by Poppy Shire
Amy gritted her teeth. It was time to show Isabella that “Prince Henry” wasn’t as hopeless as she thought!
Brightheart stopped at the end of the arena and wheeled around, ready to charge toward their opponent.
Amy stared at the other knight in dismay. He looked older than Henry—and taller. He was wearing shiny black armor with a helmet shaped like an eagle’s head. His black horse was draped in gray livery, and there was a long pointy spike sticking out from his bridle. Amy’s tummy flipped over. This was going to be much more difficult than fighting Henry’s sack of straw!
The steward blew into his trumpet again before lowering it. “On the black horse, we have Humphrey Greystone, squire to his father, the champion jouster Sir Humphrey Greystone!” he announced. “Undefeated after two bouts!”
The crowd cheered enthusiastically as Humphrey Greystone cantered over toward the royal box. He bowed in his saddle to Isabella and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“My lady! Will you give me the honor of fighting on your behalf?”
Isabella went bright red but looked really pleased. She leaned forward to pass Humphrey a white handkerchief, which he tied to the end of his lance.
“Good luck, Humphrey! Fight well for me!” said Isabella, and she giggled in a very irritating way.
“We have to win now!” Amy muttered to Brightheart. “But how can we? Just look at that Humphrey—he’s enormous!”
“Exactly,” Brightheart replied confidently. “He’s big all right, but that means he’ll be slow.”
Amy felt a bit more hopeful. Brightheart sounded like her soccer coach, telling the team what tactics to use before a game.
“You can use his weight against him,” Brightheart went on. “Honestly, I’ve seen lots of jousting, and bigger doesn’t always mean better. When he leans over to strike at you, it’ll take him ages to change direction if we nip back the other way. If we dodge around enough, we’ll tire him out. You’ll get points for a hit if your lance breaks on his shield, but what you really want to do is knock him off.”
Amy nodded. Suddenly there was a blare of trumpets.
Brightheart sprang forward. As soon as they were galloping, Amy stopped feeling nervous. She kept her eyes fixed on Humphrey Greystone’s shield. If she could hit it hard enough with her lance, in just the right spot, she might be able to push him out of the saddle.
The air filled with thundering hoofbeats as the massive black horse came closer. Humphrey’s lance zoomed toward Amy’s shield. Amy dodged, slipping her left foot out of the stirrup and leaning all the way over Brightheart’s shoulder. Brightheart leaned over with her, sensing what she needed him to do, and the lance scraped by. Amy caught a split-second glance at Humphrey Greystone’s face through his visor as he galloped past. He looked angry.
“Phew! That was close! Well done, Amy!” Brightheart panted. He slowed down as she struggled upright again.
“We didn’t hit him, but I think I know what to do next time. I need to stand up and lean much further forward,” Amy puffed. “This is so exciting!”
The two riders lined up again, waiting for the trumpet blast. Now!
Up in the stirrups—forward with the lance—dodge—and strike! Yes!
There was a massive splintering noise and Amy’s lance shattered against Humphrey Greystone’s shield. Humphrey lurched backward, but just managed to stay on. As they passed each other, Amy saw him turn to look back in disbelief, and she beamed behind her visor.
“Hooray for Prince Henry!” yelled the crowd.
The steward in the scarlet coat ran up with a spare lance. As he handed it to Amy, he said, “Well done! That was a great hit! Keep going.”
Amy grinned back at him. She was almost sure he was Mr. Barker. “Thank you! This is the best adventure ever!”
Brightheart snorted. “It’s a pretty good adventure for me, too!” he said.
Amy tightened her grip on the reins. “I’m really glad we’re sharing it,” she told him. “Come on, we’ve got one more chance to win!”
The trumpet sounded, and the two horses charged toward each other again. Brightheart’s hooves hardly seemed to touch the ground. Amy felt him drawing all his strength into his shoulders, bracing himself for the impact. She shut her eyes. They were going too fast for her to see Humphrey’s shield!
Thwack!
There was a deafening smack as lance met shield. Amy waited to be flung out of the saddle.
She opened her eyes. She was still on Brightheart, galloping across the grass.
Humphrey had fallen off!
The stewards rushed to pick him up, but he was already clambering to his feet, shaking his fist. The spectators were on their feet, cheering for their prince.
A different steward in a green coat brought Amy a wooden beaker of water, and she wondered what would happen next. Would she have to fight again?
Brightheart explained out of the corner of his mouth. “Now we’ll have another couple of jousts, I think. It depends how many are fighting in this junior joust. Oh look, here we go.”
Their next opponent was trotting into the ring. He looked very confident, but amazingly, he fell off before Amy even had a chance to hit him. It was partly his fault for showing off, because he threw himself out of the saddle trying to reach her with his lance.
The third boy wasn’t such a pushover. He was almost as tall as Humphrey, but his horse was as fast and nimble as Brightheart. The first round was definitely his on points, as Amy had to drop her lance and shield and throw herself flat on Brightheart’s neck just to dodge him!
