Secret Pony Society (5 page)

I didn't want to take Drummer; the sight of the horses being hurried along before had so upset him, and I didn't want him to go through that again. I was really nervous about going on my own—what with all my mom's dire warnings: the ones about not going riding alone (I did do that, but I sort of banked on Drum taking care of me), and riding my bike home before it got dark, and never walking through the woods on my own.

So I had agonized over whether to ask Bean to go with me, but in the end, my courage failed me as I remembered how she and Katy had refused to give Jazz a chance. They had both been a bit uneasy about Jazz coming to the yard, but I'd assured them it was only once and they were satisfied I hadn't invited her. With all the anti-Jazz feeling around, I couldn't risk the others knowing I was going to watch the race. My courage failed me twice because if I had been brave enough, I would have stood up for Jazz and Falling Snow. I had so many mixed feelings, I had to go alone and hope I could get it all sorted out in my own mind.

I knew I needed to be at the finish of the race, and it wasn't very far to walk. As I set off that Saturday, making sure no one saw me, my brain returned to the big questions facing Falling Snow. Would the mare be able to ignore the whip and the shouting and lose the race? I kicked fallen chestnuts and leaves as I hurried along the bridle path, keeping a lookout for approaching ponies and their curious and disapproving riders.

The woods seemed much bigger on foot than when I rode through them on Drum. I was beginning to puff a bit and starting to feel a tiny bit of sympathy for my pony. I made up my mind I wouldn't tell him that. Can you imagine? He'd never let it go, would he?

At last I got near to the place where the race was due to end—but I didn't want to get too close, for obvious reasons. Sure enough, there was a small gathering of travelers at the end of the lane, so I retreated along a footpath, which led up a hill along a hedge on the edge of a farmer's field, to trees forming a small copse at the top. From this vantage point, I could look down at the lane and the waiting group.

Travelers had blocked the lane with their vehicles, forming a barrier so that no one could enter. They stood about smoking, talking, glancing along the lane, anxious to catch a glimpse of the approaching horses. Money was still changing hands—I saw a wad of bills passed from one man to the other—and dogs sat next to their masters or scratched behind their ears with a hind foot. There seemed to be a lot of that going on.

I couldn't tell whether my heart was thudding because I'd climbed the hill or because I was so nervous. I hoped I wouldn't have to wait too long. The sky was gray and angry, with dark rain clouds sweeping in toward me, and the wind howled up the hill. I dug my hands into my jacket pockets to keep them warm. Curling my fingers around Epona who was buried deep in one of them, I felt my heart sink. Did I really want to hear what the racing horses had to say?

“You had to see,” said a voice, making me jump like a startled rabbit. Whirling around, I saw Jazz and her dog walking out of the trees.

I gave her a sort of half grin. The wheat-colored hound stayed close to Jazz, leaning against her leg, his eyes trained on me. I felt strangely vulnerable without Drummer. What if the dog went for me? “She has to lose,” said Jazz, shrugging her shoulders. “She has to. To win means an impossible future. You told her to lose. You said so?”

“Yes, she knows to lose. But even so…” I trailed off. Jazz must see how difficult it was going to be for her pony.

She stared down at the lane, not seeming to notice the biting wind in her sweater and jeans. “She has to lose,” she repeated to herself, like a mantra.

Suddenly, it all kicked off. The group of men became alert, their attention on the approaching horses. The sound of hooves on asphalt cut through the air, and Jazz, her dog, and I all turned, focusing on the scene unfolding below us.

Who would appear around the bend first?

The clatter of hoofbeats, louder every second, was joined by the sound of jingling harness, of wheels spinning on asphalt, of men's voices urging on the horses. I felt my throat tighten with dread—I didn't want to see Falling Snow straining to win or, even worse, being beaten along because she was not winning. I wanted to screw up my eyes and put my hands over my ears to shut out the pain and sweat and terror approaching. But I couldn't. I had to see. Like a horror film where it was too horrible to watch, yet unbearable not to, I had to know whether Falling Snow would win or lose. Either outcome was going to be painful—for Snow, for Jazz, and now for me.

Jazz stood silent, her violet eyes betraying nothing, her face like stone, one hand on her trembling dog's head.

