The Dark Horse (7 page)

‘Don't go to sleep too,' said John and called to the ‘boy', as Dahlia persistently called him, but who was, in fact, John's Ooryah bearer, Danyal, to fill their glasses. It was not until after the fourth of the long pale whiskies, though, that Captain Mack said, ‘Leventine's new importation – that's one hell of a horse, John.'

‘So he may be, but he also has one hell of a record.' John held out a paper. ‘Read this chit Mullins gave me from Michael Traherne.'

‘What do you make of that?' asked John.

Captain Mack pondered, then: ‘I don't like it. I don't like it one bit,' he said. ‘It can't be a physical thing; if it were, it would be there all the time, home gallops or race. If we could find it we could probably cure it, but… '

‘You mean,' said John, ‘a sound horse that won't try under pressure is usually one that has been whipped at the finish of a race and has learnt his lesson that if he takes the lead he will be punished.'

‘Exactly. “The shadow of remembered pain.”' Sandy Mack was given to quotation. ‘It's in the mind, John. Besides, it's the leadership instinct; you don't need me to tell you, even in thoroughbreds, it's a rare and frail thing – crush it and it has gone for ever. No, John. I doubt if this hope of Leventine's will win any race this side of Doomsday.'

‘Any race! He's aiming at the Cups.'

Captain Mack laughed. ‘What! The Viceroy's? I'm not a betting man and I won't bet with you, but if Dark Invader gets anywhere near that, I'll eat my hat.'

‘H'mmm,' was all John said but, next evening, as he and Ted were watching the grooming down, ‘What did you mean, Mullins,' he asked, ‘when you said this… ' he gestured at the working grooms, ‘might do the trick?'

‘You heard?' Ted was amazed.

‘I heard. What did you mean?' Ted looked up at John. If a hawk or falcon could have blue eyes, thought John, this man's are like a hawk's, missing nothing, but Ted was silent. Some inward struggle was going on. John tried to help.

‘Dark Invader was thoroughly vetted before he was bought, by the vet Mr Leventine chose.'

‘He certainly was.' The day after Michael's telephone call from Dilbury, a grizzled man in a bowler hat, brown gaiters and black boots had driven into the Traherne yard in a yellow-wheeled dog-cart drawn by a high-stepping hackney. ‘That was Major Woods, sir. He's well known and you should have seen the going over he gave the Invader. Even had his shoes off. Real old sort, that one,' said Ted. ‘Did a proper job and time no object. Learned his trade before there were motor cars. He filled in a printed form with a mighty lot of words and told Mr Michael: “A1 at Lloyds and sound as a bell of brass.” He knew a quality hoss when he saw one – meaning no disrespect to Captain Mack, of course.'

‘Well then,' and John said quietly, ‘in spite of all that, and Captain Mack's opinion, you still think there's something wrong. What?'

‘Ar!' Ted drew a breath of satisfaction. ‘Soon's I saw you, I knew one day you would be asking me that. I believe it's his muscles, sir, high on the shoulder.'

‘Yet they didn't find it?'

‘Couldn't,' said Ted. ‘Not looking at him like that. Can't see nothing, nor feel it. Pass your hand firm and there's nothing, but with pressure… muscles have two ends, sir, and it's deep. Did you see when Mr Saddick… '

‘Sadiq?'

‘Yes. Mr Saddick was strapping; the hoss flinched,' and Ted burst out, ‘It was that Bacon what began it. Those damned bow legs of his. Nutcrackers,' said Ted with venom. ‘Squeezing a hoss in a place God never meant a man's legs to be – he rides so short, see, and the Invader, he were nothing but a great sprawling baby, and it were his first race. But that Captain Hay was set on a win, no matter what.'

‘Which he got,' said John.

‘Yes.' Ted's face was grim. ‘Will you watch, sir? Just watch – when Mr Saddick lays it on hard.'

John watched, standing close. In his presence, Sadiq and Ali doubled their efforts and, on the far side, as Sadiq came up the shoulder, John saw the Invader flinch and, ‘You're right,' he told Ted. ‘There is a tender spot. We'll get Captain Mack to have a look.'

