“Don’t worry,” said Aunt Japonica in a soothing voice. “You won’t have to ride a racehorse. Will she, Mr. Fetlock?”
I swallowed hard. It was all very well dressing up as a jockey, and I think I looked like one, but what if somebody asked me to get up on a horse? It’s not that I hadn’t ridden once or twice before; it’s just that there was every difference in the world between the small pony I had been on and the big racehorses I could see watching us from their stalls in Mr. Fetlock’s stables.
Aunt Japonica drew me aside.
“We’re going to leave you now,” she whispered. “Then, when the others come back from their afternoon ride, Mr. Fetlock will tell them that you’re a new jockey who’s come to work here.”
I nodded. That part of the plan seemed simple enough, but what would happen after that?
“But what do I have to do?” I asked my aunt, wondering whether it was too late to say that I had changed my mind and that I wanted to go home.
“Really, Harriet!” said Aunt Japonica impatiently. “If you want to be a detective, you’ll have to use your imagination. Just do what all the other jockeys do and see who’s up to no good. Then you let us know. We’ll be staying with Mr. Fetlock in his house over there.”
“Will I be staying there too?” I asked.
Mr. Fetlock had overheard my question, and he laughed.
“Oh, no,” he said. “I’m afraid all the jockeys have little rooms next to the horses. You can have the room next to Black Lightning’s stall. Very comfortable. A bit smelly, perhaps, but jockeys don’t mind!”
“So you see,” said Aunt Japonica, “it’s all worked out. Now off you go to your room and wait for the others to come back. They’ll be here in no time!”
For the first time since I had found all my aunts, I felt really miserable. As I sat on the edge of my bed in the little room next to Black Lightning’s stall, I could hear my companion next door, scraping at his trough, his hooves tapping on the stone floor. I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. If only I had told my aunts that I was too busy to help them, or if only I had refused to get into the jockey’s clothes, then I would not be sitting in this dark little room, waiting for something to happen.
There was a knock at the door. I looked up and saw a small person peering through my doorway.
“Are you Harry?” he said cheerfully. “Mr. Fetlock just told us there’s a new jockey.”
I stood up and walked over to the doorway, making sure that my hair was still tucked safely into my riding helmet.
“Er … yes,” I said hesitantly. I would have to be careful to remember my new name, or I could easily give myself away.
“I’m Ted,” said the jockey. “And that’s Fred over there, and Ed’s just getting a bucket of water.”
I looked in the direction he was pointing. Fred waved to me, and Ed nodded in my direction as he came around the corner with his bucket.
“Well,” said Ted, wiping at his brow with a rather dirty old cloth, “it’s time to groom the horses. Are you ready?”
“Of course,” I said, trying to make my voice sound as deep as I could.
“You’ll need these,” he said, tossing me a large brush and a strong metal comb. “You look after Black Lightning, and I’ll do the one next door.”
I stood outside Black Lightning’s stall. The large racehorse, shiny black and curious, stared out at me. His nostrils were flared, and his breath came in deep heaves, as if two big bellows were pumping away within his chest.
I edged the door open and began to go into the stall.
“Now don’t be frightened, Black Lightning,” I said, holding out my hand to him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
This was ridiculous, of course. I couldn’t possibly hurt Black Lightning, who was ten times my size; but he could hurt me—very easily. The horse watched me nervously, his large yellow eyes fixed on every movement I made. Slowly I lifted up the brush and pushed it toward him.
It was this movement that disturbed him. With a sudden whinnying noise, he rose up on his hind legs, his forelegs raised to strike at me. I fell back, trying to escape the heavy hooves that seemed to be falling all around me. Just behind me, set against one of the walls, was his trough, and I scrambled my way to safety under it. Black Lightning struck the ground a few more times, then stopped.
I was perfectly safe in my hiding place, as Black Lightning’s hooves would never be able to reach me there. But I was also trapped, and as long as the racehorse was in his stall, it would be impossible for me to get out. I could try to crawl, I supposed, but the horse would easily be able to crush me if I did that.
I lay very still, wondering what to do. If I called for help, I was sure that Ted, Fred, or Ed would hear me, but what would they think if they found me hiding under a trough? They would realize at once that I was not a real jockey, and that would be the end of that.
The minutes ticked past slowly. Black Lightning moved a little, but I felt that he was still watching me, and I did not dare attempt to escape. Then, quite suddenly, I heard footsteps outside. I froze. If only it were Mr. Fetlock, or, even better, if only it were one of my aunts!
Slowly the door of the stall was pushed open.
“Hello in there,” said a voice. “Anybody there?”
I said absolutely nothing. It sounded a bit like Ted’s voice, but then again it sounded a little different. Could it be Fred, or even Ed?
I now saw boots coming into the stall. From where I was hiding, that was all I could see. I looked at the boots. They were ordinary riding boots, badly scratched at the back, just above the heels.
“Keep calm, boy,” said the voice as the boots moved toward Black Lightning. “This isn’t going to hurt you.”
I wriggled as close as I could to the edge of the trough. Now I could see a little bit more—boots and a pair of legs mostly, but there was something else. There was a hand, and it was holding something that glinted. For a moment I could not make it out. Then I realized that it was a pot of something, with a brush sticking out of the top.
I held my breath as I watched what was happening. The person—whoever he was—had now run his hand down one of Black Lightning’s legs and lifted up the hoof, as you see people doing when they put on a new horseshoe or pick out a stone. Taking the brush out of the pot, he slapped paste of some sort on the hoof and put it down on the ground. Then he moved to the other side of the horse and did the same thing again. Within a few minutes he had put the paste on all of Black Lightning’s four hooves.
“That’ll fix you for a while,” he muttered, and then, with a chuckle, the boots walked out of the stall, and the door was quietly closed.
I lay there for a while, wondering what I had seen. Somebody had certainly done something unpleasant to Black Lightning, but what was it? The horse seemed to be standing quite still and was certainly making no noise, so it could not have been anything painful. I slid forward again and peered out.
When Black Lightning saw my face peeking out from under his trough, he gave a start. Once again, his nostrils flared and his eyes shone with anger. I drew back slightly, expecting him to rear up and strike out at me again, but—to my astonishment—all he did was shake. For some reason, it seemed as if he was stuck to the spot.
I moved again. This time I stuck a leg out. Black Lightning watched it and shook his head from side to side. But once again, although all his muscles seemed to ripple and quiver with effort, his feet stayed exactly where they were.
Suddenly I realized what had happened. I had thought that Black Lightning was stuck to the spot. Well, he was! Black Lightning could not lift his hooves because the paste that had been put on them by the mysterious person in the riding boots was a powerful glue!
I now knew that it was safe for me to crawl out, and I did this. Black Lightning watched every move I made, but he was powerless to do anything about it. I left the stall quickly and went back into my room. There I lay down on my uncomfortable bed and thought about what I had seen. Why would anybody stick Black Lightning’s hooves to the floor? And, even more importantly, who had done this peculiar thing? Was it Ted, Fred, or Ed? And how could I possibly find out?