Blaze and the Dark Rider

by Stacy Gregg

  They were standing now in a long avenue of stables, with a broad concrete floor bordered by stalls on each side. Francoise walked up to the first stall and unbolted the top half of the Dutch door, swinging it open so that Issie and the others could look inside.

  As the young riders moved closer to look Francoise gave a sharp whistle and there was a nicker in reply from the rear of the stall. There was the sound of hooves on straw and then an elegant chestnut mare popped her head out over the bottom half of the door. Issie was struck immediately by how much she looked like Blaze. She had the same delicate dished nose, but instead of a blaze, she had a perfect diamond-shaped star on her forehead.

  Francoise murmured something to the mare in French and the horse lowered her head so that Francoise could give her a scratch underneath her forelock. The mare grunted with pleasure at this. “This is Jetaime, one of my six dancing mares,” Francoise said. “She is just finishing her hard feed now and I was about to give her a hay net.”

  “Are all the mares in the show sisters?” Stella asked. “They all look so alike.” Stella cast Issie a meaningful look.

  “No,” Francoise said. “They are not all sisters, although they do look alike, don’t they? Many of them do have the same sire. Some do not. We choose them to match each other, and many of our troupe are handpicked before they are even a year old.”

  “What about the stallions?” Kate asked.

  “The white ones are Lipizzaners, all bred from the ancient bloodlines of six great sires. There is some Arab blood in there, Andalusian, too, from Spain, and also from the sturdy white Karsk horses of Eastern Europe. Today we keep our herd on a farm in Spain, where we train the horses at our own stables and choose the best stallions to perform in our shows,” Francoise said.

  “What sort of a horse is Marius?” Kate asked.

  “He isn’t white like the rest of them.”

  Francoise smiled. “Marius, the grey horse which you saw performing alone, is a Lipizzaner too, but he is younger than the rest. Lipizzaners only become white when they reach a certain age. Marius is still young—he is only eight. When he was born he was almost black, but now as he grows up his coat is dappled. Perhaps when he is ten, his grey will have faded completely and he, too, will be as white as the others.”

  “Can we meet Marius?” Issie asked.

  “Of course! He is in the round pen now with Wolfgang. They usually spend a little time together after each performance. Now, who would like to give Jetaime her hay net before we go? Stella, why don’t you help me?”

  After Stella, who was quite overcome with excitement at being chosen for the task, had fed Jetaime, the others took it in turns to give the mare a brush with a body brush while Francoise undid her plaits and combed out her mane.

  Then Francoise closed the stable door and led them down the concrete corridors and through another door to a new row of stables. “This is where we keep the stallions,” Francoise said. “Although occasionally if the weather is nice, we graze all the horses outside—keeping the mares and stallions in separate fields, of course.”

  Francoise walked briskly down the concrete corridor towards wide wooden double doors at the end of the hall. “This is the round pen. I think Marius is in here still,” she called back over her shoulder.

  Francoise swung open the doors and they found themselves in a round wooden room with a high ceiling. It was a bit like the bullfighters’ rings that Issie had seen on TV. They were standing up high now behind a railing, and in front of them the space dropped away so they were looking down on a round arena sunken into the floor below them. The arena, which was about twenty metres wide, was bordered all around by three metre high wooden walls, and the floor was covered in sawdust. In the middle of the ring stood a tall man with short blond hair. He was holding a long, black lunging whip which he now lifted up above his head. As he waved the whip he gave a whistle.

  In front of him, the dapple-grey stallion shifted his hooves uneasily and backed up, reversing so that he was almost sitting on his hocks. The horse gave a low snort and Wolfgang began to circle the whip around above his head. Now he whistled again: once, twice, three times.

  Marius shook his head up and down as if nodding in agreement and then, as delicately as a ballerina, he rocked back on his hindquarters and raised his front legs up into the air so that he was rearing up. The stallion held the pose for a moment and then Wolfgang lowered his whip to the ground and the horse dropped too, coming back to rest in a perfect square halt.