Three horses pulling sulkies burst into view. A skewbald and a roan were neck and neck, their manes flying like banners, their legs a blur. But there, too, was Falling Snow, her eyes wide and startled, her nostrils flaring with effort, her sides dark with sweat, foam from her mouth caught and blown by the wind. Her driver behind her slapped the slack of the reins on either side of her quarters, harder and harder, refusing to let her ease her pace, urging her to trot flat-out, forcing her faster and faster, shouting even as she gave her all.

She wasn't losing.

Falling Snow was in front of the skewbald and the roan.

Falling Snow was going to win.

The noise of the horses and the drivers drowned out the cheers and moans of the waiting crowd of travelers.

There was never any chance of Jazz's pony being allowed to choose her pace. Her driver was relentless. Falling Snow swept past the crowd a length in front of the other horses, and I turned, appalled, to her owner behind me.

Jazz buried her face in her hands as her pony trotted on, her driver whooping in victory. A sob like a wild animal escaped her as she fell to her knees, distraught. The dog whined, licking his mistress's hands, which covered her face.

Instinctively, I took a step toward Jazz, but the dog turned and growled at me, stopping me in my tracks.

“Jazz?” I said urgently. “Jazz, are you all right?”

The girl stood up shakily, leaning on her dog. I could see tear trails glistening on her cheeks, and her eyes flashed dangerously as she whispered something murderous under her breath, then louder, so that I could hear her.

“I'll never let this happen to you again,” she vowed shakily, staring at her pony as the laughing lad seated on the sulky turned her roughly around with one rein, slapping her again to make her canter back to the crowd. “I'll die first.”

And then she turned to me, her voice trembling but under control, only her clenched hands betraying her distress and new determination.

“Snow couldn't do it. She hadn't the strength. But I have. I have to be strong for both of us. I can do that. I will do that.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked her, my heart pounding.

Jazz watched as the men surrounded her pony, laughing and exchanging money. I felt a shiver run up and down my spine, and I remembered the first time I saw her and how ghostlike she had seemed. Pale and determined, she seemed spiritual again.

“I won't let this happen again.” She whispered, looking down at her pony, “I'll hide you Snow, I'll take care of you.”

“But where will you go?” I asked. Where could a young girl and her pony—and presumably her dog, I couldn't imagine it letting Jazz out of its sight—disappear to?

“I'm not afraid,” said Jazz, looking at me again. “I know how to survive. We'll lay low until it is time for everyone to leave this place. The
Armaya
will begin soon, but I won't be there to see it. We will go.”

“Where will you go?” I repeated, thinking she might have family she could stay with. It seemed Jazz didn't think like that.

“I shall hide. With Snow and Kasali. We'll be free.”

“But
where
will you hide?” I asked her.

Jazz turned and looked at me, her violet eyes burning into my soul. “You know places here. You tell me where I can hide.”

For a second I thought Jazz wanted to come and stay at my house. But then I realized that wasn't what she meant at all. She needed somewhere to stay with Snow and her dog. Where on earth could a girl, her dog, and her pony hide? It was impossible!

“But the police will find you. They'll search and find you for sure,” I said.

Jazz laughed. “You think my father would ask the police for help? He would rather die first! No, I just need somewhere to lay low. If I travel, my father will find me, that's certain. He has friends who will help him. How about where Drummer lives? Would that be a place where we could hide?”

This was madness—and I could just imagine the reception Jazz and her two dependants would get at the yard. I shook my head. As I did so, I felt Jazz stiffen, and she lifted her chin defiantly.

“So, you won't help us. I understand.”

“No, I mean, I want to, I just can't think of anywhere. Let me think,” I heard myself saying.

“Then I'll wait for you to decide where,” said Jazz. To Jazz, my words were a promise, not a plea for some thinking time, which was how I had intended them. With horror, I realized I was now responsible for hiding a girl, a pony, and a dog.

“I shall meet you here tomorrow, at this same time,” said Jazz. “We will be ready to go. I cannot stay longer, the
Armaya
will soon begin.”

I felt a tightness in my chest. How could Jazz possibly make it alone? How could I possibly find her a sanctuary? And what was this
Armaya
she was going on about? I asked her, and her reply made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“A curse,” Jazz replied, her eyes like steel. “I have cursed my father. It is done. Until tomorrow…” And with that Jazz and her dog turned and ran off through the trees, leaving me shocked and shivering on the hillside.

