Secret Pony Society (6 page)

S
o that's all I have to do
, I thought, pedaling furiously out of the yard gates and turning toward home. I just side with everyone at the yard, agree that the travelers—including Jazz—are a pain in the neck, and stay away from her. It wasn't as if I had the perfect hideaway lined up. Phew.

It would be easy, I thought as I got to the bottom of the hill and turned right past the old factory. The factory, I remembered, where the boys who had tormented poor Moth had lived. Poor tethered Moth, who hadn't been able to get away.

After all, I decided as I braked at the crosswalk to let a woman and a child cross, Jazz was nothing to me, was she?

Also, I reminded myself as I turned into my road, slowing down as I reached our tiny cottage, if Jazz wanted to run away then that was her business. How did I get involved, anyway? Oh, yes, I remembered, Epona's magic touch and my big mouth. A lethal combination, as ever! Well, Jazz's problems had nothing to do with me.

So why couldn't I stop thinking about her? Why did I feel that I was letting her down by turning my back on her? Why did it feel like I was abandoning her? What was it about Jazz that fascinated me? It was as though she held the same power over me as she did over the ponies.

Darn it!

I let myself in through the front door and yelled. Mom was home, and I could smell something delicious cooking, which was a change in these times of her getting fit. Good. A heavy dose of normality was what I needed. All this inner turmoil was making me hungry.

“Ah, hello, honey,” said Mom, an apron on over a little black number she'd managed to squeeze back into since embarking on her gym-fest. She was scooping some brown goo into a glass bowl.

“I hate to do this to you, Pia, but any chance of you watching TV in your room this evening? Jerry's coming for dinner—I'm cooking,” she added, aiming a wry grin in my direction.

“Oh, all right,” I mumbled. “What's on the menu?”

“Well, I've made this chocolate mousse for dessert—no fat, apart from what's in the chocolate—and we're having steak and salad before that.”

“No, I mean what's for
my
dinner?” I asked.

“Oh. Well, I know you don't like steak, so I got you some pasta. OK?”

“No chocolate mousse for me? I could use something to cheer me up.” Typical! No welcome distraction from my inner turmoil there.

“What's up?” said Mom.

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” I said. I didn't think Mom needed to know about me fraternizing with traveler folk. Things were awkward enough without her overreacting like grown-ups do when they don't know the full story.

“In that case, eat your pasta and buzz off!” Mom told me with a grin, licking chocolate mousse off the spoon with a look of guilty glee on her face. “Jerry will be here any minute, and I can't have you cramping my style!”

“You shouldn't have led him to believe that you're too young to have a daughter my age!” I teased her. What are things coming to when I'm forced upstairs so that my mom can entertain her boyfriend? And why hadn't I been offered the chocolate mousse spoon? I gobbled down the pasta, made Mom promise to save me some chocolate mousse, and galloped upstairs.

Throwing myself on my bed with a sigh, I looked up at my calendar. It's a really nice one with a different horse on each month—and October was a stunning chestnut with a white blaze in a desert. The day after tomorrow was Monday, the first day of our mid-semester break, hooray! Our school breaks the year into quarters. Except that Monday and Tuesday were circled, and I'd written in red felt tip “
Two days of hell!
” And I wasn't kidding either, because I was due to waste it by staying with my dad and his horrible girlfriend, Skinny Lynny. For a whole two days!

Triple pooh.

At least that meant I would be out of Jazz's way
, I thought. It seemed I was going to be the one running away.

I went to bed, the occasional bursts of laughter coming from downstairs preventing me from going to sleep, and then still unable to drift off when the bursts stopped and it all went quiet. I didn't want to think about what my mom and Jerry might have been doing then, but anyway, I couldn't stop thinking about Jazz and Falling Snow and how they were both depending on me. Unfairly, I thought, when I still hadn't been able to magically pull the ultimate hiding place out of thin air.

But I must have drifted off in the end because suddenly I woke up with a start. It was pitch-black, I didn't know what time it was, and the solution to where Jazz could hide had suddenly (annoyingly!) popped into my mind of its own accord. It was blindingly obvious.

Oh, wow
, I thought,
of course
. No one will ever find her there!

But that meant I had no excuse not to help Jazz.

Pooh.

So I lay there and had a conscience struggle, mentally listing all the “fors” and “againsts” about revealing my hideout. Helping Snow and helping Jazz and doing the right thing came under the “fors,” and staying close with my friends at the yard came under “againsts.” And now I had the perfect hiding place, which was the biggest “for” of all.

Four “fors” and only one “against.”

So that settled it. I was helping Jazz after all. End of story!

The weather the next day was more winter than autumn. The wind blew in gusts, undecided about which direction it wanted to come from and go to, making Drummer's long coat stand to attention one minute, then lie flat like it had been ironed the next. We stood on the hillside, unable to turn our backs to the ever changing wind, hoping the driving rain wouldn't get any heavier. The weather threw up strange sounds that made me jumpy. I kept thinking someone was watching us, spying on us. I was glad I had Drum to talk to.

