The Thirteenth Horse Page 2

  Puzzled by the change of subject, Kristy said, ‘The high school. Why?’

  ‘You might know their owners, Norah, William and Sofia.’

  ‘I haven’t been there long. We’ve only just moved to this side of town.’ Kristy didn’t add that she still hadn’t made any friends at her new school. Emma didn’t need to know that.

  ‘Well, you’ll meet them next week. That’s Silver.’ She pointed to a rotund dappled grey pony. He bustled over to them and began nibbling Emma’s pockets. She laughed. ‘All he thinks about is his stomach. There’s Jazz.’ A pretty palomino mare with four white socks looked up at the sound of her name.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ said Kristy.

  ‘And very highly strung,’ said Emma. ‘Copper is the chestnut gelding grazing by the water trough. He’s a darling. As steady as they come.’

  They toured the paddocks, meeting all the horses. Kristy tried to memorise their names and listened carefully as Emma ran through her list of jobs. She was to muck out all three ponies’ stables, give them fresh hay and water, bring them in from the field and change their rugs. If they weren’t being ridden she was also to give them a quick groom and pick out their feet.

  ‘Have you ever done that before?’ Emma asked.

  Kristy shook her head. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ Emma handed her the headcollar. ‘You catch Silver and I’ll show you what to do.’

  Kristy called softly to the grey gelding and approached him quietly.

  ‘Loop the lead rope over his neck to stop him wandering off,’ said Emma. Kristy did as she was told and was relieved when Silver stood patiently while she slid the noseband over his muzzle and buckled the headpiece. She clicked her tongue and the gelding followed her out of the field. Emma showed her how to tie a quick release knot, pick out his feet and change his rug.

  ‘You’ll soon get the hang of it.’

  ‘Shall I turn him back out?’ said Kristy.

  ‘Yes please. But put him in the bottom paddock, would you? There’s less grass in there. He’s fat enough as it is.’

  Kristy led Silver past the other horses and ponies to the bottom paddock. At first, she thought it was empty. But as she undid Silver’s headcollar she saw a movement in the corner of her eye. She gave a little start. A black horse was watching her from the far corner of the paddock. He was as sturdy as a Shire horse, but not as tall, with a narrow blaze shaped like a bolt of lightning and a thick forelock that was so long it covered one eye like a curtain.

  ‘But I’ve met all twelve horses,’ Kristy said to Silver. He gave her a friendly nudge and wandered off to graze. Kristy watched the black horse for a while longer, wondering who he belonged to and why Emma hadn’t mentioned him.

  When her fingers were numb with cold she retraced her steps back to the yard. Emma was nowhere to be seen. Kristy waited for a while, wondering what to do. And then she saw a note pinned to the tack room door. Had to go and get horse feed. See you Monday. Four o’clock sharp!

  Kristy pulled on her gloves, retrieved her bike and took one last look at Mill Farm Stables. Working here would be hard work, there was no doubt about that. And Emma hadn’t even mentioned how much a lowly stablehand was paid. But Kristy realised she didn’t care. The truth was, she would happily work for free if it meant she could get a regular horse fix.

  It wasn’t until that night, when she was lying in bed going over the events of the day, that she remembered the mysterious thirteenth horse. He’d looked lost, standing there all alone, an outsider looking in. She knew how he felt, and her heart twisted painfully.

  3

  MYSTERY HORSE

  K risty fought her way through the jostling groups of children leaving the canteen and headed towards the library. The rest of her year were streaming out onto the playing fields, where they would pass the rest of their lunch hour playing ball or laughing and joking with their friends.

  Normally Kristy would tag behind them and watch from a safe distance, hoping that one day someone might notice her and ask her to join in. It hadn’t happened yet, but she lived in hope. But from now on she would be spending every lunchtime in the library. She had no choice. When she’d told her parents the hours she would be working at Mill Farm they’d hit the roof.

  ‘You’ve said you’ll work every day after school? What about your homework?’ her mum had cried.

  ‘You didn’t mind me getting a paper round,’ Kristy reasoned.

  ‘That would have been an hour before school, not two hours afterwards. And all day Saturday,’ said her dad.

