Barking by Tom Holt

Author:Tom Holt [HOLT, TOM]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction / Fantasy - Contemporary, Fiction / Humorous, Fiction / Satire
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2012-09-03T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

The unicorn was saying his name.

He stopped dead. Inertia hit him like a truck up the bum, jerking him forward so that his feet skidded. She’d stopped too. She was only a few feet away; less than that, even, mere inches. He tried to spring, but his feet were stuck in something. He looked down. Icing - he was ankle deep in white cake icing. Well, he’d never liked the stuff much at the best of times.

He strained against the air, like a carthorse pushing against its collar. No chance; because it was one of those dreams, the sort where you can almost get there but not quite. He growled.

‘Duncan,’ she said. ‘For fuck’s sake.’

Not her usual style; and part of him was aware that it wasn’t really her talking. It was Pete, shaking him by the shoulder and telling him to wake up. But only part. The other part could almost feel the tickle of her fur on the tip of his nose, it was so close. It pushed—

‘Silly,’ said the unicorn. ‘I’m not the one you’re after, am I?’

That didn’t sound like the sort of thing Pete would say. He strained a little more, until the pain in his ankles broke his concentration.

‘When she comes for you the second time,’ the unicorn said, ‘remember where you put the sausage roll. Got that?’

‘Sausage roll,’ he repeated. ‘Yes, got that.’

‘Then basically you’re ready,’ she said. ‘And I think your hairy friend is trying to attract your attention. You’d better wake up before he dislocates your shoulder. Oh, and by the way—’

(‘Wake up, you dozy bastard,’ Pete was bawling in his ear. ‘There’s a client in reception for you.’)

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘The reason why the accounts won’t balance is that you’ve forgotten to add the—’

He opened his eyes. His field of vision was full of Pete. No unicorns anywhere.

‘Forgotten what?’ he mumbled. ‘Fuck it, Pete, what’ve I forgotten? ’

Pete scowled at him. ‘The client you’ve got coming in at three-fifteen, presumably,’ he said. ‘Which is why the poor git’s been sitting out in the front office for the last ten minutes.’

‘No.’ Duncan sat up sharply and nutted himself on Pete’s chin. ‘No, the accounts—’

‘What?’

‘Forget it.’ He sank back in his chair. ‘What time is it?’

‘Twenty-five past three, and you’ve got a client—’

‘I must’ve fallen asleep.’ Not, Duncan realised, the most perceptive thing he’d ever said. ‘But hang on,’ he went on, ‘what about the pub trip? You know, lunchtime drinking except we don’t get—’

‘We didn’t go today. Luke said he didn’t feel in the mood. Look, what’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Nothing.’ Duncan yawned and stretched. His knee collided with the desk, jarring something off it onto his lap. A tape-measure: how had that got there? He scowled at it, as if everything was its fault, and shoved it in his inside jacket pocket.’Who did you say was in the front office?’

‘Client.’ Pete was sounding volcano-about-to-erupt patient. ‘It’s in your diary, you pillock. Look.’ He stabbed a chunky forefinger at the diary open on Duncan’s desk.

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