Pip Bartlett's Guide to Unicorn Training Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1: Heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

  Chapter 2: Everyone Likes Chips

  Chapter 3: The Ideal Unicornand How to Spot Him

  Chapter 4: The Ideal Unicorn and How to Stop Him

  Chapter 5: Feels Like Home. Suspiciously Like Home.

  Chapter 6: Shiny Things and Shiny People

  Chapter 7: The Little Country with a Big Problem

  Chapter 8: Heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, Part Two

  Chapter 9: A Spiral of Doom

  Chapter 10: Walk, Trot, Slink

  Chapter 11: Scandal! Scandal! Scandal!

  Chapter 12: Everyone Likes Baby Unicorns

  Chapter 13: To Catch aTail Thief

  Chapter 14: Regent Maximus’s Guide to Survival

  Chapter 15: Heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, Part Three

  Chapter 16: Things Get a Little Fishy

  Chapter 17: Round Two

  Chapter 18: Heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, Part Four

  Chapter 19: Sometimes Popcorn Is a Crime-Solving Food

  Chapter 20: Toupee or Not Toupee—That Is the Question!

  Chapter 21: Someday My Prince Will Come … to Jail

  Chapter 22: The Ideal Unicorn (and the Ideal Rockshine)

  Copyright

  I was shoveling Greater Rainbow Mink poop.

  This wasn’t as bad as you might think. Greater Rainbow Minks only eat burnt sugar, so their poop literally smells like candy. (It’s not candy, of course. It’s very important to remember that no matter how good it smells, it’s still poop.)

  This Mink was the first Greater Rainbow Mink I’d ever met in person, but I knew a lot about them because they had a very long entry in my favorite book in the world, Jeffrey Higgleston’s Guide to Magical Creatures.

  It turned out that knowing a lot about an animal from a book was not the same thing as learning about an animal in person. For instance, it was one thing to read Greater Rainbow Minks are agile climbers. It was another thing to see an animal the size of a striped sock whipping up a wall like gravity doesn’t matter. This was why it was amazing that I got to spend the summer with Aunt Emma at the Cloverton Clinic for Magical Creatures. I met a new animal every day.

  “Sugar-sugar-sugar-sugar,” shouted the Mink, running up and down the cage wall, tail flapping like a rainbow-colored flag. To everyone else in the world, her squeaks would’ve sounded random. But unlike anyone else in the world, I could understand and talk to magical creatures.

  Darting to me, the Mink grabbed my pant leg with small furry fists. She shook it pleadingly. “Please? Please gimme sugar? I would like some sugar please please please sugar.”

  Sometimes understanding magical creatures isn’t the most useful of skills.

  “You’ve already had breakfast. You’ll get more sugar at lunch,” I told her.

  “Sugar-sugar-sugar. Lunch sugar. Lunch sugar!” the Greater Rainbow Mink squealed. She released a small caramel-scented fart before leaping away.

  Even though I wasn’t climbing the cage walls like the Rainbow Mink, on the inside, I was just as excited. Because even though it seemed like a normal day at the Cloverton Clinic, it wasn’t. Because today was the day before the Triple Trident.

  I’d wanted to go to the Triple Trident ever since I found out about it, but it never worked out. My parents were geologists, and summer was a really busy time for them with travel. Plus, neither of my parents was animal-crazy. I knew they would’ve taken me if I’d begged, but it wouldn’t have been fun for me, knowing they were actually secretly bored.

  But now it was finally happening! The Triple Trident was right here in Cloverton. Aunt Emma loved animals. And I could go with my new friend Tomas. There’d be Unicorns and Griffins and Pegasi and Sallifourths and—

  “Caramels! Butterscotch! Taffy!” shouted the Mink, grabbing her feet and rocking back and forth.

  “I know!” I shouted back, equally excited, even if it was about something totally different.

  We peered at each other. I could see myself in the Mink’s beady, adorable eyeballs. I wondered if she could see herself in mine.

  A loud, low voice made us break our touching eye contact.

  “Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!”

  I asked the Mink, “Did you hear that?”

  “Lollipops and gumdrops and gummies!”

