The Book of Lies. James Moloney

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СКАЧАТЬ orphanage, planning a route in his mind. “What about twice round the inside of the orphanage walls?” he proposed.

      “No, that’s not a real race,” said Fergus. “We’ll go through the orchard first, then follow the stone wall around past the blackberries and the oak trees, but once we reach the gate it’s out on to the road and across the bridge into Fallside. See the steeple of the church?” he said, pointing in case Marcel was left in any doubt. “That will make it a real steeplechase,” he joked.

      “Into the village!” cried Marcel. He turned and found his own alarm mirrored in the faces of his friends.

      “Marcel, you can’t ride into Fallside!” Hugh reminded him in a whisper.

      Marcel ignored him, just as he was trying to ignore his memories of yesterday and that fearful roar from the tower. “We can’t let Fergus get the better of us,” he declared, clamping his teeth together. He hoped this made him look determined, because inside he was quivering like a leaf in a gusty breeze.

      Fergus saw their indecision and seized his chance. “I’m not waiting any longer. The race has started.”

      “No!” Marcel shouted angrily, but Fergus had already spurred his horse away from the stable and all he could do was stand and watch as it galloped towards the orchard. How would he ever beat Fergus now? They still hadn’t managed to get a saddle on to Gadfly.

      “It’s all right,” he cooed, hoping to calm the restless mare. He tried to stroke that proud nose but she pulled her head away and shot him an exasperated glare, as though she were growing impatient with the boys’ ineptitude. “You know this is a race, don’t you,” he said to her, “but until we can get this saddle on your back, we can’t go anywhere.”

      The mare rolled her eyes again and walked a few anxious paces in the direction of the orchard. Was it his imagination, or was she looking for Fergus to see how much ground they would have to make up? “Hugh, Dominic. Help me up.”

      “You can’t ride her bareback! It’ll be hard enough with a saddle!”

      He ignored them, and this time Gadfly seemed ready to oblige. After a little heaving and grunting, he was on her back, but before he had a chance to catch his breath she lurched into a gallop. He held on to her matted mane as if he were clutching at life itself. If he fell, it would be the end of him.

      They charged towards the orchard, scattering aside the ducks and geese near the pond, then followed the chestnut stallion’s path between the wall and the blackberry canes, until they were climbing a gentle slope. Marcel began to get the hang of things, working into the rhythm of Gadfly’s movement instead of against it. Exhilaration replaced fear and he told himself, I can do this! Maybe I have ridden a horse before.

      Was that Fergus in the distance, approaching the gate? Certainly they were closer, much closer than when they had first set out after him. They passed the two cows, who looked up, startled, from their grazing.

      “Come on!” he shouted to his mount. “We can win this yet.”

      A stand of oaks swallowed them up but Gadfly showed no signs of slowing down, not even for these thickly growing trees. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for her rider. He had grown more confident now, and sitting up to look for Fergus, he didn’t see the low branch reaching out through the shadows until it swept him from the horse’s back.

      Marcel found himself on his bottom amid a cloud of dust and despair. He heard hooves trotting towards him and wondered if Fergus had come back to gloat, but when he looked up he saw Gadfly glaring down at him in disgust.

      That look alone spurred him to his feet. This was a race, he reminded himself, and if he didn’t win… He couldn’t bear to think of Fergus holding sway over the rest of them. He scrambled once more on to that twitching, restless back and the horse did the rest, charging off again as she had from the start.

      They galloped across the grass in front of the house until the stone wall loomed ahead once more. He expected her to turn and follow the wall to the gate – but not Gadfly. There was no time for Marcel to think. The horse simply launched herself into the air, clearing the stones easily, then crashed back to earth, front legs first. Marcel was catapulted high on to her neck, but she simply flexed the muscles of her shoulders and threw him back into place.

      Up ahead, Fergus was crossing the stone bridge that led into Fallside. By the time they reached it, he had galloped to the church and begun his return, the thunder of hooves drawing people out of their houses and several men from the tavern, one still holding his pint of ale.

      “You’ll never catch me, Marcel!” Fergus cried, passing Gadfly as he galloped back to the bridge.

      Marcel. The name tumbled free, the name no one was meant to hear. Just once he called it, but Marcel dared not imagine the consequences. For now, he just raced, his mind locked on to the same goal as Fergus: to be first through Mrs Timmins’ gate.

      Brave Gadfly kept up her punishing pace, but was there enough of the race left to catch Fergus? They thundered on, the villagers standing wide-eyed, some throwing themselves off the road to get out of the way. Marcel caught sight of Albert and Old Belch, but they barely had time for an angry shout. Beneath the steeple, he finally turned Gadfly for home, although by then Fergus had already crossed the bridge with only the length of the road to the finish line.

      Suddenly Gadfly changed course, galloping wildly between the houses until she sighted the open fields. Then she set off directly towards the side gate, where Hugh and Dominic and the rest of the boys had gathered to judge the winner.

      “The stream!” Marcel cried, as though Gadfly could understand him. “You’ll never get across the stream!”

      She ignored him, charging on towards the finish line, the stretch of swiftly flowing water in view now. It was thirty feet across, at least, with high banks on both sides. More worrying still, much more worrying, was the waterfall itself, only another hundred paces away. If Marcel found himself in that water, he would surely be swept over the falls before he could reach the safety of the bank.

      He gripped Gadfly’s mane harder than ever and pushed his chest down on to her neck. Here was the stream, only two strides ahead. If he’d had any energy left he would have screamed. Gadfly took one last stride to gather herself then leaped into the air, sailing upwards like a bird, her legs stretched out beneath her, that dappled brown and white and black body tracing a magnificent arc against the sky. As the stunned children watched from the distant gate, she crashed on to the steep bank on the other side, the hooves of her front legs biting into the grass of its rim. With a mighty grunt, she hauled her hind legs up and on to level ground and raced on towards the finish line.

      Fergus was still closer to the gate than they were, but with every stride the gap narrowed. It was impossible to guess the winner now. The last few strides would settle it.

      Then, with both riders only a pace or two from the gate, the race was suddenly over. Gadfly was the bravest of horses, but even she baulked at the sight that confronted them. She slammed her front legs into the dirt and sent Marcel hurtling forward, his arms locked around her neck until he fell painfully to the ground.

      He sat up quickly as icy terror gripped his heart. A fearsome beast was circling him, a snarling, spitting creature with claws like knives. It had all the stealth and pose of a cat – yet what cat was ever this size? Its head loomed high above Marcel’s. Its body was covered in glistening black fur and its cruel mouth was drawn back to reveal a row of savage teeth. A leather thong was laced around its neck, and СКАЧАТЬ