Part 36 (1/2)
”Father. What is the matter?” she says.
”Jarvis can't race. He's barely conscious,” growls the Colonel. He takes his cigar and throws it to the ground. ”d.a.m.n it! d.a.m.n it all to h.e.l.l!”
”Can't you forfeit? Call off the bets?” asks Amy without much hope in her voice.
”I can forfeit, but I cannot call off the bets, and what, Daughter, gave you the idea that you can talk to me in this way?” His face is bright red and his tone is dangerous.
”I shall ride him, Father,” says Randall, and he begins to unb.u.t.ton his jacket.
”Aw, you're too d.a.m.ned heavy, boy, you'd surely...”
It is time, Jacky, I says to myself, and I pulls out my asafoetida bag and clutches it in me hand and I steps forward.
”Beggin' your pardon, Colonel Trevelyne, but I have here in my hand an answer to your problem.” I ain't used to talking up to large powerful men, so my voice shakes a bit.
”What?” shouts the Colonel, shock and outrage on his face as he stares down at me.
I pushes on. ”I have this here powerful voodoo potion that I picked up when I was sailin' on the Caribbean Sea,” I says, and waves the bag decorated with its strange symbols in front of him. ”It's powerful strong magic, Sir, as it was put together by Mama Boudreau, herself, a most famous hoodoo conjure woman.”
”Let me see that,” orders the Colonel. He reaches out a meaty paw for my bag, but I shrinks back and holds the bag tighter to my chest.
”Oh no, Sir! Don't mess with the gris-gris, Sir, it's very dangerous in unschooled hands. It's very powerful stuff and no tellin' what would happen.” I s.h.i.+vers and looks all scared at the very thought.
”Rubbish,” says he. ”Has this girl ever been to the Caribbean?” he asks Amy. It looks like he is ready to grasp at straws.
”Yes,” says Amy, and then, incredibly, she says, ”she has often spoken of her knowledge of the mysterious arts of that region.”
The Colonel squints at me. ”It's powerful enough to cure someone as sick as him?”
”Sir, it was made to raise the dead. It may not cure Mr. jarvis, but it will get him up.”
He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. ”All right. Go get him up. And hurry.”
Ah. And now for the hook.
”I have terms, Colonel Trevelyne, and you may not like them.” I'm puttin' up a brave front, but I'm shakin' inside. To talk to a colonel like this...
”What! What terms, girl?”
”If I rouse up Peter Jarvis enough so he can get on the Sheik and win the race, you must swear, on your honor as an officer and gentleman, to never again bet on anything. Not a penny, not a pound, not a dollar, not a dime. Nothing wagered ever again.”
He b.a.l.l.s his fist and lifts it high above me. ”Why, you insolent piece of baggage...!”
I cringe and hunch my shoulders, and wait for the blow, but the blow does not come.
”Father, please!” say both Amy and Randall together.
I open my eyes. The Colonel is standing there, and he is a bit shrunken, like the air has gone out of him.
I have no mercy. ”Do you so swear?”
”Yes,” he says, quietly. ”I swear.”
”All right,” I say, all brisk. ”Amy and Randall, I'll need your help. Randall, get everybody out of Petey's room.” I cross my arms at the wrists over my chest like I'm a voodoo princess and I put my head back and slit my eyes and start into a low chant, ”Hey-ya, hey-ya, hey-ya, hey!” over and over and follow them in.
We surge into Petey's tiny room and there are people in there standing around him lying there in the bed. Petey's mouth is open and his face is gray and he looks half dead. ”Everybody please leave,” says Randall, curtly. They look confused. ”Out!” he roars this time. ”Now!” And out they go, falling over each other in their haste. Randall's blood is up.
As soon as the door is shut, I say, ”Randall, put your back to the door and let no one in! Amy, help me!” and I flip my hat to the floor and start to struggle out of my dress. ”Randall. Turn around!”
Petey's silks are hanging on the wall with his boots beneath them. Amy has undone the b.u.t.tons on the back of my dress and I flip it over my head. Off with the shoes and stockings and I pull off my slip and-”Randall, turn around!” Oh, to h.e.l.l with it, there's no time! I put my thumbs in the waistband of my flouncy drawers and pull them down and step out of them. I reach for the silk pants...