  That seemed like a no.

  “Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!” The voice blasted again. This time I could tell it was coming from outside the clinic’s back door. It sounded like a magical creature to me, which was strange, because normally I could understand more of what they were saying. But this one just sounded like—

  “Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!”

  “Don’t pull!” This voice was a human voice for sure, sounding sharp and concerned.

  “Stay here,” I told the Mink, slipping her a caramel from my pocket (“sugar-sugar-sugar-sugar”) and carefully letting myself out of her cage. I hurriedly scrubbed my hands in the back-room sink (it’s important not to transfer any magical sicknesses from animal to animal) and pushed open the door.

  The Georgia summer, hot and sticky, hit me first, and then the sound—“Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”—hit me second.

  In the side lot beside the clinic, Aunt Emma stood as if she was ready to catch a football. Legs braced. Arms wide. It took a lot to fluster her, but she looked as close to flustered as she got. Her short hair stuck up sweatily in all directions, with just one lock—the one she’d dyed pink—pasted over her forehead. Another lady in overalls stood about ten feet away, right in front of a pickup truck and tidy small livestock trailer.

  This lady had definitely crossed over the flustered line. She was also not throwing a football. She was holding one end of a rope leash; the other end was attached to a collar that hovered midair.

  “Pip,” Aunt Emma said in a very level voice, “keep your voice quite calm. We’re dealing with a Rockshine.”

  “Oh!” I started to exclaim—but then I clapped a hand over my mouth. Rockshines are a species of Glimmerbeast. They’re farm animals, so I hadn’t run across any in the big city of Atlanta. But I remembered two important facts from their entry in the Guide to Magical Creatures:

  1. They went invisible when they were excited or alarmed.

  2. They were not very smart.

  Clearly this Rockshine was very excited or alarmed, because it was completely invisible, which was why the leash ended in … nothingness.

  A sound erupted from the empty air between Aunt Emma and the other lady: “Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”

  I had thought that I might be able to figure out what the creature was saying once I was closer, but now I realized that when the Rockshine said, “Heeyyyyyyy!” it meant: Hey! Or maybe Hay!

  “What can I do?” I asked Aunt Emma.

  In a smooth, soothing voice, my aunt said, “Callie went to get some carrots. We’re hoping that will cheer him up enough that he’ll become at least partially visible.”

  I wanted to ask why they didn’t just put him back in the trailer, even if he was invisible, but I didn’t want to risk talking too much and scaring him further. Luckily, the woman in overalls explained, “His collar is too loose. It’s my own fault—I grabbed the wrong one on the way out the door. He’s just about pulled out of it, though, and if he does, we’ll never find him!”

  I kept my voice low. “Is there a way to tighten the collar?”

  “Not without taking it off,” said the lady.

  “And we don’t have a collar big enough for him,” Aunt Emma said. “I checked.”

  I had an idea. One of my jobs at the clinic was walking Bubbles, a cranky Miniature Silky Griffin. He didn’t wear
a collar because Aunt Emma didn’t want him leaning his full weight against his neck. Instead, he wore a harness that strapped around his chest and legs. Bubbles was a miniature Griffin, so obviously his harness would be too small for a Rockshine, but …

  “HEEEEEYYYYYYY!!!!” the Rockshine shouted again. I was beginning to think it meant Hey, I will never be visible again!

  “Could we put that Standard Griffin harness on him? The one for the pup, I mean,” I asked. Standard Griffins are big as horses, but their pups are about the size of a Rockshine. Like Bubbles, they wear harnesses too, but not to protect their throats. Their necks are just about the same size as their heads, so it’s easy for a badly trained Griffin pup to slip out of its collar as it flies into the air. We didn’t have a Griffin pup in the clinic, but I remembered that an old Griffin pup harness hung on the hook behind Bubbles’s harness.

  Both the lady and Aunt Emma looked at me like I was an ice-cream cone on a hot day. It actually made me a little nervous. People being very annoyed or very happy with me had the exact same effect.

  “That’s a great idea, Pip,” Aunt Emma said. “I forgot we still had that red one. Yes, please go get that harness—quietly, if you can.”