The crowd gasped in dismay—they loved their plucky prince—but the gasp changed to a cheer as Amy stayed glued to her saddle. Luckily, the boy seemed to have a very short temper, and he flourished his lance wildly in the next round, determined to hit Amy properly this time. But he was so off balance that it only took an extra burst of speed from Brightheart and one well-aimed thump from Amy’s lance—and he was gone!
The crowd roared so loudly that Amy’s ears started to ring. She bent down and gave Brightheart’s neck a hug. “You’re doing brilliantly!”
Brightheart snorted. “Thanks! We make a pretty good team!”
The steward in scarlet walked into the middle of the arena and blew his trumpet. As the crowd fell silent, he announced, “Prince Henry—the champion!”
Amy and Brightheart had won the tournament!
Chapter 7
Amy couldn’t believe it. They’d done it! Henry would be thrilled, and hopefully Isabella would be nicer to him from now on. Amy pushed up her visor and looked quickly around the stands to see if she could give Henry a wave, but there were so many people that she couldn’t spot him.
The trumpets blared again as the steward in green marched out to the middle. “The winners will now receive their prizes from the king and his guest of honor, Lady Isabella!”
Oh no! Henry would have to collect the prize. There was no way Amy could fool Henry’s own father!
Amy bit her lip. Perhaps she could ask for a minute to tidy herself up first?
But it was no use. The friendly steward in the scarlet coat was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the steward wearing the green coat gave Amy an impatient look. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. Your royal father and the Lady Isabella are waiting for you.”
Amy’s shoulders slumped inside the armor. Thinking quickly, she shut her visor so that her face was completely hidden and rode toward the royal enclosure. She would just have to accept the prize and get out of there as quickly as she could!
Brightheart didn’t seem to be worried at all, and kept tossing his head. He was obviously enjoying being the center of attention.
Amy spotted someone waving to her from the front of the crowd. It was Henry! He had made it, and he’d seen them win! He’d borrowed a tunic from someone to wear over his underclothes—it was much too big and hung all the way down to his knees. He looked worried about Amy collecting the prize as well, but there was nothing they could do
.
Isabella was looking bored and sulky again. Amy guessed she was annoyed that Prince Henry had won—especially after she’d given her handkerchief to Humphrey Greystone. Amy dismounted and handed Brightheart’s reins to a page who came running up, then walked up the steps to meet the king.
Isabella stood up, scowling, and took Amy’s prize from a silver tray held by another page. It was a beautiful pair of gloves, not metal ones for jousting but soft ones for wearing on special occasions. They were decorated with a wonderful pattern of birds and flowers in crimson silk and gold thread.
Amy was so busy admiring the gloves that she almost forgot that she was supposed to be in a hurry. Brightheart whinnied to her from the bottom of the steps. “Quick, Amy! Before the king realizes you’re not Prince Henry!”
Amy took the gauntlets, bowed to Isabella, and started to hurry back down the steps.
“Not so fast, not so fast, son!” called the king.
Amy felt her heart sink. She walked reluctantly back to stand in front of the throne.
The king looked delighted. “My lords, I present to you my brave and brilliant son!” he declared to the people sitting around him. He leaned over the rail and gave Amy a massive clap on the back, which nearly knocked her over. She just managed to keep her feet, but her helmet flew off.
Amy gasped and scrambled to put her helmet back on. But it was too late. Her blond hair had fallen down around her shoulders, and people in the crowd started to mutter.
“That’s not the prince.”
“Who is it?”
“Is that a girl?”
The king stared at her in astonishment. “Who are you? Where’s Henry?”
Isabella stalked over to Amy, her eyes flashing. “You little…! Who are you? What shameless game are you playing? Give me back those gloves and get out of here!”
Her voice had risen to an unladylike screech, but Amy didn’t feel scared. Instead, she wanted to shout back. Isabella was so rude!
Suddenly someone dashed across the field and bounded up the steps.
“How dare you speak to her like that? Amy’s my friend!”
Chapter 8
It was Henry, still in his too-large tunic, but somehow looking more royal than Amy had ever seen him. He stood protectively in front of Amy, his eyes flashing, and Isabella’s mouth fell open in shock.
The crowd whispered and nudged each other.
“Look, it’s Prince Henry!”
“But who’s that girl? Is she a princess?”
Henry heard them. “This is Amy,” he said loudly. “She’s the bravest girl I’ve ever met.” He looked around at the crowd. “You saw her fight today. Didn’t she deserve to win the tournament?”
A massive cheer rang out. “Yeeesss!”
Henry stood in front of the king. “Father, I asked Amy to take my place. You mustn’t be angry with her. I wasn’t good enough to fight. I’ll try again next year, I promise!”
Amy looked anxiously at the king. Would he be angry that they’d tried to trick everyone? Under his crown his handsome face was frowning in confusion, in disbelief, in anger. Amy glanced at Henry, but he didn’t look scared. He was standing tall and meeting his father’s gaze.
