The Book of Lies. James Moloney

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      Just then Albert’s voice called through the doorway, “Belch, Mum wants you to go with me into the village. As for you, Marcel, go and ask my mother if she has anything for you to do.”

      Moments later, Marcel found himself standing alone under the eaves of the stable roof, trying to make sense of what he had just learned. One thing troubled him more than anything else. Yes, Lord Alwyn was old and weary, but he was sure Old Belch was wrong about why he was here. Dominic’s words echoed in his ears. He’s here because of you.

      He shut the stable door, and was crossing the courtyard, hoping Mrs Timmins would have no more jobs for him, when he heard angry shouting coming from the direction of the orchard. Turning, he saw Dominic squaring off against another boy who already had his fists raised.

      “Fergus,” he murmured. He hadn’t taken to the boy from the moment they were introduced, and every time he had seen him since, he had liked him less. Already his legs were running. He hurried into the trees, where he found Hugh trying to pull Dominic away, but behind the solid figure of Fergus were the three smaller boys, eager for the punches to start.

      “What’s going on?” Marcel demanded as he caught his breath.

      “He called me a cripple!” Dominic shouted furiously.

      “Well, that’s what you are,” Fergus goaded him. ‘“Look at you. You can’t even stand up straight.”

      Dominic advanced an unsteady step and swung wildly.

      Fergus ducked under it easily then pushed him lightly. It was enough to make Dominic fall backwards. “There, what did I tell you?” crowed Fergus, enjoying the adulation of the little boys.

      “Stop it, Dominic! You can’t fight him!” Hugh insisted.

      Dominic stood up again as quickly as he could. If anything, the push had made him angrier than ever. “I’m sick of the names he calls me! ‘Lame Duck’, ‘Limpy’. I’ve had enough! I’m going to knock his tongue down his throat and then he won’t be able to talk at all!” He shaped up, his bony fists at the ready, though he was clearly no match for the lithe and muscular Fergus.

      “If anything’s going to get knocked, it’s your head,” Hugh tried to persuade him, but Dominic wasn’t listening. Watching from close by, Marcel could tell this wasn’t the first time his new friend had been stirred up like this. This time, he’d clearly been pushed too far.

      “I’m going to get Albert,” said Hugh, disgusted.

      “He’s gone into the village with Old Belch,” Marcel told him.

      “Mrs Timmins, then.”

      Fergus snorted rudely. “You lot are always running off to her. I say we work out who’s boss, here and now.”

      Oliver, Watkin and Jonathan all cheered at this, and Marcel could see that Fergus wouldn’t back down, not with these three for an audience.

      “We don’t need Mrs Timmins,” seethed Dominic, too enraged to see sense. “I’m ready, Fergus.” His fists were still in position. “You think you can lord it over the rest of us, well now’s your chance.”

      The trouble was, as Marcel could see, that was exactly what was going to happen.

      “Wait!” he shouted, stepping between the two boys as they stared at each other menacingly. “If you’re going to fight someone, Fergus, it should at least be a fair fight.” He put up his own fists to show that he was taking Dominic’s place.

      “But he’ll make a mess of you instead, Marcel!” cried Hugh, behind him.

      Oh, great. Even Marcel’s new friends thought he would lose. In fact, now that he was here, facing Fergus, he wasn’t so sure he had done the right thing. Fergus suddenly looked a lot bigger.

      He glared at Fergus, whose round face was bloated with arrogance, as though he had won the fight already. Marcel would love to bring him down a peg or two, tussle that woolly brown hair and iron out those thin little lips so that they couldn’t curl into a permanent smirk. So what if he’s got shoulders like a plough horse? If I’m fast on my feet, he told himself, he’ll never land a punch.

      Hugh was looking at those shoulders too. “It’s still not a fair fight,” he cried. “If this is some kind of challenge, then neither of you should have the advantage.”

      “What are you talking about?” asked Fergus, dropping his fists.

      “What about a race?” suggested Hugh.

      But Fergus sneered at the idea. “That’s for babies.”

      “A horse race, then,” said Marcel, as he recalled his morning’s work.

      Fergus eyed him cautiously, but there was no doubt he was interested now. “A steeplechase, you mean, like the way cavalrymen race?”

      Marcel wasn’t sure what a steeplechase was, but if it meant he didn’t get beaten up… “Yes, all right. When Old Belch comes back we can ask him if he’ll lend us two horses.”

      “I’m not waiting for that”, Fergus announced impatiently. “If we’re going to have a steeplechase, then let’s have it now.”

       Chapter 4 The Race

      FERGUS AND HIS LITTLE band of followers hurried off towards the stables. Marcel found he had his own troop close on his heels. “We’re coming with you,” said Dominic, keeping up as best he could.

      “Maybe you two should race as well,” said Marcel. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I’ve ever ridden before.”

      They stopped in their tracks, staring at him dumbfounded. “Well, you’re about to find out, then,” Hugh commented drily.

      They dragged open the heavy door of the stables and crammed inside. Fergus headed the march past the stalls. “I’ll take this one,” he said almost instantly.

      Marcel was not surprised when he led out the splendid chestnut stallion and began to strap a saddle on to its back.

      Then it was Marcel’s turn. Forget the lame horse and the dispirited one, he thought, and no plough horse was going to win him this race. That left only the dappled mare.

      At least she looks up to a race, he thought, as he took her outside to where Hugh and Dominic waited with the saddle. Fergus was standing ready beside his chestnut mount, but each time Marcel and his friends tried to heave the saddle on to their horse’s back she shimmied sideways.

      Marcel wondered whether she’d respond to her new name.

      “Stand still, Gadfly!”

      The mare flared her nostrils and threw her head about wildly as though she were thinking of escape.

      “Hurry up, or I’ll start without you,” Fergus threatened.

      Marcel left СКАЧАТЬ