Bad Unicorn Read online

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Foreword to the Codex of Infinite Knowability

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  About Platte F. Clark

  To the entire Clark clan: Aidan, Allie, Hunter, Kennidy, Hailey, Platte Christian, Kiaya, and my sweetheart wife, Kathy

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  WHEN YOU ANNOUNCE THAT YOU’RE WRITING A BOOK ABOUT A carnivorous unicorn, you quickly find out who your friends are. Thankfully, I had many allies who stuck around, starting with my wife Kathy, who never gave up encouraging me to write a novel, and my daughter Kennidy, who read new chapters of Bad Unicorn as quickly as I wrote them. More help came from my son Platte Christian and daughter Hailey, as well as from my mini focus group: Allie, Hunter, and Aidan. And without the assistance of my in-house equestrian expert and daughter, Kiaya, I might not have ever resolved whether or not unicorns had eyebrows. I also want to thank my awesome agent, Deborah Warren, and everyone at East West Literary Agency, as well as my amazing editor, Fiona Simpson. A special thanks goes out to the team at Aladdin, from publisher Bethany Buck to the brave soul who suggested putting an impaled squirrel on the front cover. I also benefit greatly from an amazingly talented writing group, composed of E. J. Patten, David Butler, Eric Holmes, and Michael Dalzen. Thanks to Russell Jolley for help with the Judo moves and terminology, as well as to beta reader Jessica Powell. And finally, my love and appreciation goes out to my mom, who has always been my biggest fan.

  Foreword to the

  Codex of Infinite Knowability

  IF YOU’RE READING THIS PAGE YOU’RE probably not a wizard and most definitely not my blood descendant. Stop! For this is the Codex of Infinite Knowability—“codex” because it is a very old book, and “infinite” because the words herein are not bound to any page numbers or table of contents (for that reason, it’s not recommended that you use the Codex as a citation source for book reports). I suppose congratulations are in order, for you managed to get past the first level of electric shock protection (perhaps by opening the book with a stick or by wearing insulated gloves). However, don’t be too smug about your accomplishment. The Codex of Infinite Knowability contains the fifteen Prime Spells—the very foundation of all the magic in the three realms. Just drawing close to them is so dangerous that my team of lawyers requires me to tell you that at any moment you may be electrified, frozen, torn asunder, flung into the air, incinerated, or cast across time and space into the dark regions of the umbraverse. As the Codex’s author, I recommend you close the book now and run away—preferably with screaming and arm flailing. Sure, it might be socially awkward for a while, but it’s way better than experiencing total physical destruction.

  Okay, you’ve ignored my warnings and are reading anyway. Fine. Please note that copyright violators will not only be prosecuted to the full extent of the law, but tied to the Tree of Woe and licked by fire kittens.

  Also, if the final battle for earth did not go well, to our squirrel overlords let me say “well played”—you were a worthy opponent. If humans still survive, take heed and remember two very important things: First, never turn your back on a squirrel with a nut. Second, the Codex of Infinite Knowability is the most magical book ever written. Just having it in your possession will not only put your life at risk but will make you the target of the powerful and power-hungry. These are not creatures to be trifled with, believe me. My recommendation is that you abandon this book to whence you found it and wait for my long-lost ancestor to claim it—for only those of my blood will be able to read further and unlock the mysteries I have so carefully hidden away. And if you happen to find this great descendant of mine, please tell him or her not to bend the Codex’s pages—is it so hard to use a bookmark? A little courtesy goes a long way.

