The Beasts of Clawstone Castle

For, as Manners said, if people want animals that don’t exist and will pay a lot of money for them, we will simply make these creatures. Between us we know everything there is to know about implants and bone grafts and tissue transfers, so what’s to stop us turning a chicken into a dodo or an ostrich into an auk? What’s more, the people we supply will be so pleased to get their animal they’ll be certain they’re getting the real thing.

And Manners was right. The collectors believed what they wanted to believe and hid the rare beasts they had asked for in secret zoos and private parks all over the world.

Nevertheless, when the order came through from the King of Barama, they had at first been baffled. It would mean getting hold of a herd of pure white horses and that would take a long time and be very expensive. But when they started to look up what was written about the beasts they were supposed to be making they learned something very interesting. Their hooves had not been rounded and solid like the hooves of horses; they had been split in the centre. The beasts had been cloven-footed. Their feet had a cleft in them like the feet of cows or sheep or goats.

Not only that, but all the books which Manners and the vet consulted were agreed on one thing: the creatures came of absolutely pure bloodstock, and always bred true.

And when they heard about the Wild White Cattle of Clawstone Park, they knew that their search was over – and that the King of Barama would get his unicorns.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Dr Manners stepped up to the operating table. He pulled on his rubber gloves. He smiled.

The calf lay helpless and tethered, silent now, its eyes rolling in terror.

‘Time to anaesthetize the patient,’ he said.

This was the beginning: the first calf in the world to be turned into a unicorn. They had chosen a young one because the tissues were soft – it would be easier to make a hole in its forehead and implant the narwhal horn – and because its own horns were not yet formed, it would not be necessary to scoop them out, as they would have to do with the larger animals. Of course, being so young, it was more likely to die during the operation, but there were plenty more of the beasts in the paddock.

Five million pounds’ worth of beasts ...

The sawn-off narwhal horn was ready in its jar of disinfectant. It was incredible how like a unicorn’s horn it was: no wonder narwhals in the olden days had been called the unicorn fish. An assistant, also gowned and masked, had laid out the sterile instruments: the razor to shave a patch between the creature’s ears; the drill to bore a hole in its skull, the scalpels and sutures and pads of cotton wool. A cylinder of blood for emergencies stood on a trolley close by.

‘See to the doors,’ ordered Manners. The assistant pressed a button and the doors to the forecourt moved together.

Outside, the children threw themselves frantically against the heavy steel partitions, trying to push them apart.

It was impossible. There was only a small gap now and it was shrinking fast. Rollo managed to slip through, and then Madlyn.

But not Ned. Before he could follow, the doors clanged relentlessly shut and Ned was left outside.

Dr Manners had reached for the syringe. It was poised above the head of the little calf; he was about to plunge the needle into a vein on its throat.

It was at this moment that Madlyn and Rollo almost fell into the room.

‘Well well, what have we here?’ the doctor said. And then in his usual calm voice: ‘Tie them up. We’ll deal with them later.’ He turned to the children. ‘Since you’re here you might as well watch. It isn’t every nosy child who sees the creation of a completely new beast.’

‘You can’t,’ shouted Rollo. ‘You—’

And then a hand came down over his mouth.

The children had no chance against Fangster and the assistant as they were thrown to the floor and trussed up with surgical tape. They were as defenceless as the wretched beast on the operating table.

And there was nobody to help them. They were quite alone.

The operation was going forward now. Fangster had selected his razor, the assistant had taken the drill out of its sterile wrapping.

Manners had put the syringe down on the trolley to deal with the children. Now he put out his hand to reach for it.

Except that it wasn’t there. It had rolled over twice on a perfectly flat surface and crashed on to the floor.

‘What on earth are you doing, you idiot?’ shouted Manners.

‘It wasn’t me,’ said Fangster angrily. ‘I didn’t touch it.’ He turned to the assistant. ‘You must have knocked it with your arm.’

‘No, I didn’t. I wasn’t anywhere near.’

‘Prepare another one,’ ordered Manners.

A second syringe was taken from its wrapping and filled with anaesthetic. Manners was angry now. He jabbed the point of the needle hard into the throat of the little calf, which gave a bellow of pain.

But before he could press in the plunger, the syringe jerked itself out of his hand, flew up into the air, and impaled itself in a fire bucket.