  “Wolfgang!” Francoise yelled. The blond man looked up at her and waved. Then he barked instructions to the stallion in a language that Issie didn’t understand, and with a shake of his magnificent head Marius turned from the centre of the ring and headed towards the wooden barrier, his long, floating trot chewing up the ground so that it only took a few strides before he reached the wall. When it looked as if he was going to run into the side of the arena, Marius gave one more arrogant flick of his head, turned and started to trot around the perimeter.

  Wolfgang shouted out another instruction and Marius began to canter. His neck was arched flamboyantly and every now and then he would lash out with a Flying Change, throwing his front hooves into the air as if striking out at an imaginary foe.

  “He is young; he still has too much energy in him!” Wolfgang laughed as he watched the stallion snorting his way around the arena. He whistled at Marius and the horse slowed down to a trot again as Wolfgang climbed up the rails of the wooden arena, pulling himself up so that a few moments later he was standing next to Francoise.

  “He’s sooo beautiful,” breathed Issie, leaning over the rails, unable to stop looking, mesmerised by the movements of the horse.

  “Yes, he is,” Wolfgang agreed. “But he is not easy. Of all the stallions I have trained, Marius is the most talented—and the most wild. He can be unpredictable.” As if to prove this was true, at that moment Marius suddenly gave a squeal and rose up on his hind legs, his front hooves thrashing wildly in the air.

  “I am sorry.” Wolfgang frowned. “I should not leave him alone like this during a training session. A stallion must always be watched.”

  And with that he slipped back over the fence, shimmying down gracefully on to the sawdust, and jogged across to Marius, who was now standing perfectly still and waiting for him as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

  “You see now why I prefer my mares.” Francoise smiled. “They are temperamental, yes, but not quite so lethal as a stallion can be.” She watched as Wolfgang led Marius out of the ring.

  “I must go now, too,” she said. “The horses must be fed and prepared for yet another performance tonight. I hope you have enjoyed the show. I will get Rene to show you out.”

  “Wait!” Issie said, panicking suddenly that Francoise would disappear before she had the chance to ask her the question.

  “I mean, I wanted to ask you a question, Francoise, before you go.”

  “Of course.” Francoise smiled. “What is it?”

  “Why did Blaze rear when you whistled at her in the paddock the other day?”

  Francoise’s smile suddenly disappeared. For a brief moment Issie saw the look of shock on the Frenchwoman’s face. Then she regained her composure.

  “If I startled your mare it was a mistake and I have apologised.” Francoise’s voice was measured and cool. “It was nice to see you again, Isadora. But I must go now. Please take good care of Blaze. I will see you soon, no doubt.”

  “What was that all about?” Stella was wide-eyed as they left the stables. “Francoise is definitely up to something. What’s her deal?”

  Issie shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, unable to keep the concern out of her voice. “But I need to find out.”

  As Kate’s mum drove them home that night Issie thought about the way Francoise had reacted. Did she have a secret? And what did it have to do with Blaze?

  Issie had been shaken from her daydreams by Stella and Kate asking if she would mind bein
g the one to feed the horses that evening. She had been only too happy to say yes. After Francoise’s strange behaviour she had suddenly felt a desperate need to check up on Blaze.

  The light was fading and the sky was bruised purple and turning black when Issie finally arrived, later that night, at the pony club. Issie parked her bicycle up by the gates and looked out across the paddocks. Blaze, Toby and Coco had their heads down grazing happily, tearing up fresh chunks of sweet, green summer grass. They all looked up when they saw Issie, and Blaze nickered a greeting, knowing that Issie had come to feed her.

  After her last experience in the tack room, Issie knew exactly where to find the light switch and she flicked it on before she entered the room. The bins of horse food were all lined up against the far wall and colour coded so that the riders couldn’t get confused. Blaze’s pony pellets were in the big blue feed bin, while Toby and Coco were both having chaff and sweet feed from the green and yellow bins.