 

Captain Mack stood, like John had, close beside the horse, but his scepticism showed as he let Ted, as far as Ted could reach, then Sadiq, guide his fingers slowly up the Invader's shoulder, pressing all the way. Suddenly the horse grew restive. ‘S-steady, Darkie, s-steady,' hissed Sadiq, but Captain Mack pressed harder – scepticism had given way to intentness – harder, harder – there came a definite flinch and Dark Invader threw up his head, almost jerking Sadiq off his feet. ‘Ar!' whispered Ted as, ‘Get me something to stand on,' ordered Captain Mack. ‘You great brute!' He clapped Dark Invader affectionately on his quarter. ‘You're tall as a giraffe,' and, ‘That bench will do,' he said and, as he got up, ‘Stand still, you,' he said to Dark Invader as his fingers reached steadily on; a moment later he was looking with interest, not where Ted and Sadiq had shown him the tenderness, but above it, where the hairs of the mane came to an end and, ‘John,' he said, ‘look here.'

John joined him on the bench. ‘See anything?' asked the Captain. ‘Look. There's a scar under those white hairs.'

‘But… it's minuscule.'

‘On the surface. Mullins, hop up. Ever noticed that before?'

‘Course,' said Ted. ‘Them's the only other white hairs he's got. Had them when he come from Ireland. I reckon when he were a baby running loose he maybe caught a bit of barbed wire, or cut hisself – but that was long before, so it couldn't be the trouble… or could it?' Ted had seen Captain Mack's satisfaction. ‘
Could
it?'

‘It could. In fact, I think that's it. Happened when he was a foal, guess you're right there, but not wire, rolling in the grass more like and met a bit of broken bottle or a sharp stone – anything – and made a small cut that healed on the surface but left damage; maybe a bit of gravel or a chip of glass got in and caused infection deeper down. The muscles lost flexibility – in fact grew fibrous – left a scar in the muscle if you like – nothing to see on the outside but any pressure on that spot would cause pain. When the horse was over-stretched, tired as well – remember how young he was… '

‘It must have hurt like hell,' said John, ‘and I can guess that Streaky Bacon's grip just caught it, which could account for everything. Sandy, you clever old devil.'

‘Don't thank me, thank Ted and Sadiq.' Captain Mack got down from the bench. ‘But you're not out of the wood yet. Sadiq's “hart molesh” is the best possible treatment, but there's more to this than that. Everything to do with the finish of a race, other horses challenging, the noise, the excitement, tells Darkie, “Stop before it hurts.” That's it, isn't it, old fellow,' he pulled one of the dark ears.

‘So we still have our problem.'

‘You do indeed. You now have to “minister to a mind diseased”,' and the Captain went on:

‘“Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow

Raze out the written troubles of the brain…”'

‘
Macbeth
Act Five Scene III,' said John, ‘so shut up and don't show off.'

‘Dear me!' said Captain Mack, ‘and I thinking that cavalry officers were semi-illiterate.'

‘Granted, but I acted in
Macbeth
at school. First Murderer.'

‘Pity you weren't the First Witch. You could do with a little magic just now.'

‘Meaning that you think it's still no go?'

‘Meaning just that. John, face it. You know that a spoiled horse never comes back.'

 

‘Mullins,' said John when Captain Mack had gone. ‘Why didn't you tell Mr Traherne what you thought about the horse?'

Ted hesitated. ‘The Invader was never no trouble with me, sir, and there was nothing I could be sure of. I hoped Mr Michael might see for hisself. Then when the hoss was sold, who was I,' asked Ted, ‘to set meself up against a veterinary like Major Woods? Besides, if Mr Michael had listened, it would have put him in a spot. Don't get me wrong, sir, Mr Michael, or his father or his grandfather, come to that, would never have let a hoss be sold out of his stables if he didn't think it was sound, and Captain Hay… ' Ted spat, ‘he wouldn't have waited. If he had known, it would have been any old place for Dark Invader, maybe even the kick.' Ted unashamedly drew his sleeve across his eyes and, for a moment, could not go on. ‘Mr Michael couldn't have stopped that and I thought with Mr Leven… '

‘Leventine.'

