Emajen

by Ashley Ledigo

  But before Destiny had time to react, Anthony was on his feet, grabbing for Toby’s reins. The horse was wild by now, eyes rolling in their sockets, nostrils flared. Mercifully, the storm chose this moment to abate, as quickly as it had arisen. Toby bounced; alternately raising his forelegs and then his hind legs in the air. Anthony’s face had taken on the expression that Destiny was becoming well used to, one of calm concentration. He had hold of the reins at their furthest point to avoid being struck by the horse’s hooves and every time that Toby tossed his head, Anthony stood firm, not pulling at him, but not allowing the horse to jerk away.

  Gradually, after what seemed an age, Toby stopped prancing. His eyes still showed their whites and he snorted heavily. He was trembling all over, but at last he stood still. Anthony stepped slowly in towards his shoulder, talking soothingly to him.

  ‘Good lad, good lad, only a silly old storm. You’re fine, you’re okay, good lad.’

  Gently he stroked Toby’s neck. If Toby shied or danced again, Anthony stopped stroking and ceased talking. As soon as Toby stood still, the stroking and soft murmuring resumed – a reward for Toby’s calm behaviour.

  At last Toby’s head dropped. He licked his lips and snuffled softly into Anthony’s hand.

  Destiny drew a deep breath, only now aware that she had been holding it for some moments. At last Anthony looked at her. She was shocked by how pale his face was and was suddenly aware that he was holding his left arm very awkwardly.

  ‘Do you think you could manage to get back to the house without me?’ Anthony asked quietly, with no expectation, but Destiny could see the pain in his eyes. ‘It’s not far. I’ll have to start walking Toby back. He’s too keyed up. He won’t stand me on his back just now!’

  ‘Of course I can!’ she said, far more bravely than she felt. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can!’

  ‘Don’t hurry, take it steady. Wasp will look after you.’

  Destiny niggled at Wasp with her legs, as Merlin had taught her to do and Wasp, with the merest shake of his head, strode forwards. There was a dirt track just ahead that led directly to the corral. Fighting the urge to make Wasp go faster, Destiny felt like it was taking her forever to get to the ranch; one of those moments where one mile seems more like a thousand!

  She found herself feeling conflicting emotions, concern for Anthony mixed with a strange combination of fear and exhilaration at actually riding this horse, on her own, out on the deserted track.

  Fortunately, it didn’t stay deserted for long. Merlin and Jenny had headed for home with the first thunderclap, only to realize that there was no sign of the other two. They had immediately turned tail and were already halfway back up the track, when they saw Destiny, bedraggled and looking like a very small, lost ghost, plodding towards them.

  Destiny felt like crying with relief, but was determined not to be weak when Anthony had shown so much courage. Somewhat breathlessly she gabbled what had happened, turning in the saddle and waving frantically back in the direction she had come from.

  Wordlessly, Merlin put his strong arm around her waist and helped her to slide off Wasp’s back. Handing the reins to Jenny, he turned and strode swiftly up the track.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Destiny sat by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, with a cup of hot chocolate cradled in her hands, feeling much better. Every so often she shivered, although she wasn’t really cold.

  ‘Shock!’ her mum said, which wasn’t very surprising.

  Merlin had discovered Anthony staggering towards the track. He was virtually out on his feet, sheer determination keeping him going. He’d since been whipped off to the nearest hospital, forty miles away and the news had come back that he had most likely cracked some ribs and had broken his right arm.

  Four days later, Destiny sat watching Anthony schooling Toby in the round pen. Anthony’s arm was in a cast, but he had insisted vehemently that he could still school the horses on the ground even if he couldn’t ride. It wouldn’t actually have surprised Destiny if he had demanded to be allowed to ride one handed.

  Toby stopped cantering around and came across to the middle of the pen where Anthony was standing. He lowered his head for a stroke and Anthony patted him affectionately.

