The Dark Amulet Collection

Chapter 11

Next morning, well before dawn, Sasha sat up suddenly, starting in fright at an unexplained thump. After a moment, he remembered where he was, bedded down in a corner of the loft above the stables. He breathed a sigh of relief, as he realized that the noise would not preface Bryson’s entry. He listened carefully, waiting to hear whether the thump would be repeated. After a minute, he heard the sound again and recognised it as a hoof being stamped on a bed of straw.

In an instant, he had thrown off his blankets and was climbing down the wooden ladder into the stables. He grabbed a pocketful of oats then crept quietly along the row of stalls, his bare feet hardly making a sound. He was sure the noise had come from further down. Sure enough, he heard the stamping of restless hooves three stalls from the end on the left hand side.

In the predawn monochrome, he could see a large draught horse filly, deep in her stall, tossing her head, ears back.

“It’s all right,” Sasha murmured, “What has spooked you, hey? No one else is upset.”

Crooning softly, he walked forward and placed his hands on top of the half door of its stall.

“There now. Here I am. Nothing to be scared of.” In actual fact, Sasha’s heart was hammering in his chest, not because he was frightened by the great horse towering over him but because he didn’t know what was spooking her. Was there actually some danger lurking that he couldn’t see? Despite his efforts, the filly was still on edge. Sasha decided that something in her stall was upsetting her.

He took a long slow breath. Letting none of his own fear show in his voice or movements, he maintained a stream of soothing drivel as he felt his way to the bolt and carefully pulled it open, slithering in and re-bolting the half door behind himself.

The huge horse stamped her feathered foot and sashayed backwards from him until her rump hit the back of the stall. Sasha caught the flash of white in the semi-darkness as she rolled her eyes. The boy stood very still and waited for her to get used to him. After a few moments he started talking quietly to her again.

Her ears twitched forward at the sound of his voice but then she whickered and tossed her head. Suddenly Sasha realised that whatever was upsetting her was near the front of the stall. Talking all the while, he cast his eyes around, looking for the cause. His eyes lit upon the horse’s feedbag which was hanging from a hook next to the door’s hinges. He frowned. Was the feedbag moving, ever so slightly?

Heart in mouth, visions of snakes or sharp toothed rats in mind, he crept up to the feedbag and snatched away the top layer of hay. Two bright golden eyes looked up at him and blinked.

Sasha gave a low chuckle and patted a small ginger cat that lay curled up in the horse’s feed bin. Under his hand, Sasha felt the vibration of a contented purr. After a minute, he left the cat and reached up slowly to stroke the filly’s neck in long soothing movements. When she was calm, he placed the hand he had used to pat the cat under her nose, all the while stroking her with his other hand. The horse snuffed and snorted, perhaps at the cat smell or perhaps because Sasha’s hand did not contain a treat.

Sasha produced the oats from his pocket and gave them to her before walking to the food bin to retrieve the little cat. With the cat curled in the crook of his arm, Sasha walked the few steps to the horse. He presented the cat slowly to the filly, who eyed it askance for a moment before bending her head to sniff it. The cat rubbed its ear against the horse’s muzzle. Suddenly, like a flame flickering into life, a connection bloomed between the small cat and the huge horse. The filly snuffled gently and the cat batted the end of her nose. After a few minutes, Sasha sat the cat carefully on the floor in front of the horse and moved slowly backwards to sit himself in the corner of the stall to watch.

When Beth entered the stables an hour later, all but one of the horses popped their heads over the doors of their stalls to greet her. Immediately concerned, Beth crossed to the gap in their ranks and looked into the stall. Sasha was sitting cross-legged in the corner, sound asleep, with a small ginger cat curled up in his lap. Her fractious filly’s head was lowered, watching them and from time to time, gently nosing the cat.

Beth was so bemused by the sight that, for a few minutes, she simply leaned on the door and gazed at them. But time was short and there was the day’s work to be done, so eventually she cleared her throat and murmured, “Sasha,” as quietly as she could.

The boy’s eyes flew open as he jerked awake. The filly snorted and flung up her head but as Sasha, with a supreme effort, did not make any further move, the horse lowered her head again and nudged Sasha under the chin.

Sasha grinned and, disentangling one hand from the cat, pushed the horse’s big velvety nose away. “Get away from me, you big brute.” He placed the cat on the straw next to him and stood up. “There. You can have Apricot to play with. I have to go.” He glanced apprehensively at Beth and pulled his forelock. “Sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to go to sleep.” He ducked under the horse’s head, drew the bolt and slipped out to join her. “I’m late, am I? What do you want me to do? I’ll get right onto it. I’ll skip lunch to make up the time. Sorry Ma’am.” He took a quick breath. “Please don’t send me back to old Bryson. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

“Stop!” Beth held up a hand which made Sasha flinch. She noted the movement but betrayed no response to it. “Stop, Sasha. I will not send you back to Bryson, whatever happens. At the very worst, if things don’t work out here, I will find you a new position where I know you will be safe.” She put her hand on his shoulder, again ignoring the flinch she felt beneath her fingers. “Now calm down and tell me how you come to sleeping in Flurry’s stall?”

