The Black Stallion Mystery

by Walter Farley

  The odor of leg liniment was very strong and Alec had heard the horse start up in the straw, rustling it and coming over to the door. Alec touched an iron bolt and there was a welcome nicker on the other side. How he wished he had a light so he could see what he was doing! He ran his fingers over the bolt, searching for a switch. Then he went on in the darkness until he came to the stone wall again. After some groping he found the protruding switch and pulled it.

  A light went on in the stall but not in the corridor. It shone through high iron bars that rose from the top of the wooden door to the ceiling. Alec pulled himself up onto the bars and looked inside.

  Standing beneath a protected light bulb was a stallion who could be no other than Ziyadah! He was as still as finely polished marble, his eyes on the door. Then he heard the sharp intake of Alec’s breath and, turning swiftly, jumped to the side of his stall.

  Ziyadah’s eyes, widely set apart like the Black’s, were a light brown, almost as golden as his coat. They glowed, and when he rolled them crescents of white eyeball showed for an instant. He snorted at Alec, his nostrils flaring. There was no doubt he had been expecting someone else.

  He jumped again, angrily tossing his small head. His hoofs barely touched the straw as he leaped from one side of the stall to the other. At the moment it was not hard for Alec to believe that the horse the natives called “Firetail” could literally walk the sky.

  Finally the stallion swept over to the far corner of his big stall.

  “Whoever you’re for, you’re for him alone,” Alec said. “Is it Abd-al-Rahman?”

  Ziyadah pranced up and down and in the shadows his hoofs glowed, sending a thousand shafts of light about the stall. Alec gasped. So this was the answer to the constant rain of sparks that came from his flying hoofs! There was nothing ghostly about them. His hoofs were encased in a rubber sheath which was covered with sequins of many colors! They sparkled brilliantly in the play of light. They would also leave no tracks.

  Who was responsible for this sham?

  Alec looked down the darkened corridor. The fire still burned faintly. If he made no noise … if he was very, very careful, he might find out … providing the person he was seeking was there by the fire and asleep.

  He lowered himself to the stone floor and turned off the stall light. He took one step forward and then another. He had come too far to turn back, to go for Henry. Now that he was so close to finding the answer to his question nothing could have stopped him from going on.

  As he got closer to the fire he was able to see his way more clearly. There were several corridors running off from the big one and they were similar to those in the cellars above. Here, too, were the same vault-like rooms which could have been used as stables generations ago. There were also the massive pillars to support the ceiling and the borings for ventilation. The chimneys, too, supplied this subcellar with air. It was from the chimney down here that the smell of liniment on Ziyadah’s legs had reached him. He was certain of it. He was now in a room several stories directly below the small, bare room he had left hours ago.

  The fire popped, flinging out a glowing ember upon the stone floor. Feeble as it was it added to the room’s illumination. Alec strained his eyes searching the darkness. The room was empty. Softly he went to the fire and put on another log.

  The dry wood caught quickly, its flickering gleams brightening the place. There was a large low couch directly opposite the fireplace, complete with tanned skins for blankets and a large pillow. It was apparent that somebody slept here. But who?

  There were a few black carpets scattered about the worn stone floor, and while right now the room was cold and dark it had an atmosphere of having been lived in for many generations. The dark wood furniture was ancient and highly polished. There were several tall, straight-backed chairs and a huge desk and lamp. At the far end of the room was a small alcove containing a modern cooking range, a sink, and cabinets stocked with food. Just off the kitchenette was a bathroom and shower.

  Alec returned to the main room. Here, as elsewhere, the sculptured figures of horses stood out from the walls. They were worn smooth with age as was this room. Yet somebody had equipped it with modern appliances and was living here! Who?

  He went to the desk, running his hand over the smooth dark wood. No dust. This was the desk of a person who occupied it often.