”Don't ... don't let 'em...”
Petey's talking! His eyes flutter open. I dash to his side. ”Don't let 'em what, Petey? Don't let 'em...”
But he pa.s.ses out again and there's no time to try to bring him back.
I go to the wall and get the silks. I sit on the edge of the bed to pull on the white stockings and then stand and tug on the tight pants and buckle 'em below the knees, then the loose, blousy green-striped top, which'll hide what I got up there. On with the boots-they're a little big, but they'll serve.
There's the call of a trumpet outside. Hurry!
I take the white silk scarf I had seen last night when I visited Petey and I wrap it around my lower face. ”Tie it in back, Amy! It can't fall off or all is lost!”
”But why...?”
”'Cause the other jocks won't race against a girl, is why! Male bleedin' pride, is why! Now, tie it! Tight!”
She does it. I take the green cap and cram it way down on my head and head for the door, Amy, terrified, in my wake.
At the door, a red-faced Randall stands and says, ”I...”
”Later, Randall,” I say. ”Let us out and let no one else in. When we come back we'll give three raps and then two. Got that?”
He nods and opens the door and we rush out.
There is a roar from the crowd as I head for the track and the Sheik. I stop halfway there and make a great fakery of dou-blin' over and coughin' loudly, as if seized by a spasm. I steal a glance up at the Colonel, who is back in his box lookin' at me and standing a little straighten I give it a few more coughs, as deep and disgustin' as I can make 'em, makes a show of bein' a bit weak and wobbly on me pins, and then I go to the Sheik and put my foot in George's intertwined hands and I'm up in the saddle, and Oh, he knows me, he does. The Sheik gives me his big rollin' eye and whickers a greeting as I get my feet in the stirrups and settle in and take the riding crop from George and stick it in my right armpit. I don't want this small whip 'cause I wouldn't want to use it on the Sheik, but I take it anyway 'cause it'll look wrong if I don't. I pat his neck and he dances around a bit-he is ready to go, no mistake.
”Glad you could get up there, Petey,” says George. ”I had my doubts, for sure.” He adjusts the cinch on the saddle. ”Now watch out for the big bay horse-that jock Muir from Tenbrooks Farms don't mean us no good. At the start you'll have him on your right, and that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Thayer over there on that hammerheaded roan'll be on your left at the start, so you know what that means.”
What? What what means? I thought we just started running and the fastest horse wins and that's the Sheik, who'll run away from all the others and we'll win. All of a sudden I'm thinking that there might be more to this and maybe I don't know what I'm doin'. I want to blurt out to George just who I am sitting up here and what the h.e.l.l is he talkin' about, but the fewer people what know about this the better, or the secret will be out and the race will be forfeit and all will be in vain, so I just give a low grunt and another cough.
”I'd go wide on the first turn if I was you. You'll lose some ground but the horse'll make it up on the straightaways. Good luck to you, Pete. There's a lot ridin' on this.”
I nod and grunt and throw in a racking cough and there's the trumpet call for the horses to parade by the grandstand and I take the reins and somehow get him in line and it's all I can do to keep him there. What with all the other stallions and mares around, he's in a fine lather and in no mood to be good. Fine. It's his job to win the race, not to be good.
We come off the line and head for the starting positions. The crowd noise is nothing like anything I've ever heard-there must be a thousand people here, counting the grandstand and those circling the track. Grooms take hold of the bridles and pull the horses to their spots, and it is a very brave groom who puts his hand on the Sheik's bridle. We are third in from the rail, it having all been decided by the drawing of lots, and George was right about the two to either side of me-they look like the meanest of blokes and they're both glaring at me. I can't let 'em look too close, so I coughs and leans forward and hisses in the Sheik's ear, ”Scream, Sheik, scream!” and he rears back on his hind legs and does just that, he screams out his defiance to all those who would dare to come here to his own kingdom and challenge him, to shame him, and to take his mares. It is a fine show.
”Mind yer mount, jock!” shouts Muir.
”Sod off,” growls I, as deep as I can. ”Mind yer own nag!”