The Spin (29 page)

The air was startlingly cold against his cheeks and hands, but Seraphina was warm beneath him.

They flew away from Dragon Mountain and the castle, into the depths of the dark sky. He felt he was actually flying amongst the speckling of tiny brilliant stars that surrounded them. Far away, the lights of Stollenback were twinkling and he could make out one or two lights in the village below. He didn't want to be seen. How could he make her turn round? He felt a moment of panic, then squeezed his left foot and leg into her side and she obligingly moved in that direction. The smallest pull on the reins encouraged her to turn and fly that way. He sent her round in a figure of eight, pressing and urging gently, sharing with her the thrill of working together and understanding. He asked her to fly upwards just by wanting it, by thinking it, and she did exactly what he desired.

‘Fire,' he whispered and she blew out a rush of yellow and gold flames. ‘Sparks!' She lit up the sky with a cascading shower of white and silver sparkling dots.

He didn't know, but it would have taken any other sky-rider years and years to reach such an understanding with his spitfyre.

He was born for it and they were meant for each other.

When at last his ears were numb and his hands were locked painfully round her reins from the cold, he turned her gently back towards the castle. ‘Home,' he whispered. It wasn't much of a home, he knew, and she probably didn't want to return to her dark cave, but he had no choice.

Seraphina flew back quickly. He had a moment's panic as the terrace seemed to rush up to meet them, but Seraphina was a flying creature who knew how to land without his help.

Stormy slipped off her back and led her past the sleeping spitfyres in eleven and twelve and back into her own dingy cave. He rubbed her down and gave her fresh water and wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her nose.

‘You are wonderful,' he told her. ‘Thank you, thank you.'

He did not want to leave her and stayed with her until she had fallen asleep; then he crept back to his room and his bed, the happiest boy in the world.

Stormy loved Seraphina. For hours he brushed her coat and mane and, as he did so, he talked to her, telling her about his life in the kitchen, about Otto and about Tex and his skivvy friends. He talked about Al, too, and hoped that one day she would be able to forgive him; that Al would forgive her.

Seraphina flourished.

She was fatter, rounder and glistening like a ripe fruit. Her eyes were bright. Her wings had mended; her rainbow coat gleamed. Her hooves were polished, trimmed and oiled.

Now, as soon as Stormy came into her stable, Seraphina blew smoke rings and spark showers of all different colours that lingered in patterns in the air. She pawed the ground with her delicate hooves and tossed her mane that was now silky and luxurious. Stormy hoped he'd never again see the closed, blank look on her face that made him so sad.

On the rare occasions when Ralf and Purbeck were off somewhere and there were no other students around, he took Seraphina out onto the terrace and let her run up and down, flapping her wings to exercise them. He took her out at night and they practised diving, soaring, circling. Each outing was a joy, and he learnt more and more about flying.

One morning, on his way to his classes, he saw a rush of students making their way to the noticeboard in the hall.

‘What is it?' he asked Lizzie.

‘The Silver Sword! The competitors' names have been put up!'

Stormy experienced a little pain of exclusion.
We might have stood a chance
, he thought, making his way to the paper pinned on the board,
in a month or two. Next year! Next year Seraphina and I would have won it!

‘You are some crazy guy!' Bentley said to him, pushing past him rudely as he made his way back through the throng around the board.

‘What?'

‘Did you read the small print?' Bentley added.

‘What are you talking about?' said Stormy, confused.

‘Well done, mate!' Tom said, slapping him on the back. ‘Loser!'

Before he could get any closer to the list, Stormy saw Bella and grabbed her to ask her what was going on.

‘Don't pretend you don't know,' she said.

‘But I don't!'

Bella shrugged. ‘You don't have to lie to me, Stormy . . . I just wish you'd told me you were thinking of it, I'd have warned you off.'

‘Thinking of what? I honestly don't know what you're talking about.'

