The Price of Horses

by Ian Taylor

  "She has the blood, Nano," Luke said. "Our rawnis know it and tell the raklies to work for her."

  "And Phil Yates is causing her trouble?"

  "He is. And she's afraid of him."

  "He's put her in a bad narki, has he?"

  "He has. It's his way." Luke thought he could not do better than quote from Cath. "He's like a worm in an apple. He eats folk's lives away from the inside."

  "I've heard about that mush. He's a traitor to his surname." Taiso spoke with fierce emphasis. "It was a surname we once respected."

  They talked a while longer until Taiso took out his mobile and made a call. They were joined shortly afterwards by two older men, both of whom Luke recognised as Boswells, who listened to Taiso's brief whispered words and then left. Gypsy telepathy in

  action, Luke thought with a smile.

  When the men had gone, Taiso placed more wood on the fire, and this seemed to be an unspoken signal that his private conversation with Luke had ended. His extended

  family, Roms, jukels and a few raklies, materialised from the darkness and gathered to one side of the fire. All eyes were turned to Taiso and Luke. No one spoke, the silence broken only by the crackling of the fire.

  Taiso placed his hand on Luke's shoulder. "Luke has come to speak with me tonight. He has told me a story that brought tears to my eyes. He's asking for our help. We won't disappoint him, will we?"

  Luke left Taiso alone with his people, removing himself from the fire and sitting on

  the earth at the edge of the circle of firelight. He watched the activity around other campfires, at the juvals and raklies coming and going, preparing the evening meal; at groups of Roms, talking and greeting each other; at the chained dogs, the jukels, mostly lurchers, either sleeping or, like himself, silently watching.

  After a while, the womenfolk became busy with cooking around Taiso's fire and the men disappeared into the trailer. Every few minutes young Roms, obviously summoned, tapped on the trailer's door and were quickly admitted. Luke noted that Sy was the first of them. Another half-hour passed. Then Sy and the other young Roms left the trailer. Five of them, including Sy, formed a small group on the far side of the fire. The other young men melted away into the bustling darkness of the encampment.

  Sy beckoned Luke to join them. Luke clasped hands with the other four young gypsy travellers, two of whom he knew well and the others by name and acquaintance. They formed a small group of their own, eating their evening meal together. It was made clear to Luke that they understood the situation facing him and were willing to help at his direction. Sy said his two sisters would join them in the morning.

  A group of musicians with squeezebox, fiddle and guitar materialised from the darkness and played exuberantly, attracting folk from other family sites. Amos Wood joined them with his violin. Some of the gypsies danced, including three of the young men in

  Luke's group. He was pleased they did, as a clandestine gathering of six men might excite curiosity and gossip.

  The musicians moved on to play at other campfires. The members of Luke's group bade him kushti rardi and he was left alone with Sy. They talked quietly for a while, Luke outlining his plans for bringing Phil Yates to account.

  "It's just ideas at the moment," Luke admitted. "We'll have to watch how things develop."

  "It's complicated," Sy said eventually. "I've never heard of a group of us doing anything like this. There's a lot we don't know."

  Luke laughed. "Gypsy travellers are good at handling the unexpected. It's what we do every day. We've got faster brains than most gorgios. We're at our best when we've got a challenge."

  "You truly think we can do this?"

  "Taiso does. And so do I. I think we've got no choice."

  Sy stood up. "We'll be on the drom at first light—unless you want to race your grye."

  "I'm not racing him here this year," Luke informed his friend. "I've other plans for him," he announced mysteriously. "I'll meet you at first light."

  Luke was left alone with his thoughts. Six young Roms taking on a group of ruthless men with guns and dogs. About equal odds, he reckoned.

  * * *

  Cath's day had gone badly. Her face was bruised and swollen. Her head ached, and she felt ill. Somehow she had helped her daughter with the animals, but after a frugal evening meal, she had given up the struggle and taken to her bed.

  Angie sat on a chair at the bedside. She had a black eye. "We can't give in to these bullies, Mam, can we? Maybe Luke will come back and help us."

