Faster Than Lightning Page 3
The door led to the pinkest room Angus had ever seen. In the corner by an ice-pink dressing table was a—
‘Is that a pink computer?’
Gabby shrugged. ‘You can get any colour if you really want.’ She looked at Ling and Hannah. ‘Do you think I should have got fuchsia instead of musk?’
Ling took the question seriously but Hannah rolled her eyes. She walked over to the computer and switched it on. ‘There you are, Angus. It doesn’t bite.’
Angus walked carefully across the sea of pale, plush carpet and sat at the desk. The computer booted quickly and Hannah soon had a search engine up.
‘What’s your favourite site, Angus?’ Gabby asked.
Slowly, he typed in Champions of the Australian Turf. There was a millisecond pause and the home page flashed up, bearing a proud picture of Phar Lap.
‘Oh,’ said Gabby. ‘Horses.’ She sounded as interested as Angus had been in the swimming pool.
‘It’s a great site. You can look up any horse that ever won a major race on any Australian racetrack.’ Angus started clicking on icons. ‘If I see a horse that I reckon is going to be a winner—maybe I’ve seen them run a spectacular race—then I look up their bloodlines to see if I can trace them back to someone famous. There was a horse last season that turned out to be Leilani’s grandson!’ He looked up at the girls and grinned. Gabby looked blankly back, Hannah was staring out the window, but Ling smiled at him.
‘That horse we saw on the track today—he’ll be a winner one day. I reckon he’ll be descended from something great. The form guide listed his sire and dam.’ Angus frowned in concentration. ‘I think they were Tsunami and Stormy Girl.’ He tapped the names in. ‘I’ve never heard of either of them.’
‘Neither have I,’ said Hannah, but her sarcasm was lost on Angus.
Ling leaned over Angus’s shoulder, her black hair falling on the keyboard. Angus stopped typing, not wanting to touch her hair.
‘Sorry,’ said Ling and stood up again.
‘Well, I’m just going down to see how the barbecue’s going.’ Gabby stared at her cousin for a moment, then started walking out of the room. ‘Maybe Mum needs some help in the kitchen. You coming, Ling?’
‘I might just stay and have a look at this,’ Ling said.
Gabby paused. ‘Okay then. I’ll be back in a minute. Anyone want any snacks?’
‘Yeah, I’ll have something, Gab,’ said Hannah, but Gabby wasn’t looking at her. When Angus didn’t answer, Gabby turned suddenly and went out the door. Hannah shrugged. ‘Found anything yet?’
Angus shook his head. ‘Nothing under those names. I’ll try the horse’s grandsire. It was Hurricane.’ He started typing again.
The screen listed ten other horses with names that started with H, but none called Hurricane. Angus shook his head. ‘I could have sworn that horse would have come from a good bloodline.’
‘Maybe it isn’t Australian?’ Ling said.
‘It was; I saw its brand.’
‘You’ll have to ask around at the track,’ said Hannah, walking around Gabby’s room and looking at her bookcase. ‘She’s even got pink books in here!’
The door opened.
‘Come on, you guys,’ Gabby called. ‘The barbecue’s cooked. Mum says we have to come down now.’
‘Great, I’m starving,’ Hannah said, leaving the books and running for the door. Angus didn’t move, staring at the screen.
‘What else can you look up?’ Ling said, turning to him.
Angus sighed. ‘I can’t get onto the thoroughbred registration site because I’m not a member.’ He clicked back to the home page and started flicking through the photo archives.
‘Are you two coming down?’ Gabby said, tapping her foot.
‘In a minute,’ Angus replied. ‘I’ll just have a quick look through these.’ He turned to Gabby. ‘It’s just that I won’t get back on the web for a while.’
She looked at him. ‘Don’t be long then.’ She pushed the door wide open and stomped after Hannah.
‘Check out all these horses.’ Angus rolled his chair over so that Ling could see the screen better. ‘They’re all pretty famous.’ He scrolled through them.
Ling watched the array of horses. Some of the pictures were old, black and white. Some were recent, showing fabulous race finishes. Every horse was at the peak of its condition, with shining coat and lean, muscular body.
‘What was the name of the horse in the race?’ Ling asked.