  Maximilian Sporazo

  Arch-Sorcerer and Regent of the Wizard’s Tower

  PROLOGUE

  PRINCESS THE UNICORN WAS HAVING A BAD DAY. PROBABLY NOT AS bad a day as the happy-go-lucky frobbits she’d eaten—but a bad day nonetheless. First of all, the frobbits weren’t very satisfying. As a whole, frobbits were short, moderately salty creatures with big ears, hairy feet, large eyes, and bodies that were roundish as the result of long days of eating, drinking, and making merry. Frobbits had always been considered tender folk—both emotionally and when slowly roasted. But the frobbits of late were just . . . bland. And then there was the frobbit musician chained to the nearby tree. Sure, he was playing all the right notes on his little frobbit mandolin, but he wasn’t really feeling the music—perhaps because Princess had eaten his band mates. And if there was anything Princess despised it was bland frobbits and music without soul.

  Magar approached Princess. He was a thin human with gray-flecked hair and a dark goatee of the evil henchman variety, but now his head hung low in the proper attitude of respect. As Princess’s designated wizard he was required to serve her until released by the Tower’s regent—and that wasn’t likely to happen soon given the current state of things. Unicorns were among the most powerful creatures in the Magrus, and Princess was a particularly nasty one, especially when on a rampage. Nevertheless, he had resigned himself to making the best of it—at the very least he’d try not to get himself incinerated. “Your Highness,” he purred, casting an annoyed glance at the frobbit musician, who immediately stopped playing. “I hope you found these ones more to your liking.”

  Princess sighed in a way that sent shivers down Magar’s spine. “No, they’re not to my liking at all. Honestly, Magar, everything in this whole realm is either bland or tainted.”

  “True enough,” the wizard answered, straightening as he tried to work the kinks out of his back. “Everything in the Magrus is tainted with magic. But it’s magic that makes us what we are.”

  “Maybe. But that isn’t the case everywhere, is it? Not in the upper realm—not in the Techrus.”

  “The human world?” Magar replied, wiping ash from his robes. As a wizard he never quite understood why he had to wear what amounted to a dress adorned with moons and stars. Mages didn’t wear long dresses. Mages wore armor and rode into battle swinging swords and casting spells. They were the star spell casters in the Magrus—wizards were conjurers in pajamas and pointed hats. Not that Magar really wanted to be a mage, especially with all their in-fighting and challenging one another for position. Being a wizard was generally a safer line of work, and that suited Magar just fine. “The Techrus is a tiresome place devoid of magic,” he continued. “And besides, unicorns there have a certain . . . reputation.”

  “Reputation? What kind of reputation? As bloodthirsty conquerors?”

  Magar knew he had to tread carefully here—he’d seen Princess do bad things to those who delivered disappointing new
s. “Uh, not exactly,” he finally answered.

  “Then as devourers of flesh . . . destroyers of cities?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Creatures of nightmare and flame?”

  “Uh . . .”

  Princess frowned, stamping her hoof on the ground. “Well, at the very least, I’m sure we’re known as stabbers and gorers?”

  Magar thought better of answering. He’d seen the strange pictures drawn by human children—pictures that showed happy unicorns leaping over rainbows, many with ribbons and tassels twisted about their horns. The wizard could only offer a halfhearted shrug in response.

  “No, not even as stabbers? Then why do humans suppose we have horns at all?”

  “Perhaps for picking delicious fruit from the trees and sharing with friends,” the frobbit musician offered in as helpful a tone as he could muster.

  Princess smiled—as much as a horse-based creature of evil could smile—then lowered her head. Suddenly a bolt of lightning erupted from her horn and zapped the frobbit into dust. “Not helpful,” she said.

  Magar made a mental note: Avoid future fruit-pruning references.

  Obliterating something, however, did seem to lighten Princess’s mood. She moved to where the mandolin lay on the ground and casually stepped on it with her hoof. “Well, everyone in the Magrus knows that in addition to stabbing things, a unicorn’s horn is like a wizard’s wand, only much more powerful. That’s why we’re so feared.”

  “Undoubtedly so, Your Highness.”

  “Then here’s the situation as I see it,” she continued, stepping off the smashed mandolin with a final twang of a broken string. “The human realm is stocked with delicious nonmagical creatures to eat and it has a certain underappreciation for what unicorns really are.”

