The Unicorn Girl. Michael Kurland

fiddle-faddle. Well then, short and to the point. Are you travelers in need of assistance, and if so will you ride with us to the town, where such can be provided?”

      “Yes and yes,” I said. “And we thank you.”

      “Madam,” Chester said to Robin’s young Aunt. “In behalf of four weary travelers who appear purely by chance at this point of the road at this time, and who are sorely in need of sustenance, rest and—perhaps even more important—the humanity and friendship of those whose lands we cross, however accidentally, and upon whose bounty we must now impose, I would like to thank the both of you for stopping; surely an act of unexcelled kindness which shows the goodness of your hearts; for speaking with us, which shows your humanity, consideration and knowledge of the higher values, and, most important, for offering your aid, which must surely rank with the assistance the parable tells us was offered to that other traveler in his hour of need so long ago.” He bowed stiffly from the waist.

      “Oh!” said Robin’s Aunt. “Well. How elegant. Robin, have our guests mount the carriage so we can get started. You sit next to me so we can talk. What did you say your name was?”

      We clambered into the coach and sat ourselves on the wide, soft, leather seats. There would easily have been room for two or three more before anyone started feeling crowded. The footman took his place and the vehicle yanked to a start. When Sylvia sat down there was a moment of confusion on the part of both Robin and his aunt. They, evidently, weren’t used to miniskirts. Robin seemed to be in some sort of mental crisis, staring at Sylvia’s legs and then quickly away, and then back at the seat as though Sylvia had disappeared.

      Aunt had herself under tight control. “Your, ah, limbs, child,” she said, carefully not looking at Sylvia. “They must be cold. Here—why don’t you cover them with this?” She took a sweater from the seat beside her and poked it in Sylvia’s face.

      “Thank you,” Sylvia said, taking the sweater. “It is sort of cold.” She put the sweater around her shoulders.

      “I don’t think you got the point,” I murmured to her. “The knees, cover the knees.”

      “What? Why?”

      “Don’t ask, just do,” I said, vowing to give her a complete rundown on Queen Vicky and Tony Comstock the next chance I got, since we might be here a while. To her eternal credit, with no further questions she used the sweater as Aunt had intended.

      Chester immediately launched into a sentence like a man pushing a canoe into the ocean. He was over his head in a minute, but he floundered on, drawing Robin’s and Aunt’s attention away from us while Sylvia made herself decent. At the last moment, when he was about to drown in parenthetical comments, he saved himself with a masterful summative clause and drove, dripping but unbowed, to a powerful and effective finish.

      “Well!” Aunt repeated. “Well! Tell us about yourselves.”

      And he did. In rich, full-colored and patently untrue detail, Chester wove a legend of our recent past. But then we couldn’t tell them the truth and expect not to be locked up. We’re from another world, or time, or something, and just arrived here on a passing blip. Sure.

      “Urgh!” went Dorothy—a sort of gargle of astonishment at the back of her throat. She was staring over the side of the carriage at something in the field beyond. I swiveled my head around and peered over the edge of the coach to see what she was looking at.

      I saw.

      While Chester prattled on with Robin’s aunt and Robin regally surveyed his countryside, Dorothy, Sylvia and I watched as our carriage approached an orgy.

      The grass was clear and green and deep, and on it six mother-naked couples frolicked in joyful abandon. Two carriages were pulled off the road onto the grass. Near them were a couple of portable tables covered with white tablecloths, on which rested wicker baskets packed with food. It was not, however, the sort of picnic that the ladies of the Church Missionary Society would have held.

      The food was not yet touched. It wasn’t lunchtime yet, and the picnickers were working up an appetite. Their clothes, six sets of male garb and six complete ladies’ costumes, down to lace unmentionables, were neatly stacked in twelve separate piles. Their bodies, buffed bright and glistening with sweat, were arranged in six busy clusters. They ran, they jumped, they chased, they grabbed, they laughed, they were caught, and they fell down and joined together in the soft grass. It was beautiful to watch, if you went in for that sort of thing.

      Sylvia licked her lips. “I don’t suppose they’d ask us to join them?” I was shocked for a second until I noticed that she was staring at the baskets of food. Still, it might be a good idea to find out just what the mores of my unicorn girl’s circus world were.

      The scene reminded me very strongly of something out of a Victorian dirty book. The wicker baskets, the bottles of wine, the patiently-waiting horse carriages, all neatly framing the fun on the grass.

      Our carriage had almost reached the scene of the action, and Chester had finally looked up from his animated conversation. He froze like a bird dog with a grouse.

      “Remind you of anything?” I asked casually.

      “Marin County ten years ago, but how did you know? You were in Europe.”

      “That’s not what, I meant, but never mind.”

      We reached the picnickers and stared over the side of the carriage at them. That is, we did, but our host and hostess ignored them completely and went on talking about the beauty of the autumn countryside.

      Robin noticed that we were all staring at something, and looked out. “Ah, yes. The trees in autumn, the meadow, the countryside, the little changes of nature which can be seen every day as the leaves turn russet and gold and prepare to make their one trip from branch to mulch; this, God’s world, is where true beauty can be found and where man should seek his relaxation and find his spiritual comfort.”

      “Oh?” Sylvia asked innocently. “Is that what they’re doing?”

      The frolickers waved at us as our carriage passed them. One man, with his arms full of squirming blonde, made an obscene gesture.

      I was puzzled by Robin’s lack of reaction. “You,” I said, gesturing at the field, “have guests, I see.”

      “Yes. The little creatures of the woodland make themselves at home in the fields and sport about.”

      I nodded and smiled, feeling very weak about the knees. Chester choked.

      “What is the matter with you?” Aunt asked, slapping Chester heartily on the back.

      Chester tried to look blasé and worldly-wise and succeeded in looking slightly bilious. “Those, ah, persons in the field,” he waved an indicative arm, out there. “Very, um, interesting.”

      “Persons?” She leaned over and stared out of the carriage

      The naked rompers, giggling and chortling, were spread out (individually as well as collectively) on the billiard-table lawn. Two by two they were forming themselves into letters and lining up to spell out a dirty word. Then, with the rapidity of long practice, they shifted to another dirty word. It’s amazing the postures two human beings can assume while forming a letter; especially, I suppose, a letter in a dirty word. I resolved that, with the right partner, I’d have to try one of the letters myself. The U probably, I’m basically conservative.

      One-Half of a T, laughing wildly, blew a kiss at Aunt.

      “What persons are these?” she asked without so much as a momentary flicker of an eyelid. “Is there somebody in our field?”

      “In the field?” Robin, looking seriously concerned, peered out as a pair of melon-ripe breasts bounced by. “What would anyone be doing in our field? Where do you see them?” He stared off at the tree line. “Is someone sneaking about in our field?”

      “Sneaking!” Dorothy yelped. She was suspiciously red about the ears. “The eye of man has seldom beheld such