Page 113 of My Queendom for a Horse

“This is weird timing, I know, but can we talk after the race?” Finn looks. . .nervous, almost.

“It might be sort of crazy after the race,” I say, “but maybe we can grab drinks once things settle down, before I head back home.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Finn’s holding my gaze a little too long.

Obsidian whinnies and tugs.

I pat his neck. “It’s alright, boy. We have time.”

Finn shakes his head and swings up onto Some Like It Hot. He circles around to line up for the parade, and I swing up, too. Obsidian keeps turning back to look at me, for all the world like he’s angry about something.

“We’re about to race. We can talk about whatever is wrong later.”

Obsidian keeps laying his ears flat against his head during the parade. The onlookers are pointing, and I can hear the announcer jabbering about how the devil and I don’t look good, like we’re having another off day.

I’ll show them an off day.

The other jockeys dismount for the final regirth, but I don’t want to deal with Obsidian trying to send me messages in the sand or whatever. When I’m standing, it’s easier for me to pretend he’s a normal horse.

Plus, unlike most horses, I know his girth’s plenty tight already. Even so, with so many horses in an enclosed area, there’s some shifting and general unrest. Earl Grey jostles me on the left, and Obsidian almost bumps into Brigadier General on the right. His jockey, Rex McComb, turns around and leans right up against me, grabbing my leg with one hand. “Watch out, tramp.”

“Get your hand off her,” Finn says. He brings Some Like It Hot around, angling to press in between Rex and me. Brigadier General shies away and slams into me pretty hard. Finally, Rex steps back and remounts, and I have to pull Obsidian back before he has time to retaliate.

I can’t have him doing anything stupid, not today, even if Rex is a tosser.

Finn and the other jockeys all remount, finally, muttering and glaring at me and Rex. The horses are quite wound up, having passed the crowds in the stands and circled around almost to the first jump. The last thing they needed was an altercation between jockeys.

“Here we are,” the announcer yells through the loudspeaker. “John Smith’s Grand National.” Then the tape drops, and we all surge forward. I give Obsidian his head, because I want us to push past some of the chaos. We hurtle toward the first fence, pounding across Melling Road, just a length behind Brigadier General and Some Like it Hot. This course has a longer approach to that first fence than any other race on the steeplechase circuit. My biggest concern with that first obstacle is that we may over-jump it. It’s not a huge fence, but there’s a big drop on the back end. Over-jumping it would put us at risk of bowling over or stumbling through that drop, and we’re both keyed up and overexcited. Obsidian leans back into his hocks slightly and then he sails over, not even brushing the spruce branches. I brace myself for the drop at the back end, but Obsidian lands so lightly I can hardly believe it.

Once we’re past, I urge him around the inside and we pass a bay, a chestnut, and a dapple, just before closing in on the second fence. Usually I know all the other riders, and in theory I’ve studied them all for today, but forty-four pairs is too many for me to remember them all by name.

This next hurdle’s larger than the first, and there’s a big ditch in front. This one requires a little more momentum, because it needs a big horizontal launch. He picks up speed just a bit, and then launches, landing lightly yet again. He recovers beautifully as well.

I pull back on the reins a little as we race through, so Obsidian knows we should hold our position in the line-up until the ditch on four, just like I told him I would. I plan to pull ahead some on five, since it’s an easy fence, but we end up shifting sharply left after a grey and a roan go down in a heap, and my heart rate spikes. Obsidian springs quickly, and we move clear of another horse sprawling out from the cluster just in time.

We pass two horses while going over fence five, but I notice Obsidian’s hooves graze the spruce on this one. He can clearly feel the extra weight, and I worry. Obsidian and I practiced plenty, but the King George wasn’t a weighted event, and we haven’t trained in months.

Is he too out of shape to hang in there?

I make out the flash of Finn’s colors just ahead as we approach the worst jump of the course, Becher’s Brook. It’s one of the biggest fences, and it has a massive, nearly seven-foot drop on the back end. Clearing it for the first time in a massive bunch of horses at racing-speed, I get why people compare it to jumping off the edge of the world.

Obsidian sails over the front end easily, but with the drop behind, his head goes down hard. As he and I slam into the turf, chunks of the track fly every direction. Obsidian rights himself quickly and springs forward, correcting the speed of his gallop and rebalancing my weight.

Before I’ve had time to even go over adjustments I’ll make our next time around, we’re up and over Foinaven, which is a small fence. It has, however, claimed its share of horses, coming as it does right between Becher’s and the Canal. We swing toward the Canal Turn with a little more speed than I’d have chosen, but I’m not entirely in control when I’m riding Obsidian. It’s one of the blessings, and it’s a drawback in some ways. The Canal’s a huge fence in its own right, but it comes just before a sharp left turn, and it rivals Becher’s for the sheer number of jockeys it’s unseated over the years.

Including my mother.

There’s a horse on either side of us as we bound toward it. I can barely breathe as we’re forced into the Canal Turn straight on, which will force Obsidian to pivot ninety degrees upon landing.

It’s exactly how my mom hit it.

My hands tremble.

The neurons in my brain all fire at the same time. Danger, danger, danger!

But when I freeze, Obsidian takes over, pulling ahead of the other two horses beside us far enough to pivot without colliding with either of them. I’m not piloting him at all, but I manage to stay in the saddle as Obsidian rights our path. Finn swings wide to avoid losing his balance and falling off up ahead, and we pass him quickly thereafter. As if he can sense how much I want to be away from the Canal, Obsidian puts on a burst of speed, passing Brigadier on the gap leading up to Valentine.

He eases up a bit once we’re past, and we clear the large fence beautifully, pulling ahead of a dark grey in the process. A smile creeps back onto my face, the tension and anxiety that had built up leading up to the Canal finally dissipating.

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