  ‘I’ll spend lunchtimes in the library doing homework and catch up with the rest on Sundays,’ she said.

  Her parents looked at each other but said nothing.

  She had a brainwave. ‘Parents’ evening is in four weeks’ time. If my grades have dropped I promise I’ll give up the job. But if they haven’t, you have to promise me that I can carry on working.’

  Her dad took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Kristy held her breath.

  ‘Alright. We’ll give it four weeks. But if your schoolwork suffers you’ll have to stop. Understood?’

  ‘Understood,’ said Kristy, and she’d darted out of the room before they could change their minds.

  Kristy found a table near a window and laid out her pencil case and exercise books. She was halfway through a long and complicated maths worksheet when a tall girl with dark red shoulder-length hair approached the table.

  ‘Mind if I sit here?’ she asked.

  Kristy smiled. ‘Not at all.’

  The red-haired girl pulled up a chair opposite Kristy and fished a battered paperback out of her bag. A pewter-coloured horse galloped across the cover, its mane and tail flowing like molten silver. The girl was soon completely engrossed in her book.

  Kristy, meanwhile, was finding it hard to concentrate on the factors and equations she was supposed to be solving. She stole glances at the red-haired girl. She looked older than Kristy and was probably in the year above her. Kristy wondered why she was spending her lunch hour on her own, too.

  Kristy pushed the worksheet away and sighed. She’d had loads of friends at her old school and couldn’t work out why she wasn’t making friends here. But joining halfway through the first term meant that everyone already had their friendship groups sorted and, no matter how hard she tried, there didn’t seem to be any room for Kristy to join them.

  The bell for lessons sounded and Kristy shoved her pencil case and half-finished worksheet into her rucksack. She checked her timetable. History in the humanities block and then PE. When she looked up again the red-haired girl was disappearing through the door. But in her haste to leave she’d left her book on the table.

  Kristy grabbed it and ran after her. She caught up with her in the corridor that led to the canteen.

  ‘Hey,’ Kristy said, tapping the girl on the shoulder. She spun around in surprise.

  ‘You left your book in the library.’

  The girl hit her forehead with the heel of her hand and laughed. ‘I’m hopeless. I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on. Thank you so much.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Kristy.

  ‘See you around,’ said the red-haired girl, plunging into the torrent of schoolchildren on their way to lessons. Kristy hitched her rucksack further up her shoulder, cast one last look back at the girl, and made her way towards the humanities block.

  KRISTY GLANCED at her watch as she jogged along the driveway to Mill Farm Stables. It was two minutes to four. She’d whipped like a tornado through the apartment when she’d arrived home from school, flinging down her rucksack, throwing on her jeans and a fleece jacket and grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl to keep her going until supper time. It had been a crazy rush, but she’d managed it.

  Emma was giving a girl a leg up onto the pretty palomino mare with the four white socks. Jazz, Kristy thought to herself. Beautiful and highly-strung. The girl tightened her girth and turned the mare towards the in
door school. As she passed Kristy she did a double take.

  ‘The girl in the library!’ she screeched so loudly that her pony skittered sideways and almost knocked Emma flying.

  ‘Careful!’ Emma cried, grabbing hold of the reins and steadying Jazz.

  But the girl wasn’t listening. ‘You saved my life today. I would have literally cried myself to sleep tonight if I’d lost that book. It’s my favourite in the whole world. I’ve read it like a thousand times. What are you doing here, Library Girl?’

  ‘Kristy’s my new stablehand,’ said Emma.

  ‘I’m Sofia,’ said the girl. ‘And this is my pony Jazz. I’m afraid she’s as ditzy as I am.’

  Kristy stroked the mare’s neck. ‘She’s absolutely gorgeous.’

  ‘I hate to interrupt, but you have half an hour in the school before I need to use it, Sofia. And you still have three stables to muck out, Kristy.’

  Sofia rolled her eyes. ‘You’re so bossy, Emma. You’d have made a great teacher.’ She winked at Kristy, who couldn’t help smiling back.

