Grady could see on screen what their captain had done. By ignoring the first hoop he had not had to change his direction or lose speed by slowing to attempt a circlet grab. Instead he had aimed for the next corner and flown a beautiful angle putting him in the lead by a good ten seconds from the rest of the field. The Titania college rider was second now, but Hartley obviously knew the course better and got the angles just right.
‘Look at that!’ said Connor to Grady, giving him a dig in the shoulder. ‘That’s why he’s number one on this team!’
‘What about the next catch, though? Won’t we lose places again if the others ignore it like we did?’ said Grady.
‘Yes, that’s always a chance,’ said Connor. ‘But the trick is to pick up enough circlets before the final Platinum Hoop. It’s a really fine balancing act cause there’s just enough hoops out there to give you an edge, even if you don’t get the final hoop.’
‘Grady, ye gurrier!’ boomed a Scottish voice from behind. ‘Get over here. There’s knowledge ye need for this race and nae much time.’
Grady turned round to see McHavering striding towards him with Roland in close attendance. ‘C’mere, laddie. Crash course in race rules, etiquette and planning needed for ye if ye plan to survive the night!’
Grady didn’t argue or speak but walked along between McHavering and Roland as the two dragon masters loaded his brain up with all sorts of tips and tricks – the angles to fly, the way to pace the dragon, and importantly the one piece of advice he could remember – be in front at the end to get the Platinum Hoop.
Up in the stands Niamh kept her eyes on Grady, worried for her brother. After what seemed like an age she saw Grady stand up from the moss-covered stone he had been sitting on and, nodding his head to his two mentors, take a deep breath and start back towards the viper who was pacing nervously in the marshalling area – though nowhere near as nervously as the guards who were giving the creature a wide berth.
By the time Grady had made it back to Connor, the first lap was completed and Henry Claypool was out on the course. Connor stood by his mount readying himself for his ride and looking white with terror. Hartley Herringbone was standing beside him giving an information download. As Grady approached, Hartley turned to him with an annoyed look. ‘Where have you been? I need to give you the course tips, O’Connell – just because you’re the only prince on the team doesn’t mean you can just wander off when you feel like it.’ Grady was about to offer a sputtering apology when Roland came to his rescue; ‘Don’t panic, Hartley. McHavering and I were just giving young Grady here some racing tips. There’s not much point telling him what the windy corners are like if he doesn’t know how to ride it smart, now is there?’
‘Yes Sir,’ said Hartley deferentially, though his tone made it clear he was not impressed. ‘But time is short, Grady. Now, listen closely.’ Grady gave Roland a weak smile and stepped closer as Hartley launched into a verbal assault about the course conditions. Most of it Grady didn’t really understand – “shear vectors” and “exposed bluff back drafts” sounded like another language to Grady, but eventually he worked out Hartley was telling them the winds on the course were a bit tricky today and to watch out for the bit near the old forest by the bluffs where a mist seemed to be rising. Eventually Hartley finished his onslaught but it didn’t look like it had done much good for Connor, who appeared ready to throw up.
The commentators’ voices rang out over the noise of the crowd bringing Grady and Connor back to the present and away from their impending efforts. ‘Here they come, Murray,’ yelled Lunchwell. ‘Rookwood have extended their lead over that last stretch. Henry Claypool has ridden an excellent second leg taking the final circlet to add to the secondary and tertiary hoops. Rookwood now have an enormous lead after Herringbone’s excellent start and Claypool’s sterling effort on this second lap.’
‘Right you are, Lunchie, but Flamville’s fortunes favour frenetic frivolities in the furtive finale over onerous obstacles, methinks,’ said Murray in reply. The crowd went quiet as everyone tried to figure out what had just been said.
‘Some day, Murray, we hope you make it back to our planet, but we love your enthusiasm if nothing else,’ said Lunchwell. The crowd gave up trying to understand what Murray had said and began cheering loudly again as the riders swept along beside the castle.
