Blaze and the Dark Rider (11 page)

Watching her over the fence as she worked, Blaze, Coco and Toby kept giving her expectant whinnies. “I know you want your food,” Issie shouted back at them as she washed out Blaze’s storage bin, “but you’ll just have to wait until I’ve cleaned up here first.”

Finally, once she had checked to make sure that Coco and Toby’s feed wasn’t tampered with, she scooped all three of them up a new meal, giving Blaze
a little bit of the same chaff and sweet feed mix as Toby and Coco were having so that she wouldn’t miss out on her dinner.

“What do you think, Mystic?” Issie stood in front of the gelding with the feed buckets again and let the little grey inspect them this time. “Is it OK now?” Mystic gave the new feed a quick sniff of approval, then stood calmly by as Issie carried the three buckets over the fence and placed them down on the ground for Blaze, Coco and Toby.

Issie stood for a moment, watching her mare happily snorting and munching her way through the feed. A chill ran down her spine.
What might have happened if she had given Blaze the poisoned feed by mistake?
She didn’t like to even think about it. Instead, she focused her thoughts on another question.
Who could possibly have done this? Why would anyone want to hurt Blaze?

“Thank goodness you were here, Mystic,” Issie said, turning around to the little grey gelding standing behind her. But Mystic wasn’t there any more and Issie knew better than to bother to look for him. Blaze was safe now, and Mystic had gone just as quickly as he had arrived.

The next night, a second meeting of the secret pony-club gang was called. This time, though, the mood was much more serious in the clubroom as Issie told the others about the poisoned horse feed. Of course she skipped the bit about Mystic, telling the others that she had noticed the strange smell herself and the empty bottle of selenium and had figured out that someone must have put it into Blaze’s feed bin.

Everyone was quiet for a long while when Issie finished her story. And then finally Kate spoke: “Well, I think we should tell the police,” she said.

“Tell them what?” Dan snorted. “That someone spilt a bottle of supplement into a tub of horse feed? Big deal! That sounds like an accident to me. We need to find someone with a motive, a reason to hurt Blaze.”

“I can think of someone,” Stella piped up. The others all turned to look at her. “Oh, come on! It’s so obvious!” Stella said. “It was Francoise! It had to be!”

She turned to Issie. “You’ve already found her lurking around the tack room once, and now here she
is again. She’s the one who cut the stirrup leathers—obviously she meant to hurt you and got poor Annabel by mistake. Now that’s failed she’s trying to poison Blaze. Issie, it has to be her!”

Issie felt her chest tightening. Could it be true? Was Francoise really trying to hurt Blaze?

“What if it wasn’t Francoise?” Issie said. “You’re all just assuming it was her. But what if it’s not? Francoise has no reason to hurt Blaze or me. Maybe she’s not the one who did this, and while we’re wasting our time on Francoise the person who is really causing the trouble is still out there!”

“Issie, calm down,” Dan said. “I think Stella is right. It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? There have been too many strange coincidences since this Francoise turned up. Why is this woman interested in you and your horse? I think there’s something fishy going on and you have to face the fact that she’s behind it.”

“Well, what if she is?” said Ben. “We still can’t tell the police. We don’t have any proof.”

“We’ll have to get some.” Kate nodded.

“But I keep telling you,” Issie was furious now, “Francoise had no reason to do this. What if she hasn’t done anything wrong?”

“Issie, I can’t believe you are still standing up for her!” Stella snapped back. “After all she’s done. If Blaze had eaten that feed she would have been sick. So would Toby and Coco if they had eaten any. So she’s putting our horses in danger too! You have to face up to the fact that Francoise is the one behind all of this or other horses may be hurt as well as Blaze.”

Issie looked around the room at her friends in disbelief. The room went quiet once more as the five friends stood there, not speaking.

“I think we should take a vote,” Ben said finally. “All those who think it was Francoise raise your hands.”

There was a brief pause, and then four hands went up in the air. Issie took one last look around the room, and then she burst into tears and ran out the door.

It was nearly dark when Issie arrived home, and Mrs Brown was waiting for her. “I’m glad you’re home,” she called out to Issie as she walked in through the front door. “I’ve made roast chicken for dinner and it’s ready now.”

Then she saw her daughter’s tear-stained face, and her eyes which were red from crying all the way home on her bike. “Issie! What on earth is the matter?” She gave her a long hug and then sat her down in a chair next to her at the kitchen table.

“I had a fight with Stella and the others,” Issie sighed. “They all think that Francoise is the one responsible for everything…”

At that moment the doorbell rang. “It’s nearly eight o’clock! What now? It looks like we will be eating cold chicken for a late supper at this rate.” Mrs Brown smiled at her daughter as she got up from the table and went down the hallway to answer the door.

“Bonjour
, Madame Brown.” Isadora heard the voice of Francoise D’arth. “May I please come in? I have something very important to discuss with Isadora.”

When Issie saw Francoise’s face as she entered the kitchen, she knew immediately that something was very wrong. The dark-haired Frenchwoman looked very grave indeed.

“Would you like some dinner, Francoise?” Mrs Brown offered. “We were just about to sit down to some roast chicken.”

“Non merci
, thank you but no.” Francoise shook her head. She was still standing back in the doorway, as if she were afraid to come closer. In her hands, Issie saw that she held a piece of paper.