  ‘The thought of a classroom full of children is enough to send me running for the hills. Dealing with you and the twins is bad enough,’ Emma replied tartly. ‘Now go and exercise your pony before I really lose my patience.’

  Sofia chuckled and kicked Jazz into a trot.

  ‘And how many times have I told you not to trot in the yard!’ Emma yelled after her.

  Kristy set to work, mucking out Jazz’s stable first so it would be ready for the mare once Sofia had finished riding. By the time she had finished mucking out all three stables she had shed her fleece and could feel a sheen of perspiration on her brow. She was filling the ponies’ haynets when Sofia led Jazz into the yard.

  Sofia peered over Jazz’s stable door. ‘That looks great, Kristy. Thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Sofia ran up her stirrup leathers and loosened Jazz’s girth. ‘You’re new at school, right?’

  ‘Yes, we only moved here in September. I’m in the year below you, I think.’

  ‘Then you’re in the same year as the Bergman twins. Norah and William. Copper and Silver are their ponies. Do you know them?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You’d know if you did. Norah is even bossier than Emma, and William is so laid back he’s virtually horizontal. They don’t ride on Mondays but you’ll meet them tomorrow.’

  Kristy tied up Jazz’s haynet and filled her water bucket while Sofia untacked her. ‘I’ll fetch her rug,’ Kristy said.

  ‘No, I’ll do that. You’ve got enough to do.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s all taking me a bit longer than I thought it would,’ she admitted.

  ‘You’ll soon speed up. I’d love to do more to look after Jazz but my dad would go mad if he found out he was paying for me to muck out my own pony.’ Sofia flicked a body brush over her mare’s glossy coat and rugged her up. ‘Do you ride?’

  ‘I used to have lessons but I had to stop when we moved.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Where did you ride?’

  ‘Coldblow. It’s on the other side of town.’

  Sofia gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘Goodness, you didn’t tell Emma that, did you?’

  ‘No. She never asked. Why?’

  ‘Coldblow is owned by her sister Karen. They fell out years ago. Karen is always poaching owners from Emma. They can’t stand the sight of each other.’

  ‘But Coldblow is nothing like Mill Farm. It’s -’ Kristy broke off, embarrassed.

  ‘Smart and posh?’ Sofia grinned.

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Kristy. ‘Although I much prefer it here,’ she added hurriedly.

  ‘You’re right, Coldblow is much swankier. But Karen’s in it for the money. She doesn’t care about the horses like Emma does. I wouldn’t want to keep Jazz anywhere else.’

  Once Jazz, Copper and Silver were settled in their stables, Kristy walked down to the bottom paddock. She wanted to see if the black horse was still there. She counted the others as she went. There were definitely twelve. Why hadn’t Emma mentioned him? He was standing under a tree, dozing, but looked up when he heard the gate click open.

  He turned to watch her as she picked a handful of grass and walked towards him. He was big, about 15hh, with a proud, arched neck and a wide chest. He whickered a welcome and Kristy’s heart melted.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said softly, holding out her palm. His whiskers tickled her hand as he nibbled the grass. ‘Who do you belong to?’ she murmured, stroking his broad face. He blew into her neck. She giggled, tracing his narrow blaze with her index finger. ‘I’ve got to go now, but I’ll be back, I promise.’

  Kristy tramped back across the field. When she reached the gate, she looked back at the gelding. He was watching her intently, his head tilted at an almost comical angle.

  She blew him a kiss. ‘Goodbye, mystery horse. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  4

  FRIENDS AND ENEMIES

  K risty couldn’t get the black gelding out of her head. He dominated her thoughts as she fidgeted her way through double maths and she doodled pictures of him in the margins of her exercise book when she should have been drawing a glacier in geography. She wanted to know everything about him. Who he belonged to, why Emma hadn’t mentioned him. Was he even real? She’d woken up wondering if she’d imagined him. Perhaps, she thought with horror, he was a dream horse, as insubstantial as an almost-forgotten memory.

  She sat in the library after lunch with her English textbook open in front of her, but spent more time watching the door for Sofia than she did memorising the list of spellings she was supposed to be learning for a test the next day. Just when she’d given up hope that the older girl was coming, Sofia scurried in, saw Kristy and slipped into the seat beside her.

