The Price of Horses

by Ian Taylor

  There was Phil. The man who knew the truth. But how could he wring it from him without revealing his desperation? If Phil sensed a weak spot, Luke knew the cunning devil would use it against him. He would realise he had one ace left. And Phil Yates was a gambling man.

  * * *

  While Clive drove despairingly around the district in the dark looking for a glimpse of Phil's stolen horse, the animal's owner had arrived at the stables with the forlorn notion that Good Times might escape from his captors and come back of his own accord.

  Driven by his inherent paranoia—which was exacerbated by what he believed were his recent supernatural experiences—Phil's first action was to check the loose boxes, although reason told him it was a pointless exercise. Only one loose box was empty, the name GOOD TIMES printed above the door. Phil switched on the light and entered the loose box. Two T'ang horse figurines stared up at him from the floor.

  "Aaaaah—no!" he cried in disbelief. As he burst from the loose box, beset by a growing certainty that his life was now subject to the caprice of magicians, he heard a tattoo of hooves from the darkness at the far end of the yard. He hurried from the stables and ran eagerly towards them.

  Luke appeared in a cat mask, seated bareback on Prince of Thieves. Sy, also masked, led Good Times on a rope.

  "Get the hell away from my horse!" Phil cried in shock and outrage.

  He tried to approach Good Times, but Prince of Thieves reared up and lunged at him. He knew immediately, from long experience, that the two men were gypsies. Their clothing, the way they moved, their jet-black hair above the masks, all spoke of the type of people he had met at horse fairs in the days when his father was alive.

  "Damn you, you filthy gyppo!" Phil roared. "Give me my horse!"

  Luke removed his mask. "The name's Luke Smith, Boswell clan."

  Phil stared at Luke in fear and dismay. He took out his mobile. "I'm getting the police!"

  Prince of Thieves lunged at Phil again and he dropped the phone. The stallion

  crushed it with a hoof.

  Luke smiled. "All alone now, ey? Just me and you." He took Phil's revolver from his

  pocket and held up a crushed bullet in his other hand. "Shot any jukels lately? Or maybe some old mumper?"

  Phil gathered his wits quickly, his survival instinct working flat out. "I don't know what you think I've done, but I've got nothing to do with dogs or tramps. You're accusing the wrong man."

  Luke stared at him in cold fury. Cath and Angie had been taken prisoner by this cocky little fellow. Somehow he had to outsmart him.

  "I've got witnesses. Too afraid of you back then 'cos they were young. But they'll testify now. You'll spend the rest of your short life in jail. Just think of the folk you'll meet in there who you've cheated. D'you think you'll last more'n a month?"

  Phil was wrong-footed. Was this a bluff? How could he know? How many witnesses were there to that accursed fire?

  Luke pointed the revolver at Phil. "Mebbe I'll get justice now. It'll save you having to face all the poor sods still inside who've got time 'cos o' you."

  Phil backed away in terror. "Please…" he pleaded. "You've got the wrong man."

  Luke kept up the pressure. "This is the gospel according to Luke: You're going down—and I've got the evidence!"

  Phil stared at him with hatred and mounting dread. He had always feared he would lose the little empire he had built—and now, in the mocking shape of this gypsy traveller, that moment had arrived. But he wasn't called Lucky for nothing. He was a risk taker who

  only needed half a chance to turn the tables on his rivals. "Why don't we sort this out the old-fashioned way?" he suggested.

  Luke sensed a trick was coming. He decided to let the fellow play his hand.

  "Are you a sporting man, Luke Smith?"

  "What've you got in mind?"

  "D'you think your horse is fast? I'll wager mine's faster. Let's put 'em to the test. Winner takes all."

  Luke felt his combative instinct rising to the challenge, though his reason fought against it. Sy had raised his mask and was shaking his head in warning.

  "A ride to the death, d'you mean?" Luke asked.

  Phil smiled as guilelessly as he could. "Why not?

  Luke glanced at Sy, who had a look that told his friend to back off. But he had the best horse he had ever seen, and it was a master of rough country. All his opponent's mount had done was gallop around a racetrack. It was no contest. He also had Phil Yates' gun and would use it if he had to.