I couldn't keep my big mouth shut. When I told Katy and Bean about the race, they were appalled—but not in the way I thought they would be.

“How could you go and watch?” asked Katy. “How could you possibly want to see those poor horses?”

“I had to find out whether Falling Snow won or not, don't you get it?” I replied.

“I don't see how you can be friendly with the girl if she allows her pony to be raced like that,” said Bean.

“But she loves Falling Snow, that's the point—” I began.

“Well, she's got a funny way of showing it,” Katy snapped.

“I'd never let anyone do that to Tiffany,” declared Bean. “I just wouldn't.”

“Her father doesn't sound like the sort of person she could reason with!” I said. “Jazz didn't
want
her pony to race, and she wanted her to lose it so she wouldn't have to race again.”

I couldn't understand what they didn't get about the situation. It was as though they were deliberately misunderstanding or that I was talking in a different language. I kept telling them how Jazz loved Falling Snow and didn't want her to race, but Katy and Bean seemed determined to hear the complete opposite. I had to make them understand.

I tried again. “Jazz swore she wouldn't let her father race Snow again,” I said earnestly. “She
cried!
”

“A bit late now,” Bean retorted heartlessly. “She should have done all that before.”

“She's going to run away,” I said, my voice getting louder. I was starting to lose control—it was so frustrating. “She's put a curse on her father, that's how much she hates him for hurting Snow. Can you imagine running away? How can you doubt how much she cares for Snow?”

“I bet she doesn't,” said Bean. “I was always threatening to run away whenever my sisters were horrible to me about my riding lessons. I got as far as the end of the road once, with some cookies and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich tied up in a handkerchief on the end of a broom handle. I'd packed all my toy ponies in a duffel bag, too.”

“Did you?” asked Katy, impressed. “What happened?”

“Oh, some nosy old woman at the end of the road saw me and called my mom, and she ran after me. I was only six.”

“This is a bit different. Jazz isn't six, and she's going to take Falling Snow with her. She's serious!”

“They're all the same, the travelers,” insisted Katy. “They just tie up their ponies then race them hard. I don't see why we should believe your friend's any different.”

I had the feeling I was pushing a boulder up a hill. The harder I pushed, the heavier it became and threatened to come back down and crush me. I had hoped my friends might help me think of where Jazz could hide away, but now I couldn't bring myself to tell them that part. I had a terrible feeling that because of the way the conversation had gone, not only would they refuse to help, but they might actually give Jazz away.

Then things got worse. Cat and James arrived. Together. James stopped and spoke to us—Cat smiled and said hello to Katy and Bean but totally ignored me. Which I didn't mind at all. It's always worse when she sneers or makes stupid, cutting remarks or calls me Mia instead of Pia. She thinks that's hilarious.

“What's new?” James grinned. We were all still smarting from our disagreement, and the air was thick with tension.

“The travelers are still around,” said Katy, glaring at me. “Still racing their horses, still cluttering up the Sloping Field.”

James frowned. “Moth's been on edge all week,” he said. “It's as though she knows they're here. I wish they'd go.”

“Perhaps if a certain person didn't keep making them feel welcome, they would,” remarked Cat, giving me the evil eye. Katy and Bean looked uncomfortable. James picked up on it, of course.

“What do you mean?” he asked Cat.

“
Mia's
new friend was at the yard the other day.”

Oh, seven kinds of hell
, I thought. Cat had seen Jazz. And another, terrible thought struck me. If she had seen us talking, had she also seen…?

“I bet she was casing the joint so she and her sort can come back for a raid,” continued Cat. “I bet nothing's safe, the tack, the ponies. She had a good look at Moth, walked right up to her as bold as you like, and peered into her stable!”

Yes, she had.

James looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and astonishment. I sighed.

“It wasn't like that. Jazz wanted my help to communicate with her pony. She was only here a few minutes.”

“What about Moth?” exploded James.

So not the reaction I was looking for. This thing with Jazz was getting totally out of hand.

“Well, she did go up to Moth, but it wasn't at all like Cat says, it really wasn't…” I trailed off. It was hopeless trying to explain.

“I don't understand you, Pia,” said James, shaking his head. “What are you thinking of? I know you weren't here when I got Moth, you didn't see how she was, but by being friendly with the travelers, it's as though you're betraying Moth. It's as though you're betraying all of us.”

