Comet and the Champion's Cup (4 page)

“Aidan!” Issie yelled again.

“I see him!” said Aidan, sounding the horn at the pony.

“What's wrong with him?” Issie asked. “Why doesn't he get out of the way?” The pony was still galloping towards them. There was no way the truck could stop in time. They would hit him for sure.

“You've got to stop!” Issie shouted.

“I'm trying!” said Aidan. “It's not that simple–we have horses in the truck to think about!”

Issie realised that he was right. If Aidan slammed the brakes on too quickly then Toby and Coco would be thrown forward violently and might be badly hurt. But if Aidan didn't brake fast enough then the poor pony that was bearing down on them would be killed.

It felt as if everything was in slow motion as the pony continued to gallop at them and tyres skidded against the limestone gravel as Aidan tried to stop. The horrible squeal of truck brakes filled Issie's ears, overwhelming her in a rush of memory. She had a sickening sense of déjà vu–as if she was reliving that awful day at Chevalier Point. The day when Mystic had been killed. It was nearly two years ago now that the accident had happened. Her mind
always got so confused when she tried to think about that day.

Issie remembered trying to stop the runaway horses from heading out on to the main road, her sense of horror as Mystic had reared up to face the truck. Then she was falling backwards and the tarmac was rushing up to meet her. There had been a sickening crack as her helmet hit the road, and the taste of blood in her mouth before it all went black. After that, she couldn't recall anything until she woke up hours later in the hospital with her mother calling her name. Her mother told her what had happened. She explained how Mystic had saved Issie by throwing her clear of the truck. Issie still remembered the desperate expression on her mother's face as she struggled to answer her question. “Mum? What about Mystic? Is Mystic OK?”

It was the very worst moment in Issie's life. Her first pony Mystic had been her best friend. She had loved him so completely, so deeply. Losing him was like losing her own soul.

Now, suddenly, she was living through it all over again. Only this time she was watching it all from inside the truck, powerless to do anything as she sat waiting for the awful, inevitable moment of collision with the horse in front of her.

Issie shut her eyes and held her breath. She couldn't bear to look. Instinctively she put her arms on the dashboard to brace herself for the impact. A few seconds later, when the crash didn't come, she opened her eyes again.

The truck had stopped. The horse was nowhere to be seen and Issie suddenly realised that she was crying and shaking and Aidan was holding her tight in his arms. “It's OK,” he was saying, “it's all right. We didn't hit him.”

“Aidan!” Issie felt like she couldn't breathe. “We were going to hit him. I was sure we were going to…”

“Shhhh, it's OK. I know. I thought we were going to hit him too. He got out of the way just in time. Are you OK?” Aidan let go of Issie and sat back in his seat.

“Uh-huh.” Issie dried her eyes. “I'm fine.”

“That was close, huh?”

“Where did that horse come from?” Issie wondered. “He seemed to come out of nowhere.”

“He must have jumped out of his paddock again.” Aidan shook his head. “That's the third time this week. He might have escaped the truck, but I'm pretty sure that this time Hester is going to kill him!”

“You mean he's done this before?”

“Yeah. Last time he jumped out, he managed to get into the garden shed and ate all of the dog biscuits. He is totally
crazy, that pony. Hester is so fed up with him. She can't afford to put up deer fences to keep him in–and, knowing Comet, he'd probably jump over them anyway!”

“Comet?” Issie said.

“Uh-huh,” Aidan replied. “He's one of the Blackthorn Ponies that Hester decided to keep. Although I think she's been regretting the decision ever since.”

Just as he said this, Issie saw her aunt emerge from the rear of Blackthorn Manor. She had a makeshift lead rope in her hands that she had made out of the belt from her dress. She was using it to lead a cheeky-looking skewbald. The pony, for he was just a pony and couldn't have been more than fourteen-two hands, was skipping merrily at her side. He didn't seem to notice or care that Hester was looking at him with a murderous expression. The skewbald looked so pleased with himself that, despite the heart attack he had just given her, Issie couldn't help but immediately have a soft spot for him.

“So that's Comet?”

