The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater [40]
It comes out like a challenge, but Malvern seems unflustered. He just nods a little. “Yes. Yes, I think so. Now tell me this: What are you and your brothers willing to do to save this house?”
There was a problem with dogfighting on the island a few years back. Bored, drunk fishermen raised island dogs to tear each other’s faces off. I feel like one of those dogs now. Malvern has thrown me into the pit and is now peering over the side to see what I will do. He wants to see if I will retreat or if there’s fight in me.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me give up. My future crystallizes suddenly.
“Give me three weeks,” I say.
Malvern doesn’t dance around the point. “After the races.”
I wonder if he’s thinking that it’s crazy that a girl like me is riding in the races and that there’s no point waiting until the end of the month because there will be no money because I will be dead last or just plain dead.
Keep your pony off this beach.
I just nod.
“You don’t stand a chance,” Malvern says, but without malice. “On that pony. Why her?”
Horse, I think. “The capaill uisce killed my parents. I’m not going to dishonor them by riding one of the water horses.”
Malvern doesn’t smile, but his eyebrows lighten like he’s considering it. “That’s noble. It’s not because no one would give you a chance on one of the capaill?”
“I had a chance to be a fifth,” I shoot back. “I chose not to.”
Malvern considers all this. “There’s only real money if you win.”
“I know,” I say.
“And you really expect me to put this off on the idea that you and that island pony will cross that line before everyone else?”
I look at his silly teacup with his silly tea in it. Wasn’t regular tea interesting enough? Who drank their tea with butter and salt? Nobody but bored old men who ran their islands like a chess game. I say, “I think you’re interested to see what will happen. And you’ve already waited twelve months.”
Malvern pushes his chair back and stands up. From his pocket, he takes out a piece of paper, unfolds it, and lays it on the table. It’s an official document. I recognize his signature at the bottom. My father’s, too. He says, “I’m not a generous person, Kate Connolly.”
I don’t answer. We regard each other.
He pushes the document across the table with two fingers. “Show that to your older brother. I’ll be back to collect it when you’re dead.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SEAN
They’re all afraid.
I sit in a boat, half-turned, watching my charge. The boat has the words Black as the Sea painted in white on its black hull. Behind it swims Fundamental, a bay colt full of promise and promises, a sport-horse colt poised to sell for hundreds on the mainland. One of the colts I’m sure Malvern means to tempt George Holly with. Fundamental’s coat is turned dark by the water. He snorts out water and breath every few strokes, but shows no sign of tiring. Boat and horse make their slow way across the sheltered cove. The cliffs here are slanted, like a child shoved them over, and they block most of the wind and all of the waves. The sound of the boat’s motor slaps back at me.
Normally, I would find this ordinary training a bitter drink during race month. But after the strange morning, I’m relieved to have a few moments to sit and let my mind work over events. I still cannot imagine what that girl was thinking.
I glance up to the mouth of the cove. One of the new men, Daly, stands watch. With the clatter of the boat’s motor and the ripple of Fundamental’s breaths, I’m unable to keep an eye out for hunting capaill uisce. This cove is easy to protect, however; its narrow mouth means that one can keep watch while the other trains. Swimming is such a low-impact way to build strength that it’s worth the risk. Daly has a shotgun, which won’t do much, but he also has a set of lungs, which should give me enough time to get Fundamental out of the water.
Daly is from the mainland, and he’s young and nervous. I prefer nervous to cocky. He needs to be my eyes,