males, and the unicorn in disguise. As the others set out, La Señora took the unicorn’s horn from its hiding place and stowed it under her cloak. Willy led them back to the gates, opened them just enough for the llamas to pass through, and then closed and locked them. Then he slipped from enclosure to enclosure within the Zoo, opening gates and portals wherever he could free non-predatory beasts. When he had liberated as many creatures as he thought it safe to let loose, he slipped from the Zoo and hurried to catch up to La Señora and the others.
In the morning Jack Hoff and his staff came to a Zoo where the pachyderms had broken into the hay barns, the kangaroos had hopped into the flowerbeds, the llamas (those that did not belong to La Señora) feasted on the rhododendrons, the zebras ate the zinnias, and pandemonium reigned. It took three days for the great cats to quiet down, for they had had to remain caged while the other creatures roamed free. Director Hoff ordered his staff to collect the animals and cage them again. It took two days for the attendants to complete their roundup. Visiting schoolchildren, delighted to be so close to the Zoo’s inhabitants, kept freeing them again. One gaggle of geese refused any further incarceration, and eventually became unofficial mascots for the Zoo.
Jack Hoff, of course, immediately called the police, requesting an all-points bulletin to catch La Señora and her gang, and the police did watch the roadways for trucks bearing llamas. Several columnists and television pundits mined the incident for material for a week, and then moved on to other interesting oddities in the City’s life. No one paid attention to a battered houseboat, the Half Shell, making its slow way up the coast to obscure San Danson Cove. The great llama escape passed from the newspapers into Zoo legend, and thence into the mythic fabric that shrouded the City’s history in glamour no other City boasted.
On the Waterfront
Llama hooves, though not as noisy as horse hooves, do make a clicking sound on hard pavements. La Señora and her crew crossed Tiger Parkway in front of the City Zoo fearing with every step they’d wake the sleeping residents of the high-rise apartment complexes that fronted on the Parkway. All who dwelt therein must have been innocent as babes, or heavily drugged, as none awoke to see the llamas on the lam.
There was no better option, La Señora believed, than taking the llamas with her to San Danson. If she left them in the Zoo’s care, she’d be too far from her old familiar friend, the unicorn with the unique horn. Although the link between them could stretch across the planet, La Señora wanted to be near to provide for the unicorn’s creature comfort and well-being. The other llamas were the unicorn’s animal family, and they belonged with her. And, La Señora reminded herself, the City’s bureaucracy has turned me out of my home and work by applying a heartless technicality—by no means do I want to leave them with any other advantage.
Across the Parkway La Señora raised her hand to halt the procession. She took strips of cloth from her reticule, allotting four per llama. She passed them to her crew, who then tied them about the llama’s feet. This, they hoped, would muffle the clicking and clopping of hooves on pavement, as well as protect the llama’s tender feet from the wear and tear of pounding over the sidewalks. The llamas protested this treatment with various bleats, and one even spat at Dickon. The spittle missed him, landing instead on a decorative cement angel by one of the apartment house’s doorways. There it dripped in foul excrescences from the concrete halo onto the molded feathers of the concrete wings. Alas, when the supervisor scrubbed the mess away in the morning, it left a permanent black complexion on the angel, thus integrating the neighborhood.
Willy Waugh joined them, coming up softly on his bare feet. One of the llamas snuffled a greeting at his approach. All the llamas calmed when Willy arrived; they had come to trust him over the past few weeks he had been one of their caretakers.
La Señora whistled, softly, to alert her crew, and they set out for the docks. The street, like so many in the City, plunged toward the Bay with a dizzying steepness. Had it not been for the cloths, the llamas’ feet might have slipped out from under them, for, though llamas are sure-footed in their native Andes, the polished surface of City pavements offered little purchase for their steps on the descent.
About four blocks from the Zoo, La Señora halted the column again. Windflower Way was a hard street to find, especially with little more than shadowy light from the remnant of moon to illuminate the signs. La Señora wanted to use this side street, since it was too narrow and twisting for automobiles. She deemed it safer than wider streets. Willy scouted for Windflower Way, and, once he found it, led the group and the llamas onto the twisting path.
