Schmendrick stopped the bars, though she never knew how. If he spoke any magic, she had not heard it; but the cage stopped shrinking a breath before the bars touched her body. She could feel them all the same, each one like a little cold wind, miaowing with hunger. But they could not reach her.

The magician’s arms fell to his sides. “I dare no more,” he said heavily. “The next time, I might not be able…” His voice trailed miserably away, and his eyes were as defeated as his hands. “The witch made no mistake in me,” he said.

“Try again,” the unicorn said. “You are my friend. Try again.”

But Schmendrick, smiling bitterly, was fumbling through his pockets in search of something that clicked and clinked. “I knew it would come to this,” he muttered. “I dreamed it differently, but I knew.” He brought out a ring from which dangled several rusty keys. “You deserve the services of a great wizard,” he said to the unicorn, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to be glad of the aid of a second-rate pickpocket. Unicorns know nought of need, or shame, or doubt, or debt‌—‌but mortals, as you may have noticed, take what they can get. And Rukh can only concentrate on one thing at a time.”

The unicorn was suddenly aware that every animal in the Midnight Carnival was awake, making no sound, but watching her. In the next cage, the harpy began to stamp slowly from one foot to the other. “Hurry,” the unicorn said. “Hurry.”

Schmendrick was already fitting a key into the snickering lock. At his first attempt, which failed, the lock fell silent, but when he tried another key it cried out loudly, “Ho-ho, some magician! Some magician!” It had Mommy Fortuna’s voice.

“Ah, turn blue,” the magician mumbled, but the unicorn could feel him blushing. He twisted the key, and the lock snapped open with one last grunt of contempt. Schmendrick swung the cage door wide and said softly, “Step down, lady. You are free.”

The unicorn stepped lightly to the ground, and Schmendrick the Magician drew back in sudden wonder. “Oh,” he whispered. “It was different when there were bars between us. You looked smaller, and not as‌—‌oh. Oh my.”

She was home in her forest, which was black and wet and ruined because she had been gone so long. Someone was calling to her from a long way off but she was home, warming the trees and waking the grass.

Then she heard Rukh’s voice, like a boat bottom gritting on pebbles. “Okay, Schmendrick, I give up. Why is a raven like a writing desk?” The unicorn moved away into deepest shadow, and Rukh saw only the magician and the empty, dwindled cage. His hand jumped to his pocket and came away again. “Why, you thin thief,” he said, grinning iron. “She’ll string you on barbed wire to make a necklace for the harpy.” He turned then and headed straight for Mommy Fortuna’s wagon.