  ‘I would have been here earlier but I lost my trainers and we’ve got PE next,’ she said, flicking her long fringe out of her eyes. ‘How did you enjoy your first day at Mill Farm?’

  Kristy showed Sofia her nails, which were engrained with dirt. ‘I spent twenty minutes scrubbing them this morning, and I’ve got blisters on both hands. But I’m not complaining. I loved it.’

  ‘Emma can be a bit strict, but her bark is worse than her bite, and she seems to have taken a shine to you,’ said Sofia.

  Kristy flushed with pleasure. ‘I like her too. Sofia, you know that black gelding at Mill Farm?’

  ‘Henry the Friesian?’ Sofia asked. ‘Isn’t he beautiful?’

  ‘No, not Henry.’ Emma had introduced Kristy to Henry’s owner the previous evening. ‘The big horse down in the bottom paddock. With the long forelock and the lightning-shaped blaze.’

  Sofia shook her head. ‘Sorry, I don’t ever go down there. Jazz is always in one of the top paddocks. Why?’

  Before Kristy could answer the bell sounded. Sofia jumped to her feet and looked around her wildly. ‘I mustn’t forget my trainers!’ she said, grabbing a carrier bag from under the table.

  ‘See you at the stables tonight?’ Kristy asked.

  ‘Of course,’ she grinned, dashing out of the library.

  It wasn’t until she’d gone that Kristy realised Sofia had left her schoolbag on the seat bedside her. She gave a resigned smile, picked up the bag and went in search of her new friend.

  KRISTY RACED over to the stables after school and found Emma in the tack room, cleaning a saddle. ‘Who is the black horse in the bottom paddock?’ she asked breathlessly, before Emma had a chance to say hello.

  ‘You mean Cassius?’

  It was a noble name, Kristy thought. It suited him. ‘Why didn’t you mention him when you were showing me all the horses?’

  Emma scratched her head. ‘Probably because he lives out all year.’

  ‘Who does he belong to?’

  Emma shrugged. ‘No-one.’

  ‘He must belong to someone!’

  ‘Well, legally he belongs to me. But I didn’t buy him. I just acquired him.’

  ‘What do you m
ean?’

  Emma dipped her sponge into the tin of saddle soap and rubbed it over the cantle. ‘His owner did a moonlight flit.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘She owed me six months in fees and the vet a small fortune. Then she disappeared one day without paying either of us a penny. Legally Cassius is mine in lieu of the money she owed me. I tried selling him, without much luck.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Kristy. ‘He’s so handsome.’

  ‘Yes, but who wants a blind horse?’

  Kristy felt the ground shift beneath her feet. ‘Blind?’

  ‘Well, blind in one eye. He had an eye infection and lost the sight in his right eye. Didn’t you notice?’

  Kristy remembered the way Cassius had tilted his head to watch her. She’d thought it was an endearing habit. ‘The poor thing!’

  ‘He’s alright. Horses adapt very well to losing their sight. And he still has one good eye.’

  ‘Did she used to ride him, his old owner?’ Kristy asked.

  ‘Why all the questions?’

  ‘I just wondered.’

  ‘Yes, she did. Not all cold-bloods are suitable for riding, but Cassius is a Percheron and they make lovely riding horses.’

  ‘You mean he’s cold-blooded, like a lizard? Or a snake?’ Kristy shivered.

  Emma laughed. ‘No! Horses are mammals, they are all warm-blooded, but they fall into three categories: hot-bloods, cold-bloods and warmbloods. Hot-bloods were originally bred for racing and long-distance riding. Think of fiery Arabs or Thoroughbreds. Cold-bloods are classed as working horses and were bred for their strength and calm temperament, like Shires or Clydesdales.’

  ‘And warmbloods are produced by crossing hot and cold-blooded horses?’ Kristy guessed.

  ‘That’s right. Hanoverians, Holsteiners and Trakheners are all warmbloods.’ Emma lifted the saddle back onto its rack. ‘Cassius is a registered Percheron, although he’s small for his breed. They can make 17hh.’