‘Get ready, Connor!’ yelled Hartley above the noise of the cheering fans. Connor bunched the reins in his hands. Henry Claypool rocketed across the start-finish line, setting off a loud gong. Connor dug his heels into his dragon and with a few short strides it leapt skyward. Behind Connor the Titania College rider shot through the finish line and the gong sounded again – this time in a different pitch. From the Titania College starting chute another dragon rose from the ground – more graceful than Connor’s but every bit as powerful. Moments later the second Flamville College rider shot past and the gong sounded a third time – this time more deep and sonorous than the last and again a dragon rose from the ground, hot on the tail of the Titania College mount. Finally the Sandune College team’s rider flew, though it was clear the dragon was struggling. ‘Sandune’s got a problem here, Bill. It looks like that dragon’s third articulated anterior interlocked swing joint in its left wing has blown out on him. You can see the swelling from here!’
‘Back on planet earth just in time there, Murray – that’s why we love you on the commentary team because you’re absolutely right. Sandune were second going into that lap but they’ve clearly lost a lot of ground. Did anyone see where it happened?’
‘I’ve just got a report in from the course that it was a double blast on the third catch point from the Flamville and Rookwood blasters – a bit of double-teaming there, I guess.’
‘Well I’m not sure you’d get Flamville and Rookwood working together deliberately, Murray, but I can see on the replay that blast really did catch those big wings on the Coastal Wide Snout just at the wrong angle.’
On the big replay screen Grady looked up to see the slow motion pictures of a bolt of red and one of green clip the rear of the Sandune dragon as it wheeled through a turn just after its rider nabbed a circlet from one of the catch points. ‘I thought the spells weren’t allowed to really hurt you?’ said Grady, turning to McHavering.
‘Wha’ever would make ye think that?’ chuckled the big man. ‘It would nae be much fun if ye were a blaster and ye could nae give the other lads a bit of a belt, now would it?’
Grady gulped as he looked up at the replay screen again for yet another slow motion view of the blast hitting the dragon. This wasn’t going to be anywhere near as much fun as he thought it was going to be.
‘Dinnae fash, laddie. Y’ll be fine as long as ye keep ye head aboot ye,’ said McHavering, giving Grady a big thump on the back. ‘Come on now. Get yer self ready. Let’s give the beast one last check.’
Together McHavering and Grady checked all of the harnesses and catches on the viper’s back and belly. Iris watched them through narrow slitted eyes. Grady could feel his stomach trying to turn somersaults as the time for his circuit approached.
‘Don’t worry,’ said a voice loud and strong inside Grady’s head. Grady almost jumped with fright as he realised it was Iris he could hear.
‘I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that,’ he said, looking at the dragon.
‘Whether you will or whether you won’t is your problem. But mine is that you trust me, completely. I can out-fly any of these poor beasts here,’ said the dragon, looking at the others in the marshalling yard. ‘Your riders are good and the Scotsman and that ... other one,’ said the dragon, almost snarling at Roland, ‘have trained them well. You will stand as a winner tonight.’
Grady didn’t know what to say to the dragon as the roar of the crowd indicated another circlet had been taken by a Flamville rider. Looking up he saw the leader board showed the riders were closing on the second to last catch point. But the big lead Rookwood had enjoyed was being rapidly reduced. Connor was
obviously not having a good lap and the Flamville fans sensed the race was swinging their way.
‘Looks like Rookwood’s Rookie McMurtry has been really flustered by the blasters tonight. He’s made some elementary mistakes and missed a hoop catch which was a double whammy – off course and letting the Flamville rider through.’
‘Yes, Bill,’ said Murray. ‘We might be in for another Flamville win tonight if the young prince riding last for Rookwood can’t take back some of this ground they are losing. And I’m just getting a report that unexpectedly there’s fog starting to rise through the beech forest section just before catch point three. Was that forecast, Bill?’
‘No, we had nothing like that expected tonight Murray, so that’s going to make the last lap much more interesting for the riders – especially the young prince.’
