The Girl Who Rode the Wind. Stacy Gregg

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      “No! Please don’t –”

      “Drago!”

      From behind the guardsman a voice rang through the dark corridor.

      “Come now, Drago,” the voice said. “Do you not recognise this girl? This is the fantino herself. Let her in.”

      The guardsman hesitated, the look on his face made it plain that he was unimpressed. You’re kidding me, right? This twelve-year-old kid’s the fantino? Then, grudgingly, he did as he was told, releasing his grip on the door so that I could push it wide enough to move past him and come inside.

      The hallway was lit by oil lamps that illuminated the dusty paintings on the wood-panelled walls. In this gloomy half-light a man with thick black hair, a sculpted beard and dark eyes stood in the centre of the room, dressed in floor-length black and white robes trimmed with brilliant orange.

      “Hello, Capitano,” I said.

      “Good evening, Lola,” he replied. “We were not expecting you tonight. Is something wrong?”

      “I couldn’t sleep,” I said. “I was worried about Nico.”

      “I am touched by your concern,” the Capitano said, not sounding touched at all. “I can assure you he is quite safe and well.”

      “I need to see him,” I said. “I won’t leave until I know he’s OK.”

      “It is not possible, Lola,” the Capitano replied. “No one can see him tonight, not even you.”

      He grasped my arm and began to escort me back towards the front door. “You should go home. Get some sleep …”

      I resisted, jerking my elbow away and pulling free of him. Standing at his post by the door the guardsman saw me do this and reached for his sword. The Capitano had to raise his hand to quell him.

      “Lola, I have no time for this.” The Capitano glanced anxiously over his shoulder into the darkness of the hallway. From a room at the far end, I could hear the muffled voices of men arguing in rapid-fire Italian.

      “The rival contradas are here,” he said. “We are discussing arrangements for the race tomorrow. I must ask you to leave.”

      The Capitano resumed his attempts to usher me to the door. I could see he was losing his patience, but I stood my ground.

      “Let me see Nico. Please, Capitano? I’ve come all this way …”

      When I said this, I only meant that it was a long distance to walk here, all the way from the villa, but the Capitano seemed to think my words had a deeper meaning.

      “Yes, of course. It is a miracle, this journey you have made, Lola.” He waved his hands dramatically. “From New York to Italy, you have come home to us, your people. And tomorrow you will ride in the greatest race in the world, the Palio, for the glory of the Lupa, the Contrada of the Wolf. Everything depends on you, Lola.”

      The conversation in the room beyond had become a shouting match. The Capitano was flustered, anxious to get back to his meeting.

      “Very well, Lola,” he said abruptly. “I will allow it. But it is against all the rules of the Contrada so you must tell no one. Are we agreed?”

      I nodded.

      “Then quickly, come with me.”

      I followed the Capitano down the hallway, through one of the many doorways that led off the main corridor.

      The room we entered had a high vaulted ceiling and walls lined with antique glass cabinets. Behind the glass, headless mannequins were dressed in Romeo and Juliet costumes with swords and flags, and suits of armour propped up behind them. It looked like a museum exhibition – except tomorrow all these glass cases would be opened up and the museum would come to life.

      “Quickly, Lola!” The Capitano kept me moving past the display.

      We continued through a labyrinth of secret rooms and passages that would have been impossible to navigate on my own. I stuck close as the Capitano took one turn after another, until we reached a narrow corridor that led to an iron door. On the door was the head of a wolf, cast in black iron, life-sized with two crossed swords behind it and eyes made from grey stone. Those eyes! They seemed to glare at me, challenging me. The wolf looked so lifelike, its muzzle jutting out, jaws open and teeth bared. If it had sprung from the door snarling and snapping I wouldn’t have been at all surprised.

      Beside me, the Capitano began muttering away, strange words that I didn’t recognise, an incantation in Italian that seemed to be some kind of ancient ritual. As he spoke he raised his hands up, palms spread out in front of the wolf’s head, then he placed both hands upon the hilts of the swords and pulled down hard. The swords acted as levers, splitting the wolf’s face in two and opening the doors to reveal what lay on the other side, a spiral of stone stairs descending into darkness.

      I waited, expecting the Capitano to go on ahead, but he stepped back away from the edge of the stairwell to make room for me to pass him.

      “You must go alone from here. I need to return to my meeting.”

      And with that he turned and left me at the top of the stairs.

      I peered down into the pitch-black, my heart hammering. I had to do this. Nico was down there and I hated to think of him alone and terrified in this strange place. I put out my hands, my fingertips brushing the cold stone wall to find my bearings, then I took my first step and began my descent into the darkness.

      Feeling my way, shuffling along, I went down step by step until I reached the base of the stairwell. Here, I groped blindly until I clasped the cool iron of a door handle. Gripping it, I pushed as hard as I could and the door groaned open to reveal a narrow stone corridor lit by torches. I was underneath the rooms of the contrada. Ahead of me, I could see a door with a tiny window of heavy iron bars, like a prison cell.

      “Hello?” My voice echoed down the corridor and I heard a snort in reply – the restless stamping of hooves on soft straw.

      “Nico?”

      It was him! He called back to me. Not his usual cheerful nicker, but a vigorous and frantic high-pitched whinny.

      “Nico! It’s OK!” I ran to the door and began to work the bolt. “I’m here … Uugghhh!”

      The bolt was stuck. I strained at the rusted metal, trying to force it open but it wouldn’t move. I could see Nico on the other side of the bars, fretting and pacing, back and forth, flicking his head anxiously. “I’m coming, Nico. It’s OK.”

      With a rush, the bolt finally came loose and I had the door open and was running to his side, flinging my arms around his golden neck, burying my face deep in the coarse strands of his flaxen mane.

      “Of course I came,” I whispered. “You didn’t think I would leave you here alone, did you? I’ll always come for you, Nico, no matter what.”

      It broke my heart the way he leant in to me, nuzzling in with his muzzle pressed against me, snorting and blowing, making these strange snuffly СКАЧАТЬ