  Alec tried the drawers. They were all locked but one. In it he found plain white paper and envelopes, pens and ink. He was about to close the drawer when he saw the snapshot that was caught in a back corner. Withdrawing it carefully so as not to tear it, he held it up and studied it. The picture showed Abu Ishak, Tabari’s father, holding the Black. It must have been taken shortly before his death, Alec decided. He studied the snapshot for a long time. Abu Ishak had been a very good and close friend in the short time they’d known each other. Without him there would have been no Ziyadah, no Black, no continuation at all of the breeding program begun so many years ago.

  Alec closed the desk drawer, his mind full of questions. If he had been able to open the other drawers would he have found charts and pedigrees in Abu Ishak’s handwriting? Who used this desk? Who had the key?

  The fire brightened, throwing its gleams farther into the room. It was a strange place and a lonely one. Suddenly Alec noticed that the far wall was draped with a large black curtain or tapestry. He froze momentarily. Was there still another room? Could someone be hiding there? He listened, and then, having heard nothing, stepped forward slowly, his bare feet making no noise on the black carpets. The covering, when he reached it, proved to be a curtain. Carefully Alec pulled it aside. A brilliant galaxy of blue, red and orange sparks burst in his face.

  He dropped to the stone floor, dodging the blow he thought would surely follow. There was no sound except for the crackling of the fire. The black curtain hung motionlessly. For several minutes Alec lay on the floor, waiting for almost anything to happen.

  The sparks had been no different from Ziyadah’s streaming trail. Were they, like the stallion’s sequined hoofs, only a trick? If so what had he to fear from them?

  Alec rose to his feet and drew aside the curtain again. The light from the fire penetrated the alcove that was there, playing upon a long tassel-like cape that was covered with large, glittering sequins. Alec removed it from its hook. Attached to it was a light harness that could be fastened to a horse’s tail, securing the long cape while at the same time allowing it to whip behind in the wind … Of course! Firetail! Ziyadah!

  Alec’s eyes swept the alcove and what he saw then was even more astounding than the sequined cape. There on a rack was a light racing saddle of golden leather! Hanging beside it was a racing bridle of the same lightness and color!

  For the first time Alec asked himself, “Could Ziyadah have been ridden last night—and all the other nights before? Had the golden stallion not run alone?” The answer came easily now. He had carried a rider to guide him on his way, to open and close the big gate! Of course, of course, of course!

  All the parts of the puzzle had fallen together, all save one … who was the rider? From a box on a small shelf Alec picked up a flashlight with a red lens. Here too was the eerie light that had seemed to float in the air, up and down the mountainsides, whenever the ghost horse had appeared. Put a rider on Ziyadah’s back carrying this flashlight, using it at will, and, like the sequins which reflected the moonlight, there was nothing ghostly about the whole thing at all. No more ghostly than the plastic hoof which lay beside the flashlight … a hoof which could make the kind of print Alec had seen before, very stubby and deep. It too was no more ghostly than the bottle of liniment on the same shelf.

  Alec was no longer afraid. Reasonable, sensible explanations to what he had seen in the night encouraged him to go on in his search for the person responsible for this whole fantastic plot. Who was the rider? Where was he hiding? Alec walked in the direction of Ziyadah’s stall until he came to the first corridor opening off the big one. He turned down it, s
hortly coming to a pair of tall double doors which he opened, carefully but without hesitation. He found himself looking into what seemed to be a great darkened pit or void. There was a wall switch on his right and it clicked faintly beneath his touch as the lights went on.

  The first thing Alec noticed were the plaques on the insides of the doors. The gold figures were of the boy and the rearing horse. Beyond was an enormous arena with a tanbark floor and row after row of jumps of different kinds and heights … jumps over brush and banks, stones and timber and water. It was a schooling arena with every kind of obstacle and barrier that could conceivably arise in front of a horse!

  The jumps were new but the arena wasn’t. It was about the size of a bull ring, but more oblong than circular. At one end was a long flight of stone steps leading to a door. As Alec walked across the tanbark he found himself thinking of the men and horses who must have occupied this impressive arena so many generations ago.

