“They see what you have forgotten how to see.” Schmendrick had drunk his share of red wine, and the young girl was staring at him with eyes both sweeter and shallower than the unicorn’s eyes. He thumped his glass on the table and told the smiling Mayor, “She is a rarer creature than you dare to dream. She is a myth, a memory, a will-o’-the-wish. Wail-o’-the-wisp. If you remembered, if you hungered—”

His voice was lost in a gust of hoofbeats and the clamor of children. A dozen horsemen, dressed in autumn rags, came galloping into the square, howling and laughing, scattering the townsfolk like marbles. They formed a line and clattered around the square, knocking over whatever came in their way and shrieking incomprehensible brags and challenges to no one in particular. One rider rose up in his saddle, bent his bow, and shot the weathercock off the church spire; another snatched up Schmendrick’s hat, jammed it on his own head, and rode on roaring. Some swung screaming children to their saddlebows, and others contented themselves with wineskins and sandwiches. Their eyes gleamed madly in their shaggy faces, and their laughter was like drums.

The round Mayor stood fast until he caught the eye of the raiders’ leader. Then he raised one eyebrow; the man snapped his fingers, and immediately the horses were still and the ragged men as silent as the village animals before the unicorn. They put the children gently on the ground, and gave back most of the wineskins.

“Jack Jingly, if you please,” the Mayor said calmly.

The leader of the horsemen dismounted and walked slowly toward the table where the Councilmen and their guest had dined. He was a huge man, nearly seven feet tall, and at every step he rang and jangled because of the rings and bells and bracelets that were sewn to his patched jerkin. “Evenin’, Yer Honor,” he said in a gruff chuckle.

“Let’s get the business over with,” the Mayor told him. “I don’t see why you can’t come riding in quietly, like civilized people.”

“Ah, the boys don’t mean no harm, Yer Honor,” the giant grumbled good-naturedly. “Cooped up in the greenwood all day, they needs a little relaxing, a little catharsis, like. Well, well, to it, eh?” With a sigh, he took a wizened bag of coins from his waist and placed it in the Mayor’s open hand. “There you be, Yer Honor,” said Jack Jingly. “It ben’t much, but we can’t spare no more than that.”

The Mayor poured the coins into his palm and pushed at them with a fat finger, grunting. “It certainly isn’t much,” he complained. “It isn’t even as much as last month’s take, and that was shriveled enough. You’re a woeful lot of freebooters, you are.”

“It’s hard times,” Jack Jingly answered sullenly. “We ben’t to blame if travelers have no more gold than we. You can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip, you know.”

“I can,” the Mayor said. He scowled savagely and shook his fist at the giant outlaw. “And if you’re holding out on me,” he shouted, “if you’re feathering your own pockets at my expense, I’ll squeeze you, my friend, I’ll squeeze you to pulp and peel and let the wind take you. Be off now, and tell it to your tattered captain. Away, villains!”