BLINDFOLD (2 page)

This is crazy, he thought, I can't do it. And at the same time he knew he had no choice but to try.

Somewhere ahead and to the right of him, he heard the horse begin to shift restlessly, its feet thudding softly on the loose dirt underfoot. Gideon paused, reaching out with his mind to the animal. What came back was a powerful mix of emotions; anxiety and distrust, certainly, and fear, but laced through with an unmistakable vein of aggression, fairly unusual in a horse.

Gideon turned his head. `He's a stallion?' he asked softly. `Yeah. Get on with it.'

`Oh, shit!' he muttered under his breath. Concentrating hard, he reached out once more to the horse, trying to project an aura of calm and reassurance.

He could sense the stallion watching him. Anxiety.

Indecision.

It wasn't sure whether to stand its ground or run. Fight or flight. Given the option, horses almost invariably choose the latter. Nature has equipped them with the means to escape and they make good use of it. Stallions, however, are often the exception. Fired with the instinct to protect their herd, they meet aggression with aggression, challenge with physical attack.

Gideon turned slightly sideways. He had no wish to appear challenging.

The horse was still. Tense.

Watching him.

He would have given anything to be able to see it. Was it

standing facing him, head high, defiant? Or had it lowered its head, considering the situation? The electricity in the air between them suggested the former.

Still trying to radiate reassurance, Gideon stepped closer, head slightly bowed, shoulders still angled away.

He'd moved too close, too soon.

With a flurry of hooves the stallion rushed him, its teeth closing with a painful snap on his shoulder before it backed away.

It hadn't gone far though. No more than a couple of paces. Gideon could feel the huffing of its breath on his face. He steeled himself to remain motionless, trying not to think of the damage those steel-sprung jaws could do; what havoc the immensely powerful legs could wreak on a soft, unprotected human body. Important not to think. He must be steady. Horses are strongly telepathic.

The stallion was unsure now. He could sense its bewilderment. It didn't know how to respond to somebody who neither fled nor tried to dominate. At least it hadn't run. If it started to race around he wouldn't have a chance, handicapped as he was. The signs were encouraging.

Gideon relaxed. He tried to project serenity, picturing the horse in his mind, lowering its head and coming to him quietly. He was offering a refuge.

If the animal hadn't already been thoroughly unsettled by earlier, more direct attempts to catch it, the procedure wouldn't have worked, but after what seemed like a lifetime, he heard the stallion give a deep gusty sigh and smiled to himself. The horse was as good as his now. He took a step sideways, away from the animal, keeping his movements soft and slow.

The horse stepped warily closer, dropping its nose and blowing softly on Gideon's hands. The rope trailing from its head collar flopped against his leg. He let the horse snuffle his hands, not allowing himself to think that it might suffer another flash of temper and take a couple of fingers off.

It didn't.

Much calmer now, it let Gideon rub its muzzle gently with his fingers and slowly, oh, so slowly, take hold of the rope. Hoping nobody would be stupid enough to call out, he turned away from the captive horse and took two or three experimental steps. There was a momentary resistance on the rope and then he heard the muffled hoof beats of the stallion as it gave in and followed.

Strange, but when it came to it, most tame horses were glad to be caught again. Breaking free was instinctive but after the first wild exultation had ebbed they seemed almost relieved to have order restored.

Gideon told the horse quietly that it was a good boy. Somewhere ahead and to his right, a low voice said `Well done!' and he made his way towards it, slowing when the horse's hesitation told him he must be nearing the waiting group.

`He's very head-shy but I think he'll be all right now if you all stay calm and don't crowd him,' Gideon said, quietly. Then, almost surprising himself, `He's in pain. Is he injured?'

`Shut up.' The Guv'nor again.

`Okay,' Gideon said, with a slight shrug. `Well, who wants him?'

Somebody came quietly forward to take the rope from his grasp. He felt the horse's head go up a notch or two as control was transferred but it offered no further resistance as it was led past him and away.

Gideon heaved a deep sigh of release, aware for the first time that his shoulder was painfully bruised, and wishing he had his hands free to rub it. He was also aware that he only had the thickness of his padded leather motorcycle jacket to thank for the injury not being many times worse.