“Is that her name? It suits her.” When he had given a brief explanation, she asked for more details. He finished by saying, “I supposed I should just have removed Apricot but, you know, Flurry has to start being brave about cats sometime. It’s just a pest if she shies at a cat when you’re driving her. It could even overturn whatever she’s pulling or she could hurt someone. Look what happened with Hoofer.”

Beth brow creased. “How old did you say you were?”

Sasha shrugged. “Bryson told you, ma’am.”

“You don’t talk like an eight-year-old.”

Sasha scuffed his foot through wisps of straw that had drifted out into the walkway. “Sorry Ma’am. I didn’t mean to be cheeky.”

“It was not meant as censure. You seem wise beyond your years, that’s all.”

Sasha lifted his head and smiled, his face lighting up. “Thanks.”

“I am not angry at you for sleeping in. You did well… Better than you know.” She dug into her pocket and produced a small leather disk, stamped with a B. She handed it to him and gave his shoulder a final pat. “Now, off you go to the kitchen and give this to Hannah, the cook. Get some breakfast then come back to me for instructions.”

“Yes Ma’am. Thank you Ma’am.” Sasha couldn’t believe his luck. He was still going to have breakfast. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

As he scooted into the kitchen, a large, comfortable, middled-aged woman turned from the stove and frowned at him. “No running in my kitchen, young fella.”

“Yes Ma’am. Sorry Ma’am. Beth gave me this to give you and said I could have some breakfast.” Seeing her frown deepen, he added hastily, “… if it’s all right with you.”

The cook took the leather disk and put it in her pocket without looking at it. “You’re a bit late. The others have already eaten and are off about their jobs.” Her face softened when she saw Sasha’s face drop. “Jug of milk’s still on the table. Get a glass and help yourself. Then sit yourself down and I’ll rustle you up some hotcakes and honey. How does that sound?”

Sasha’s breath came out in a rush. “Oh. That would be wonderful, Ma’am.” Once he had poured himself a large glass of milk and slugged down half of it in one go, he asked, “Did you make the stew we had last night? It was marvellous, Ma’am.”

The cook looked at him quizzically. “It wasn’t stew, young fella. It was beef and red wine casserole, but I’m glad you liked it.”

“My name’s Sasha, Ma’am.” He beamed at her. “I am going to be working with Beth in the stables, you know.”

The cook smiled in amusement. “Yes, I did know. I hear you saved our Beth from the hooves of a plunging stallion yesterday.”

Sasha shrugged and looked down, a little embarrassed. “Yes Ma’am. I suppose I did.” He drank some more milk, which left him with a white moustache, “Mind you, it was our horse’s fault in the first place. Hoover never could abide cats. I wanted to teach him to, but Bryson wouldn’t let me near the horse once I’d taken off his harness and rubbed him down.”

As he chatted, Sasha peered around the kitchen until his eyes fell on a basket in the corner containing a large tabby cat.

“Another cat!” he exclaimed. “Seems like this place is crawling with them.” Immediately he hopped out of his chair and went to pat it. “Hello there. You’re a handsome one, aren’t you?” he said as he chucked it under the chin.

“Not crawling exactly, but we do have six of them. This one’s the grand old man. His name’s George. Now come back to the table. Your hotcakes are ready.”

“Oops sorry, Ma’am.”

“And stop calling me Ma’am. I’m not your mam. My name’s Hannah.”

A dull red darkened Sasha’s cheeks. With none of his previous jauntiness, he came back to the table and sat down quietly. When the cook served him his hotcakes, he forced a smile and said, “Thank you Hannah.”

Hannah could have kicked herself as she belatedly remembered where Sasha had come from. She put her arm around his little shoulders, stiff and resistant beneath her touch. “I’m sorry, lad. I didn’t mean to be unkind. I know you were only saying Ma’am as a title of respect. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Sasha didn’t know what to say, so he stayed silent. After a minute of munching, he said with a shade more warmth in his voice, “These hotcakes are very nice. I’ve never had them before.”

“Good. Now wash up your plate and glass when you’ve finished. Then you’d best be on your way.”

As he was about to open the door to leave, he was nearly bowled over by Rosie who shoved the door from the other side and swept into the kitchen. She took one look at Sasha, sniffed the air and scowled. “How come he gets a late breakfast?’

“Because I say so,” stated Hannah baldly, crossing her arms and omitting to mention the leather disk. “My kitchen. I decide.”

Rosie flounced. “Fine. But don’t expect any favours from me,” she said to him as she moved to the cupboard, reaching in to get out a tray.

Sasha looked startled. “No, Ma’am.”

“I am not a Ma’am, I’m a Miss.”

“Yes Miss.”

“You’re not Miss to Sasha,” said Hannah, thumping her spoon against the edge of a giant pot she was stirring on the stove. “Don’t you go getting airs above your station, young lady. If he calls me Hannah, he calls you Rosie and that’s the end of it.”

Rosie had placed the tray on the bench and was now filling it vehemently with a teapot and cups ready for morning tea.

“And,” added Hannah forcefully, “if you break any of that crockery because you’re cross, you’ll pay for it out of your wages.”

Rosie straightened, took a deep breath, not looking at neither of them and continued her work more carefully. Sasha saw her cheeks flame with chagrin and decided that he would be wise to avoid her until she had time to forget that cook had championed him against her. He suspected that might be a very long time.