  By the time I’d reemerged, my older cousin Callie had come outside as well. She was tall and skinny like Aunt Emma, but she had very long hair that she curled every day, just in case a director or Broadway producer saw her and thought, There she is! The perfect star for our new musical, working the desk at a magical creature clinic!

  Right now Callie looked more furious than famous. Her hair was already wilting in the Georgia heat. She held up the bucket of carrots—it looked like a bucket of fat fingers—and growled, “Tell me what I’m doing with these root vegetables so that I can go die in the air-conditioning.”

  “Here’s the plan,” Aunt Emma said. “Callie, you hold the bucket in the direction of the Rockshine’s head—no, that’s his butt. The other end. Mariah, wait till we see the carrots vanishing, then we’ll know he’s distracted and you can grab hold. Once you’ve got him, I’ll put the harness on. Pip, stand back. He’s not that big, but you aren’t either, and he could knock you down.”

  There was a brief scuffle.

  When everyone stopped moving, the lady was holding a glowing blue leg, Aunt Emma was fastening the last harness buckle, and Callie was eating a carrot as she headed back into the clinic.

  The lady in the overalls wiped her hand on them and offered it to me to shake.

  “Mariah Gould,” she said. “Nice to meet you. Strong common-sense thinking there!”

  We shook hands.

  “Pip Bartlett,” I said. And then, a little louder, “Pip Bartlett.” I was trying to get better at talking to people, but it was still easier to talk to magical creatures.

  “This is my niece,” Aunt Emma said. She sounded proud. “She’s here for the summer. Pip, Mariah’s here for the Triple Trident.”

  “Hopefully, Bucky here is too,” Ms. Gould said. “I just smelled a little bit of honey-breath from the herd today and wanted to make sure they were tested for Sweet Pox before we took them onto showgrounds.”

  “Aren’t invisible animals hard to show?” I asked.

  Ms. Gould nodded. “They have to be kept very calm. Total invisibility during a show is grounds for disqualification.”

  “Wow!” I said, picturing a whole pen full of invisible animals in harnesses.

  “Perhaps you can help us out, Pip. We could use someone like you, with your strong common-sense thinking!” She said it in such a way that I could tell she said strong common-sense thinking a lot. “How about it?”

  “Sure!”

  Aunt Emma beamed at me. Callie wasn’t very interested in magical creatures, so I knew Aunt Emma was extra-glad that I was.

  The Rockshine was slowly becoming more and more visible. He was bigger than I’d expected, with thin legs and a round body that was covered in wispy beige hair. He had a short stubby snout and ears that flopped over into neat triangles. Like a pig-sheep-dog-thing. He was so ugly that he was sort of cute.

  Sort of.

  “There you are, my handsome boy,” Ms. Gould said. “Thanks so much, Emma. And Pip! We’ll see you at the Trident? Come find me in the Glimmerbeast section.”

  I grinned at her and patted Bucky’s head. “I’ll be there!”

  It would take a pack of wild Grims to keep me away from the Triple Trident.

  The Triple Trident was being held just outside of Cloverton at the county fairgrounds, which turned out to be a collection of outdoor rings and giant warehouse-type buildings. A huge banner read: THE 34TH ANNUAL TRIPLE TRIDENT. Pictures of Unicorns with glorious pink manes reared on either side of the letters.

  My friend Tomas and I peered out the car window as Aunt Emma parked in front. Tomas sat in the backseat with me, a tissue already clutched in his right hand. He was allergic to most magical creatures, and thought he was allergic to the rest of them. Right now, for instance, he was wearing a giant bright blue backpack full of emergency supplies. He was already pretty small, and the backpack made him look even smaller. But Tomas liked to be prepared. And I liked that he didn’t let his allergies keep him from having adventures.

  Aunt Emma turned the car off. “Callie, would you look in the, ah, thingy, for the parking pass?”

  “Gross!” Callie said as she flipped open the glove box. “I’m going to get black stuff all over my hands.” The inside of the glove box was full of partially burned car manuals and receipts—the only sign remaining of the Fuzzle infestation we’d just dealt with.