  "I accept."

  Sy reluctantly released Good Times. Phil seized the horse's rope.

  "Have you really got the balls, Phil Yates?" Luke goaded. "Or are you just a nasty little bully? My grye will ride yours legless."

  Phil sprang bareback on to Good Times. "I can outride a filthy gyppo any day! And I have the best horse in the whole of England!"

  "You're gonna have to prove it!" Luke replied. He gave Prince of Thieves his head and raced from the yard.

  Phil, on Good Times, followed.

  * * *

  The moon, sailing high in a clear sky, cast an eerie glow over woodland, fields and lanes. Luke rode hard on Prince of Thieves. Phil pursued him. They rode across hillside pastures, through woods and wild grassy valleys, down empty lanes, through sleepy farmyards, the distance increasing until they had ridden more than a mile.

  A few times Phil drew level with Prince of Thieves, trying to force Luke into danger,

  into briar-filled tangles of woodland undergrowth, barbed-wire fences at the borders of fields, crumbling quarry edges that led to sickening drops. Each time Luke changed

  direction and Prince of Thieves drew ahead.

  They arrived at a river, Prince of Thieves several lengths clear of Good Times. Luke descended at a gallop towards a low point in the bank, riding full tilt into the water. Phil followed, Good Times blowing hard and tiring.

  Prince of Thieves swam strongly, easily pulling ahead of Good Times. Half way across the river a Ming ch'i, the gigantic spirit-form of a T'ang horse, reared from the water. Good Times panicked at the sight and thrashed around, threatening to dislodge his rider.

  "Steady, boy! Whoa! Steady!" Phil cried. Had he created this? Was this vision a product of his guilt? Or were the T'ang horses getting their own revenge?

  Good Times was thoroughly spooked. Phil lost his grip on the horse. The spirit form vanished.

  Luke, who had not seen the Ming ch'i, turned Prince of Thieves and trod water. Phil floundered in the river.

  "Help me! Help me!" he cried in desperation.

  Luke tried to reach him. Phil grabbed his outstretched arm but contrived to pull him from Prince of Thieves. They fought in the water, all the while drifting downstream in the quickening current.

  The horses clambered to safety on the far bank. Their riders were briefly visible, heading downstream towards the thundering water of a weir.

  The river at this point was squeezed into a narrow channel, forming a deep torrent that poured over the weir's edge and fell twenty feet into a churning cauldron of water and foam. Luke and Phil appeared briefly at the curling edge, then they vanished into the seething chaos below.

  They emerged from the raging water a hundred yards downstream. Phil, drowning,

  began to sink. Luke grabbed him, dragged him to the bank and hauled him out. They lay on the bank regaining their breath. The horses appeared, walking calmly towards them.

  Luke got to his feet and stood over Phil. "D'you wanna go on? I had you beat fair and square. But we can race till your grye's heart gives out if you want."

  Phil seemed reluctant to continue. He looked up at his rival. "Why did you save me?"

  "I want justice," Luke replied sternly. "I'd rather have you alive in a law court than dead out here."

  Phil sat up and eyed Prince of Thieves. "It's one helluva horse you've got there."

  Luke smiled. "I know. But he ain't for sale. D'you wanna go on or not?" he asked again.

  "I
can't," Phil admitted. "Good Times was blowing back there. He's a bit winded. You've got the better animal for rough ground."

  "So you admit defeat?

  Phil nodded. He seemed resigned. "I'm sorry for what I did back then. You'd better shoot me now and take my horse. I owe you that at least."

  Luke was surprised by the man's confession. He sounded sincere, but was it just some new trick?

  He seized the moment. "Where did you put Cath and Angie Scaife?"

  "I can show you," Phil replied with a cunning smile. "But you'll have to let me live a while longer if you want me to do that. You won't find 'em otherwise. You'll have to leave 'em to die."

  They stared at each other, Luke furious, Phil seemingly amused. Damn the man, Luke thought, he knows I can't find them. What kind of dance is he going to lead me now?

  Phil laughed quietly. Who's the dinilo here, he thought. I've got my life back and I intend to use it!