I had put Drummer's waterproof exercise sheet on him to keep his back dry, but the wind kept getting underneath it and lifting it up like a kite—only the fillet string under his tail stopped it from sweeping us both along like a sailboat. The situation was not one taken stoically by Drum.

“Couldn't you have picked a less exposed meeting place?” he grumbled. “Like the top of Mount Everest or the middle of the North Pole? And this fillet string keeps getting caught under my tail. It's most uncomfortable!”

“Goodness, how you do complain,” I replied, wishing I'd put another fleece on.

“What made you decide to help our traveler friend, anyway?” asked Drum.

“You did,” I replied, wanting to blame someone. “I know reverse psychology when I hear it.”

“I knew this would be my fault,” he mumbled.

I patted his neck. “You want to help Jazz and Falling Snow, you can't fool me.” I swallowed hard. The next sentence wasn't going to be easy. “I know you love Jazz, and you don't want Snow to race again. You like to come across as hard, Drummer, but I know you better than that.”

Drummer tossed his head and snorted. I couldn't tell whether it was a yes snort or a no snort. Strangely, I felt better. Saying that my pony loved Jazz had been hard, but it felt better to get it out in the open. I wondered, if it came to it and Drum had to make a choice, whether he would stay with me or go with Jazz. I put that thought to the back of my mind. I'd decided on my course of action, and whatever I did wouldn't make Jazz any less of a pony whisperer—a real one.

A noise behind us made us whirl around in fright. All this cloak-and-dagger stuff was making both our nerves bad.

“You came,” Jazz said simply. “I didn't think you would.”

Oh, pooh
, I thought. Jazz hadn't expected me to be there—she hadn't been relying on me at all, and I could have stayed away without it being a big deal! Jazz sat astride Falling Snow, a folded blanket under her legs. She wore a big jacket over her sweater and jeans. Her dog, as always, stood by her side, panting, his amber eyes staring at me.

“Come on,” I said, turning Drum into the wood. I wanted to get this over with and prayed no one would see us together.

I led the way through the woods, back toward the yard, skirting around it so that we didn't go too close. Riding around three of the farmer's fields and keeping out of sight close to the trees, we headed for the lake, the land dropping as we rode through the trees. Bare branches stretched skyward like skinny fingers, reaching for the light.

Past the lake we went, the ponies' hooves sinking into the mud at the bottom of the hill, and started to climb upward again. It was a long way from the travelers' camp at the Sloping Field and, eventually, I pushed through thick rhododendron bushes overgrowing the path and came to a halt in a small clearing. Jazz nudged Falling Snow up beside Drummer.

“This is a good place,” she said, looking around. The wind was quieter here, and we were cocooned by trees, evergreen rhododendron bushes, and dense holly. It felt protected and hidden. Secret.

Dismounting, I walked toward the center of the clearing, leading Drummer to the far side of a grassy mound, as tall as a man. Falling Snow followed, and I noticed Jazz's eyes widen when she saw an old wooden door embedded into the mound. Arched, it had huge iron hinges and a handle. The wood, although mossy and old, was still solid and sound.

Jazz slid off her pony and examined the door. “What is this?” she asked me, puzzled.

“It's an old icehouse,” I explained. “It's been here for years and years, but not many people know about it. It's where the owners of the big house used to store ice from the lake in the winter for use in the summer.”

“What big house?” asked Jazz, looking around.

“It's fallen down, gone,” I said. “I couldn't open the door last time I was here, but I'm hoping our combined strength will shift it.” I knew it did open because James had told me he'd been inside the icehouse.

We both grasped hold of the huge, iron, circular handle and pulled. For a while, nothing happened, then we felt it move.

“Oh, we can do it!” I exclaimed, strangely excited and scared at the same time. The icehouse gave me the creeps, but Jazz didn't seem worried, and I didn't want to seem like a wuss in front of her. Ignoring my feeling of dread, I concentrated on gathering my strength.

We pulled again, kicking the mud away from the base of the door to make it easier. And it did open, reluctantly, creakily, spookily, revealing a dark emptiness inside.

Pulling out the flashlight I'd brought with me, I switched it on, and we peered into the gloom. Dark, damp brick walls disappeared into nothing.

“I'll look,” said Jazz, taking the flashlight and walking inside.

I stood outside in the daylight. Nothing would have persuaded me to take a step inside that place. It smelled musty and old. It was damp, dark, and dingy. It felt like a tomb.
It is madness
, I thought,
Jazz can't stay here
. A hole buried in a grass mound wasn't my idea of a great place to shack up for a night or two. But in all other respects, the icehouse had seemed the perfect place for Jazz to hide: it was tucked away, it would keep her out of the wind and rain, and there was grass around it for Falling Snow.

But now I wasn't so sure. I couldn't even begin to imagine being in the icehouse at night, with the wind playing in the trees and every sound suggesting ghosts and who knows what else! Surely now Jazz would give up her idea of running away.

“Not exactly the Ritz, is it?” snorted Drummer.