I stood with my mouth open. This was so unfair!

“I didn't invite her!” I shouted. “I didn't tell her where I keep Drum, she just turned up! What am I supposed to do, ignore her? Refuse to help her? What would you do?”

“That depends on where your loyalties lie,” said Cat. “With the travelers or with us. Maybe you're a homeless traveler yourself!”

I stormed off. I was so angry! Everyone seemed to be blaming me for the travelers' very existence, and Cat was so taking advantage of the situation and making it work for her. It wasn't fair. I knew Jazz loved Falling Snow the same way I loved Drummer, the same way Bean, Katy, James, and even Cat loved their ponies. Why wouldn't anyone see that?

No one came after me. It wasn't like the soaps on TV—if it had been, James would have caught up with me and sworn his undying support, assuring me that even though he didn't fully understand my motives, he'd trust I was doing the right thing.

Well, this wasn't a TV soap opera. This was real life, and I was busy falling out with my new friends. I didn't even need Catriona's help to do that—I managed to do a pretty good job all by myself. I could imagine how thrilled she must be.

I went where I always go when I'm upset and I need some help to sort out the problems of life (which seem far too frequent!). My gorgeous bay pony looked up from his hay net as I closed the stable door behind me.

“Uh-oh, you look like you've got to spend the day with Skinny Lynny,” he remarked.

“I'm the enemy, apparently,” I told him miserably, leaning against the wall.

“What have you done now?” asked Drum, still chewing.

“It's Jazz. No one seems to understand that she's not some pony-beating lunatic who wants to steal all the saddles.”

“Well, you don't know that she doesn't want to steal the saddles,” said Drum.

“Oh, don't you start!”

“OK, then get out of my stable,” said Drum.

I sighed. I didn't want to fight with Drummer, too. “OK, you have a point,” I agreed grudgingly. “But Jazz loves Snow, you know
that
.”

“Yup!”

“So how can I persuade the others?”

“Why are you even bothering?”

“What? Do you think I shouldn't help Jazz?”

“That's one option—or you could help her and just not tell anyone.”

I was going to reply to this, but stopped with my mouth half open, letting Drummer's words of pony wisdom sink in.

“Why don't you just shut up about her and do your own thing?” Drum continued. “You're asking for trouble, going on about it, aren't you?”

I thought furiously, digesting Drum's words. My head hurt a bit.

“Is that—” I struggled for the word. “Honest?”

“It's smart!” retorted Drum.

I had to agree that it was. Why was I going on about Jazz? It made sense to say nothing. Or—my thoughts raced on—I could simply stay away from Jazz and Falling Snow. I mean, what had I been thinking, going along to watch the race? I didn't have to go back tomorrow. It had nothing to do with me, did it? I couldn't help it if she'd misunderstood me. Putting it all on me wasn't my idea, it was hers, and I had no idea where Jazz could hide out. What was I, a real estate agent for runaways? It wasn't like I could make a difference—Jazz's dad was in charge, and we were both powerless. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

“Well?” said Drummer, fixing his big brown eyes on me. He was still chewing—I couldn't imagine a drama big enough to make my pony actually stop eating. The world could stop, hell could freeze over, birds could turn pink and fall out of the sky, and through it all I'd still hear the sound of Drum's teeth grinding away on his hay. But then, I remembered, the drama was all mine, not Drum's.

“Good plan!” I told him, nodding. “I'll forget about Jazz and her pony. Perfect!” Yes, it was, I decided. That was that. Definitely. Done deal.

“There's just one problem,” said Drum.

“No, there isn't,” I replied, shaking my head, not wanting to hear it.

“She's relying on you to help her.”

“But I don't know anywhere she can hide,” I wailed. “And even if I did…”

“What?” said Drummer, turning to face me. “If you did, what would you do?”

I didn't know. I didn't want to think about it. I wanted my life to be as it was before Jazz and the travelers had arrived. Before James hated me and I'd seen how Moth and Drummer had behaved with Jazz, before it had complicated my relationship with everyone at the yard.

“Oh, they'll be gone soon,” I said, storming out and closing Drummer's door. “And then we can all get back to normal!”

“OK!” mumbled Drummer. “If you say so.”

I almost believed it.