  "He's got his own problems," Cath replied, her voice sounding weak and far away. "I don't see why he should feel beholden to us."

  He could have been arrested again for all she knew, or busy pursuing his mission to buy land for his people. Now he had gone, she didn't feel like a person with gypsy blood anymore. She didn't feel like anything, just the pain in her head and despair in her heart. They were alone and friendless, with hardly more value than roadkills picked over by the crows, their neighbours, until they vanished completely.

  She had an idea she should speak to her accountant to try to find a way of getting rid of Phil Yates. But she had no strength to pursue it.

  "Fancy a cuppa?" Angie suggested.

  "More'n anything." Cath grimaced. Smiling was painful.

  Angie looked apologetic. "I've been out of order. I'm really sorry."

  "That's okay."

  Angie took her mother's hand. "We're pals again?"

  "Of course. But we need to pull together now. No more arguments. No more of those moods."

  "I promise." Angie kissed her mother on the cheek. "I love you, Mam."

  "I love you too."

  "Cuppa time."

  Angie left the bedroom and went down to the kitchen. She found Charlie Gibb sitting at the table. Drawers had been pulled open in the sideboard and he was glancing through the papers he had removed with his one good eye.

  "Hell are you doing, Charlie?" she exclaimed.

  He waved a fistful of papers at her. "You can chuck these in the fire. Phil Yates

  don't want this place no more. You gotta sign with me now."

  "To hell with you, Charlie!" she shrieked. "I'm gonna kill you first!"

  She grabbed the shotgun, which was propped against the wall near the window. Charlie, with a cunning leer, stepped quickly through the back door. Angie rushed after him with the shotgun.

  She hurried across the stackyard, but she was way too slow. She heard Charlie's laughter, far ahead of her, fading into the night. She gave up and stood for a moment in the yard. The place was filled with jumping shadows cast by the moon as it raced through tufts

  of broken cloud. The wind rattled loose woodwork in the barn and whistled through gaps in the walls of buildings. Sheets of corrugated roofing grated against their fittings, and cables slapped against woodwork in the gusty wind. Slightly spooked, Angie returned to the house.

  Back in the kitchen she leaned the gun in its place by the wall and locked and bolted the door. She boiled the kettle for tea, filled the teapot, then put it on a tray with two mugs and a jug of milk. She went upstairs and pushed open Cath's bedroom door.

  "Here I am at last!"

  Silence.

  "Mam?"

  Cath was not there. The bed was empty, the bedroom in a mess, clothes and shoes tossed about. Angie, fearful and confused, put the tray down on the dressing table.

  "Mam? Where are you? What's going on?"

  The door slammed shut behind her. She turned in alarm and screamed as Brian grabbed her.

  Before she could gather her wits, a hood was thrust over her head and her wrists were bound. She heard a muttered conversation and realised the second voice belonged to the thug they called Steve. Then she was half dragged, half carried down the stairs and across the stackyard. She could smell the night air through the hood.

  She was bundled into the back of a vehicle and felt it lurch as it turned around in the uneven yard. Then she found her voice.

  "
No, no, no! This is wrong! We're not going anywhere! You're gonna let me out and leave us alone!"

  Another lurch then the vehicle levelled out and picked up speed.

  Us, she thought. Us…? But where on earth was her mother?

  Then she was screaming. "Mam! Mam! Where are you? What have you done with her, you fucking morons?"

  She heard two male voices laughing. And she knew she was heading towards the worst hours of her life.

  21

  Phil put on his dressing gown and picked up his mobile. Dot woke at the sound of his voice and watched him sleepily.

  Phil stared from the window as he talked. As he looked out over the front lawn he wondered if he was in the cross hairs of the sniper's rifle sights. But he knew it was unlikely. As Harry had said, the guy wanted money not dead bodies. "Morning, Clive…

  Fine morning it is too. How's my lovely boy?… Take good care of him… See you at the gallops." He rang off.