  Before either man could make a move, the southern horizon was illuminated by a vivid orange-red glow. Phil lurched to his feet.

  "It's my house!" he cried. "My beautiful house!"

  Exhausted as he was, he flung himself on to Good Times and plunged back into the river. Luke charged after him on Prince of Thieves.

  27

  They arrived together in the gateway of Birch Hall, Good Times blowing badly and Luke easing up on Prince of Thieves to stay with him. They rode past Harry's Range Rover, the burning house ahead of them. It seemed to Luke that Good Times was hardly moving, while Prince of Thieves was as strong as ever. But Phil had forgotten about their race. His entire attention was fixed on his burning house.

  The front of the house was an inferno, the blaze fanned by the insistent wind. Phil leaped from Good Times as did Luke from Prince of Thieves. Both horses panicked and shied away from the blaze.

  "NO! NOOOOO!!" Phil yelled at the sight of the destruction. He sprinted up the main steps, but Luke felled him in a flying tackle. Possessed by what seemed like a madman's strength Phil struggled free and hurtled headlong into the burning house. In a second he was swallowed by the conflagration.

  Luke stared after him helplessly. Before he could make a move he heard Kingsley's voice behind him. Turning, he saw Royston roping the horses and Bennett approaching down the drive in the Citroen, with Sy following with pickup and horse trailer.

  "There's a gorgio robbing Phil Yates' safe," Kingsley announced. "Best sort him."

  "You didn't find the juval and rakli?" Luke asked, without any remaining hope.

  Kingsley shook his head. "We searched the house, but there were no secret rooms. And we found a big wine cellar. But we've still got to look at the garages and sheds, there's a helluva lot of 'em."

  "You and Bennett get searching," Luke decided. "We'll deal with the gorgio."

  The fire had spread through the entire front half of the house and had begun to consume the rooms to the rear of the building on the west side, fanned by the gusting wind. So far the rooms at the back on the east side, including Phil's office, were untouched, although smoke had begun to billow through them.

  Luke entered the house by the courtyard door and found the door to the office open. A figure in army camouflage was in the process of examining the door of the wall safe. The

  figure turned to face him.

  "Tam!" Luke exclaimed in astonishment.

  "Not Tam," Tam's double replied. "I'm fifteen minutes older than my twin bro'—and

  I'm here to make sure justice is done for him."

  Luke recovered himself quickly. "That makes two of us."

  Malcolm studied the wild looking gypsy that stood before him. "So ye's the thief that took the T'ang horses?"

  Luke feigned bewilderment. "What kind o' horses?"

  "I'm not going to argue," Malcolm continued. "By rights I should plug ye where ye stand. I'm only interested in justice for my bro'. Ye's put yersel in my way."

  Luke found himself staring at Malcolm's Walther PK380 that was fitted with a silencer. "What the hell have these horses got to do with you?"

  Malcolm enlightened him. "I happen also to be working for certain vested interests who take a very poor view o' what happened to one o' their top guys, namely the gent who died mysterious-like in his snake house. Can ye tell me about that?"

  "I know nothing about snakes," Luke replied. "My job was to get four antique horses for a nameless buyer, who turned out to be Phil Yates, the owner of this house." He thought it worth adding that he hadn't been paid. "The last I saw of these horses was when Tam packed them up for delivery." Had Tam told his brother he had attacked him? Luke wondered, looking at Malcolm's gun. "I don't know if Tam's been paid, but we both risked jail to get those horses." He said nothing about facing death in the psycho's vivarium.

  "No one's been paid," Malcolm stated dourly. "I'm here to collect the loot and ye's not in a position to stop me. If there’s fifty large spare, ye can have it. O’ course, the safe might be empty.”

  "You'll be making a mistake, twin brother," Luke replied calmly. "I'm here for as

  much vongar as I can get. If you shoot me, my cousin, who's standing behind you, will cut your throat."

  Malcolm laughed. "There's no one behind me, horse thief. No one sneaks up on Malcolm McBride."

  "This'll be a first then," Sy said coldly, pressing the flat of his blade to the back of Malcolm's neck. "And there's plenty more Roms out the back who'll be happy to do the same."

