Tanith Lee - Unicorn 1 - Black Unicorn

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2024-12-14 1 0 270.94KB 122 页 5.9玖币
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Black Unicorn
by Tanith Lee
Part One
1
The first thing Tanaquil saw almost every morning on waking was her mother's face. But that was
because a painting of Tanaquil's mother, the sorceress Jaive, hung opposite the bed. The painting of Jaive
had a great bush of scarlet hair in which various jewels, plants, implements, and mice and other small
animals she used in her researches were caught. "Good morning, Mother," said Tanaquil to the picture,
and the picture vigorously answered: "Rise with the sun, salute the day!" As it always did. Since it was
anyway usually midmorning when Tanaquil woke up, the greeting was completely unsuitable.
Once the business with the picture was over, Tanaquil got out of bed and went to see what had been left
for her breakfast. Sometimes nothing had. Today there were some pieces of cold toasted bread without
any butter, an orange, and green herbal tea in a glass. Tanaquil tried the tea, then peeled the orange
cautiously. As she split the segments a bird flew out.
"This way, this way," said Tanaquil impatiently to the bird as it dashed round the room, sticking its beak
into the bed curtains. The bird hurtled to the window and flew into the hard red sunshine. Tanaquil stood
at the window, looking away across the roofs and battlements of her mother's fortress, at the desert. It was
the same view she had seen since she could remember. For nearly sixteen years this had been her
bedroom and that had been the view. The long tawny sands, with their glints of minerals, which changed
shape after the wind blew, the march of rock hills half a mile off, some pointed like cones, some with
great natural archways that ran through them, showing the endlessness of the desert beyond. From any
part of Jaive's fortress, if you looked out, this was the kind of thing you saw, dunes and rocks, and the hot
sky. By day the fortress and the desert baked. At night it grew cold and a thin snow fell, the sand turned
to silver and the stars burned white.
"Hey," said a high-pitched voice outside, "hey."
Tanaquil glanced and saw one of the peeves was sitting on the roof below her window. It was about the
size of a large cat, with thick brown fur over a barrel-shaped body and short muscular legs. It gripped
with three paws and with the fourth scratched itself busily. It had a long dainty muzzle, a bushy tail, and
ears that would go up in points, although just now they flopped down. In its big yellow eyes was an
urgent look.
"Want a bone," said the peeve.
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"I'm sorry I haven't got one," said Tanaquil.
"No, no, want a bone," insisted the peeve. It hopped up the roof and jumped into the embrasure of the
window like a fat fur pig. Tanaquil put out her hand to stroke the peeve, but it evaded her and plopped
down into the room. It began to hurry about scratching at things and poking its long nose under the rug,
upsetting the stool. It pattered across Tanaquil's work table, through her collection of easily damaged
fossils, and over a small clock lying on its back. The peeve scattered cogs and wheels. It sprang. Now it
was in the fireplace.
"There are no bones here," said Tanaquil firmly.
The peeve took no notice. "Want a bone," it explained, and knocked over her breakfast. The herbal tea
spread across the floor, and the peeve drank it, sneezing and snuffling. A piece of toast had fallen on its
head, and it threw it off with an irritated "Bone, bone."
Tanaquil sighed. She went into the marble bath alcove and pressed the head of the lion for a fountain of
cool water to wash in. The water did not come. Instead a stream of sticky berry wine poured out.
"Oh, Mother!" shouted Tanaquil, furiously. She ran out, kicked the stool across the room, and then the
pieces of bread. The orange had turned into a sort of flower that was growing up the left-hand pillar of the
fireplace. The peeve was nibbling this. It turned and watched as Tanaquil dressed herself in yesterday's
crumpled dress and ran a comb through her hair, which was a lighter red than Jaive's.
"Got a bone?"
"I haven't got a bone for heaven's sake! Be quiet."
The peeve sat down and washed its stomach, now muttering anxiously. "Flea, flea." Then abruptly it
threw itself up the chimney and was gone, although a shower of soot fell down into the hearth.
Tanaquil left the room a moment after, slamming the door.