  Issie took the lids off the feed bins and used the scoop hanging on the hook next to the bins to measure out the right amounts into the ponies’ feed buckets. Then she took all three buckets over to the tap and filled them with a little water, mixing the feed around with her hands. She smelt a strange, bitter smell rising off the pony pellets as the water mixed in with them, and she screwed up her nose.

  Outside the tack room on the other side of the fence she could hear Blaze, Toby and Coco stomping their hooves restlessly They knew their dinner was coming. “Just a minute!” Issie yelled out to them.

  She stacked Toby and Coco’s feed buckets on top of each other and tucked them under one arm, picked up Blaze’s bucket and tucked that under the other arm and stepped outside. As she walked through the doorway, Issie gave a cry of alarm. There was someone there! No, wait, not someone. In the darkness the shape stepped nearer to her. It was a horse. It was Mystic!

  “Hey, boy!” Issie laughed. “Oh, you gave me such a shock.” Mystic was staring at Issie now, his eyes were dark with intent.

  “What is it, Mystic?” Issie noticed that something wasn’t right. Mystic was tense, pawing the ground with his left hoof, shaking his mane and looking agitated.

  “Mystic, what’s wrong?” Issie was really worried now. Mystic’s nostrils were flared and he had a wild look in his eyes. The grey gelding snorted and stomped in front of her. Then suddenly he rose up on his hind legs so that he was towering above Issie. His hooves thrashed in the air perilously close to her head as he lashed out at her.

  Issie screamed and panicked, throwing the feed buckets to the ground, leaping backwards and out of the way of Mystic’s flailing front legs. “Mystic!” she screamed. “Stop it!”

  Chapter 9

  Issie was shaking with shock. Mystic had just attacked her! In front of her now, the grey gelding was fretting and shifting about nervously shaking out his mane and stomping his front hooves restlessly.

  “Easy boy” Issie soothed. But Mystic still seemed tense. Suddenly he went up in the air, rearing again. This time, though, instead of rearing over Issie, his hooves thrashed the air above the feed buckets which were now strewn about, their contents scattered in the dust.

  Mystic came down hard on the red plastic feed tub, whacking it firmly with his hooves so that it overturned again and the last remnants of Blaze’s pony pellets were emptied on to the ground.

  Then, almost immediately, the fire left Mystic’s eyes. The dapple-grey was trembling and his coat was flecked with sweat, but the darkness had left him and he was his old self again.

  Mystic stepped towards Issie, his head lowered as if in apology, his dark eyes were gentle once more. He nickered softly to her and stepped closer still, reaching out his neck and pushing against her, his soft velvety muzzle nuzzling against her arm. It was as if he was saying, “Sorry I scared you like that. Are you OK?”

  Issie was confused. One minute her horse was lunging at her with his hooves flying over her head, and the next he was nuzzling her as if they were still best friends. Why had her own beloved Mystic tried to hurt her? It didn’t make sense.

  She cast her eyes over to the feed buckets which were upturned on the ground in front of her. The hard feed had been ruined. She would have to go back into the shed and fill them again.

  “Oh, Mystic! Look what you’ve done!” Issie shook her head. And then suddenly she understood. This was exactly what Mystic had meant to do! He had never meant to hurt her at all. He had been trying to make her drop the feed buckets…

  The horse feed! Issie said to herself. And then she turned to the little grey pony standing quietly now beside her. “Is that it, boy? It is the horse feed?”

  She reached over for the red tub that was lying on the ground and picked it up. She remembered now how she had smelt something funny when she had been dishing up Blaze’s feed. She stuck her face into the empty bucket and took a deep, long sniff. The smell was still there. A strange chemical bitter scent. What was that?

  She put the tub down and went back into the tack room and over to the bins of hard feed where she had dished up the ponies’ dinner. Issie opened the blue bin which housed Blaze’s food and took another sniff. There was that smell again! She had smelt it before, but what was it?