  "One day I'll wake up and there'll be a bloody horse at side o' me," Dot said grumpily.

  He scowled at her. "Been watching too many movies." A recurring thought struck him. He gave it a try. "Why don't you come up to the gallops? Fresh air'll do you good."

  "I went up last year," she replied dismissively.

  Phil turned to her in exasperation. "Dot, please—show a bit of interest."

  "What in? I didn't know I was gonna be wed to a goddamn horse!" She turned over and went back to sleep.

  He gave up and left the room.

  In the next bedroom Harry studied himself in the full-length mirror, flexing his muscles. Maureen woke and turned to face him.

  "Happy fortieth, birthday boy!"

  He stared at her reflection in the mirror. "I wish you meant it."

  She replied without hesitation. "Course I do. Why shouldn't I?"

  He turned to face her. "I could pop the pair o' you, easy as a bag o' crisps. Think about that."

  Her gaze hardened. "But you won't do that, will you, Harry? 'Cos then where'd you be?"

  Without a backward glance, Harry put on his dressing gown and walked from the

  room. How long could he go on like this? Another month? A week? A day?

  During the long hours he spent alone, managing his own and Phil's business interests, the more his thoughts were drawn back to the day of the trailer fire. Something had gone wrong for him—for them all—on that day. It was as if his actions had left him exposed to the slow cumulative drip of a terrible nemesis.

  It had become obvious in the fight with the young Irish guy, when he had felt the strength go out of his limbs until he was plodding around the ring like a directionless drunk. It had continued with his slow but steady loss of libido, which had led to…he couldn't bear to spell out the humiliating details. It had been followed by his increasing indifference to race winners, to the amassing of wealth, even to loss of interest in life itself.

  It was as though a curse had been placed on him that day, as though he had crossed an existential line and awoken the implacable spirit of justice or fate that lay in wait on the other side. He was not a superstitious man, but he felt increasingly that some old gypsy rawni had laid a malediction on him that was impossible to escape.

  There was nothing he could do. No atonement would be sufficient to lift the curse from his life. He had to watch himself become an utterly empty man.

  * * *

  Phil, Harry and Clive watched the horses exercising on the gallops. No one spoke. It seemed to Phil that the three of them leaning there on the car park fence had been somehow shut out from the everyday world that went on around them, the world of galloping horses, of sunlight breaking through cloud, of hope and expectation.

  Or was it just himself? What had happened to cut him off like this? Was this the prelude to a stroke or heart attack? It seemed that Harry and Clive standing each side of him were mere memories, light years away on the far side of an unbridgeable void.

  He cleared his throat, but it too sounded distant, as if he was hearing a sound made by a separate person. Then he found himself walking in the lane that led from the road to

  the car park. There was a figure coming towards him…a figure that he felt had been approaching him for a very long time. The distance between himself and the figure was decreasing steadily. He could make the figure out more clearly now. It seemed to be composed of flapping garments, although there was hardly any wind. It wore a hood, but he could see no face within it, only a swirling darkness that…

  He felt something pushing at his elbow and a noise that might have been a voice but was making an unintelligible babble.

  "Phil! Phil, come back to us!"

  He looked at Clive, who was staring at him in wide-eyed concern.

  "What?" he managed to ask. He noted that his voice sounded almost normal again.

  Clive was still staring. "You gave us a fright, old son."

  "It was a thirty-second cat nap." Harry was smiling, explaining. "He's done it a few times. Nothing to worry about."

  But Phil knew that it wasn't a cat nap. It was a vision of death coming towards him. He had seen it before in odd moments, but it was always in the distance. Now it was closer, narrowing the gap.

  * * *

  Dot and Maureen ate alone in the breakfast room. They had decided there was no point trailing through to the dining room, as they would have finished eating long before their husbands returned.

  Dot confronted her second slice of toast and marmalade, then decided that attempting to consume it was an unequal struggle. She poured herself coffee and laced it, as usual, with brandy.