Four flights of wide stone stairs, with wooden bannisters carved with beasts, fruits, demons and so on,
went up from Tanaquil's level to the haunt of her mother. On each landing there was an opening to the
roof walks and battlements, and in one place Tanaquil saw three of the soldiers sitting on the wall playing
a game of Scorpions and Ladders. They were all drunk, as usual, but, noting Tanaquil passing, one called
out: "Don't go up, Lady. The sorceress is busy."
"Unfortunate," said Tanaquil. And she climbed the last flight, out of breath, and reached the big black
door that shut off her mother's Sorcerium.
In the center of the door was a head of green jade, which addressed Tanaquil. "Do you seek Jaive?"
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"Obviously."
"What is your name, and rank?"
"Tanaquil, her daughter."
The head seemed to purse its lips, but then the door gave a creak and swung massively open.
The chamber beyond was full of oily smoke and pale lightning flashes. Tanaquil was used to this. She
walked in and found her way among looming chests and stands cluttered with objects, some of which
cheeped and chittered. Suddenly there was a great mirror, and in it Tanaquil caught a glimpse of a
burning city, towers and sparks and creatures flying through the air. Then the vision vanished, and the
smoke sank. Jaive appeared out of the sinking smoke. She stood behind a table covered with books,
globes of glass, instruments, wands, and colored substances that bubbled. In a large cage sat two white
mice with rabbit ears and the tails of serpents, eating a sausage. Jaive wore a floor-length gown of black-
green silk sewn with golden embroidery. Her flaming hair surrounded her face like the burning city in the
mirror. She frowned.
"What do you want?" asked Tanaquil's mother.
"Would you like a list?" said Tanaquil.
"I am engaged—" said Jaive.
"You always are. Did you enjoy your breakfast, mother? Mine had a bird in it and then turned into a
flower. One of the peeves spilled the rest. My fountain water was berry wine. Most of my clothes have
disappeared. I'm sick of it!"
"What is this nonsense?" said Jaive.
"Mother, you know that everything is in an eternal mess here because of your magic, because of leaks of
power and side effects of incantations. It's awful."
"I search for knowledge," said Jaive. She added vaguely, "How dare you speak to your mother like this?"
Tanaquil sat down on a large dog of some kind that had temporarily turned into a stool.
"When I was little," said Tanaquil, "I thought it was wonderful. When you made the butterflies come out
of the fire, and when you made the garden grow in the desert. But the butterflies went pop and the garden
dissolved."
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"These childish memories," said Jaive. "I've tried to educate you in the art of sorcery."
"And I wasn't any good at it," said Tanaquil.
"Dreadful," agreed her mother. "You're a mere mechanical, I'm afraid." She made a pass over a beaker
and a tiny storm rose into the air. Jaive laughed in pleasure. Tanaquil's stomach rumbled.
"Mother," said Tanaquil, "perhaps I should leave."
"Yes, do, Tanaquil. Let me get on."
"I mean leave the fortress."
"Tiresome girl, where could you go?"
Tanaquil said, warily, "If my father—"
Jaive swelled; her robe billowed and her eyes flashed; small faces, imps perhaps, or only tangles, looked
out of her hair.
"I have never told you who your father was. I renounced him. I know nothing of him now. Perhaps he no
longer lives."
"After all," said Tanaquil, "I hardly ever see you, you wouldn't miss me. And he—"
"I won't discuss it. I've told you before, your father is nothing to me. You must put him out of your
mind."
Tanaquil lost her temper again. She stood up and glared at the mice's sausage.
"Perhaps I'll just go anyway. Anywhere must be better!"
"It would take days to cross the desert, stupid child. Only a sorceress could manage it."
"Then help me."
"I wish you to remain here. You're my daughter."
There was a rattling noise in the wall, and a faint soprano voice came down to them from near the ceiling.
"… Bone …"
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The peeve was passing on its quest through the chimneys.
Jaive took little notice. The peeves, desert animals that had made burrows about her fort, thinking it
another rock, had years before been infected by her magic and so begun to speak. To Tanaquil the peeve
symbolized everything that was wrong. She said tensely, "Mother, you must let me go."