“If you've got any other ideas, I'm all ears!” I told him. I mean, it's all very well being critical, but it wasn't like my pony had volunteered any input, was it?

“I'm just saying…” said Drum, nibbling grass off the top of the mound.

Jazz returned with the flashlight. Her face said it all.

“I take it you'd rather not stay here,” I said. I didn't have a plan B, so if plan A was out of the question, then that was it!

“I can stay here…” she said slowly. She seemed distracted.

“I'm sensing there's a
but
coming,” I said.

“There is something…”

“What?”

“Something about this place, this icehouse.”

“Yeah, it's really spooky!” I said, shivering.

“Something bad has happened here.”

“Give the girl a peanut!” exclaimed Drummer. “I could have told you that!”

What did she have to go and say that for? The place was spooky enough. It didn't need any more drama. And what did Drummer mean? He could have said something sooner. I gulped. Suddenly, my mouth felt very dry.

“How bad?” I asked. My voice sounded a bit croaky.

“It feels, it feels…” Jazz hesitated, putting her hand on the inner wall of the icehouse. “It has the feel of a…”

I so didn't want to ask the question. I so had to.

“A what?”

“A tomb.”

“Got it in one!” interjected Drummer.

“Can you just leave it, please Drum?” I said.

“OK, OK, suit yourself!” said Drummer huffily. A tomb. Oh, is that all? I had thought that myself. I didn't welcome Jazz agreeing with me. Could she really tell or was she just being melodramatic? Was it just an excuse not to stay?

“
Okaaaay!
” I said slowly, glancing around. “So, then this is a no-no. I don't have anywhere else I can show you. No second choice, I'm afraid.”

“This will be fine,” said Jazz, switching off the flashlight and dumping her bag on the ground. “Whatever occurred here happened a long, long time ago.”

Did that matter?
I thought. I wouldn't stay in the icehouse overnight if you paid me a million bucks. I wasn't sure I'd even volunteer to hang around in daylight now.

“You mean, you'll stay here?” I said, appalled.

“Yes, until my father moves on.”

“But…but…aren't you…
scared?
”

Jazz laughed. “No, I'm not scared. Spirits are all around us, all the time. I'm not frightened to stay here.”

“But you'll freeze!” I said, trying to find some excuse for her to abandon her plan.

“Kasali will keep me warm.” Jazz patted her dog. The dog's tail almost wagged. He licked her hand.

“What's it like inside?” I asked.

“There's enough room for me,” said Jazz. “The entrance falls away into a huge pit with steps down. The door is strong, and it will keep out the rain. Can I keep this?” Jazz lifted the flashlight.

I nodded, knowing that Jazz wouldn't be able to keep it on all night. I couldn't imagine sitting in the icehouse in total darkness, even with Kasali. Imagine the spiders! Imagine…I shuddered. Then I had a thought.

“You can have Drum's exercise sheet to lie on if you like,” I offered, unfastening Drum's girth and pulling the sheet out from under his saddle. “It's waterproof.”

“That's generous of you!” exclaimed Drum indignantly. “I mean, don't ask or anything. Just feel free to give my stuff away to anyone!”

“You'll be OK, and you won't have to put up with the fillet string,” I whispered to him. I knew he didn't mind.

Jazz took the sheet gratefully. It would make a difference.

“Here.” Jazz pressed something into my hand. It was two ten-dollar bills. I gasped. I didn't expect payment. But I had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

“I'll need some food,” she said. “I couldn't take anything from home. As far as my dad's concerned, I've just gone for a ride.”

“But I can't!” I heard myself say. I didn't dare tell Jazz that I was going to stay with my own father for two days.

A pair of vivid violet eyes bored into me as Jazz frowned. “I only have a chocolate bar and a small bottle of water,” Jazz said. “I thought you were going to help me.”

I chewed the inside of my mouth. I hadn't signed up to helping Jazz for life. What did she expect? But then, how did I expect her to survive? She could hardly run down to the supermarket and push a shopping cart full of groceries back to the icehouse, could she? Why was everything always more complicated than I expected? Clearly, I hadn't thought this through.

I nodded. “I'll figure something out,” I heard myself say. I could go to the Quickmart near the stables, but how was I going to get my purchases to Jazz?

“What will your dog eat?” I asked.

Jazz laughed. “Kasali will make himself known to the local rabbit population!” She laughed even more when I made a face.

“What does
Kasali
mean?” I asked.

“Forest Spirit,” Jazz replied, fondling her dog's ears. Kasali licked her hand before returning his gaze to me, full of distrust, guarding his mistress. No wonder Jazz wasn't scared.

As I mounted Drummer, Jazz put her hand on Drummer's neck. My pony turned and nuzzled her, just as Moth had. I swallowed hard as I felt my stomach churn.

“Thank you,” Jazz said quietly. “I know you won't let me down.”

I couldn't hang around—I had my two days of hell to get started. As I turned Drummer for home, the trees and bushes closed in on Jazz's hiding place, shutting us out.
It really is the perfect place to go if you don't want to be found
, I thought.

At least I'd got that right.