  Maureen was still at her sausage-and-mushrooms stage and hoped that her companion would not start talking until she had eaten it while it was hot. She realised sadly that was not going to happen.

  "We should get away for a holiday," Dot announced. "Just the two of us. It'd teach these self-absorbed fellas a lesson. They might even realise we were no longer around.

  Whaddya think?"

  Maureen swallowed her last piece of sausage. She hated talking with her mouth full. It reminded her of her parents and seemed now to be unbearably uncouth. She didn't want to talk about a holiday either, unless it was permanent. "I don't know. Where were you thinking of going?"

  Dot replied without smiling. "Somewhere without horses."

  "Like an island in the Med?" Maureen suggested hopefully.

  "Don't matter where. Just as long as it's too small to get horses on."

  * * *

  The little group of gypsies had stopped on the edge of an abandoned airfield. It was a place they all knew well, as they had raced their horses on its grassy perimeter many times in years gone by. The place was deteriorating slowly, cracks in the tarmac widening and clumps of couch grass encroaching.

  The encampment was made up of Luke and Sy, plus May and Minnie, who were Sy's sisters, and the four young Roms from the meeting at Appleby Fair: Royston, Farley, Bennett and Kingsley. They sat around a small fire, finishing breakfast and drinking tea. Farley had a lurcher bitch lying quietly at his feet.

  A number of vehicles were parked nearby: Luke's Citroen Estate, Sy's big Toyota pickup, a Ford Transit van with its back doors wide open and a small Ford truck. A horse trailer partitioned for two large horses was hitched to the pickup, and a living van was hitched to the truck. A heap of large logs lay in the truck, and a motorcycle occupied the back of the Transit. Prince of Thieves, quietly grazing, was tethered on the grass at the edge of the tarmac.

  Luke got to his feet and threw his tea dregs on the fire. “We all ready? Let’s be

  jalling the drom.”

  He went to fetch Prince of Thieves, and Sy put the animal in the horse trailer. Royston and Farley got into the truck and Bennett into the Transit. The others joined Luke in the Citroen, the sisters sitting on the back seat. A few minutes later they had gone, leaving no sign they had ever been there, except for a small heap of smouldering ashes at the edge of the tarmac.

  * * *


  Luke pulled the Citroen into the cover of bushes well away from the sawmill and Charlie Gibbs' telescope. The four gypsies, keeping to the cover of field hedges, made their way to Cuckoo Nest for the last quarter-mile on foot. Something was amiss there, Luke

  had realised, as his repeated calls to Cath had not been returned.

  He left his three companions, Kingsley, May and Minnie, at the edge of the orchard and approached the farmhouse alone. The goats had not been put out to browse, and the noise from the pig unit suggested restive and hungry animals. The Land Rover was parked in the stackyard, but the back door of the house stood wide open.

  When he stepped silently into the kitchen, he found Charlie, in his floppy hat and eye patch, peering into the wall cupboards and muttering to himself. "Nice place. I'll like it here. Gonna be a good farmer."

  Charlie's soliloquy was interrupted as powerful hands grabbed him from behind and slammed him face down on the table. Luke pulled back Charlie's bleeding head and held his knife to the albino's throat.

  "Where's Cath and Angie?" Luke demanded. "What the hell you done with 'em, you goddamn psycho?"

  "Weren't me! Not me!" Charlie blurted out. "They took 'em. Them two fellas. Last night."

  "What two fellas?" Luke asked angrily, pulling the albino's head back until the man could hardly speak.

  "Them fellas… who work…for Phil Yates. Mean fellas. They had guns."

  Luke's heart sank. Had Phil Yates finally recognised Cath as the witness to the trailer fire? "Did they shoot 'em or what?" he asked sternly.

  "They tied 'em up…and put 'em…in a Range Rover. I was watching 'em…from the trees. Then they took 'em away."

  Luke threw Charlie out of the house. "Get the hell outta here! It's private land!"

  Charlie fell in an undignified sprawl on the yard stones, his hat sent rolling in the mud.