"No," said Jaive. And with tiger's eyes she smiled on her daughter.
Tanaquil got up from the dog and went back across the room and out of the door. On the green jade head,
at the age of twelve, she had once painted a moustache, and the head had blinked a ray at her that threw
her down the stairs. Tanaquil closed the black door restrainedly and wondered where to vent her anger
and frustration.
Jaive's fortress had been built in the time of her grandmother, also a sorceress and recluse. It was a
strange building of rather muddled design, and from a distance on the desert it was not only peeves who
thought it only a peculiar formation of rock. To reach the kitchen of the fort, it was necessary to roam
through several long and winding corridors and then down a gloomy cavernous stair into the basement.
This Tanaquil did.
In the third corridor, a carved gargoyle on a beam, touched by another random breath of Jaive's magic,
abruptly flared its wings and crowed, but Tanaquil ignored it. She carried the small clock she had been
repairing for the cook. This was something Tanaquil was good at. Since the age of ten, she had found
herself able to mend things. And so, while her mother extravagantly summoned and questioned demons
in her Sorcerium, Tanaquil worked carefully on broken dolls and clocks, music boxes, and even
sometimes some of the soldiers' crossbows, or bits of the cannon, which were never used except by
accident and often went wrong.
The kitchen lay six feet below ground, with high windows near the ceiling that let in the light and the
sand. Boys were supposed to be constantly at work, sweeping the floors or brushing off the surfaces. On
approaching the kitchen, though, it was usually remarkable only for its stillness and the lazy buzz of talk.
Tanaquil opened the door.
The cook sat on her chair with her feet on the row of ovens, most of which were cold. Two scullery maids
were playing Scorpions and Ladders, and the third was embroidering. None of the sweeper boys was
present. A large pot of yellow tea was on the table, and a plate of pancakes.
"Here's your clock," said Tanaquil, delivering it. She took a pancake and poured herself some tea.
"There now. It goes. Just look. What a clever lady."
"Is there anything else that wants mending?" asked Tanaquil. For five years, this was all that had stopped
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her from going mad, she thought. And there always was something. But as if out of spite the cook shook
her shaggy head. "Not a thing. And that doll you saw to for Pillow's child is still lovely, moving its arms
and going Mamaa!"
"And she's tried ever so hard to break it again," said Pillow, the embroiderer.
"Well, if there's nothing," said Tanaquil, trying to sound businesslike. She felt dejected.
"Let's see," said the cook, "would the lady like to make a cake?"
Tanaquil fought with a blush. "No, thank you." The cook had comforted Tanaquil when she was little,
letting her make iced biscuits and gingerbread camels in the ovens, to keep her from being bored and
lonely. But this was not the answer now. Even mending something was not, although it would have
helped. "I'll be on my way," said Tanaquil airily.
As she closed the kitchen door, she heard the cook say to Pillow, "Madam really ought to have done
something with that girl, it's a waste."
A waste, thought Tanaquil as she went back up the stairs from the kitchen. I've been wasted. And she
shouted at a large rat that was quietly coming down. The rats had never been infected with magical
speech, or never bothered to use it if they had. Nevertheless it looked offended.
Tanaquil climbed again up the fortress. She now seemed to herself to have spent most of her days going
up and down and around it. She came out on one of the lower battlements, where the captain of the
soldiers had his apartment in a turret. In fact he was out on the wall walk with four of his men, rolling
wooden balls at a mark.
"It's the young lady," said one of the soldiers.
They all straightened up and saluted her.
The captain offered her his beer flagon, but she refused.
"Nothing to repair," said the captain. "You may have heard the cannon go off last week—Borrik thought
he saw an army coming, but it was that dust storm, of course. Even so, the machine worked a treat, thanks
to that hinge you saw to."
"Oh," said Tanaquil. "And the bows?"
"First class. Even Iggel's throw-knife works, after you fixed the balance. I expect something or other will
go wrong in a day or so," he added encouragingly.
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Tanaquil had a sudden humiliating idea that some of the kinder soldiers might muck up their equipment
simply in order to give her something to do.
