Storm and the Silver Bridle (18 page)

Angel greeted her with a nicker as she arrived in his stall with her bedding and the cot bed from the tack shed tucked under her arm.

“It’s OK, boy,” she said gently to the grey stallion. “It’s just me. I thought I’d come and share your stall for the night.”

Angel was happy to have a room-mate. But he could
sense that something was wrong. Issie usually lavished attention on him, but tonight she just sat on the edge of her cot staring out into the night. She looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Issie sat up on guard duty for a couple of hours. Then she began to think that maybe this was part of Vega’s master plan. He had her worried sick when she should be sleeping! If she didn’t get some sleep tonight then she would be too exhausted to race tomorrow anyway.

She took one last look out of the stable door. There was no one around. She lay down on the camp bed and discovered that it was surprisingly comfy. The night air was warm, but she still tucked the duvet around her. In the stall next to her Angel stirred, moving his hooves in the straw.

“G’night Angel,” Issie said drowsily. She fell asleep almost straight away, and it wasn’t long before the dream began.

It was one of the strangest dreams she’d ever had. She was reliving everything that had happened in the past few weeks: Storm, the race for the Silver Bridle. In her dream it all became clear to her. When she woke up, sitting bolt upright on the camp bed, her heart was racing. Her dream had been the answer! She had figured it out. She knew how to save Storm and she knew exactly what she needed to do. But that wasn’t why she had woken up. She was
awake because she’d heard a noise in the corridor at the entrance to the stable block. Someone was there!

Angel heard it too. He raised his noble head, his ears pricked forward towards the stable entrance. “Do you hear it too, boy?” Issie asked. There it was! The scraping sound of someone, or something, moving on the cobbled stones. She looked up and saw a shape in the courtyard archway at the entrance of the stables.

“Francoise? Is that you?” Issie called. Perhaps the Frenchwoman had brought her dinner after all? The shadow didn’t answer her. It did, however, begin to move, coming closer out of the darkness outside, heading towards the light of the stable loose boxes. “Hello? Who is it?” Issie was trembling now. “Francoise?”

Beside her in the stall, Angel moved about anxiously. She could make out the shape of a shadow moving in the darkness, now coming finally into the light of the stables.

And then suddenly Issie could see quite clearly who it was. The shock was too much for her, and she instantly burst into a flood of tears as she realised that it wasn’t Francoise or one of Vega’s men. It wasn’t a human at all. It was a horse. It was Mystic.

Tears were streaming down Issie’s face as she rushed forward and threw her arms around the grey pony. “Mystic!” She was so choked with emotion she was struggling to get the words out. “Ohmygod! You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

Mystic seemed just as pleased to see Issie too. He nickered warmly to her, nuzzling her with his sooty grey muzzle. Issie giggled as he did this, and began to pull herself together. She took a deep breath and used her sleeve to wipe her eyes and dry away the last of her tears.

“Mystic,” she said, “I don’t know how you got here, but I am so happy you came. Things have been so messed up. I must have fallen asleep because I had this dream…”

She’d woken up suddenly when Mystic had arrived, but
the dream had remained with her, and it was still flashing through her mind now, like a memory of something that really happened, all the details so vivid and real.

“Mystic,” she whispered intently to the grey stallion, “I had a dream. And you were in it. You were there and you helped me to save Storm. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Did she and Mystic share the same dream? Somehow she knew that he understood her completely and he knew what they needed to do.

Issie gave the grey gelding one last stroke on his sleek, dappled neck. Then she let her hand fall and stood back from her pony. “You have to go now. Until tomorrow, when the race begins,” she said. Then she added cryptically, “You know I can’t help you. You have to do it alone. You have to go and get him. I’m relying on you, OK?”

Mystic seemed to understand. He turned away from her and trotted back the way he had come, towards the entrance of the stables. When he reached the archway he stopped for a moment, silhouetted in the half light, his dark eyes shining as he stared back at Issie.

Then suddenly he wheeled about on his hocks, his silver tail flowing out behind him as he turned and cantered off across the courtyard. And then he was
gone. As quickly as he had arrived in the stables here at El Caballo he had disappeared once more. Issie stood for a moment longer, staring out into the darkness. Was she right about this? Issie felt certain that she was connected somehow with the grey pony that both of them had shared the same vision, and that Mystic would act when the time was right tomorrow and play his part. He wouldn’t fail her.

Issie stood a moment longer, staring at the dark night outside. Then she turned round and walked back to the stall where Angel was craning his neck over the chain. He had seen Mystic too and he was wondering what was going on. Issie put out a hand and stroked the grey stallion’s forelock.

“Not much longer now,” she said to the stallion. Soon enough it would be dawn and the race for the Silver Bridle would begin. Now that Mystic was here, though, everything had changed. For the first time, as she stood there, Issie felt a surge of excitement at the thought of riding Angel in the race. A few moments ago she’d been in despair, but now she had a plan.

“It’s going to be OK, Angel,” she said to the big grey stallion standing next to her. “Mystic is here. And we’re going to win.”

Alfie! Wake up!” It was before dawn back at the hacienda and Issie was in Alfie’s room shaking his shoulder gently. “Alfie!” she hissed. The shaking was not so gentle now as she gave him a shove and Alfie sat bolt upright in bed.

