Storm Horse

by Nick Garlick

  And a moment later, Uncle Andries did come back. He walked up to Flip, grabbed his hand, and shook it.

  “Good lad,” he said. There was a long pause. He swallowed and coughed and looked embarrassed. “Good lad,” he said again, before adding in a voice choked with emotion, “Thank you.”

  And with that he spun around and went back outside.

  “See,” Aunt Elly said. “Couldn’t get a word in edgeways, could you? I thought he’d never stop talking.” She turned away from the sink. “He is happy, Flip,” she said. “He really is. He’s not the sort of man to say it but he is, believe me. Now, go on out and see Storm. He should hear the good news too.”

  Flip didn’t hesitate. As he ran out to the field and climbed up onto the gate, Storm came running to greet him. Flip wrapped his arms around his neck and buried his head in the horse’s mane. Storm rubbed his muzzle happily up and down against the boy’s back.

  “We’re all right now,” Flip whispered, pulling his head back and looking deep in Storm’s eyes. Then he reached out, drew a little cross on the horse’s muzzle with his fingertip, and enclosed it in a circle. “We’re safe. You can stay. Everything’s all right.”

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Flip found a cut on Storm’s flank. He decided to clean it in the barn, after he’d brushed him and checked his hooves. Since it wouldn’t take long, he didn’t bother using a halter. He just wrapped his hand in Storm’s mane and led him inside. When he was finished, he headed back out to the field, only to stop when he saw the Mesman Boys standing on the road in front of him, blocking the way.

  “Well, well, well,” said Thijs. “Look who it is.”

  “Got something more to sell?” Petrus asked.

  “Going to get your auntie to help you?” Jan finished. “Make our dad look like a fool? In front of the guests?”

  Of all the three, he seemed to be the angriest. His face was red and he looked as though he’d like nothing more than to knock Flip off his feet right then and there.

  Flip remembered what Aunt Elly had said about how bullies looked for any excuse to start a fight and decided not to reply. But when he tried to walk Storm past the boys, Jan stepped in front of him.

  “What’s the matter?” he demanded. “Too good to answer? Think you’re better than us, city boy?”

  Flip guided Storm to the right and kept going. Jan stepped in front of him again and this time he pulled back his fist for a punch. The moment he raised his arm, Storm butted him in the stomach with his muzzle.

  “Ooof!” said Jan, and he sat down hard in the middle of the road.

  Thijs and Petrus came flying to his rescue but stopped in their tracks as Storm wheeled around on his back legs, pulling loose from Flip’s grasp and crashing his front hooves down on the ground. The two brothers curled up in the road with their hands over their heads, quivering with fear.

  Storm advanced on them again slowly, lowered his muzzle, and sniffed at their fingers. When he breathed out, the hair blew back off their foreheads and the two of them yelped like dogs.

  Without a word, Flip wrapped his hand in Storm’s mane and led him away. The moment the brothers realized they were safe, they scrambled to their feet and ran for the village.

  Flip put Storm back in the field, but he didn’t leave. He didn’t think the Mesman Boys had gone for good and he wanted to be there if they returned. He sat down on the gate and waited.

  Time passed. Nothing happened. There was no sign of the brothers.

  Flip still didn’t want to leave, but he was getting a little bored just watching the horses. So when Storm ambled up a little later to see if there was anything to eat, he decided to try something he’d been wanting to try again since that day on The Yellow. He reached out, wrapped his hands in the horse’s mane, and slipped onto his back.

  He was all ready to be thrown off again. But today Storm didn’t seem to mind carrying Flip in the slightest. Not anymore. And when Flip gave him a little nudge with his heels, he turned and strolled gently away from the gate. He walked all the way up to the end of the field, turned, and walked back again. Leila trotted over to join them.

  For Flip, it was magic. It was hard staying on—he couldn’t believe how difficult it was to stay balanced—but just being up on Storm’s back was more fun than he could ever have imagined. He’d never known anything like it in his life.