  Destiny jumped down from the fence and walked over to them. She couldn’t quite believe this was her last day. So much had happened in a fortnight and she had learnt so much. In some ways, she felt she was a completely different person going home, to the one who had arrived fourteen days ago.

  In two hours’ time she would be heading for the airport, going back to a life she could hardly imagine she had ever lived. All that seemed real to her was what happened on this ranch and the amazing way that Merlin, Anthony and the others handled the horses. Destiny smiled a little to herself.

  ‘Penny for them?’ queried Anthony.

  Destiny shook herself out of her daydream.

  ‘I was just thinking …’

  ‘I guessed that,’ Anthony teased gently.

  ‘Shut up! I was thinking how quickly the time’s gone. Going home will be really strange!’

  ‘Yeah, for me too.’

  ‘You are home!’ Destiny teased back.

  ‘You know what I mean … we’ll keep in touch though, won’t we?’ Anthony said, slightly embarrassed. ‘I’d really like to!’ he finished hurriedly.

  ‘How about we email every Sunday?’ Destiny suggested.

  ‘Okay, you’re on! How about you hose Toby down and put him out for me?’

  Destiny hesitated just for a second; Toby could be a handful. But Anthony instilled her with the same confidence that Merlin did and Destiny knew that he was offering her a huge compliment by entrusting Toby to her.

  ‘Sure,’ she agreed lightly, and Anthony’s answering smile made her glow all over with happiness.

  Many hugs and best wishes later, Destiny found herself ready to board the plane home. She was about to turn off her mobile, when a well-timed text message made her jump.

  WASP MISSES U

  I DO 2

  A X

  Much to her consternation, Destiny felt tears sting her eyes. Carefully saving the text, she turned off her mobile and didn’t cry until Mum was breathing in gentle sleep beside her on the long journey home.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sebastian Quentin Isaiah Brown was a very lucky little boy, born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. In other words, his parents were loaded. However, although fortune smiled broadly upon Sebastian until about the age of two, fate had other ideas in store for him. In fact, when Sebastian Quentin Isaiah Brown was no more than two years, three months and six days old, his mother and father decided to go on a safari holiday. Thinking that this was maybe not a terribly congenial environment for a two-year-old boy, they left him in the charge of Nanny, with strict instructions that he should eat his vegetables and have a walk every day.

  What happened next is too horrible to describe, except to say that Sebastian Quentin Isaiah Brown’s parents were caught up in a rather unfortunate incident involving a stampeding herd of wildebeest. In no more than a few earth-shattering seconds, it was all over and the Browns were no more!

  When the news reached Nanny, she was taking Sebastian for his daily constitutional in the park (as instructed) and she was so shocked, she fainted dead away.

  Poor Nanny was getting on a bit and, much as she loved Sebastian, she really didn’t feel able to take him into her sole care. Since Sebastian didn’t have any other relatives he found himself officially an orphan.

  Being a very appealing little boy, with a mop of unruly, dark hair and big, soulful, brown eyes, Sebastian was quick to find foster parents. However fortune had decided to turn its back on our poor little orphan again. Of all the hundreds and thousands of lovely, caring parents Sebastian could have had, he found himself lodged with Mr and Mrs M. Eanie.

  By the time Sebastian was seven years old, he had become heartily sick of scrubbing floors, washing dishes and cleaning out the
pigs.

  One fresh, chilly Christmas day, Mr and Mrs M. Eanie decided they were going to visit their grown-up daughter in a neighbouring village. They left Sebastian with a list of chores long enough to keep him out of trouble all day and a chunk of bread ‘to stop the little brat from whingeing!’

  As well as pigs, Mr and Mrs M. Eanie also had chickens on their farm. One of Sebastian’s chores was to collect the eggs, which actually he didn’t mind too much doing. The hen house was at least warm and the chickens were friendly and soft to stroke.