“The one and only,” Aidan said darkly. “The skewbald that no paddock can hold.”

As Comet came closer, Issie could see that he was actually rather pretty. The pony was a chestnut with white patches, and he had white socks and a broad, white
stripe down his nose. Comet was sturdy and muscular, like all wild Gisborne hill ponies. He had solid legs with thick cannon bones, strong shoulders and powerful hindquarters made for jumping–a fact which he was clearly using to his advantage to get out of the paddock whenever he liked. The pony's conformation was powerful, but it was his eyes that had Issie totally bewitched. Those eyes! They burnt with an intensity that she hadn't seen before in any horse.

Comet seemed thrilled that everyone was paying him so much attention. As he danced along at Hester's side, Issie could have sworn he had the attitude of a champion racehorse. In his mind, this pony wasn't little at all. He was a colossus.

“Comet! Stand still, naughty pony!” Hester growled. Then she turned to Issie and Aidan. “Isadora! Lovely to see you. I take it you've already met Comet?”

“You could say that,” Issie smiled.

“Well, my favourite niece, as you can see, this place hasn't changed a bit–it's still completely mad!” Hester said. “Welcome back to Blackthorn Farm.”

“You mean we were nearly hit by a comet?” Stella said. She and Kate had emerged from the truck and were totally confused by what had just happened.

“No,” Issie giggled. “We nearly hit him. Comet is a horse!” She gestured towards the skewbald pony who was still skipping about as Aunt Hester tried to hold him with the belt off her dress.

“He escaped on to the driveway and we nearly ran him over,” Aidan explained.

“Are Toby and Coco OK?” Hester asked.

“They're both fine,” Stella said. “They scrambled a bit when the truck stopped suddenly, but they didn't fall over or anything.”

“Let's get them unloaded,” Kate suggested. “We can
check them over properly in the loose box once we take off their floating bandages.”

Since the truck had been forced to stop halfway down the driveway it seemed easier to simply unload the horses there and walk them the rest of the way.

Toby and Coco came down the ramp with their ears pricked and their heads held high, as horses do whenever they arrive somewhere new. When he saw them Comet gave a whinny of greeting. His whole body reverberated as his clarion call rang out, shaking with a neigh of excitement at having new horses for company.

Hester glared at him. “Oh, do behave yourself, Comet! You really are the most troublesome pony.” She turned to the girls. “I don't want you to think they're all this bad. Most of the Blackthorn Ponies we have here are very well schooled. I've got several new horses that are perfect learners' ponies, ideal for the riding school. Come on, let's put your horses away and then you can meet some of them.”

The stable block at Blackthorn Farm was built from the same white-painted weatherboards as the manor. Inside
it was like a giant barn, with bales of hay stacked up in one corner, a storage room for tack and two rows of loose boxes. On the door of each loose box a horse's head was carved into the honey-coloured wood above a plaque with the horse's name inscribed on it.

Issie pushed open the vast wooden sliding door and walked inside, followed by Stella and Kate leading Coco and Toby, and Aunt Hester, still with her makeshift dress-belt halter, hanging on to Comet.

“You can put your horses in the first two boxes on the left there, girls,” Hester said.

“What about Comet?” asked Issie.

“I don't usually box him,” Hester said. “Blackthorn Ponies don't really like it in the stable as a rule. They prefer to graze out. But I might have to make an exception in Comet's case–at least if he's in a loose box he won't be able to jump out!”

Hester popped Comet in the box next to Coco's. The stall was freshly mucked out with clean straw on the floor and water in the trough. Comet gave his new home a rather bored once-over and then craned his neck desperately over the Dutch door, whinnying to get attention. Coco stuck her head out of her stall and returned his call.

“Shhh! Coco!” Stella said, giggling. “He's a naughty pony. Don't encourage him!”

As they walked down the rows of loose boxes the girls could see familiar faces poking out of the top of each stall door. First in the row were the three palominos, Paris, Nicole and Stardust, the mares they had ridden when they were working as stunt riders on
The Palomino Princess
. Issie stopped and fed a carrot to Stardust, running a hand through her silver-white mane, admiring the rich treacle sheen of her coat. “Remember me, girl?” she asked softly.

