скачать книгу бесплатно
The Island of Lost Horses
Stacy Gregg
Two girls divided by time, united by their love for some very special horses – an epic Caribbean adventure!On a remote tropical island, twelve year-old Beatriz is about to embark on an epic journey, through hurricanes and across the high seas and back to the time of Christopher Columbus…When Beatriz stumbles across a wild mare with strange markings in the jungle she can’t believe it is real. Yet from that moment on the strongest connection grows between them, and she begins to uncover an incredible history. For centuries ago, Felipa and her horse, Cara Blanca, were running for their lives.As the fates of Beatriz, Felipa and their horses become entwined, Beatriz realises that the future of the world’s rarest horses depends on her.Based on the extraordinary true story of the Abaco Barb, a real-life mystery that has remained unsolved for over five hundred years.
Copyright (#ulink_af3382fe-516f-596b-b029-536c669db08b)
First published in hardback and paperback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2014
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
77-85 Fulham Palace Road,
Hammersmith, London, W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
For Stacy’s blog, competitions, interviews and more, visit www.stacygregg.co.uk (http://www.stacygregg.co.uk)
The HarperCollins website address is: www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Text copyright © Stacy Gregg 2014
Cover photographs © Shutterstock; Decorative illustration © Shutterstock; Jacket Design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
Stacy Gregg asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007580262
Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007580286
Version: 2014-08-30
Contents
Cover (#u23e08a3c-62a2-5f6c-8af6-6506b7d33940)
Title Page (#u0730665a-a371-5bc0-9f4a-d52497998044)
Copyright (#u70b6b861-23fc-5944-a1ea-45287e3634be)
The Diary of Beatriz Ortega (#u60ebf883-a741-597b-9001-478e1735f1d7)
The Guardian of the Words (#ue61931ae-77d9-5d00-80f8-ee4d686c159d)
Great Abaco (#u223df98c-e754-51c6-ad78-9ff307b8598c)
Voodoo Queen (#ufb87ac35-743a-59cc-9100-bd086a9dbaf5)
The Mudpit (#ub512204c-a55a-5c5a-9165-29b5e8f5e31c)
A Shadow on the Sun (#u8382db2a-9098-5fd9-a980-7e41742c52ea)
Annie’s Crib (#u40f789d5-ae5e-5f5b-8d87-d98ceb0aeb8e)
If They Catch You… (#litres_trial_promo)
Medicine Hat (#litres_trial_promo)
The Diary of Felipa Molina (#litres_trial_promo)
The Duchess (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 10th September 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 17th September 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
The Obeah (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 18th September 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 19th September 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
Island Stallion (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 20th September 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
Storm be Comin’ (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 24th September 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 27th September 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 24th October 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
Abandoned (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 21st November 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 30th November 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 5th December 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
Night Voyage (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 7th December 1493 (#litres_trial_promo)
F.M. Diary Entry, 10th December 1494 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chosen (#litres_trial_promo)
After the Storm (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Other books by Stacy Gregg (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
The Diary of Beatriz Ortega (#ulink_9fdf257b-9295-56b0-a3e3-c05b93dca47b)
12
April, 2014
I am writing this as fast as I can. The doors on the Phaedra don’t lock, and Mom could walk in any moment. I have no privacy. I am the only twelve-year-old girl I know who has to share a room with her mom. I have pointed out how unfair it is, the way the jellyfish equipment takes up the whole front of the boat, but Mom won’t listen. Typical – the jellyfish get their own room and I don’t.
I’m not trying to make excuses for my handwriting or anything, but if it is all scrawly that’s because my arm’s so trembly I can hardly hold the pen. I think it’s from gripping on to the tractor for so long. The entire way home I had to cling to the wheel arch, sitting up there behind Annie like a parrot perched on a pirate’s shoulder. The way she drove along those rutted jungle tracks, I was petrified I was going to lose hold and fall beneath the wheels.
By the time we reached the bay and I could see the Phaedra, my body had been shaken up like a can of fizzy drink.
There was no sign of Mom as the tractor lumbered over the dunes and down the beach towards the sea. I was kind of relieved, to tell the truth. The whole time at Annie’s house I had been desperate to get back to the boat, but now that I was home I felt sick at the thought of facing Mom. She would be furious with me. I had been gone for two whole days…
The Guardian of the Words (#ulink_28672279-7cb8-53b8-a0c7-dd71e135ee1a)
Annie jolted to a stop and I lost my grip on the wheel arch and fell to the sand, collapsing like jelly out of a mould, my legs giving way beneath me.