  He stopped at the foot of the staircase. Without a doubt it led to the main house and someone’s room. Prepared but tense, he mounted the stairs.

  At the top the knob turned noiselessly beneath his hand and he opened the door, at the same time turning off the lights in the arena from a switch near the door. The arena should be dark, just as he had found it. He stood in the blackness of the doorway and the seconds ticked by with nothing happening. Could he smell danger beyond? Or was it just his imagination playing tricks again?

  The passageway was airless and stuffy, unlike any of the others through which he had passed. Then he discovered that he had come to an enclosed circular staircase. He began climbing it in the dark, one step at a time. Round and round and higher and higher he climbed. Could this tower-like staircase be taking him through one of the great conical drums he had seen in the cellars? He kept climbing and circling, stopping occasionally to relieve his dizziness.

  At last he came to a wooden door. It had no knob but there was a small hole for his fingers. No noise now, not a careless move, not the faintest sound, Alec told himself. Softly, ever so softly, he slid the door open.

  It was pitch-dark within. The air was closer than ever. He sniffed, smelling fabrics even before his hands, reaching out, touched the soft materials.

  Curtains? No. But the heavy fabrics accounted for the stifling quality of the room. But was it a room? Might it not be … He thrust his hands forward again, still groping but more eager. He felt another piece of fabric, then another and another. They hung on wooden hangers, one after the other. Clothes! He was in a deep bedroom closet! Whose?

  Straining his ears, he listened. Not a sound. Soon he would find the closet door. But he must be more careful than ever. Who slept in the bedroom beyond?

  Suddenly he heard the soft falling back of a door latch. He ducked down with the sound, slipping into a mass of soft cashmere which must have been an overcoat. He pulled it around him and held his breath. The very person he sought was entering the closet!

  Alec heard the quick footfalls as the door opened. From his position down on the floor he could see slim legs encased in tight leather the color of gold. Before the door closed he made out the faint glow of a dying fire in the room beyond.

  The clothes a few feet from him moved slightly as if a ghost had glided past. Alec raised his eyes, straining them in an attempt to pierce the blackness but he saw nothing. There was the sound of quick steps, and then the opening and closing of the door to the circular staircase.

  Alec rose to his feet, took a step forward as if to follow, then turned back. He went to the door opening into the bedroom and looked inside. The firelight was feeble but it showed him plainly where he was.

  The big closet occupied the corner of the bedroom. The floor in front of it was covered with the tanned skin of a mountain lion. The door to the adjoining bedroom was closed and on the bureau was Abd-al-Rahman’s large brass key ring.

  Alec made up his mind what to do. He slipped out of the closet and past the closed door leading to Tabari’s bedroom. His next move would be to get Henry and tell him what he had found. Together they’d face Abd-al-Rahman! But not until it got light and there were others around to hear. Alec glanced back at the closet. He would have liked to know what the Sheikh was up to but he did not feel equal to meeting Abd-al-Rahman in the darkness below.

  The fire popped and Alec jumped. He chided himself for his uneasiness. All he had to do now was to get to the hall door. Only Homsi, who slept in the alcove near the door, presented any problem.

  The fire popped again but this time Alec did not jump. He was too absorbed in something else. For there, sleeping heavily on the bed, was Abd-al-Rahman!

  For many minutes Alec stood absolutely still, his eyes on the bed without seeing it, his face a frozen mask. Finally he turned toward the closet.

  Could it be? he asked himself. Could it?

  The fixed stare left his eyes. Swiftly he ran to the closet, and then started down the circular staircase. From below came the sound of quick footsteps dying away.

  Small, bare bulbs lit the way for him. Alec made no attempt to conceal the sound of his own running feet. No longer was there any reason for quiet and secrecy. Now he was certain whom he was chasing. The final piece of the jigsaw puzzle had fallen into place.