  Sebastian sat for a moment in the chicken run, stroking his favourite hen, who would lovingly rub her head against his hand, when suddenly he noticed one of the smallest hens trying to squeeze through a tiny hole under the wire fence. Horrified, he leapt up, knowing that if the bird escaped he, Sebastian, would probably end up sleeping in the coal shed or worse. Scooping up the adventurous little hen, he gently set it down next to its friends and hurriedly scraped some dirt into the hole to fill it up.

  That was when he had his idea.

  Whooping with joy, his legs moving like pistons, Sebastian Quentin Isaiah Brown ran away!

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sebastian’s eyes almost popped out of his head with amazement. He had never known there could be so many people all together in one place. Hunger had driven him towards this bustle of humanity and he marvelled at the whirl of colours and noises that filled the spaces around him. All he could remember was being on the pig farm. He had long since forgotten his real parents and walks in the park with Nanny. Now here he was in a place where people thronged and milled about, shouting and laughing with children scrapping and chasing each other.

  There were stalls, like the ones he’d seen on market days with Mr M. Eanie, but much bigger and more colourful, selling everything from brightly coloured confectionary to thick woollen jackets and much, much more besides.

  Then there were the horses, beautiful and shining with riders decked out in their finest: some on board, some leading their mounts around and some seriously brushing already gleaming animals. Of course Sebastian had seen horses before, when the local people met up for a hunt. But only from afar. And these animals were something different altogether.

  After a while of feasting his eyes, Sebastian’s stomach reminded him of the real reason he had been drawn to this place. More than anything, he was starving. He watched with envy as crowds of people milled around a variety of food stalls. The smells made his mouth water. He watched closely, sure that sooner or later someone would drop something or throw something away that he, Sebastian, could retrieve.

  His chance came when a disembodied voice made an announcement over a loudspeaker. A show jumping event was about to take place in ring one. People began to walk quickly towards the place, obviously keen to get a good viewpoint.

  As Sebastian watched, a man eating from a carton took one last chip and threw the remainder in a nearby bin. The bin was practically overflowing, so the carton balanced precariously on the top of the other rubbish. Sebastian gave a quiet inward whoop of joy. Carefully, trying not to draw attention to himself, he scooted over to the bin. With trembling fingers he reached out …

  A hand fell heavily on his shoulder. It gripped his tee shirt hard, as he tried to squirm out from underneath it.

  ‘You don’t want to eat those!’ The voice was gruff, but kindly and it was accompanied by an equally stern but kindly looking face, once Sebastian had twisted around enough to look. It was a hairy face with bushy eyebrows and the biggest beard Sebastian had ever seen. Out of all this furriness, deep set, blue eyes sparkled and there were lines around the man’s eyes that made him look smiley, even though, right now, he looked a bit grim.

  ‘Are you really hungry?’ the man asked gently.

  Sebastian nodded, his eyes taking on a puppy dog sadness that would have melted the stoniest of hearts.

  ‘I’m a stranger, I know,’ suggested the man, ‘but right now it seems to me that you might well want to take a risk and let a stranger buy you a decent meal rather than eating filthy, germy, cold chips out of a rubbish bin! What do you think?’

  With that, he let go of Sebastian’s tee shirt and started striding towards a tent with a sign that promised ‘GOOD FOOD’ and ‘HOT BEVERAGES’.

  Sebastian hesitated, but not for long. He had never been to school. Nobody had ever given him the talk about saying ‘No’ to strangers and, right now, food of any description was very appealing. Quickly he trotted after the retreating figure.

  The amount of food that appeared on the table made Sebastian’s eyes fairly goggle with delight. He couldn’t ever remember having had such a huge choice. Hunger overcame uncertainty and, before he’d even had time to stop and think, his hand had shot out of its own accord and reached for a large, satisfying looking piece of pizza, which he stuffed unceremoniously into his mouth almost faster than he could chew.

  The man sat watching, taking occasional sips of tea, his only comment, ‘Slow down, lad, there’s no hurry!’

  At last Sebastian sat back and ruefully eyed a large jacket potato and several cakes that he was too stuffed to consume.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ The man smiled. ‘You can take them with you.’