‘What? Oh, Lightning Strikes. He’s all black, except for his face. And he has a thin white stripe on his nose.’
Ling didn’t appear to be listening. She took the mouse from Angus and scrolled back up the page. She stopped at a photo of a horse standing proudly next to a finish post. ‘This horse is black with a white nose.’
‘Lots of racehorses are black,’ Angus said, standing up—a move he suddenly regretted, as he was enjoying sitting here with this new girl, Ling. He sat down again and looked at the screen, partly to hide his reddening face. ‘This horse has two white socks.’
‘What?’ said Ling.
‘On his legs. See? White marks. Otherwise, he does look quite a bit like Lightning Strikes.’ Angus sat up suddenly. ‘What’s this horse’s name?’
Ling scrolled down a bit further. ‘Gale Force.’
‘Gale Force? I think I’ve heard of him. Can you get his pedigree up?’
Ling pulled a chair over and sat herself next to Angus. There was silence as she went back to the home page and found what Angus was looking for.
‘Gale Force died in 1936,’ he said. ‘His sire was Cyclone and his dam was Forceful. But look!’ Angus pointed to the screen.
‘What?’ Ling tried to guess what he was pointing at. ‘Is he descended from Phar Lap or something?’
‘No! Phar Lap was a gelding.’ Angus smiled at her. ‘But Gale Force is descended from Carbine.’
‘Is that good?’
‘Yeah! Well, I reckon it is. Carbine’s in New Zealand now.’
Ling looked amazed. ‘You mean, the horse is still alive?’
‘No, his head is in New Zealand. In a museum.’
Ling tried not to look horrified but Angus noticed. ‘Sorry if that sounds a bit weird. He was meant to be in an exhibition I saw once that showed parts of dead racehorses, but they wouldn’t move him because of quarantine. Maybe I saw part of Gale Force there.’
Ling looked even worse so Angus changed the subject. ‘Gale Force might look like Lightning Strikes, but there isn’t any relation between them.’
‘We’d better go down to the barbecue,’ Ling said, looking directly at him.
‘Okay.’ Angus turned his head and closed down the internet. He had never been the best on a computer and Ling sitting next to him was making him more nervous than ever. Shutting the computer down took longer than it should have. Finally, Ling said, ‘I’ll do it.’
Angus stood up and let her finish it off.
Someone called their names from downstairs.
‘Coming right now!’ Ling yelled back. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ she asked as she started for the door.
Angus walked behind her, glad to be getting out of the overpowering pink bedroom. He was halfway down the stairs when he suddenly stopped. ‘Wow,’ he said.
‘What’s wrong?’ Ling paused and looked back at him.
‘That horse we just saw on the website.’
‘Gale Force?’
‘He might not have looked like Lightning Strikes, but he sure looked like the photo on the phone.’
‘Maybe it was him,’ Ling said reasonably. ‘Maybe it was an old photo on a new phone.’
Angus stood still for a moment, then nodded. ‘You could be right.’
Ling smiled and started walking down the steps again.
Angus followed. An old photo? Maybe. And then again, maybe not.
Chapter 5
Bentley’s Stud Farm, Teasdale South: Monday
‘So, it hasn’t got dual-fu
el or turbo-injection or prime unleaded capacity?’ E.D. leaned forward from the back seat so his head was wedged between Mr MacDonald and Angus.
‘There isn’t even a limited slipped-diff in this car.’ Mr MacDonald shook his head sadly.
‘Whoa,’ said E.D., shaking his head as well, nearly making his sunglasses fall off. ‘That is bad.’
Angus glanced over at his father. He was sure that nothing E.D. had said would make any sense to his dad. Mr MacDonald was grinning to himself. Angus looked out the window and smiled as well. Slipped-diff? Yeah, right.
They’d been driving for about ten minutes before Franky McCann’s old farm came into view. White fences stretched along the paddocks as far as Angus could see. The farm certainly looked different from when the old man had owned it. Now it was a top-rate thoroughbred stud instead of a run-down sheep farm. Horses dotted the green grass, great gangs of them that lifted their heads up as Mr Mac’s ute turned into the long driveway that led to the homestead. Some of the younger ones cantered up to the fence.