`Right.' The Guv'nor was speaking, back in charge. `Fetch the other one and let's get it over with and get out of here! It's all taking far too bloody long!'

His task completed, Gideon stood still. Presumably someone would come for him before long. His knees felt shaky and he would have liked to have sat down but he could scarcely just collapse where he was. Ahead of him he heard a door open and then the low whickering of a mare and the answering excitement of the stallion.

Why hadn't they used the mare to catch the stallion? he wondered wearily. Surely somebody could have caught hold of the rope while he was about his business, if that was what they'd intended him for anyway. Any horseman would have thought of it, surely? And if there wasn't a horseman amongst them, what the hell were they doing in possession of a stallion?

Feeling overlooked, he began to step cautiously forward. `You! Blake! Stand still.'

Gideon obediently stood. `You. Take him outside.'

Somebody grasped his arm and within moments he was out in the frosty night air again. His arm was released and the door shut behind him. Only the sighing of the bitingly cold wind disturbed ' the silence. Gideon stood where he'd been left.

Was everyone with the horses? he mused after a while. Was anybody actually watching him now or was he standing like a sucker with nobody near? He lifted his hands and rubbed experimentally at his cheekbone, just brushing the edge of the blindfold.

`It would be a shame if I thought you were trying to get that blindfold off, when all you had was an itch.'

Soft Liverpudlian accent. Curly's tall companion. `That would be a shame,' Gideon agreed.

Nothing was said for a few moments then Gideon broke the silence. `Do this sort of thing often, do you?'

`Makes a change from the pubs and clubs,' his companion replied evenly.

`Been down south long?'

`Long enough to know my way around.'

`Yeah?' Gideon affected mild surprise. `So, where would you say the nearest town would be to here?'

A low chuckle greeted this admittedly feeble attempt to draw him out.

`Listen, pal. I may have been born at night, but it wasn't last night. Now just shut up and wait.'

Gideon did as he was told.

He couldn't be sure how long he stood there in the bitter wind with his silent companion. Long before there was any sign of an end to his wait, he had begun to shiver violently and was in danger of losing all feeling in his hands and feet, but eventually the barn door creaked open and a horse was led past within a few feet of him. Shortly after, another followed and he heard the unmistakable hollow sound of hooves on wood, as they were loaded into a horsebox or boxes.

Footsteps approached, crunching on the frosty ground. Gideon's heart began to thump uncomfortably. He hoped that his being blindfolded meant he was going to be freed as promised, but he was realist enough not to be sure of it.

The footsteps stopped in front of him.

`You know what to do,' the Guv'nor said quietly to Gideon's escort. `Just give us all some breathing space and make sure no one sees you. And you,' he said, leaning close to Gideon. `You'd do best just to think of this as a bad dream - one you were lucky enough to wake up from. Remember, we know where you live but you know nothing about us. Best let it stay that way. Understand?'

Gideon felt he probably did. At any rate, he wasn't about to argue.

There followed a journey which was essentially the same as the first, except - presumably - in the opposite direction. Gideon was seated next to the rear doors of the van, with Curly close beside him having an amusing time opening the door a crack occasionally and threatening to push him out. His tall friend had taken the precaution of cuffing Gideon's hands behind him again before they had set out, and with the road noise and the rushing of the wind, he felt desperately exposed in the open doorway.

After a while, Curly's companion caught sight of the baiting in his rear-view mirror and put a stop to it.

Gideon sent him a silent blessing.

Presently, after bumping for a hundred yards or so along an unmade track, the vehicle swung round in a semi-circle and stopped, engine still running.

`You've not far to walk,' the voice from the front informed him, `but I'm afraid we can't take you any closer. We don't want you calling the boys in blue, do we?'

Gideon didn't see that an answer was called for, and he couldn't think of a polite one anyway.

`I've been admiring your boots,' the soft voice went on. `I should think they'd fit me just fine, we're much of a size. Curly, would you do the honours?'

For a moment Gideon considered baling out voluntarily for the sake of keeping his boots but the idea died a death. He wouldn't exactly be able to sprint away, blindfolded and with his hands behind his back. He began to have second thoughts about the blessing so recently bestowed.