  Replete at last, Sebastian remembered the manners that had been so drilled into him in his dim, distant past by Nanny that they were second nature.

  ‘Thank you … er … Sir?’ he said hesitantly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve (which was definitely not something Nanny had taught him to do).

  ‘I’m not a “Sir”,’ chuckled the man. ‘Most people call me Prof.’

  ‘Why do they call you that? It’s very short!’

  ‘Well you’re right, of course. It is short. Actually it’s short for professor.’

  ‘So really, Professor is your name,’ said Sebastian curiously.

  ‘Not exactly. Professor is what I am, or at least what I used to be a long time ago,’ the Prof said in a slightly wistful voice.

  ‘Oh!’ Sebastian had rather lost interest in this conversation and was eyeing up a large chocolate muffin. He debated whether he should squeeze it down now, or save it for later. The Prof asking him a question interrupted his train of thought.

  ‘So what should I call you, young man?’

  ‘My name is Sebastian, Quentin, Isaiah, Brown,’ replied the little boy proudly. The Eanies had laughed out loud about Sebastian’s name and had used it to taunt him with whenever they were feeling particularly mean (which was quite a lot of the time). Sebastian himself felt it sounded rather grand.

  ‘Well,’ the professor mused, ‘that’s very long! I think perhaps I should call you SQUIB.’

  Sebastian considered a moment, his bright little brain processing what he had been able to glean of letters and words. He mulled over the professor’s suggestion and it occurred to him that SQUIB was indeed a rather shorter way of calling him all of his names at once, names of which he was very proud. A bit like the professor being called Prof. And although Sebastian didn’t really know what a professor was, it seemed to him that it too might be something rather grand. Like his name.

  Having reasoned thus, he looked at the Prof solemnly and said slowly, ‘Yes, I think I like that.’

  ‘Then Squib you shall be.’ The Prof laughed.

  Squib looked at the friendly face before him. Apart from asking his name, the Prof hadn’t questioned him about anything at all. Squib suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to confide in the only person he could ever remember being kind to him.

  ‘Prof, can I tell you a secret?’ he asked in a rush.

  The Prof at once looked serious, but only nodded slightly, so Squib hurried on.

  ‘I’ve run away!’ he blurted out.

  The Prof nodded again. Such an understanding nod, it seemed to Squib, that suddenly his whole world of misery, living with parents who weren’t really his parents (the Eanies had made that abundantly clear) came pouring out in one long, jumbled stream of desperation.

  When, at
length, Squib ran out of breath, the Prof remained silent for some time. Then he let out a huge sigh, leaned forward in his chair and looked Squib straight in the eye.

  ‘I have a secret too. A very, very, VERY important secret. You trusted me with your secret; can I trust you with mine?’

  Squib considered and then rewarded the Prof with an imitation of his own understanding nod, to show that the secret would be safe with him.

  The story that unfolded was so amazing, that had Squib been say fourteen years old rather than seven years, five months and seventeen days, he would have most probably assumed that the professor was pulling his leg.

  However, life was relatively new to Squib. He hadn’t yet learnt that some things should really and truly be impossible. When the Prof had finished his story, he looked expectantly at Squib, waiting for his reaction.

  ‘Is it nice?’ Squib asked at last. ‘Emajen, I mean.’

  ‘I think so,’ answered the Prof carefully. ‘Squib, do you want to go back to your foster parents?’

  ‘No!’ replied Squib firmly.

  ‘Well, I could do with a little help and I could teach you how to read and write properly and about numbers and planets and music and all sorts of interesting things. What do you say?’ Suddenly, he glanced at his watch. ‘My goodness, I hadn’t realized how late it’s got. Squib, I have to go!’

  Squib looked at the Prof; uncertainty mingled with the beginnings of trust in his new friend flickered in his eyes.

  The Prof stood up. He rummaged in his wallet and pulled out some notes.

  ‘Bad of me!’ he berated himself. ‘You don’t know me at all, but perhaps we’ll meet again.’