‘Which lot are you looking at, Dad?’
‘They’ve got a few two year olds from different sires. I’ll have a look at them all. We might be able to get one if they’re reasonably priced.’
They pulled up in an area to the side of the house and got out of the car. Angus and E.D. walked behind Mr Mac: Angus trying to look around the corner to where the stables could just be seen and E.D. humming some sort of tune. He kept humming even when Mr Mac had rung the front doorbell and they were waiting for someone to come out. Angus elbowed his mate in the ribs to shut him up.
A man opened the door. ‘Colin MacDonald? I’m Tom Bentley.’
Mr Mac shook the man’s hand. ‘This is my son, Angus, and his friend, Emilio.’
‘That’d be E.D., Mr Mac’.
Tom Bentley looked at Angus. ‘You’re down at the track a bit, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ Angus said, slightly distracted. It had suddenly dawned on him that he was standing in front of the man who bred Lightning Strikes.
‘Well, come in.’ Tom stepped back to let them into the house.
Closed doors hid the rooms along the corridor and paintings of stallions hung on the newly painted walls. Franky wouldn’t know where to find his beer fridge now, thought Angus. It was hard to believe that anyone had ever lived there, let alone someone like Franky. Angus strained to see through the glasspanelled back door. Franky had kept a huge python in a cage just out the back. Angus remembered staring in rapture at the fat-bellied snake, but though Franky assured him that the python was alive and well in all the times that he visited with his dad, he never once saw it move.
‘You just never come at feeding time,’ Franky would chuckle. ‘Now did you bring me your pet mice?’ he’d add, grinning wickedly.
The door had a blind over it now. Only Superman could’ve seen through it.
The boys followed Mr Mac and Tom into a room at the end of the corridor.
‘Awesome,’ said E.D., staring at the back wall. It was completely covered with photographs of horses.
Angus didn’t say anything. He’d been to plenty of stud farms before, because his dad was always looking for a bargain horse—something out of the ordinary with racing potential that a normal trainer wouldn’t have noticed. Most of the places they visited had fantastic stables and paddocks and training yards but run-down office areas, where the caretaker often slept in the kitchen or the laundry to save space. This place was like nothing he’d ever seen. His dad wasn’t going to get a bargain here.
A huge desk with open books of pedigrees took up most of the space in the room. Mr Mac and the man started leafing through the books, leaving the boys to study the wall of photographs.
Angus looked carefully at each picture. Some of them were photos of race finishes—shining horses stretched out for the finish line. Some were pictures of stallions at stud, standing proudly on lush green grass. There were some of foals racing beside their mothers.
‘Oh yeah, check those out.’ E.D. was standing at the window so close to the glass it was fogging up.
‘What is it?’ Angus came over and pushed his friend back. He found himself looking out over a large set of stables open at both ends, with small yards on either side. Inside the stables, he could just see two rows of heads as horses looked over their gates to watch what was going on. ‘I’d like to go in there.’
‘Where?’
‘Take off your sunglasses, E.D. Where else? The stables.’
‘I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at those.’ E.D. pointed. Over to the right, lined up in a neat row next to a white ute, were two red tractors. A farm worker was washing one down. ‘What do they use them for?’
‘Plenty of stuff. They probably make their own hay. And then there are paddocks to clean up and logs to be cleared and bales to feed out and water to lug—’
‘Okay, I get it. Sorry I asked. I’ve never had a drive of a tractor before.’
‘You’ll have to get one of your own, then.’ Angus grinned.
‘Hey, good idea.’
Angus shook his head and went back to the photos. He’d almost studied them all when Mr MacDonald stepped away from the desk.
‘We’ll go and have a look at the horses, boys.’
‘Okay.’ Angus scanned the rest of the pictures and began to turn towards his dad. Then he spotted one photo by itself under all the others. A black horse, tall and muscular, standing in green pasture: a horse that looked very familiar. Angus frowned.
‘Come along,’ Tom said, placing himself between Angus and the photos.
‘I was just looking—’
‘Angus?’ Mr MacDonald stood impatiently by the door.
‘Come on, Angus.’ E.D. followed Mr MacDonald, pulling Angus by the back of his shirt.