  BLACK DEATH

  21

  The arena was empty when Alec reached it. He ran across the tanbark, grateful for the fresher air. Reaching the tall double doors he pulled them open and didn’t bother closing them behind him. The corridor was lighted and he ran the length of it, coming to a stop only when he had to decide whether to turn to Ziyadah’s stall or the chamber. He chose the latter and went forward slowly. The room was as he had left it. There was nobody here unless … Staying close to the wall, Alec slid toward the black-curtained alcove and parted the drapery, alert for any blow that might fall. The tail harness with its long cape of glittering sequins hung on the same peg as before. The racing bridle and saddle were there. So were the red flashlight and the plastic hoof, even the bottle of liniment.

  There was only one other place to go. He left the chamber at a run and headed for Ziyadah’s stall. The door was closed but the light was on. Alec pulled himself up onto the bars and looked inside. There was no golden stallion standing beneath the overhead light. Ziyadah was off!

  Alec listened for the sound of hoofs as he ran along the passageway but he heard nothing. Arriving at the lift, he found it waiting for him. For the first time he hesitated. It was too inviting. His having left the lift below had, of course, given his presence away if nothing else had. The lift had taken Ziyadah to the surface and then been sent down again for him. Why? Perhaps he was more the hunted than the hunter!

  Alec pulled the wall switch and stepped onto the straw-covered floor of the lift. The faint hum began and the lift rose slowly. Alec put a hand in his pants’ pocket for the key to the Black’s stall. He had no doubt that Ziyadah and his rider would be waiting for them to follow. This was part of the deadly game being played. He felt confident of the outcome of such a race if it took place on the plain. He believed the Black was more than a match for his sire, while he himself could take care of Ziyadah’s rider.

  Reaching the surface, he ran over to the barn doors. They were wide open, and beyond them, in the rain and darkness, he could see Ziyadah’s sequin-sheathed hoofs. The stallion was no more than a hundred yards from the barn—and there was a rider on his back.

  They were waiting just as he had figured.

  The wind blew and the rain was cold. Alec’s teeth chattered as he opened the door to the Black’s stall. “You’re poles apart in size,” he told his horse, “but you have a race on your hands. Catch him quick. If he gets to the mountains, he’s won, because we won’t go on.”

  The Black wasn’t listening. He had seen Ziyadah and his eyes were rolling. His hoofs beat an uneasy cadence in the straw. He whistled and Ziyadah answered.

  “He knows you’re going after him,” Alec said, taking the Black outside. The wind hummed abo
ut his ears as he pulled himself up on the stallion’s broad back. Pounding hoofs shattered the stillness. Ziyadah was away and running!

  The Black bolted after him and Alec sat down to ride as he never had ridden before. He noted Ziyadah’s smooth, wavy motion and couldn’t help thinking of him again as a ghost horse. The rain dripped from his face onto the Black’s sodden mane. Ruefully the thought occurred to him that there couldn’t have been a worse time for so fantastic a race. Both horses were in a dead run. The barns dropped quickly behind them and Ziyadah soared over his first jump, a stone fence.

  The Black followed, with Alec letting his horse decide for himself when to take off. Arrogantly the Black sprang into the air, folding his hocks under his quarters while he stretched out his forelegs ready for landing. He came down with no break in stride and set out for Ziyadah over the cold, wind-swept fields.

  From the drenched ground came a steady plop as the hard running hoofs came down on it. A mist swirled upward, almost concealing the stallions’ bodies. Alec watched Ziyadah sweep through it and became uneasy. They were not overtaking the flying horse. He was tackling the stone walls as if they weren’t even there! It called for both courage and speed to keep up with him.

  The Black would have preferred firm footing to the soft going but he answered Ziyadah’s challenge. He jumped another stone fence right on Ziyadah’s heels but lost ground to him when the golden stallion swerved abruptly. Alec, swinging after him in a lightning-swift turn, could hardly see Ziyadah in the ground mist, for he had gained many lengths.

  More from habit than need Alec guided his horse. With tremendous strides the Black closed ground. Another stone fence rose before them and with a magnificent leap the Black cleared it. He had no sooner landed than he rose again. This time it was a double fence and he just made it, his hind hoofs clicking against the stone.