  “At least there isn’t still a Fuzzle in there too,” Tomas said grimly.

  “Small blessings!” Aunt Emma declared, slapping the parking pass on the dash so that it was visible from outside of the car. “Everyone out!”

  As we climbed out of the car, the scent of lavender—which was used for Unicorn bedding—whipped through the summer breeze. The parking lot was crammed full of livestock trailers, and underneath the hum of traffic and conversation were the squeaks, barks, squawks, and aahh-oooos of dozens of magical creatures.

  My heart thumped with excitement.

  “Tomas,” I whispered, “we’re really here.”

  Tomas silently placed his inhaler in his mouth and took a solemn puff.

  “We’re really here,” he echoed.

  Beside us, Callie used the car window to study her reflection. I was surprised that she’d so eagerly agreed to come—her interest in magical creatures was usually limited to keeping them from interfering with the rest of her life as much as possible. But not only had she come without complaining, she’d taken up the bathroom for almost two hours getting ready. She’d even tied a flower up in her hair and was carrying a purse made out of a Shakespeare book.

  “Ready for battle?” Callie asked.

  “Yeah!” I replied.

  Callie looked surprised that I had answered. She’d been talking to her own reflection.

  But it was true that she wasn’t the only one prepared for battle. Tomas and I had spent hours going over the map of the arena, deciding which route meant maximum magical-creature time.

  “Now, hey, you three,” Aunt Emma said, two boxes stacked in her arms. “Don’t go running off just yet. I need your help bringing the stuff for the booth.”

  Callie groaned, predictably. Tomas looked nervous, predictably. I looked longingly at the animal arena. Predictably.

  “Soon, Pip,” Aunt Emma promised. She loaded us down with supplies for the Cloverton Clinic for Magical Creatures booth—loading Tomas down slightly less than Callie and me, since he was already trudging under his backpack.

  It was even more exciting inside the booth setup area. People scurried about with magical animal supplies. Animal sounds were everywhere. In the rafters overhead, Blankbirds flitted about.

  “Ugh!” Callie said, as one swept perilously close to the flower in her hair.

  “Look at them!” Aunt Emma said. We did. “Let’s see if the
y’ll do their thing—oh, there!”

  As we watched, one of the darker Blankbirds opened its beak and projected a rainbow beam of light onto one of the white Blankbirds. Only it wasn’t a rainbow once it hit the white feathers: All of the colors combined to create a picture of an open bag of chips on the bird’s body.

  “Male Blankbirds communicate by projecting images onto the females,” Aunt Emma said, shuffling her boxes to her other hip for balance. “Looks like he’s telling her about a bag of chips someone tossed on the ground. Blankbirds are very food motivated.”

  I could tell. Everyone else just heard the male Blankbird chirping madly, but I could understand what he was saying: “Honey! Look! There’s a bag of chips! If we hurry now, we can beat the rush! Go go go chips chips chips!”

  “I guess everyone likes chips,” I said. “That was so much cooler than it was described in the Guide!”

  “I know,” Aunt Emma replied, grinning. My copy of the Guide actually used to be Aunt Emma’s, back when she was in vet school. “Maybe you can fix that later. Okay, let’s go!”

  We lugged the stuff to the booth, getting thoroughly sweaty and covered in a thin film of lavender dust in the process.

  “I’m going to go find a bathroom to wash off my hands,” Callie said, staring at her palms. She started to pat her hair, and then pulled her hand back in distaste. “If there is even a bathroom in a place like this.”

  Tomas said—a little stuffily, since he was allergic to all the lavender—“I saw a hose on the way in.”

  “A hose? I am not livestock!”

  Tomas shrank behind me so that only his blue backpack stuck out.

  “Don’t shout,” Aunt Emma told Callie. “The restrooms are down there. Also, there’s nothing wrong with livestock.”

  With a muffled scream, Callie stomped off.

  “It’s safe,” I told Tomas.

  He reemerged with a little fan attached to a water bottle in his hand. He used it to mist his face before offering it to me.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I don’t mind being sweaty as long as I’m not smelly.”