Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [60]
‘I found a stable, didn’t I,’ Matty said, still aggrieved. ‘There’s ’orses!’
‘I can’t ride!’
Behind them, three men wearing black masks and black clothes erupted from an open set of glazed doors that probably led into a drawing room. They scattered in different directions. One of them saw Sherlock and Matty, and let out a yell.
Matty scowled at Sherlock. ‘Well, you ain’t got much time to learn, mate!’ he said.
Matty led the way round the corner of the house. A large barn lay ahead of them. The two boys raced across the open ground, hearing the rapid thump thump thump of running footsteps from behind them. They got to the barn and sprinted in through the open doors.
Inside, the barn was in shadow, and Sherlock’s eyes took a moment to adjust. Matty, who had been there before, immediately moved across to where two horses had been tied to wooden pillars outside their stalls. Both were already saddled.
‘Get on,’ Matty said. ‘Use the side of the stalls as a step.’
The pounding footsteps outside were getting closer. As Matty grabbed the saddle of the smaller horse, placed his foot in a stirrup and hoisted himself up, Sherlock half-climbed up the wooden side of the stalls with his right foot, slipped his left foot into the stirrup and tried to copy Matty’s smooth action on the other horse, a large chestnut mare. He ended up sitting in the saddle more through luck than judgement. The horse looked back at him calmly. It seemed unfazed by having a stranger suddenly jumping on its back.
‘Let’s go!’ Matty called. He’d taken the reins in one hand and was untying his horse with the other. Sherlock grabbed at his own reins and tried to remember what Virginia had told him about riding horses. Guide with your knees, not the reins. Use the reins for slowing the horse down.
Without glancing backwards, Matty urged his horse out of the barn doors. He seemed to assume that Sherlock would just follow. Sherlock shook loose the rope that kept his own horse from wandering off. A sudden wave of panic swept over him as he realized that Virginia had told him how to steer and how to stop, but not how to start. Tentatively, he pressed both knees into the horse’s sides. Obediently, the horse began to walk. Sherlock leaned forward in the saddle to compensate for the swaying movement. He pressed harder with his knees and gave the reins an experimental shake. The horse broke into a trot, then a canter. Why did people make out that riding was so hard? It was just a series of signals and actions!
The scene outside burst upon Sherlock in a blaze of colour and action as they left the barn. Matty was racing off, with a group of masked servants chasing him on foot and falling behind. Two masked men were standing in front of Sherlock, trying to block his path. One of them was waving a revolver. He fired in Sherlock’s direction, and Sherlock felt something hot brush past his hair. He urged his horse into a gallop. The horse ploughed straight through the middle of the two men, knocking them to the ground. Using his knees, he pushed his horse into speeding up. It seemed as if they were flying across the ground, catching up with Matty.
Within moments they were approaching the boundary wall of the estate. It must have been ten feet high. The two boys guided their horses into a curve, towards the main gates. The two horses pounded across the ground, the sound of their hoofs changing as they went from soft earth to the stones of the drive. Sherlock’s heart sank as he saw that the main gates of the estate were being pushed closed. Two masked servants with shotguns were standing in front of them, aiming at the horses. At the same moment, Sherlock and Matty hauled back on their reins. With a spray of stones, the horses skidded to a halt.
One of the men fired his shotgun. The blast echoed across the grounds. Sherlock glimpsed the buckshot flying past them in an expanding cloud,