“
Madre Mia!
What’s going on? Issie? What are you doing in my room?”

“Alfie, shhh, I have to ask you something,” Issie said. “Listen, I need your help. I know a way to get Storm back. Vega has asked me to throw the race—”

“Vega? Throw the race? Issie, you can’t—” Alfie began.

“Shhh!” Issie said. “I have a plan, but I’m going to need your help. You have to trust me, OK? I can’t explain everything, but you have to trust me. Now are you in?”

Alfie took a deep breath and looked hard at Issie as if he were trying to make up his mind. Finally he spoke.

“Of course I’m in,” he said. “Tell me what I have to do.”

The pounding rhythm of the Spanish flamenco filled the air as Issie, Avery, Roberto and Francoise rode towards the village that morning. Everywhere Issie looked, red roses littered the ground, trampled on the cobblestones beneath
the horses’ hooves. There were brightly coloured banners hanging from the windows of all the buildings. The sound of Spanish castanets and the joyous shouts of the supporters filled the air as the fans lined the streets leading to the village, all waiting to cheer on the jockeys from their favourite hacienda.

Twelve haciendas would compete here today and each of them was determined to outdo the others. Their rivalry began with the grooming and presentation of their horses. The spectators from each hacienda were on horseback and all dressed up in their team colours. Most splendid of all, though, were the twelve racehorses from each of the competing stables. Their manes were plaited with ribbons and bobbles in the colours of their hacienda and streamers were braided into their tails. The jockeys too were dressed in colourful and theatrical costumes. Each of them wore racing silks in hacienda colours that matched their horse’s braids.

“I feel silly in this outfit,” Issie grumbled as she rolled up the sleeves of her jockey silks. The silks were striped in the red, orange and violet colours of El Caballo Danza Magnifico, with a letter C and a red heart in the centre on Issie’s back. “This shirt is too big for me.”

“They were Alfie’s silks,” Francoise said. “I didn’t
have time to alter them.” She looked around. “Where is Alfie? He said he was going to catch us up. He’ll miss the race at this rate.”

“Ummm,” Issie said, “I wouldn’t worry about him. He said to tell you that he had something to do back at the stables. He’ll be here later.”

Now they passed the fountain that marked the entrance to the village square and Issie could see the track that they would race on, the sides of the streets swarming with people, waiting to cheer on their own hacienda.

As she looked down the wide white chalk streets of the square Issie knew exactly what lay ahead of her. This wasn’t a game, it was real. Today she would be risking her life to win, riding against men twice her size and twice her age.

“Are you nervous?” asked Avery.

Issie didn’t know what to say. This morning when she’d been telling Alfie her plan, she hadn’t been nervous in the least. She’d been so certain that her idea would work. But in the harsh light of day, she was still a young girl, mounting up to ride against eleven men in a dangerous horse race that pitted riders against each other in a rough and tumble contest with no rules.

“Just remember our game plan,” Avery said. “You’ve got to be away fast at the break, get out in front so that the other
riders can’t get near you. If they can’t touch you then you can’t be shoved around. Just keep Angel ahead of the pack and stay in the lead. He’s got the speed to hold them off and the stamina to last the distance. Be careful taking the corners and then, on the third lap, when you’re coming around to the final stretch, you can loosen the reins and really let him go, urge him on over the finish line.”

Issie looked at her instructor, wondering how to explain what she was about to tell him. “That’s just the thing, Tom, about our race strategy. I want to—”

The loud parp of a horn interrupted her.

“This is it!” Roberto said. “Time for you to line up.” He looked at Issie and smiled. “I know you will ride your best for El Caballo Danza Magnifico. And that is all I ask. I am proud that you are riding for our stables, Isadora — you take with you the hopes and dreams for our future. Good luck, my brave friend.”

He put out his hand and Issie shook it. It felt quite odd, shaking Roberto’s hand. She had puzzled all morning about whether she should try to explain her plan to Roberto. Now, at the last minute, she decided that Roberto needed to know what was really going on.

“Roberto, I have to tell you,” Issie began, “Alfie and I have this plan. Vega, he told me that—”
“
Vaqueros!”
A voice over the loudspeaker interrupted her. The announcer was saying something in Spanish.

“The race is about to begin. It is time for you to take your position at the start line now,” Roberto said. “We will have time to talk later…”

He gestured to Francoise, who dismounted and handed the reins of her horse to Roberto, and then took Angel by the reins and led Issie over to join the other horses behind the white rope.

“What is it?” Francoise asked. “What were you trying to tell Roberto about Vega? Is it something about the race?”

Issie shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she said. She realised there was no point in talking about it now. They wouldn’t understand. How could they when they didn’t know about Mystic? Besides, the race was about to be run. Issie’s plan was about to unfold. They would all see soon enough.

All this time, despite the noise, the crowds and the flags, Angel had been his good-natured self, as calm as ever. The grey stallion had been perfectly behaved on the way here and his manners had been impeccable as Issie rode him around the village square. But now, as they came back to the fountain where they would line up to begin the race, Angel’s mood suddenly changed. The horse had spied Miguel Vega in the crowd ahead of them, sitting
astride Victorioso, his mighty black stallion. At the sight of Vega, Angel’s stride stiffened and he began to skip nervously, crab-stepping sideways beneath Issie, reluctant to step forward towards the start line.