"What a relief," said Tanaquil. "A free afternoon at last!" And she sauntered off.
The other occasional thing Tanaquil had been doing over the weeks, months, years of her life in Jaive's
fortress, had been to go for a Walk. Her first memories of Walks were that her nurse— naturally, Jaive
had had little time to spare—took Tanaquil up and down all the corridors, and sometimes out into the
inner courtyard, which was quite large, and planted with orange trees, grapevines, laurel hedges, and one
dusty dilapidated palm only thirteen feet high. At one end of the yard was a kitchen garden, rather
overgrown, some grass where goats were penned, and an ornate stone well on which was a stone eagle.
Now and then the eagle changed shape, and it was always the first thing the little Tanaquil ran to see:
Once it had looked like an ostrich. Then Tanaquil would play in the courtyard, alone but for the nurse, for
there had been no children anywhere near her own age. As Tanaquil grew older, and the nurse more
elderly, the Walks wended outside the fortress. In the beginning Tanaquil had been very interested in the
desert. She had made sand castles of neater appearance than the fortress. But beyond the shadow of the
fortress's walls, the dunes blistered. There was no oasis for miles, no village. The fort contained the only
water. When she was older still, Tanaquil used to set out for the rock hills. The nurse never made it so far,
and used to stand feebly calling on the sand, under her parasol. Tanaquil was twelve before she managed
to get to the rocks. Her triumph was marred because there was absolutely nothing on the other side but
more sand exactly the same as the rest, stretching away and away to the lavender horizon.
Now Tanaquil went for a Walk every other day, solely to ease her restlessness with exercise. The Walk
was completely boring and purposeless. But to do it she must put on boots against the burning sand and
cover her red head with a silk scarf tied with a band of ribbon. She would walk as far as the rock hills, sit
in their shade, and drink some water she had brought with her. Sometimes she climbed their sides, and
dug out small, frail fossils with her knife. Then perhaps she would walk a mile or so further off, west,
across the sands. When she did this she fantasized to herself that she was leaving home. That just out of
sight was a mighty city of tiled walls, domes and gardens, fountains, markets and noisy crowds. But she
knew from the lessons her mother had given her for an hour every day until she was fourteen, that
although there was a city, it was a hundred miles off. Nor in all her life had Tanaquil ever seen a caravan
cross the desert near Jaive's fortress. They did not come this way. Strangers were limited to desert traders,
herders, and wild dogs and jackals. Near sunset, Tanaquil would face up to facts, turn round, and come
back from the desert.
Today Tanaquil went for a Walk.
As she plodded across the sand, skidded down dunes, she was entirely occupied with questions. Had
yesterday been so different from all the other days? Had she felt, yesterday, this terrific urge, much more
than fantasy, to escape? It was as if, like the eagle, she had changed shape overnight. Now she was
someone else, another, desperate Tanaquil.
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But it was impossible. She must get away—and she could not.
Some peeves were romping near the base of the rock hills. They gave off loud raucous squeaks, and
Tanaquil realized they had not caught the magic speech.
She drank the water from her bottle, then got up the hill formed like a bridge, nearly flat at the top, and
with the great hollow arch beneath. She sat on the bridge-hill and looked at all the old scrapings her own
knife had made. There was one small fossil left, a pale shell, but so delicate it would crack if she cut
down for it.
Tanaquil stared out instead over the sand. Gradually a mirage came to be, of a river with trees on its
banks.
Once the whole desert had been covered by the sea, which had left behind the shells and skeletons of
weird creatures now extinct. One night, Jaive had shown Tanaquil an illusion of the sea on the desert. The
waves had swirled about the fortress, frosted at the top with foam, and the moon shone redder than the
sun.
"You must remember," said Jaive to the nine-year-old
Tanaquil, "that this world is badly made. But we sorcerers believe there are other worlds, some worse,
and one the improved model of this. Of this perfect world we may catch glimpses." And she had tried to
teach Tanaquil use of the magic mirror, but Tanaquil had made a mistake and the mirror cracked and
Jaive had been furious.
"Oh, Mother," said Tanaquil.