The brick walks were slippery with the fog that had settled over this part of the City. Windflower Way residents prided themselves on their flowerbeds, planting every available bit of dirt with roses, heliotrope, jasmine, rhododendrons, nasturtiums, azaleas, and, frequently, very expensive and rare flowers from far corners of the world. Most of these flower gardens glowed in the mist because they were lit with various low-voltage yard lights. Even though the dim lights drained the flowers’ colors, making them various shades of gray, their aromas were not compromised.
The llamas were hungry, especially one llama whose cría was close to term. She had the heft, and the strength, to stop Rosa Krushan, who held her lead, in her tracks. A frost-tolerant frangipani (an especial cultivar created by a local botanist) caught her attention. She stretched her long neck up and took a large mouthful of leaves and flowers. Rosa tugged on her halter. She ignored Rosa. Rosa whimpered. Willy looked back, saw the problem, and came to Rosa’s aid. He put his considerable weight and strength into a downward pull on the halter, forcing the llama to break off eating, instead of breaking off more branches. As he held the llama’s head down, he said softly to Rosa, “Keep going. She’ll follow now.”
Rosa continued down Windflower Way, praying there were no more frangipanis on the way. While Rosa had struggled with her llama ward, the rest of the herd had availed themselves of the opportunity to sample the roses, hydrangeas, and lilies lining the sidewalk.
“We’d better keep them moving,” Willy said to La Señora as they progressed down the hill.
“We are leaving quite a trail of destruction,” Dickon said. He grinned. La Señora, who was leading the unicorn with the unique horn, stepped up their pace. Fortunately, no one, llama or human, slipped and fell on the brick walkway; the llamas even negotiated the occasional series of steps in the steep street.
Windflower Way, at its lower end, connected to the pedestrian tunnel under the Harrington Expressway. The unicorn balked at entering this dark and noisome place. The smell of old urine, and who knew what other filth, nauseated La Señora, as well. None of them had thought to bring along a flashlight, and the lamps that were supposed to light the tunnel had all burned out. The City Park Service had not bothered to replace them; every time they did, homeless people sheltering in the tunnel threw rocks or bullets at the lights until they broke.
“Is there any other way?” Dickon asked. “Do we have to go through this tunnel?”
“There are other tunnels at other points,” La Señora said. “None of them would be any better than this.”
“If we go two blocks east,” Willy said, “Van Winkle Street crosses the Expressway.”
“It is well-lit,” Rosa said.
“With a lot of traffic,” Elke said.
“Will anybody notice?” Rosa asked.
“Llamas on Van Winkle Street? Probably,” Dickon said.
“There’s nothing for it,” La Señora said. “We cannot force them through a place we’re afraid to go. Let’s chance Van Winkle Street.” They turned east, making their way toward the bright lights that marked the thoroughfare. In the shadows, just before they went on the street, La Señora paused to study the traffic flow. Automobiles were very occasional at this dark hour of the pre-dawn.
“We’ll chance it,” she said. She stepped out into the yellow lamplight. The
unicorn followed her, unconcerned. One by one the rest of them, leading their llamas, followed La Señora. Only one car passed them. The driver seemed not to notice the llamas on the bridge. He did notice them, but thought them simply another drug-induced hallucination better left unexamined.
Once across the bridge, La Señora led her little band west again. The dock where Captain Anna Locke had promised to wait lay at the foot of Windflower Way, which was a narrow street accommodating cars on this side of the Expressway. The buildings here had no flowers; for the most part they were machine shops, or body shops, with an occasional dilapidated house scattered among them. As they got closer to the shore, warehouses filled the district.
Less than a block from the dock trouble struck. A guard dog, large, black, and filled with white teeth, began furious barking at the chain link fence. Although the dog was behind the fence, the llamas, and the people, were so startled they began to run. The dog chased them along its side of the fence. They had barely run out onto the dock when a gruff voice snarled curses at the dog. The owner of the voice threatened to discharge his weapon at random into the night. He was sufficiently intoxicated that he only managed to place a bullet