‘Come here.' She pulled him along with her, pushing through the students to the noticeboard, where a large sheet of paper headed THE SILVER SWORD RACE had been pinned. ‘Look,' she said, pointing to the competitor's names below.

Hector
on
Sparkit

Petra
on
Polaris

Lizzie
on
Daygo

Tom
on
Condor

Cindy
on
Easterly

Bentley
on
Bluey

and right at the bottom,

Stormy
on
unnamed: thirteen

Stormy felt his blood run cold and his head burn hotly all at the same time. Words wouldn't come.

‘You can't deny it now,' Bella said, putting her finger against his name. Then she saw his expression. ‘You really didn't know, did you?'

He shook his head. ‘I didn't put my name on that list.'

‘That's your handwriting, your signature. I recognise it.'

‘It is,' he agreed. With a shiver, he remembered Araminta's smiling encouragement to give generously to sick old spitfyres. She'd tricked him – how could he ever have imagined that she liked him? It was those ribbons that had made him believe she cared. She and Hector must have planned this together; they were both cheats.

‘What will you do?' Bella asked.

‘Well, obviously I'll go and see the Director,' Stormy said, ‘and get out of it.' But even as he spoke, he was thinking fast. Now his name was down, why not take part?
Because you're not good enough
, he told himself.
You'll make a fool of yourself. The others have been sky-riders for years
. ‘I'll explain to the Director that I can't – it would be mad . . .'

‘Yes, do,' said Hector, coming up behind them. ‘It would be mad. I can't think why you put your name down.' He grinned maliciously.

‘I –'

‘Mad. Must be the lack of breeding.' He chuckled. ‘
Starlight!
Not likely!'

Stormy watched Hector swagger away. He had never hated anyone so much in all his life.

‘Go and see the Director, Stormy,' Bella urged him. ‘Hector will win the race and you'll get hurt, even if you can fly that old creature of Al's.'

Stormy nodded. ‘I'll go now.'

He had to see the Director, he had to get out of the race, but the thought of coming face to face with a man who hunted down grubbins and kept a head as a trophy was enough to make him feel sick. Still, he went again to the green office and this time when he knocked on the door, the Director called him in.

‘Yes?'

‘I'm Stormy, sir.'

‘Yes?'

‘I've come about the race.'

‘Yes?' The Director looked up at him for the first time. ‘The Silver Sword Race?' He tapped a pen against a pile of papers. ‘And?'

‘There was a mistake and I've come to say I don't want to compete, I never wanted to take part; someone else put my name there.' He twisted his hands together. ‘I mean,' he went on as the Director continued to stare him down, ‘I mean, I can't race, because I don't have a spitfyre. That is, not a real one . . .'

The Director leaned back in his chair. ‘I'm a busy man, Storky, very busy.'

‘
Stormy
.'

‘And I dislike cowards. I understand that Al gave you
his
spitfyre.'

‘Oh. Yes, but – I'm so new and –'

The Director handed Stormy a copy of the list of competitors and pointed to some lines of minuscule writing at the bottom. ‘Read that.'

‘So, either you race, or you give up your spitfyre,' the Director said. ‘Which is it to be?'

‘I've never raced in my life!'

‘Which is it to be?'

‘I'll come last and I can't really fly,' Stormy protested. ‘I'm just learning. I –'

The Director looked weary and bored. ‘My patience is running out. Which is it to be?'

‘I'll race,' Stormy said. ‘But –'

‘Good day.'

Stormy stood outside the Director's office and pounded his fist into his palm
. All right, all right
, he thought.
I'm glad. I'll race for the Silver Sword. Let the battle begin!

Stormy read everything he could about the race. Soon he had narrowed down the possible places where the Silver Sword might be hidden: Moleman Mount, Slender Point, the Strand and Dark Rock. He laid out a map on the ground in front of Seraphina and showed her the rivers, cliffs and mountains. ‘If it's here,' he said, pointing to Dark Rock, ‘we'll have problems with height. It's the tallest spot and there might still be snow. If there's snow we might think about putting hoof-chains on, but they're so heavy that will slow us down dreadfully. And we may not need them. We'd have to come in from this angle and land there.' Seraphina stared at the map as he showed her what he meant. ‘That's the worst of all the options.'