Up in the stands Niamh felt her stomach tensing with nervousness as Grady’s turn approached. Beside her Bree, Devin and Emily were still laughing and chanting. This racing was commonplace for them and as they didn’t have any family racing their nerves weren’t on edge anything like Niamh’s. As the commentators announced the rising fog Niamh’s stomach dropped further. Bad though it was her untrained brother had to race his first race in the most important race of the year, but now fog to make it even harder? ‘Is it normal to get that fog coming up here?’ she said, turning to her father.
‘Well, no. It’s pretty odd, but it’s not unheard of at this time of the evening,’ said Merritt. The sun was now almost below the tops of the surrounding hills and a dew was falling under the clear and lingering twilight sky. The western sun stayed long in the sky at this time of the year so the racers would have an eerie gloomlight to race through in the last lap despite the lighting towers which even now were positioned all around the course.
Away to her right Niamh could see tendrils of fog creeping up the side of the hills towards the forest. The way it moved made Niamh think of slithering worms. She suddenly felt scared, though could not say why. The fear was kept company by a sense of wrongness – quite separate to the rising dread. The noise of the crowd around her faded as Niamh found herself disconnecting from the throng. She could see Grady more clearly than ever down below and knew he was in danger. She stood up and looked around the crowd. Something was wrong. Somebody was wrong. The air was charged with an expectant, explosive feel – like the moments when a fireworks fuse is sizzling down to its explosive end.
‘What’s wrong, Niamh?’ asked Bree.
‘I’m not sure ... I ... I’ve got to go,’ Niamh said suddenly and leapt away down the row of surprised spectators.
‘Niamh!’ shouted her mum. But Niamh was gone in a flash.
‘Come on!’ said Bree to her friends. Devin and Emily dropped their flags and shot off down the row with Bree after Niamh.
‘What the ...!’ said Merritt as they all bolted past. ‘Come back and watch your brother, Niamh!’ Merritt shouted, but Niamh was gone. Merritt just shrugged and turned to Grace. Her gentle features had hardened with a set of the jaw that Merritt knew well.
‘They’ll be fine,’ she said coldly. ‘Let them go. Trust. They can do more than we think. Remember that. And they still need to go a long way in a short time.’ Grace turned and looked towards the top of the stands. Several shadows disconnected from the surrounding gloom and started to glide down towards Niamh and her friends. Merritt and Grace looked at each other as the shadows moved, but did not try to follow.
As Niamh and her shadowy company disappeared from view the parents reached out hands to each other and gripped tightly in support. Knowing glances between them spoke volumes about their feelings, though no one else could see as they sat down and turned to watch the race.
Niamh ran to the end of the stands and bounded down the stairs. The rest of her friends weren’t far behind as she got to the bottom and stood there, uncertain of what to do or where to go.
‘What are you looking for, Niamh?’ asked Bree as Niamh spun round in the crowd.
The sounds of the crowd formed an echoing otherworld for Niamh as she turned, scanning weird and wonderful costumes and faces. She didn’t know what it was but there was something missing, someone missing, she suddenly realised. ‘Where’s Quinn?’
‘Quinn?’ said Bree? ‘Why would you want to know where Quinn is? Your brother is about to race out there.’
‘Don’t ask why,’ said Niamh as her level of fear started to rise. ‘Spread out and see if you can find him. Use your iWands and call if you see him.’ Without waiting for her friends to answer she turned and ran off through the crowd.
Niamh strained for something, some noise to tell her where to run. Revellers in costumes and clumsy ghouls stumbled into her as she ran towards the main castle gates.
‘Fine night for a ride, Miss, don’t you think?’ said a voice from beside her. Niamh let out a shriek as she turned and saw Fitzhollow appearing slowly like a Cheshire cat – his face appearing first, followed slowly by his body. He was dressed in a lurid green and gold outfit smoking a pipe. Smoke rings from his pipe turned into flying witches and wizards that chased each other around his head.
‘Where did you come from?’ she said as the leprechaun puffed away happily.
‘Oh, we wee folk always know where we really need to be. Usually in the right place at the right time, we are,’ he said with a smile that made his face look like it was formed completely from creases and wrinkles.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Niamh asked.