  "Why don't we agree a deal?" Luke offered, ready to roll under the office desk if

  Malcolm refused. "If there's anything in that safe, we'll split it fifty-fifty."

  For the first time in his life Malcolm realised he was in a losing situation. He hadn't

  dealt with gypsies before, and he saw that this pair had him beaten. The man behind him had appeared so silently he could have materialised out of the floor. He lowered the Walther.

  "Fair enough. But ye won't even get into that safe without me. It's one o' those fiendish wee wall safes that no one can open without the code or a key. I ken ye've got neither. So we've no choice but blow the door off."

  Luke and Sy stood back and watched Malcolm as he carefully placed his charges. Then all three of them moved to one side as the Scot blew the safe door clean out of its housing.

  "I can see you've done this before," Luke said, genuinely impressed by Malcolm's expertise.

  The Scot laughed. "I've done it once or twice. Let's put the loot on the desk and see what we've got."

  The safe was relieved of its contents and the large amount of cash and other items were dumped on Phil's desk and assessed. Malcolm took the bonds, the gold bullion and 350K in cash. "That's payment for my bro', ye ken." Luke and Sy helped themselves to the rest of the cash, stuffing it into Luke's rucksack. Luke also took the passports of Harry's escort girls. He had no idea what he would do with them, but they would be lost to the fire otherwise.

  The amount of smoke in the room was becoming unbearable and the flames were getting closer to the doorway. The heat was growing intense and they had to shout to make themselves heard above the roar of the fire. But they held their nerve until their task was finished.

  Sy hurled Phil's swivel chair through the office window and the three men made their escape by the only route that remained. Luke and Malcolm shook hands.

  "My regards to Tam. No hard feelings."

  "None o' this ever happened," Malcolm replied and promptly disappeared into the night.

  As he put his rucksack on the back seat of the Citroen, Luke's despair over the fate of Cath and Angie overwhelmed him. Even if he was now a millionaire, it meant nothing. It was an intolerably bitter irony that the people he had cared most about in this life should be condemned to identical fates. Was this some kind of message? Was he destined to be alone for the rest of his days? Was it dangerous folly for him to form relationships?

  He felt like flinging his rucksack into the flames. His dark mood was interrupted as Kingsley sprinted up. "The juval and
the rakli—we've found 'em! We got no time!"

  Luke and Sy followed Kingsley towards the complex of blazing outbuildings at the back of the house. Luke wondered if they were already too late.

  * * *

  Cath was not responding to Angie's attempts to rouse her. The roof of their prison had begun to burn fiercely, the voice of the fire consuming Angie's pitiful cries for help and denying all hope. The heat was intense. Angie made one last despairing effort to attract attention.

  She beat on the door. "Help! Help us! We're in here!"

  Luke, Sy and Kingsley sprinted towards the buildings. Bennett was waiting for them.

  "They're in this one," Bennett said, "but I can't break the lock."

  Angie's desperate cries could just be heard by keen gypsy ears, rising above the ferocious roar of the flames.

  "We're in here! Help us!"

  The building was at the back of an open cart shed that contained the big ride-on mower, making its existence almost impossible to detect in the dark. The door was secured with a large padlock. Luke blew the padlock apart with a shot from Phil's revolver, then kicked the door open and found Angie on the other side. Cath was lying on the floor, her back against the wall. She appeared to be unconscious. Angie threw herself into Luke's arms.

  "Oh, Luke—it's Mam. I think she might be nearly dead!"

  Blazing material from the burning roof supports was showering down around them. The entire roof seemed about to collapse, threatening to bring the pantiles crashing down on top of them. All eyes turned to Luke.

  He ran to Cath. Her pulse was weak but regular. He lifted her in his arms. "Let's go!"

  They hurried from the building as sections of blazing roof and debris from the back of the burning house crashed down behind them. The petrol vapour in the mower's tank exploded, barring the entrance to the hidden outbuilding with flames. They had only just been in time…

  The convoy of vehicles made its way up the drive, Luke in the Citroen with Angie cradling Cath on the back seat. They were followed by Sy in the pickup, towing