She sat on the bridge-rock until the sun began to wester over the sloping dunes. Then she got up and
faced back toward the fortress of the sorceress.
Probably she could find some cold snacks in the kitchen. There was seldom dinner in her mother's hall.
Then she must search the library for a readable book—though bursting with volumes, the library had few
of these. And then. What was there but to go to bed and sleep as long as she could?
Tanaquil went up to her room from the library, where she had read part of a book on ancient witchcraft
and part of a parchment on sorcerer-princes, having located nothing else. She had decided to try to find
some of her missing clothes, which usually moved themselves into absurd places, such as up the
chimney, or mixed themselves with the furnishings and changed color, so that they blended.
As she was investigating the chimney, Tanaquil recalled the peeve that had rushed up there after a bone.
She hoped it had found a way out. Although the nights were icy cold, fires were not often lit. Tanaquil, in
passing, pressed the lion's mouth for hot water, but a fountain of paper flowers fell out.
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Beyond the window, light snow drifted to the desert. The moon had risen, and the dunes were iced
biscuits.
Tanaquil looked at her bed.
On the pillows lay something round and black. Tanaquil approached with caution. "Oh, no!" shouted
Tanaquil. "You wretched thing!"
The peeve of the morning—covered thick with the black soot it had also sprinkled generously all over the
bed and the pillows, which it had also decorated with black paw marks—raised its head.
"What?" asked the peeve.
"Just look what you've done, you pest."
"Done nothing," said the peeve. "What done?" It looked about, surprised.
"All this ghastly mess—"
"Soots," said the peeve. "Wash, wash," and it rolled about, licking itself halfheartedly, spreading the soot
further.
Tanaquil grabbed the peeve and bore it to the window. She plumped it in the embrasure and gave its flank
a sharp tap. "Get out. Go away."
"Moon," said the peeve, staring rapturously skyward.
"Go away."
Tanaquil slammed the shutters on it.
She dreamed she was running over the dunes, in the snow. Her feet were bare, she went like the wind.
There were no rocks, no sign of the fortress, she did not know where she was and did not care.
She woke up because of a loud rasping and scratching on the shutters.
"Come in," stated a voice, "come in now."
"Go away," repeated Tanaquil to the peeve.
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But the peeve went on scratching and demanding to enter.
"If I come to the window, I'll push you off onto the roof below," threatened Tanaquil.
"Come in," said the peeve. "Now."
Tanaquil got up scowling. She flung the shutters wide. There, in a glistening oval of moonshine, crouched
the peeve. "Bone," said the peeve to her intently, "found a bone."
And it nosed something on the stone at its paw.
Tanaquil gazed. What she had taken for a bar of moonlight was not. It was a bone. Long and slender,
unhuman, not at once identifiable, the material from which it was made glowed like polished milk-
crystal. And in the crystal were tiny blazing specks and glints, like diamond—no, like the stars out of the
sky.
"A bone?" whispered Tanaquil. "Where did you find it?"
"Found it," said the peeve.
"But where?"
"Sandy," said the peeve, "hot." It blinked and took the bone lightly up again into its mouth.
Tanaquil reached out to touch. The peeve growled around the bone and lashed its tail, making a thumping
noise on the shutters. "Mine."
"Yes, I know it's yours. But you brought it to show me. Let me—"
"Rrr," said the peeve.
It backed away, the incredible tube of starlight gleaming between its teeth.
"You mustn't—don't crunch it—" cried Tanaquil.
The peeve wrinkled its face and abruptly threw itself around, in a kind of horizontal somersault. It fled,
fur rippling, tail flapping, scuttling and rolling along the roof below, and vanished over an ornamental
weathervane into the confused stages of darkness beneath.
2
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摘要：

DefaultBlackUnicornbyTanithLeePartOne1ThefirstthingTanaquilsawalmosteverymorningonwakingwashermoth\er'sface.ButthatwasbecauseapaintingofTanaquil'smother,thesorceressJaive,hungoppos\itethebed.ThepaintingofJaivehadagreatbushofscarlethairinwhichvariousjewels,plants,implem\ents,andmiceandothersmallanima...

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