“Bee-a-trizz!” Annie leapt down from the tractor and hooked her arms under my armpits to lift me to my feet again.
“For heaven’s sake, child!”
She was really strong for a little old lady. She held me like a rag doll, so that my feet dragged through the sand and my face was buried against her chest. I could smell the cotton of her dress and see where the blue floral pattern had gone all yellowed with sweat.
Annie carried me up the beach to the tidemark where the sand was dry and I lay there for a while with my eyes shut, taking deep breaths, trying to make the sick, dizzy feeling go away.
That was when I heard the Zodiac coming. I recognised the familiar whine of its outboard motor and the slap-slap the rubber inflatable made as it smacked across the waves. I opened my eyes and there was Mom steering the Zodiac to shore. She gestured frantically to me and I gave her a feeble wave in return. I felt like I was going to throw up.
“Wait here, Bee-a-trizz.” Annie headed down to the water to help bring the Zodiac in. She stood knee-deep in the waves, holding it steady, and Mom jumped out and left her there as she ran up the beach to me.
“Beatriz!” She dropped to her knees beside me. “Oh my God, Bee!”
“Hi, Mom,” I managed a weak smile. When she touched my face her hand felt like ice against my skin.
“Beatriz, you’re burning up!”
“I’m OK,” I insisted. “I just got a little sunburnt.”
“OK?” Mom looked horrified. “We have to get you to a hospital…”
“No.” I pushed myself up off the sand. The world was spinning around me. “I’m fine. Honest…”
“De child be al’right.”
It was Annie.
“I’m sorry?” Mom said, clearly shocked at the declaration from this stranger. “Are you a doctor?”
“Bee-a-trizz don’ be wantin’ no doctors,” Annie replied. “Child had de fever real bad, so I keep her to sleep at ma crib til day-clean. De fever broke, so she be al’right now…”
“At your place? She’s been missing for two days…” Mom’s voice was tense. Here we go, I thought. Mom was going to grill Annie until she got the whole story. She was going to hear all about the horse and the mud flats and Annie finding me…
But Annie’s attention had been caught by the Phaedra, moored about forty metres offshore. She gave a flick of her head, gesturing at the boat with her lips, using them the same way other people used their hands to point at stuff.
“You all alone on dat tink?”
Mom’s eyes flitted briefly to the boat, then back to Annie. I could see that she was suddenly aware that we were in the middle of nowhere with no one else around except this weird old lady with her tractor.
“Yes,” Mom said warily. “I mean, alone with Beatriz – the two of us.”
Annie frowned. “You takin’ a vacation?”
My mom shook her head. “I’m a marine biologist. I’m working on a research paper for Florida University, studying the migratory patterns of sea thimble jellyfish…”
Annie grunted. She had lost interest and began to walk back to her tractor.
“Wait!” Mom said. “I mean… Thank you. For bringing Beatriz back. I have been worried sick…”
“De child be al’right. No need for worryin’,” Annie said. She clambered back up on to the tractor seat, yanking at her skirt to get comfortable. Then she turned the key in the ignition and stuck her bare foot down hard on the tractor pedal. The rattle and burr of the engine instantly killed any hopes Mom might have had for further conversation.
Annie shoved her straw hat down hard on her dreadlocks. “De island be a dangerous place,” she said. She was gazing over at the dunes where we had come from, taking in the far distant end of the island where the mud flats lay. “Very dangerous. You best be careful…”
Then, the tractor rumbled forward and Annie swung the steering wheel, turning the tractor so close to me, I thought she might run over my toes with those giant tyres. Then she raised her hand to flick me a goodbye wave and set off, the tyres digging zigzag patterns into the smooth white sand.
Annie’s battered straw hat was the last thing I saw as she crested the dunes and sank out of sight.
“That woman is flat-out crazy.”
My mom, making her usual proclamations.
“Annie’s not crazy,” I countered. “She’s my friend…” Although that really wasn’t true, was it? Annie gave me the creeps. The whole time I had been at her place I had wanted to leave. But I would never admit that to Mom.
“You stayed at her house?” Mom launched into it. “What were you thinking? Why didn’t you call me?”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket. It was sandy and crusted with salt, its insides totally soaked.