  Magar didn’t like where this was going. As part of his training in the Wizard’s Tower he’d learned about the human realm. Specifically, that it was a place full of strange machines, loud noises, and a substance called twinkee that never aged.

  “The only way to the human realm is through the monks of the Holy Order of the Tree of Attenuation—and just filling out the release form takes two years.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And besides,” Magar continued, “ever since the Great Sundering, most magic won’t work there. So even if we could make it you’d be . . .”

  Princess raised the patch of hair over her eye (the term “uni-brow” had been summarily rejected). “I’d be, what?”

  “You’d be unable to use the full extent of your impressive and powerful magic,” Magar said, swallowing. “Your Highness.”

  “There are different kinds of magic, Magar. I thought your Tower would have taught you that. Anyway, I think I want to talk with Rezormoor Dreadbringer. I’ve heard he’s obsessed with the Techrus these days.”

  Rezormoor was the regent of the Wizard’s Tower. Even as a student, Magar had thankfully had little contact with him. Not only was Rezormoor the most powerful spell caster in all the realm, but he was notoriously boring at parties. This was due in large part to his singular obsession with finding the legendary Codex of Infinite Knowability. He tended to drone on about it, even when people yawned, tried to steer the conversation in another direction, or accidentally stabbed themselves with dinner forks. The thought of some kind of unholy alliance between Rezormoor and Princess was enough to put a knot in Magar’s stomach. “I will take you there, if that’s what you wish.”

  “Didn’t I just say that? Yes, Magar, I want to go to your drab Tower. And if Rezormoor’s disagreeable, maybe I can at least trade you in for an upgrade—that way the trip won’t be a complete waste.”

  Magar bowed, feeling the old twinge returning to his back. You at least had to be alive to be traded in, he thought. And that was a good thing.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MAX FINDS A BOOK

  THE TECHRUS—PRESENT

  IN THE HUMAN REALM, WHERE LIFE WAS SO DREARY MILLIONS OF KIDS tweeted messages like, “eating breakfast,” “it’s Friday!” and “ ,” Max Spencer was riding the bus to Parkside Middle School and reading a book. But not just any book—he was reading a book that had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. The fact that the last time he’d opened it was six years ago wasn’t important. What was important was that he’d found it under his bed (hidden beneath a dinosaur-themed swimsuit) just in time for his book report, which was due today. Max was used to having luck—just not the good kind. And that made him slightly nervous.

  Max lived in a small house in a small town. He was expected to do chores like beat the weeds back once a week and unclog the toilet if it wouldn’t flush. But he didn’t mind as long as he earned enough allowance to pay for his online games. In the virtual world he was someone impressive—unlike in real life. In PE, for example, Max was always picked dead last (even when Tina Eubanks had two broken arms and a broken leg). And during football season Max had to stay on the sidelines and practice “imaginary jump rope” because the school counselor said competitive sports were damaging his self-esteem. Max was pretty sure middle school was hard enough without becoming known as the jump-rope kid.

  As the bus pulled away from the next stop and the kids hurried to find their seats, Max kept his eyes on the pages of his book—partly because he had his English assignment due, but mostly so he wouldn’t make eye contact with Ricky “the Kraken” Reynolds. The Kraken was not only the bane of all nerds, geeks, dorks, and the great mass of unclassifieds that wandered the halls of his school, he was also the captain of the wrestling team. He’d earned his nickname after crackin’ the bones of two different kids during a regional tournament. The fact that there was also a terrible mythological creature by the same name was simply a bonus.

  The key to riding the bus safely was to not be different. If you were a jock, or popular, you were generally safe. But if you were a little pudgy, had a big nose, wore braces, played a reed-based band instrument, or stood out in any way, you were no longer riding a bus—you were a passenger on Ricky’s private yellow torture chamber on wheels. Just last week Max had witnessed Ricky deliver an atomic wedgie, a frontal Melvin, a purple nurple, and the dreaded two-handed monkey scrub. The best thing to do in situations like these was to keep your head down and hope Ricky stayed focused on someone else. And that’s what Max did, staring intently at his book.