`I hope they pinch, you sonofabitch!' he muttered uncharitably. `So, he does have feelings,' the tall one observed as Curly got to work.

Gideon simmered with helpless frustration. The boots were favourites of his, bought in America for a small fortune some six months before and now just nicely worn in. It wasn't only this, however, that depressed him, but the prospect of a hike of indefinite length over frosty, stony ground, with feet clad only in socks. It was ironic that half an hour ago he had been far from sure that he would be freed at all and now he was quibbling over the theft of his boots. It was a bit like being picked up at sea and then moaning because your rescuers weren't going your way, but the thought didn't appease him.

`Well, we'll be off, then,' the tall one said. `It was a pleasure doing business with you.'

`Oh, the pleasure was all mine,' Gideon assured him sarcastically. Then, as Curly put a hand on his arm prior to pushing him out, `What about the handcuffs?'

`Oh, you can keep them. We've got some more.'

Gideon's protest was cut short as Curly gave him an unnecessarily hard shove that pitched him helplessly out of the back of the van. He landed heavily on his shoulder and the side of his head on what felt like hard-packed gravel.

The van moved off promptly, as if they were afraid that he would somehow climb back in, but as Gideon rolled on to his back and sat up, he heard it stop again, a little way off. He felt a moment's sharp panic. Was Curly coming back to fulfil his earlier promise, after all?

`The key's in your back pocket, pal,' the soft voice called. `Have a nice walk.'

Listening to the van pull away and breathing a choking lungful of exhaust fumes, Gideon nevertheless sent up a prayer of thanks to the stars.

His first impulse upon regaining his feet was to feel in his pocket for the key, but even as his fingers located it he realised he had little hope of using it successfully with his hands still behind his back, and stiff with cold into the bargain. It was more than likely that he'd drop it and, judging by the size of it, once dropped - in the dark and on an uneven gravel surface - it would stay dropped. Much better, if he could manage it, to get his hands in front of him, remove the blindfold and do the job properly. Carefully he palmed the key and closed his fist around it.

Bending forward, Gideon then attempted to slide his joined wrists down over his hips and buttocks, feeling the muscles in his back and chest strain with the effort. The pull of the metal bracelets on his wrists was intensely uncomfortable but he persevered and, with a groan of relief, made it.

His hands were now behind his knees. He knew he'd been able to step through his hands as a teenager but he was somewhat bulkier these days. After a pause to breathe he emptied his lungs, balanced on one socked foot and dragged the other through from front to back, his shoulders taking the strain this time. A sharper pain in'his right shoulder bore witness to the damage the horse's teeth had done. The second foot was slightly easier and he stood up straight, feeling justifiably pleased with himself.

The irony was that if he'd been wearing his boots, with their inch or so of heel, he doubted very much if he would have succeeded in stepping through, and he would have found it exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, to have taken them off with his hands secured behind him. They weren't always easy at the best of times.

Lifting his joined hands, Gideon removed the blindfold, wincing as it pulled clear of his left eye where blood had run from the gash on his brow and done a painfully efficient job of sticking the material to his skin.

Blinking, he looked about him.

It was a fairly clear night with a moon that was a little more than half-full. Against the starry sky he could make out the shapes of trees surrounding him and see where the gravel track stretched away towards the road. There wasn't enough light to be of much help in undoing his handcuffs but twisting one hand to touch the other bracelet, he could feel the small hole that presumably accommodated the key. This done, it was a relatively simple task to release himself.

Feeling much happier, Gideon snapped each cuff shut once more and stowed them in his jacket pocket. The key he returned to the back pocket of his jeans, wondering as he did so just when the tall man had put it there.

A growing numbness in his feet reminded him that he had far more urgent concerns. The temperature was well below freezing and the ground frozen hard. He had at least a hundred yards to cover before he reached the road and no idea how much further after that. He thought he might possibly be in the lane that led to the old gravel pits just outside the village of Tarrant Grayling and, if so, his gatehouse home was going to be some threequarters of a mile away. The spectre of frostbite reared its ugly head.