‘Yes. You see, sir, two of them travelling lads would have done to bring out all his hosses to In'ja, but for the Invader he brought me out special so I thought with him… '

‘Dark Invader might have a chance?'

‘Yes sir, but has he? Couldn't follow all that talk,' said Ted, ‘but I guess what the Captain meant was, if the Invader was to meet Streaky again, even now, he would remember.'

‘Possibly, but he won't see Streaky.'

‘Or his like?'

‘Or his like. We'll see to that.'

‘Then – you think he has a chance in spite of Captain Mack?'

As always when John Quillan met opposition he was obstinate and, ‘He's going to have a chance,' said John.

‘But how, sir?'

‘I don't know how – yet – but somehow. We must see to it,' and, ‘I'm glad you came, Ted.'

‘So am I,' said Ted.

 

After dinner, when the last bandar had hushed, the last baby been fed, when Dahlia had gone to bed and the last round of the stables been done, John liked to light a cigar – he allowed himself one every evening – and then stroll among the tumbledown terraces and fountains of his scented garden to think over his plans and the problems of the day. Tonight it was Dark Invader.

John could visualise that first race at Lingfield. Dark Invader well away – Michael Traherne had assured him the horse was a willing starter – but when the field caught up with him, forced to quicken his stride by an almighty squeeze in an unexpected place and John saw the typical Bacon finish, the furiously urgent figure, the rhythmically swinging whip, shown but not striking, the horse desperately extended, those legs, thighs and knees gripping vice-like above the flimsy saddle. It must have hurt hideously – ‘a stab from a knife', Mack had said. Poor old Darkie, thought John. That's probably what you were trying to tell us stupid old human blockheads. Well, we're there at last, but what to do about it? What the hell to do about it, I don't know. With which dispiriting thought he threw away the butt of his cigar, called to Gog and Magog and turned to go to bed.

On the verandah he paused; certain troubled, puzzled and honest phrases were coming back to him. ‘I never had no trouble with him… ', ‘Had it when he come over from Ireland… but that was before… ', ‘I never had no trouble with him,' and, ‘I wonder,' said John to Gog and Magog, ‘I wonder.'

 

‘Ted,' said John next morning – Mullins had now permanently become Ted – ‘I have been doing some thinking. I should like you to show me how you ride Dark Invader. Will you?'

‘Will I?' It was Dark Invader's fourth day in India and during early work John had had him walked quietly down to the racecourse and on to the exercise track. ‘Will I? Thought I would never be on him again,' said Ted.

Like most trainers, John Quillan retained his own jockey, a young quarter English, three quarters Chinese, whose name was Ah Lee, but whom everybody called Ching. Ted had already met him, lithe, slim, eager, his black eyes alert. John had picked him out from a set of young jockeys from Singapore and had slowly trained him. Now, ‘Will Mr Ching mind?' asked Ted. ‘It's the Invader's first ride here.'

‘No. No. I like to see, maybe learn,' but Ching was obviously puzzled as he stood with John, watching.

Dark Invader had acknowledged Ted's arrival in the saddle with a backward slant of an ear. Nothing else. ‘Not much awkwardness about him after a month at sea,' said John.

‘I didn't expect it, sir. Easiest horse alive,' and Ted told Dark Invader, ‘Walk on, boy.
That's
the fella! Just a little trot now. Gently does it,' and Dark Invader trotted round the circuit soberly, as he was told. There were new things to look at: a fat little sheep: three geese: rough-bottomed baskets full of horse dung: a vulture picking at some small dead animal. Dark Invader examined them all with prick-eared attention, without faltering in his steady trotting. Then, ‘That's enough,' Ted seemed to say as he brought the big horse round and back to where Sadiq was waiting. Ted slipped to the ground and patted the handsome neck, while Dark Invader nosed impatiently at his pockets.

‘Thanks, Ted.' John came up. ‘Just what was wanted.' Then, ‘Ted, would you ride a bit of work for me? Would you take Snowball, that old grey there, and do the whole circuit with the riding boy on that bay mare? She's to race in a fortnight's time. Snowy's not in the same class, but he has been racing in the Monsoon Meeting so he's that much fitter. Take them along to the four furlong mark and come home as fast as you like.'