  He was reading a section about unicorns. Not that he thought unicorns were especially interesting, but the book had a strange habit of choosing whatever topic it wanted. For instance, if Max wanted to read about something other than unicorns he could grab a handful of pages and flip ahead, but there he’d find exactly the same thing he’d been reading previously. After several attempts, all with the same result, Max finally decided that you didn’t actually read the old leather-bound book; instead it allowed you to read parts of it. He knew that didn’t make much sense, but a book was a book and he had an English assignment to do.

  Someone yelped from the backseats where Ricky and his friends were, so Max hunkered down even farther and continued reading: In addition to being ruled by a queen, unicorns are highly magical creatures capable of speaking to humans. Occasionally, a unicorn gives up on its diet of grass and oats and goes for a little variety, perhaps by eating the human it was previously talking to. Unfortunately, once a unicorn gets a taste for meat there’s really no easy way to stop it from plundering, pillaging, and devouring whatever it wants. This includes frobbits, who happen to be a bit of a delicacy, are easy to catch, and come in at around six hundred calories each.

  There was a picture of a unicorn standing defiantly on a hilltop next to a human wearing a robe with moons and stars on it. The unicorn was white, with a long mane accented with pink streaks. On its head sat the emblematic horn, shaped like a tall ice cream cone swirled to perfection. The whole thing reminded Max of a poster a young girl might hang on her wall next to her kitten calendar. Beneath the picture the caption read, Princess the Unicorn, also known as Princess the Destr
oyer. Pictured here with her faithful wizard, Magar the Tolerated.

  “Dude!” a voice exploded near Max, and he looked up to see his best friend Dirk dropping down in front of him. Dirk was wearing his favorite “Wang Computers” T-shirt as he leaned over the back of the seat, completely oblivious to the Kraken or anybody else. “The online raid last night totally rocked! I was like, ‘You want some of this?’ And they were like, ‘Yeah, we want some of that.’ So I was like, ‘Then that’s what you’re gonna get.’ And they were like, ‘Good, because that’s what we want.’ ” Dirk paused, noticing what Max was holding. “Hey, isn’t that the old book you used to read?”

  “Codex,” Max said a little too loudly. “So another raid, huh? Sounds . . . epic.” Max had lost count of how many times they had had this exact same conversation.

  “It was. I totally destroyed this noob elf. Then I did the whole ‘chicken’ and ‘laugh’ dance over his dead body. It was awesome.”

  Max could picture Dirk’s character doing the chicken dance and then laughing—two of the commands at the ready for online gamers wanting to add a little insult to injury. “Didn’t that happen to you once?” Max asked. He seemed to remember a large party of orcs dancing around Dirk’s mangled corpse.

  Dirk frowned. “Yeah, well where do you think I got the idea?”

  “Figures. So anything else happen?”

  “Just the usual, except the elf was part of some humongous guild and they all came after me. Then they danced around my dead body and mocked me for like an hour or so—all two hundred of them.”

  Having an entire guild chasing Dirk through the game was also something Max had seen before.

  “So where were you? I didn’t see you log on at all.”

  “I told you I got busted after staying up all night. I can’t play until the weekend.”

  Dirk shook his head. “Smacked down by the man! Or should I say the woman.” Max had made a deal with his mom that if he got a B average he could play online games on weeknights and weekends, and if he got a C average he could only play on the weekends. Max had just barely missed getting all B’s last term, so he figured that getting close should count for a couple of extra game days. But when his mom returned after her night shift and found Max still awake and online, he’d discovered what “letter of the law” truly meant. Unfortunately, his mom had an administrative account that locked him out of the game. Banished from all known forms of fun, Max decided to look for lost comics under his bed, and that’s when he’d rediscovered the book.