  Now she scanned the shelves above the feed bins where the riders kept their equipment. There were rolls of bandages and packets of gamgee, hoof oil and antibacterial creams, leftover empty tubes of worming paste and a big blue bottle of Showpony shampoo. And then she saw what she was looking for. On the shelf next to the worming-paste tubes directly above the feed bins sat a yellow bottle. The bottle had a childproof cap and a typed label on the front with vet’s instructions. In large blue type at the top of the label was the word: SELENIUM. Underneath that, in slightly smaller type, the instructions read: DIETARY SUPPLEMENT. GIVE 5 MLS 2 TIMES A WEEK IN HARD FEED. DO NOT EXCEED RECOMMENDED DOSE.

  Issie picked the bottle up and was shocked to discover that it was empty. “But it was half-full the last time I used it,” she thought out loud. She squeezed off the childproof cap and took a sniff of the contents. It was the same bitter smell that was in the hard feed. Issie’s eyes widened as she realised that someone must have emptied the whole bottle into the feed bin.

  Selenium was good for horses and Issie’s vet had given her the supplement to feed Blaze, but he had warned her that it was dangerous to give a horse too much. A whole bottle of selenium in her feed would be bound to make Blaze feel really sick.

  Issie looked over now at Mystic. The little grey was still pawing uneasily at the ground where the hard feed was lying in the dust.

  “I know, Mystic. I’m coming,” Issie said, and she grabbed the spade that hung on the wall of the tack room, threw it into the wheelbarrow, and wheeled it over to the scattered feed bins lying on the ground. Carefully she scraped up the pony pellets which were now mingled in with the dust on the ground and dumped the spilt feed into the wheelbarrow. She made sure to scrape all of it up as she didn’t want to risk the horses eating any of it by mistake. She went back into the tack room and, using the spade again, she emptied the blue bin which contained Blaze’s contaminated hard feed out into the barrow too. Then she dumped the whole wheelbarrow-load in the big green rubbish bins at the front of the clubroom where the horses couldn’t possibly reach it.

  Watching her over the fence as she worked, Blaze, Coco and Toby kept giving her expectant whinnies. “I know you want your food,” Issie shouted back at them as she washed out Blaze’s storage bin, “but you’ll just have to wait until I’ve cleaned up here first.”

  Finally, once she had checked to make sure that Coco and Toby’s feed wasn’t tampered with, she scooped all three of them up a new meal, giving Blaze a little bit of the same chaff and sweet feed mix as Toby and Coco were having so that she wouldn’t miss out on her dinner.

  “What do you think, Mystic?” Issie stood in front of the gelding with the feed buckets again and let the little grey inspect them this time. “Is it OK now?” Mystic gave the new feed
a quick sniff of approval, then stood calmly by as Issie carried the three buckets over the fence and placed them down on the ground for Blaze, Coco and Toby.

  Issie stood for a moment, watching her mare happily snorting and munching her way through the feed. A chill ran down her spine. What might have happened if she had given Blaze the poisoned feed by mistake? She didn’t like to even think about it. Instead, she focused her thoughts on another question. Who could possibly have done this? Why would anyone want to hurt Blaze?

  “Thank goodness you were here, Mystic,” Issie said, turning around to the little grey gelding standing behind her. But Mystic wasn’t there any more and Issie knew better than to bother to look for him. Blaze was safe now, and Mystic had gone just as quickly as he had arrived.

  The next night, a second meeting of the secret pony-club gang was called. This time, though, the mood was much more serious in the clubroom as Issie told the others about the poisoned horse feed. Of course she skipped the bit about Mystic, telling the others that she had noticed the strange smell herself and the empty bottle of selenium and had figured out that someone must have put it into Blaze’s feed bin.

  Everyone was quiet for a long while when Issie finished her story. And then finally Kate spoke: “Well, I think we should tell the police,” she said.

  “Tell them what?” Dan snorted. “That someone spilt a bottle of supplement into a tub of horse feed? Big deal! That sounds like an accident to me. We need to find someone with a motive, a reason to hurt Blaze.”

  “I can think of someone,” Stella piped up. The others all turned to look at her. “Oh, come on! It’s so obvious!” Stella said. “It was Francoise! It had to be!”