“Well, then, at least sit down and let me make you a cup of tea,” Mrs Brown said, and she gestured for Francoise to take a seat at the table across from Issie. “Now, you said you had something important to discuss?”

“Yes, but, well, I don’t know how to begin…” Francoise said.

“Milk or sugar?” asked Mrs Brown.

“I like it black please.” Francoise smiled weakly in response to Mrs Brown’s question.

“Isadora,” Francoise said, “do you remember the day when I first met Blaze, that morning at the pony club when I whistled for her, and she behaved strangely?”

Issie nodded, but didn’t speak. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

“It was almost unbelievable,” Francoise continued. “For only one of my mares, one of the Arabians of the El Caballo Danza Magnifico knows the sound of my whistle. Only one of my dancing Arabians would
know that it is a signal to rear up and to gallop. My mares are trained in this way.”

She looked Issie in the eyes. “It was at that moment, Issie, when Blaze responded to my whistle, that I knew who she really was. But it was not enough for me to know. I knew that my word would not be enough for you. So I needed proof.”

Out of her pocket now, Francoise removed a plastic bag. Inside the bag were five long flaxen-blonde strands of horse hair.

“I came back the next night and pulled these out from Blaze’s mane,” Francoise explained. “These hairs contain Blaze’s DNA. For the past week they have been at the laboratory being analysed and cross-checked against the hairs of my own dancing mares. They prove without a doubt what I have known in my heart the whole time, ever since I met Blaze.”

“What is that?” Issie’s mother asked as she put the tea down in front of Francoise.

Francoise gave Issie a look of deep sympathy. It was a look that made Issie feel completely and utterly sick because she knew in her heart now what was coming next. She felt the knot of anxiety that was growing inside
her reach around her heart, making it hard to breathe.

“The tests confirmed what I knew,” Francoise said. “Isadora, the horse that you call Blaze was once known by another name, her true name. She is called Salome. And she belongs to me.”

Francoise D’arth put the piece of paper, which Issie now realised was the DNA test result, down on the table. Issie stared at it. The numbers and words on the page were a blur to her, but she knew that what Francoise was telling her was the truth. It all made sense.

Issie thought back to that moment when she first set eyes on the El Caballo mares, and her shock when she saw how much they resembled Blaze. In the show, the mares had reared up and danced as part of their performance. When Blaze had reared at Francoise’s whistle she was performing too, just as she had done when she was an El Caballo mare. Blaze wasn’t Blaze at all—she was, what did Francoise call her? Salome. Of
course! Issie knew she had seen that name somewhere. It was the same name as the dancer, the one who performed the Dance of the Seven Veils.

Francoise D’arth saw the pained look on Isadora’s face and the tears welling in her eyes. She reached out across the kitchen table and took both of Isadora’s hands in her own. “I would like to tell you a story” she said softly. “It’s the story of the horse that you call Blaze.”

Issie nodded mutely and Francoise began. “Isadora, the Arabian horse is a living treasure. In ancient times sultans and kings considered their best horses to be their most precious possessions. But did you realise that above all else, what mattered most to these kings were their mares? These mares were treasured beyond even the great Arab stallions, because their beauty and speed could be passed on again and again in the fine foals that they would bear.

“One such mare was a great beauty called Mahabbah. Legend has it that her beauty was unparalleled. She was a chestnut, just like your Blaze, and most of her descendants today are chestnut too. Mahabbah’s bloodline is highly prized and it is from her that many
of the mares at the El Caballo Danza Magnifico are bred.”

Francoise smiled. “Your Blaze, the mare I call Salome, is descended from royalty. After all, Mahabbah belonged to sultans and was ridden by princesses. Her blood was then mingled with the strength and speed of the modern Thoroughbred. Blaze’s dam was the mare Bahiyaa, a direct descendant of Mahabbah. Her sire was the great stallion, Night Dancer, a Thoroughbred also of noble and revered bloodlines.”

Francoise looked at Issie, who was too stunned to say anything. “You seem surprised, Isadora.” Francoise smiled. “Surely you must have known that Salome was a mare of high breeding?

“Over the years,” she continued, “El Caballo Danza Magnifico’s stud farm in Spain has grown. There we breed all of the horses that will appear in our show, the Lipizzaners and the Anglo-Arabs. We use the Lipizzaner stallions because of their great power and classical grace, and the Anglo-Arab mare because of her beauty and intelligence. Our mares are all bred to be the best examples of the breed. Yet when Salome
was born, I knew she was something special. Her beauty surpassed the others and could be seen even when she was still a leggy foal at her mother’s feet. I took it upon myself to train her to join the dancing Arabians.

“It was not an easy task. Salome has a mind of her own, as you have no doubt discovered. But she soon proved to be the cleverest of all my mares—as well as the most beautiful.”

Francoise looked grave. “The El Caballo horses travel many hundreds of miles to perform. Our school travels around the world, you know, and almost one year ago we arrived here for the first time.

“It was the night of our first performance. We put the horses in their stalls. In those days we did not have Rene, who now guards the stables, and while all the riders went to dinner before the performance, there was no one left behind to watch over the mares. That was my mistake.

“The thieves took Salome first. They did not realise, I think, that she was my favourite. I believe that they had planned to steal all the mares, not just her. Luckily, we arrived back before they could open
the other stalls and so they fled with Salome and left the rest. We did not even realise she was gone until hours later when we opened her stall and saw that she had disappeared.