  As they reached the far end of the field for the fifth time and swung around, he saw the Ghost Girl appear by the gate. By now he was so happy, he’d forgotten why he was out in the field in the first place and he urged Storm forward to greet her. He knew she’d have an apple or a carrot hidden in a pocket and he thought Storm had more than earned it.

  There was no wind. The sun shone down. The island was silent.

  Halfway to the gate, Storm stopped.

  His ears folded back on his head and he stood perfectly still, sniffing the air. A split second later, there was a buzz, followed by a snap as something smacked into his back, right beside his tail. He jumped as if he’d been given an electric shock.

  Then came another buzz and another snap. Flip saw a pebble the size of his thumb bounce off Storm’s shoulder. Head up, tail thrashing the air, Storm spun around only to stop dead in his tracks as a third pebble struck him in the side of the neck.

  Clinging desperately to the horse’s mane with both hands and squeezing tight with both legs so he wouldn’t fall off, Flip swiveled his head in all directions, trying to see what was happening.

  Standing in the shade of a tree halfway up the field, slingshot in hand, was Jan. In the trees to his left and his right were Thijs and Petrus. They’d formed a line across the field, cutting it in half.

  All three let fly with their slingshots simultaneously. The pebbles zipped through the air, striking Storm on his left shoulder and right leg. An instant later, Jan fired a third pebble, straight at the horse’s mouth.

  Untouched by the stones, Leila had galloped away to safety. But Storm couldn’t get away—the Mesman Boys wouldn’t let him. Flip could see spots of blood welling up on the horse’s neck and face where the pebbles struck him. Deathly afraid now, with head twitching and nostrils flaring, Storm tried desperately to escape the barrage, only to be struck wherever he turned. So he wheeled around and, with Flip slipping and sliding on his back, headed in the only direction left to him.

  Toward the gate and the Ghost Girl.

  Tossing his head and his tail as the pebbles continued to strike, he roared down the field with Flip clinging tight to his mane. The Ghost Girl saw them coming and threw herself backward.

  And then, as another volley of pebbles lashed his flanks, Storm jumped.

  It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but to Flip those seconds passed like minutes. He felt the muscles in Storm’s back and legs and shoulders bunch and heave. He heard the sudden silence as Storm’s hooves left the ground and they flew through the air. And when he looked down he saw the Ghost Girl sprawled on her back in the grass, wide-eyed with fear and staring up at Storm’s massive black body as it blotted out the sun and cast her into shadow.

  With a thunderous crash, Storm landed on the far side, skidded in the soft ground, and righted himself. Flip couldn’t hold on any longer. The mane flew out of his fingers and he sailed off sideways into the hedge. But Storm didn’t stop. He didn’t stop because the Mesman Boys were still coming, running down the field and firing as they ran. He kept going, using every scrap of strength and speed he possessed to escape the deadly rain of pebbles.

  And he ran in the safest direction he could find.

  Straight toward the village.

  FLIP SCRAMBLED TO his feet and dashed after Storm. The Ghost Girl went with him. When they rounded the corner that led into the main street, a woman and two small children ran past them in the opposite direction.

  “There’s a wild horse!” the woman screamed, pointing behind her. “A wild horse!”

  Flip sprinted on and reached the edge of the village just in time to
see Storm gallop past the café. Vacationers scattered. Tables went flying. A chair rolled in front of him and was smashed to pieces under his hooves.

  He headed toward the churchyard, but two men waved him away. That made him swerve to his right, knocking down a stack of plastic buckets and spades outside the gift shop and sending a rack of postcards fluttering into the air. A shout from the shopkeeper panicked him even more and sent him reeling back across the road into the boxes of fruit and vegetables stacked outside the grocer’s. Apples, oranges, potatoes, and tomatoes sprayed in all directions.

  Terrified by the constant yells and shouts of the people in the street, Storm tried to escape to the harbor. But a second group of men had seen him coming and had lined themselves up in the middle of the road with arms outstretched to cut off his escape. Rearing up with a whinny of fear that echoed off the buildings in the center of the village, he whirled around and headed back the way he’d come, skidding over the cobblestones.