Her question was answered by a nicker from the stall next door as a black and white face emerged. “Diablo!” Issie grinned at him. Diablo was Aunt Hester's favourite stunt horse, a piebald Quarter Horse that could do all sorts of tricks, including playing dead when a gun was fired–a trick that had almost scared Issie and her friends out of their wits the last time they were at Blackthorn Farm.

In the stall next to Diablo was the enormous draught horse Dolomite. The big bay with the white blaze stood at nearly sixteen-three hands, while, in the stall right next to him, was Titan, the dinky miniature pony who couldn't have been more than ten hands high!

“Dolly and Titan obviously aren't any use as riding-school ponies,” Hester said. “You'd need a ladder to mount Dolly.”

“What about Titan?” Stella asked. “Couldn't one of the little kids ride on him?”

Hester shook her head. “Titan is a true miniature, a Falabella. They're not really bred as riding ponies; they can only handle very light weights on their back–although he can tow a cart.”

In the stall next to Titan was a dark brown pony who was around thirteen hands high. “This is Molly, one of my new ones,” Hester said. “She's a Blackthorn Pony that I've been schooling up. Very well mannered–the perfect learner's pony.”

“How many ponies will you need?” asked Issie.

“That depends on how many students enroll,” Hester said. “The ad has only been up on the
PONY Magazine
website for a few days and we already have five keen pupils lined up.”

“Do any of them actually know anything about riding?” Kate asked Hester.

“The twins, Tina and Trisha, have experience,” said Hester. “They're ten years old and they've been having weekly lessons since they turned eight apparently. I was
planning to put them on Paris and Nicole. They'll be perfect for more advanced riders. The youngest rider so far is Kitty–she's eight and mad keen on ponies according to her mum, although her brother George, who is ten, sounds like a handful. Both of them have had riding lessons, so they know the basics.”

“Which ponies will you put Kitty and George on?” asked Issie.

“I'm not sure about George, but I was thinking that Kitty could ride Timmy, the sweet chestnut with the star on his forehead. He's a Blackthorn Pony too, no vices and thoroughly bombproof,” Hester said. “The oldest girl is eleven. Her name is Kelly-Anne and she insists she's a bit of an expert–but she seems utterly green to me, if you know what I mean. I'm going to put her on Julian. He's a bit of a plodder, quite safe for an absolute beginner.”

Issie and Stella exchanged nervous glances. Up until now the idea of running a riding school had seemed like fun. But now that they were here it all seemed kind of daunting. Next Monday they would have actual pupils arriving. And some of the riders weren't much younger than they were. What would they say when they saw that their instructors were just a bunch of kids?

“I thought you three could draw up a lesson plan and a timetable this afternoon, then we've got time to iron out the kinks during the week before the riders arrive,” Hester continued.

“Lesson plan?” Stella squeaked. “Won't you be doing that? I mean, we won't actually be taking the lessons all by ourselves, will we?”

Hester shook her head. “I'm not expecting you to do everything by yourselves. But it's good to have a game plan so you can cope without me. Aidan and I have a lot of work to do just keeping the farm running so it's possible you'll be left alone in charge at least some of the time.” Hester noticed the terrified looks on the three girls' faces. “Something wrong?”

“Ummm…no…” Issie managed.

“Good!” Hester said brightly. “Well, I think that's enough of a tour of the stables for today. You can meet the rest of the ponies later. Shall we get back up to the house and you can unpack your things? You've all got your usual rooms. I hope that's OK?”

Issie's bedroom was the first room off the landing at the top of the grand wooden staircase. She threw her bags down on the enormous four-poster bed and then threw herself down next to them. The huge room was
papered with antique horsey wallpaper and hanging above the fireplace was an enormous oil painting of Avignon, Aunt Hester's great grey Warmblood stallion. In the portrait Avignon was running free, his beautiful silver mane flowing in the wind. Issie lay on the bed and gazed up at the painting, taking in the beauty of the horse, the arch of his neck, the flare of his nostrils, the deep, dark eyes staring back at her.