At last the king shook his head and laughed. “Well, you found yourself a noble champion, my son.”
From down on the field Brightheart snorted approvingly, and Amy turned to grin at him.
“Amy has been a true friend to me, Father,” Henry went on. He turned to Isabella. “I’m sorry for deceiving you, my lady. I wanted to show you that I was a great horseman and one worthy of your friendship. But you have never been a friend to me like Amy has. In fact, you’re—you’re…” Henry’s indignant speech trailed away.
Amy felt like adding “A spoiled brat!” but decided she’d better keep quiet.
Henry shrugged. “Well, you are no friend of mine, Lady Isabella. And don’t worry, I won’t ask you to dance this evening.”
Lady Isabella gasped. Amy guessed what she was thinking. However much Isabella complained about Henry, he was still the prince, and all her friends would be expecting him to dance with her. Isabella crept back to her seat, looking embarrassed. Her mother glared at her.
“Amy must be allowed to keep the prize, Father,” Henry said firmly. “She won it fair and square!”
The king smiled. “Indeed she did. Well done, Amy.”
Amy quickly bowed low.
The king went on, “Henry, I am very proud of you for defending Amy just now. It is a knight’s true calling to defend those in trouble.”
Henry blushed. “Yes, Father,” he muttered. “I didn’t really think about being a knight, though. I just didn’t like Isabella calling Amy names.”
His father clapped him on the back. “Honest as well. We’ll make a knight of you yet, my son.”
Amy was so happy, she felt like turning cartwheels! She’d won the tournament, and Henry had got a chance to prove to his father that he was as brave and honest as any knight.
Then she saw Isabella scowling at them, and her heart sank. She and Brightheart had failed in their task! Isabella still didn’t like Henry, and now Henry didn’t like Isabella either!
A whinny from Brightheart interrupted her. Henry and his father were busy talking, so she went down the steps to see what was wrong. “What is it, Brightheart?”
The horse blew anxiously in her ear. “Come on, Amy! We’ve finished our task, and the magic is going to take us back. I can feel it tugging me already!”
Amy stared at him in surprise. “But, Brightheart, we’ve done it all wrong! Henry doesn’t even like Isabella anymore!”
Brightheart swished his tail. “Actually, you’ve done exactly what you were supposed to do. Henry needs to be a good judge of character if he’s going to be king. You helped him to see that Isabella isn’t quite as wonderful as he first thought. Quick, climb on—we haven’t much time!”
Amy looked back at the royal enclosure. Henry certainly looked very happy. He gave Amy a cheerful wave when he saw her looking at him. Amy waved back.
The scarlet-clad steward appeared beside her. “Let me help you into the saddle,” he said. “I’ll hold your prize for you, while you ride your lap of honor.”
Amy started to protest that there wasn’t time, that the Magic Carousel was pulling them back, but Brightheart whispered, “Do as he says! Quick!”
The steward gave her a boost and Amy scrambled up into the saddle. Brightheart arched his neck and cantered proudly around the arena. The crowd cheered, obviously delighted with their champion—even if she was a girl.
As she passed the royal box, Amy waved to Henry again. “Keep practicing, Henry!” she called. “You can do anything if you try!” Amy had seen that for herself.
Brightheart started to gallop faster, until the arena and the crowd whirled into a dazzling blur. Brightheart’s hooves no longer seemed to be touching the ground. They were galloping through the air, galloping through a cloud of glittering sparkles.
And as the sparkles faded away, Amy realized that she was back at the fairground. Brightheart was a wooden horse once more, rising and falling as the carousel slowly turned. Granddad was standing on the grass, waving to her.
Her magical ride was over. The carousel stopped and Amy shook her head, dazed, as the last silvery sparkles vanished. She clambered down to give her pony one last hug.
“Thank you, Brightheart,” she whispered. “Thank you for the most exciting adventure I could ever have. I’ll never forget it.”
Just for a moment, Brightheart’s neck felt warm and real beneath her cheek. Then he was a wooden pony again, his beautiful bay coat nothing more than paint. But Amy was sure she could see an extra twinkle in his dark brown eyes. As she turned to walk down the wooden steps of the carousel, something fell to the floor. Amy looked down and saw the beautiful, embroidered gloves that she had won in the tournament. She picked them up, and carefully put them in her pocket, stroking the soft leather. She would remember her
ride on the Magic Carousel forever!
Acknowledgments
With thanks to Holly Skeet
About the Author
POPPY SHIRE lives in the English countryside. She loves ponies—and writing about ponies—more than anything else in the world. Every time she goes to a fair, she looks for a Magic Pony Carousel! Unfortunately she hasn’t found one yet.
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Credits
Cover art © 2007 by Ron Berg
Cover design by Sasha Illingworth
Copyright
MAGIC PONY CAROUSEL #2: BRIGHTHEART THE KNIGHT’S PONY. Text copyright © 2007 by Working Partners. Illustrations copyright © 2007 by Ron Berg. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition July 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-196658-3
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