  The men who’d stopped him from entering the churchyard now appeared with a rope. They tried throwing it around his neck, but he ducked sideways, lurched to his left, and galloped along the side of the hotel.

  But that way was blocked too. The road was filled by a cart carrying the luggage of the guests who’d just arrived on the afternoon ferry. Storm couldn’t jump over it, or go around it, so he went in the only direction still open to him. With a bellow of fear, he galloped up the steps that led to the terrace at the back of the hotel.

  And as long as he lived, Flip would never forget what happened next.

  For a second or two, the guests lazing in the sun over a drink or a cup of coffee couldn’t believe their eyes as Storm—eyes rolling and sweat now dripping down his flanks—thundered into view. Then they exploded into motion. Mothers seized babies. Fathers grabbed children. Screams rang out as chairs, tables, glasses, cups, and saucers crashed to the ground. The guests nearest the door to the hotel threw themselves through it. The guests on the far side of the terrace took one look at the snorting black shape roaring toward them and jumped, rolled, leapt, and sprang over the balcony rails like leaves swept away by a massive broom.

  Behind them, frantically searching for an escape route, Storm lurched and lunged about in every direction. So closely packed together was the furniture on the terrace that his hooves couldn’t help trampling everything they came in contact with. In seconds he was surrounded by splinters of wood, torn sun umbrellas, and broken glass and china. And with each new object he ran into, Storm became more and more terrified.

  In desperation, he tried leaping over the terrace railing, but slipped on the wooden floor and smashed down onto his side as his hind legs went out from under him. In an instant he was back on his feet, but the shock of the fall had calmed him down, if only a little. He stood still, ears pinned back, breath rasping. A thin line of blood ran down one of his hind legs.

  The men who’d tried to catch him before now ran up the steps and spread out in a new line at the entrance to the terrace. They advanced slowly, intent on tying him up, only to leap back when he spun around at their approach. He paced back and forth, his tail high in the air.

  Flip tried to go to his rescue but was dragged back down to the street by grown-ups wanting to protect him. He tried telling people the horse was his and he knew what to do but nobody would listen. When he heard a man’s voice talk about getting a gun, though, he knew it was time for something drastic.

  He looked around, saw an apple on the ground in front of the grocer’s shop, and snatched it up. Instead of trying to push his way through the people on the steps, he clambered up the outside of the banister. Just before he vaulted over the railing onto the terrace, he felt something fall from his pocket and looked down to see the letter from his mother flutter to the street.

  Everything seemed to stop. Did he climb back down and rescue it? Or did he protect Storm? He knew he couldn’t do both. There wasn’t time. When he felt a hand reach out and clutch his shoulder to pull him back, his mind was made up. He leapt over the railing onto the terrace and strode forward before anyone could grab him again.

  Storm was now so scared he didn’t even seem to recognize Flip. When the boy approached, he backed up and stamped at the terrace with his forefeet. So Flip stopped, stood still, and waited. The watching crowd had fallen silent too, and the only sound to be heard was the horse’s ragged breathing.

  “This is for you, Storm,” Flip said softly, crouching down on his haunches and holding up the apple on his open palm. “I brought it just for you.”

  Warily, Storm took a step forward. Flip didn’t move a muscle. Storm advanced another step and lowered his head, sniffing at the apple. When he reached out to bite into the fruit, Flip straightened up as slowly as he could and gently took hold of his mane.

  The moment he did so, the men at the top of the steps surged forward, only to be stopped in their tracks by two others who stepped in front of them.

  It was Uncle Andries and Mr. Bouten.

  “Leave the boy alone,” Mr. Bouten said. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  “If he knew what he was doing,” someone called out, “he wouldn’t have let that horse escape in the first place.”

  Other voices agreed. Soon everyone was talking all at once to anyone who’d listen about what had happened. And that was the moment when Flip saw the three Mesman Boys, lurking at the back of the crowd.

  “They’re the ones!” he called out. “They’re the reason Storm escaped!”

  All the talk on the terrace ceased.

  “And how,” demanded Uncle Andries, “did they do that?”