Seraphina blew out softly and shook her head.

‘Of course Slender Point will have its problems too,' he went on. ‘Being so narrow, if two spitfyres land there's no room for the next and there could be a squabble. It was Slender Point last time, so I doubt it, but then the Director could be crafty and chose it just to be difficult.'

He ran his fingers over the map, tracing the river along the valley.

‘I just don't think it will be the Strand,' he went on. ‘I don't know why, but it's so far and it's almost too easy, isn't it? You know, I'm betting it will be Moleman Mount. Moleman Mount will be more difficult. See, there's that peak and then this area around it, so hardly any room for a spitfyre to land. There are horrible updraughts and we'd have to fly in from here.'

Seraphina puffed out pale sweet-smelling smoke and nudged his shoulder with her nose.

‘I know,' Stormy said, ‘I know. I have faith in you. We'll do fine. We'll practise for Moleman Mount, then, shall we? In honour of our dear friend, Mungo. I wonder how he is? I must go and see the Smalls. They might know something about his wife and child; they know such a lot. But when? When can I go?'

His lessons, combined with his night-time training, was exhausting and Stormy had to put Mungo's request on one side. After the race, Stormy told himself, then he'd address that problem.

The day of the race arrived.

Staff and students gathered to watch, standing along the terrace or leaning from the windows and balconies above. The air was bursting with excitement and tension, as if something invisible was pulled tight between them all and might suddenly snap and send everyone hurtling off into space.

Stormy took his riding suit out of its tissue paper wrapping for the first time. He laid it out reverently on the bed. There were tight trousers, soft boots and thin leather gloves – this would be better than his old overalls. He also had new goggles to keep the wind out of his eyes. His trembling fingers could barely do up the buttons and tighten the belt. At last it was all on. Finally he would be a real sky-rider.

He stared at his reflection and hardly recognised himself. Stormy, sky-rider! He looked the part, but on the inside, he was jelly.
Stormy, you are an imposter!
he told the mirror.
You've only been flying for a few weeks. You are going to fall off. You'll make an idiot of yourself. You know nothing . . . Just as well you have the best flying horse in the world! So don't let her down! We mustn't come last, that's all. Not last!

He made his way down to the terrace.

‘Hey, nice gear!' Bella said. ‘Suits you!'

‘We thought you weren't coming,' Lizzie said, looking disappointed.

‘Who does he think he is?' someone else called.

‘Look, it's skivvy boy!' Tom shouted.

All around he heard mutters of,

‘How dare he?'

‘Never thought he'd show,' and ‘Loser!'

As Stormy made his way through the crowd he had the strange feeling that Seraphina was expecting him; as if a secret thread bound them together and, as he drew near, he could feel it reeling him in. Nerves began to give way to excitement. Dear Seraphina. Wonderful spitfyre.

Ralf and Purbeck came running past.

‘Sparkit's had
extra
,
extra
vitamins this morning!' Ralf said under his breath. ‘Watch him, Stormy
!
'

Purbeck was carrying spare goggles and reins, buckets and thorks. He made a funny face at Stormy as he jogged by, and grinned. ‘Good luck!' he whispered, as if he really meant it.

Stormy stood a little taller and straighter. He swung his goggles round nonchalantly.
Sky-rider!

The crowd was noisy, jeering and laughing, and someone was taking bets, but no one was putting their money on Stormy.
Hah!
he thought.
You haven't seen Seraphina in action. You just wait until you see her!

The Director and Araminta were seated on two chairs near the first cave. How different the Director appeared now to Stormy; no longer benevolent and wise now that Stormy knew him to be a tyrant. The Director wanted a world without molemen, a world that suited him and over which he could rule. When the race was over Stormy would come back and confront him with what he knew . . . somehow.