting toward the rear of the bar. When she saw us looking her way she said something to her companions, stood, and walked toward us.

"You still want the coke?"

"I—well, no. I doubt I could afford it." I stood to leave and felt a light tap on my shoulder. It was the girl.

"You like me?" she asked.

I started to reply but she cut me off. "A half-pound of dried meat, any kind, in advance. Or if you don't have any, we could make a deal."

"No," I said, moving away.

"What's wrong? You queer or something?"

"No, just selective." I picked up my pack and walked out of the bar just as the big gorilla-type walked in. He stopped and started to say something to me, but I just kept walking through the trading area and out the door.

Ariel was across the street. She faced the buddy-lion, regarding it with what looked like tolerant amusement. She turned to me as I hurriedly approached her. "This lion is stupid. It can't communicate with me at all."

"Of course it's stupid. It's just an animal."

She blinked once and stared at me. If she could have smiled I'm sure she would have.

"You know what I mean—it's a dumb lion under a loyalty spell."

"Wonder who it belongs to."

"I don't even care. Look, let's get out of here."

"What's the matter? Trouble inside?"

I shook my head. "Not really. I just don't like cities. Creeps everywhere. Come on." We turned to leave just as the gorilla-type walked out the door, arm around the whore I'd turned down. She pointed at me. Shit.

He began walking across the street toward me, talking as he came. "Little fuck, I kill you. You and your horse, too, hah-hah-hah."

Ariel gave me a sidelong look as he lumbered toward us. "No trouble, huh?"

I shrugged out of my pack. "That's the reason I wanted to get out of here."

"Looks like a pretty good reason to me."

"Right." He had stopped in the middle of the road, expecting me to step out and meet him halfway. I had a better idea. "Let's run away," I suggested.

"Too late. Look."

The big yotz had turned to face the buddy-lion. He pulled something out of his leather vest, held it between thumb and forefinger, and pressed it. It was one of those cheap metal clackers that make an annoying noise like a cricket on speed. He clacked it three times and the lion rose.

"Come on, Rasputin," he said. The lion licked its chops, shook its mane, and blinked. We couldn't run away now; the lion would catch us before we got ten yards. Before I could get ten yards, rather; I wouldn't put it past Ariel to outrun it.

Then they were both coming toward us and everything happened fast. The lion stopped in front of Ariel and gathered itself for the pounce, relaxing and looking lazily up into her eyes.

"Come on, come on," said Ariel impatiently. "You might as well pounce now; you're going to sooner or later."

Then I could no longer pay attention to them because this huge, hairy arm swung around like a shaggy club and broke my nose. I went down onto the sidewalk, eyes blinded by sudden tears. Warm wetness flowed onto my lips. I saw the blur as he bent down to finish me off and my right foot lashed out, heel hitting his kneecap. He yowled as it snapped. I got up as fast as I could and punched him in the throat. He went down choking.

I looked toward Ariel. Blood dripped down her horn and the lion lay in a pool of red at the curb. Her lover's eyes were black and soft. "You look awful," she said.

I tried to smile. "I thig by nothe ith broge," I said.