The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater [59]
Finn flicks on the headlights as Jonathan keeps chattering at him. Night’s coming fast under the thin gauze of clouds. Something smells of burning. I hope it’s not the Morris.
I say, “It’s true.”
He doesn’t say anything, just makes this sort of low, tuneless whistle to indicate surprise or awe, and then leans back in his seat. Meanwhile, Jonathan Carroll keeps up a running commentary with himself. He only needs to see Finn’s head incline slightly to encourage him to start up again. I’m not sure Finn’s even nodding his head; I think it’s just the pits in the road. As we come along the high part of the road, though, even Jonathan falls silent. From here, you can see the ocean for just a few moments. It’s gray and vast under an equally vast sky and even from this distance, I can see how the waves tear each other apart. We get plenty of rain, and storms often enough, but our weather is not given to extremes. Still, something about the white churning against the rocks is not comforting.
“Ho!” Jonathan says again. “Look! Look there! A head!”
And despite ourselves, we all look. The water shifts, black then gray-blue then black again, the froth a white ruffled collar, and then, out of the froth, we all see it. A dark horse’s head surges above the water, jaw wide open. And then, before the sea swallows the first, we see a chestnut mane break the surface, along with a brief glimpse of a brown spine curving in the water alongside it. Then they’re all gone beneath the water and I have goose bumps creeping up my arms.
“Good night to be on land,” Brian Carroll says. Not lightly, like his brother would have said it. I think of the smell of fish he brought with him and think of the plain way that he asked me if I was riding. Riding in the races might not seem so impossibly brave to someone who fishes the November sea for a living.
“If I were catching one, I’d catch that chestnut,” Jonathan says. “The red ones always win.”
Brian says, “You mean Sean Kendrick always wins.”
Jonathan shuffles in his seat. “I reckon chestnuts look faster.”
“I reckon,” Brian says, “Sean Kendrick makes them look that way. Have you met him, Kate?”
Finn looks amused at the “Kate,” probably because when Brian says it, it sounds like I’m more responsible than I really am.
“Yes,” I mutter. I’ve seen him twice since we raced, but nothing about him suggested that he wanted to speak to me. In fact, sort of the opposite. He’s not the kind to say “Ho!” either.
“Queer sort,” Jonathan says.
“Only a water horse knows the capaill uisce better than him.” Brian Carroll’s voice is admiring. “You could make worse friends than him, Kate, right now. Though I ’spect you know that already.”
All I know is that Sean Kendrick rode that bay mare and waited until he was nearly over the cliff edge before saving himself, and that the dead speak more than he does.
“I’d bet on you,” Jonathan says generously, “if I wasn’t betting on him.”
“Jonathan.” This is Brian, warningly. As if I care who his dim brother is betting on.
“Or Ian Privett,” Jonathan concedes. “He’s got that wicked fast gray from last year.” He slaps a Scorpio drumbeat on the back of Finn’s seat and then leans forward to speak to me. “Betting’s crazy on you down at the pub. On whether you’ll show up tonight for the parade. Gerry Old says that you haven’t been on the beach for days and you’ve given up. Whatshisface says that you’re dead, but obviously that’s not true. So what do you think, Kate, are you a good bet?”
Brian sighs noisily.
I say, “If it was my horse against your mouth, not a chance.”
Brian and Finn laugh. Jonathan tells me I’m made of piss. I think it’s a compliment.
I look out the window. The sky’s turning black quickly under the stripes of clouds. There’s a red glow in the distance where Skarmouth crouches, but the rest of the island is black and mysterious. In the dark, there’s no difference between the sea and land. I remember riding Dove on the cliff top this morning. The way the air bit my cheeks and the smell of the sea set my heart pounding. I know I should be terrified of