  Flip told him everything he’d seen, but before he was even halfway through his story, the Mesman Boys were saying, “No, we didn’t!” and “We were on the beach!” and “He’s lying!”

  “I’m not lying!” Flip said. “Ask Mrs. Elberg’s daughter … Sophie. She saw them too.”

  But of the Ghost Girl there was, as ever, no sign at all. She’d vanished just as she always did.

  “So,” said a new voice, “it’s your word against theirs. Is that right?”

  It was Mr. Mesman. He walked up to his sons and put his hands on their shoulders. He didn’t seem the slightest bit worried about what had just happened to his terrace. In fact, Flip was almost sure there was the ghost of a smile on his face.

  “My sons say they were on the beach. You say they weren’t. Are we expected to take your one word against their three? I don’t think that’s very fair.”

  Flip saw a few nods in the crowd.

  “And that horse has escaped before,” Mr. Mesman continued. “Every islander’s heard about the trouble he’s gotten himself into. All his little escapades. Why should this time be any different?”

  That was when Mr. Govert, the greengrocer, pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “I’m not interested in who started this,” he said. “What I want to know is who’s going to pay for my fruit and vegetables.”

  “And my tables,” the owner of the café added.

  “And everything in front of my shop,” said the man who sold postcards and buckets and spades.

  Mr. Mesman held up his hand. “I will,” he said.

  The three shopkeepers looked surprised.

  “I’ll pay for everything that was damaged,” Mr. Mesman said. “Islander or visitor, I’ll pay for every scrap of damage, right down to the last guilder. And I’d like to offer everybody here right now a free drink, inside, at my expense. It’s the least I can do to compensate you for all the distress you’ve had to suffer.”

  As he spoke, Flip saw Uncle Andries’s shoulders slump. All of a sudden he looked like an old, old man who could hardly stand up on his own. When the crowd began to disperse, filing into the hotel, Flip found out why.

  “Of course,” Mr. Mesman continued, stepping close to Uncle Andries, “I will be wanting all that money back. Not just for the shops, but for what your horse did to my terrace. And it is your horse, living on your property, so that make
s you liable for everything. I’ll be wanting you to repay me.”

  “But he can’t!” Flip protested. “He doesn’t have enough money to pay for all the damage!”

  Uncle Andries turned and looked down at Flip. “I know that,” he said sadly. “And Mr. Mesman knows it too. Just like he also knows that I do have something I can sell to raise the money. Don’t you, Mr. Mesman?”

  Mr. Mesman smiled for real then. But it was a cruel smile. It reminded Flip of a cat about to pounce on a mouse.

  “Yes,” he said, “you do. But I’ll offer you a good price for your farm. A very good price. In fact, once you’ve paid me back for all the damage, you’ll still have a nice tidy sum left over. I don’t want to leave you with nothing, you know.”

  Still smiling, he turned and walked away.

  Uncle Andries went down the steps to the street. Flip followed him, guiding Storm.

  “It really wasn’t Storm’s fault—” Flip began.

  Uncle Andries cut him off. “I wish I’d never seen this blasted horse in my life!” he barked. He was angrier than Flip had ever seen him. “He’s been nothing but trouble from the moment he arrived. He’s put your life in danger. He’s put Renske’s life in danger. He won’t do a lick of work for the farm. And now he’s cost us the farm! Now we’ve lost everything my family’s worked for almost one hundred years! I wish he’d never set foot on Moss—”

  He stopped in mid-sentence as the horse drew level with him. Up close, he could now see the bloody welts the Mesman Boys’ stones had raised on Storm’s neck and flanks. All at once his expression softened and he rested his hand gently on the animal’s neck. This time, Storm didn’t shy away from his touch.

  “Oh, you poor creature,” he whispered. “No wonder you ran. No wonder.” Then he turned to Flip. “You were right,” he said. “You were telling the truth and I didn’t believe you. I was too angry to stop and think. I owe you an apology.”

  Flip didn’t know what to say. He’d never seen his uncle look so confused. Or heard him talk like this.