They went out the front door and followed Mr Mac and Tom through the stables to the paddocks behind. Angus walked slowly, straining to take in every horse in its stall. Stopping occasionally to rub a velvety nose or to straighten a forelock, he looked around as the animals nudged him playfully or nibbled his sleeve, but Lightning Strikes wasn’t there—he’s probably stabled at his trainer’s, thought Angus.
By the time he got to the end of the building, his father and Tom had disappeared. Angus stopped outside the stables to see where they’d gone. The yard was quiet, with no sign of any workers. He guessed that this was the slack time of the morning, with all stalls cleaned and horses fed. In the distance, he caught sight of his dad leaning over the railing of a paddock and started towards it. A small movement to his left made him stop.
In a yard at the back of the stables, a young black foal stood in the sun, blinking at Angus. It was still leggy. Probably about three months old, Angus thought. He went over and extended his hand towards it. ‘Where’s your mum?’ he said softly to the little horse. ‘You’re too young to be by yourself.’ The foal caught at his fingers and sucked hard on them. Angus pulled them out of its mouth, surprised at how forcefully he had to pull. ‘Hey, I need those.’ He gave the foal a quick scratch on its head and walked over to his father.
‘Angus.’ His dad had his eyes on the young horse being led in front of them. ‘What do you think?’
The horse was perfectly groomed and looked magnificent, but Angus knew his father needed more than that. ‘Good shoulder, Dad. Bit lacking in the girth, don’t you think?’
Mr MacDonald looked down at his son. ‘You’ve got a good eye. Where’s E.D.?’
Angus looked behind him. He’d forgotten all about his friend. Where was he?
Somewhere near the house, a tractor started up. Angus went cold. ‘I think I know where he is, Dad. I’ll go and get him.’
Before his father could say anything, Angus was running back the way he came. He dodged the stables, not wanting to scare the horses, and went around the side. Sure enough, a tractor was putt-putting its way along the back of the house, E.D. at the wheel. The farm worker was standing in the yard, smiling at him.
‘Isn’t it a beauty? I convinced Paul here to let me have a go.’ E.D. was grinning fit to split his face.
Angus looked at the farm worker, who shrugged and said, ‘He told me he’d driven one before.’
‘He hasn’t, you know. He’s driven everything else with wheels, but not a tractor!’
‘Oh.’ Paul looked worried. ‘Time’s up!’ he yelled at E.D. ‘Cut the motor!’ He ran to the tractor and waved his arms.
E.D. looked puzzled. ‘It’s all right. I’m in control.’ He swung the wheel and the tractor turned heavily, taking a drum with it and sending it rolling noisily along the ground. Several young horses in their paddock took fright and galloped away, tails in the air.
‘What is going on here?’ Tom Bentley ran into the yard, sending a furious look at the farm worker. ‘Get him off!’
E.D. had a bit of trouble stopping. Paul ran beside him, shouting instructions, until E.D. killed the motor. But not before he’d swung too wide the other way and collected a chaff bag.
Tom gave Paul an earful while E.D. tried to apologise. Mr Mac shooed them towards the ute, saying that he’d come back on a day he didn’t have boys with him. He didn’t speak to E.D. or Angus as they drove out.
At the end of the driveway, Angus got out to shut the gate and stared at the homestead. The picture of the black horse was haunting him. What horse was it? Probably Lightning Strikes, but there was something not quite right about the picture compared with the horse he’d seen on the racetrack.
If only he’d had time to read the caption on the photograph.
Chapter 6
Tamworth Street, Teasdale: Monday
Hannah’s bedroom was not like Gabby’s. Hannah was glad of that. If I had to wake up to pink sheets, pink curtains or a pink CD player, I think I’d scream, she thought, looking with satisfaction at her posters of Japanese anime characters.
In one corner of the room was a desk, with a computer taking up most of its top. The phone she’d found at the racetrack rested next to it. Hannah picked it up, flipped it open and ran her fingers over the buttons below the screen. She flicked through to the text message and the picture of the horse. It was hard to see clearly on the small screen. I could probably print that picture, she thought. Maybe get a clearer image of the background. Then Angus might be able to work out where it was taken.