‘I mean, young Princess, that if I were you I would gather up your friends and go for a ride on that marvellous wee broom of yours. If I were you, that is ...’ And then, with a wink and a nod, the leprechaun vanished in a puff of green smoke. Niamh stood for a moment before running towards her broomstick, pulling out her iWand as she did so. Flicking it open she waved the wand in the pattern needed to bring up the messaging spell and held the thought of the three friends in her mind. Their faces suddenly popped into view just a few inches above the tip.
‘What’s up?’ said Bree. ‘Have you found him?’
‘No,’ snapped Niamh. ‘Just get your brooms and meet me by the northeast corner of the castle at the top of the tower.’ Without waiting for a response Niamh closed the iWand and ran on. As odd as Fitzhollow’s sudden appearance was, he was absolutely right. She had not a hope of being able to see what was happening from the ground. The air was the only place she could see the ground, the crowd, the castle, and, hopefully, Quinn. The view over the hills and racecourse was unparalleled from that tower. Vynda had taken her and Grady there before to point out the mountains and peaks of the far Alps off to the west.
Vynda, Niamh suddenly thought. Where’s a werewolf when you really need one. Niamh realised the one person – wolf – who could sniff out their quarry would be Vynda. There was no time to look for her, though. Taking out her wand again Niamh called her up but there was no response – just a fuzzy grey globe above the tip where Vynda’s face should be. Niamh wished she was old enough to curse but her parents had absolutely forbidden “bloody hell” and “damn”, so the best she could manage was ‘Dang. Dang and dang it!’
Flicking closed the wand Niamh raced round the corner to where she had left her broomstick. It was still leaning against the racks alongside a hundred other broomsticks but there was no possibility of missing hers. The lustre and life in the wood shone out against the dull imitations alongside. Without pausing Niamh ran through, grabbed her broomstick, and launched herself into the air in one swift movement.
As she rose into the twilight sky she could see her friends below running to grab their brooms. They leapt aboard them and arced out over the crowd towards the turret, converging on its gilded rooftop almost as one. Together with Niamh they rose higher and higher before floating to a halt by the spire at its peak. The sounds of the crowd grew weaker as the distance between them and the stands grew.
‘Fan out across the crowd,’ said Niamh. ‘Look for Quinn. He’s up to something.’
&nb
sp; ‘But what’s he up to, Niamh?’ asked Devin. ‘He’s harmless, isn’t he?’
‘Oh Devin, don’t argue now,’ said Niamh. ‘Please just go look for him. This is important!’
‘Ummm. Excuse me, Niamh,’ said Emily. ‘But don’t you think if he’s up to something the last place he’s likely to be is in the crowd?’
Niamh had to stop for a moment and think. Emily had a really annoying way of asking difficult, but quite important questions at the most difficult times. Looking out towards the forest Niamh could see the fog thickening and oozing up the slopes. Perhaps Emily and Devin had a point and the fog was where they needed to be.
‘You’re probably right. What about there?’ said Niamh, pointing to the forest. ‘If I was up to no good that looks like a great place to be, don’t you think?’
Bree didn’t say anything but exchanged glances with Emily before smiling and suddenly leaning off to her right, pointing her broom towards the advancing mist and letting out a good cackle at the top of her voice.
‘Oh, I do wish she wouldn’t do that,’ said Emily. ‘It’s so last century. Honestly, how do they expect us to be modern witches if we go round cackling at the first sign of a bit of fun? Next thing it’ll be ovens and gingerbread men.’
Niamh laughed out loud. The best thing about these friends was they always knew how to break her dark moods. It looked like their night was about to get a whole lot more interesting.
‘It’s Flamville, Murray. Flamville has the lead! Incredible. Stunning ride from Guido DiPasta to take the lead on that lap. Amazing!’
‘DiPasta?’ said Lunchwell. ‘He’s really named after a type of food?’
‘Very old Italian family, Murray. They once cooked for the Doge in Venice.’
‘Dogs? What sort of dogs would need a cook?’
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