“Belcazar?” Alison said, eyeing his tail, long and white-furred with a tuft at the end, like a lion’s. “So, if I help you get the baby unicorns back, this is all going to stop, right? I don’t need to be hearing cats talking.”
“Who does?” the unicorn said evasively. “This way,” he added, and trotted across Columbus Circle to take Broadway downtown.
Otto Penzler lived on Gramercy Park in a neat three-story brownstone with an honest-to-God front yard and fresh flowers in the window boxes.
“I guess he can just magic up money or whatever,” Alison said, staring in through the fence bars. She’d been spending a lot of time in libraries reading the New York Times to find classified ads for jobs she wouldn’t get, so she had picked up what this place had to cost.
“Not unless he wants the Treasury Department to decide he’s a counterfeiter,” Belcazar said. “He probably has a day job. Come on.”
He jumped the ironwork fence in a single spectacularly graceful leap and trotted to a side window. Alison rolled her eyes and just went through the unlocked front gate. “What’s the plan, here, exactly?”
Belcazar touched the window with his horn. The latches on the inside slid by themselves, and the window rose smoothly open. “You climb through, let me in the front door, and then we find the baby unicorns and get out, hopefully before the wizard even wakes up,” he said.
“Uh,” Alison said. “I hate to break it to you, but he’s not keeping them in there.”
“How would you know?” Belcazar demanded.
Alison pointed inside the window. “If he blew that much money on hardwood floors, I do not think he is letting a bunch of horses walk on them. He’s got to have them somewhere else.”
Around back there was a padlocked cellar door. Belcazar backed away from the lock with a snort. “Cold iron,” he said unhappily.
“Would it help if it was warm iron?” Alison said. “I have a lighter.”
“Very funny, not,” Belcazar said. “That must be where he’s got them.” He looked at Alison expectantly.
It was New York, so there was a twenty-four-hour hardware store a couple of blocks away. The guy at the cash register had a vague expression on his face as he handed Alison the crowbar and put one of Alison’s last five-dollar bills into the register. Belcazar was standing just inside the door; he had somehow managed to cram himself in between the folding ladders and the mops.
“If I get locked up for this, you are so busting me out,” Alison said shortly after working the crowbar into the lock and leaning on it. The padlock popped open like a gunshot, and she looked up and around to make sure no one had gotten curious and stuck their head out a window to see her breaking into some nice upstanding wizard’s cellar in the dead of night.
“I’ll hire you a goblin lawyer,” Belcazar said. “Hurry up before it gets light.”
She was still careful opening the doors, keeping them as quiet as she could, lifting them slowly. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting; this all still seemed unreal, the streetlamp casting Belcazar’s shadow with the tapering horn on the ground next to her. But you could get used to pretty much anything, if you gave it enough time—eating in soup kitchens, sleeping on the street. Unicorns were not that hard, and breaking into an evil wizard’s basement was turning out to be easier than getting into the high school weight room after hours.
The doors opened on a broad staircase going down into black, with the annoying kind of fancy steps that were so long you had to take an extra step before you got to the edge, but not long enough to take two extra steps, so you were always going down on the same foot. She couldn’t see the bottom, even after they had ducked all the way in.
Belcazar’s horn glowed white as they descended, a sort of cool, unforgiving pearly light. The walls were weird and smooth and curved, like they were auditioning for an Escher painting. It seemed like they were trying to bend away from the light.
“Ew,” Alison said, twenty steps down, with the dark cornflower blue rectangle of open sky above getting farther away than she wanted it, and a rotten stink getting closer. “Is this going to end up in the sewers or something?”
“Ugh, no; it’s a troll,” Belcazar said, stopping.
They hadn’t quite stepped off the stairs, but they’d bottomed out in a small antechamber, pretty much just a landing with a door at the other end. Alison didn’t see what Belcazar meant until the big lumpy pile of rock by the door sat up and unfolded concrete gray arms and legs and blinked little black pebble eyes at them. “Yum,” the troll said, and came lumbering toward them.
“Uh,” Alison said, backing away rapidly. Belcazar just stood there, though, and the troll got yanked up a foot short of the stairs by a chain around its neck.
“Yum,” it said unhappily, stretching its thick stumpy arms out at them futilely.
“They won’t stay put unless you chain them,” the unicorn said to Alison a little loftily.
“Thanks for letting me know!” she said. “So now what? Can you kill this thing?”
“No,” the unicorn said.
“I thought you guys could take out dragons?”
Belcazar pawed the ground. “Okay, theoretically I could kill it, but if it grabbed on to me, it’s stronger, and it’s not like there’s a lot of room to maneuver in here.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s going to let us by if we just ask nicely,” Alison said.
“Yep,” the troll said immediately. “Let you by. Go ’head.” It backed up against the wall and waved a hand at the passageway. It even tried a hopeful smile, full of teeth like broken rocks.
“Nice try,” Alison said.
“Aw,” the troll said.
“You’re a soldier!” Belcazar said. “Haven’t you got any better ideas?”
“Oh, yeah, absolutely. I’ll go upstairs, call around, and find someone in Manhattan with a grenade launcher, and we’ll come right back,” Alison said sarcastically. She wondered what a real marine would do. Probably shoot it with the gun a real marine would be carrying and know how to use, which wasn’t a lot of help.
“Riddle game?” the troll said. “I get wrong, you go by.”
“Will he stick to that?” Alison asked Belcazar.
“Of course not,” Belcazar said. His sides heaved out in a deep breath. “I knew I should have let Talmazan do this,” he muttered, and lowered his horn, his hindquarters bunching awkwardly on the steps.
“Wait, wait, hang on,” Alison said, because the troll’s hands were the size of basketballs and looked like they’d been carved out of solid rock. She didn’t really want to see what they’d do to Belcazar if he got close enough to touch.
“I thought you didn’t have any better ideas,” Belcazar said, lifting his head.
And Alison didn’t, at first, but then she said to the troll, “Are you only up for dinner if it talks, or would you be okay with chicken?”
The troll brightened right up. “Big Mac!” it said.
“Fabulous,” Alison said, sighing.
“That isn’t going to be more than an appetizer for that thing,” Belcazar said when they’d come out of the McDonald’s with the burger in a sack.
“That’s why we’re going to stuff it full of crushed Benadryl,” Alison said, crossing the street toward the twenty-four-hour Duane Reade on the other side.
That wiped out the rest of her cash, but the troll bounced right up when Alison tossed it the burger. Then it spent about half an hour eating it slowly and lingeringly, one tiny bite at a time, and licking its lips after each one. Then it ate the fries, the wrapper, and the bag, said, “Yum!” and fell over snoring.