Episode 9.11

"Everyone who should be here is here..."

by Camille Partridge


With Easter come and gone, spring has truly begun in county Wicklow, and the rains have finally lessened considerably, leaving Maggie hopeful that she will not be risking both her life and Iblis' to run the time test the Jockey Club has set up to potentially approve his use on Avril's grey mare, The Cat. Maggie has trained daily for two weeks, and Iblis is lean and hard, in better shape than he has been in years. Praying for a safe outcome, Maggie goes to bed early the night before the race, letting James, Orla and Connor handle the pub. Her last thought before she sleeps, listening to a gentle rain on the roof, is to wonder if she will ever come back to this town she has begun to call home, Ballykissangel.

Early the next morning, a large van, a horsebox, is trundling through the hills between Ballykissangel and Dublin. Behind the wheel, Avril concentrates on navigating the rain-slickened roads safely, and keeping the ride as comfortable as possible for her four passengers. Maggie and James are seated beside her, also watching the road ahead.

"So, I've never seen the track in Dublin, Avril, is it well-drained?" Maggie asks.

"It has to be!" Avril chuckles. "The representative I spoke with said they'd decide when we arrived if we would run on the turf or sand track, and gauge the time accordingly."

"Well, we're more used to sand, of course, but if the turf is fine, too, as long as it isn't slippery. I don't want a bowed tendon, let alone a spill. As much as I want to see The Cat have a pretty little grey filly next year, if Iblis is lamed for life, we'll have neither filly nor sound stallion! Not an option, I'm afraid." Maggie shakes her head ruefully.

"Well, Maggie, I've been thinking. Even if Ibils' foal can't be registered with the Jockey Club, I could register it with the IAHA, couldn't I?" Avril poses a question that she already knows the answer to, wondering what Maggie's response will be.

"Of course, Avril, it will always be a Half Arab foal, and you'd be able to keep breeding back to Arab stallions if you wanted to. Not what you'd really want, though, is it? Those foals wouldn't be something you could race, either on the flat or over fences." Maggie is answering a question with another.

"No, but just because I've been training race horses doesn't mean I will always do so. I've been watching Aisling ride that stallion of yours, Maggie. You know I've given riding lessons to children, and honestly, it's more lucrative than training racing horses. If my horse doesn't win on the track, the owner takes it elsewhere. Barring a child who truly doesn't want to learn to ride, I can always help them become better and better riders. That's every bit as rewarding as crossing the finish line first, even if the purse isn't as big. One step at a time, of course, but if Iblis doesn't make that artificial time mark the Jockey Club sets, then perhaps his foal out of The Cat will be a good mount for some future Pony Club champion rider. That may be what happens anyway, even if Iblis sets that track aflame. Just because a sire and dam are fast doesn't guarantee that a foal will be, too. " Avril pauses, and several seconds pass.

"We shall see what we shall see, Avril. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?" Maggie decides to derail Avril's train of thought, suspecting she sees deeper meaning than Avril is aware of. Privately, Maggie sends up a small silent prayer for Iblis to succeed at this time test, so that Avril has a clear path to travel and is not tempted to go where she doesn't belong.

James turns to look at Maggie, a question on his face, but she shakes her head, and he guesses she will tell him what the conversation was really about later.

After nearly an hour and a half of driving, Avril pulls the van into the private entrance to the training barns of the track facility, and parks it at the end of a stable reserved for short-term boarders. The three humans get out of the front of the van, and Maggie and walk around to the back of the van, preparing to unload the horses, while James stands beside the van, feeling a bit like the proverbial fifth wheel. For all the knowledge he has of horses through his sister, brother in law, and now his fiancee, it's all conversational, not practical.

Avril has pulled out and dropped the ramp, and Maggie walks up it to open the back doors, swinging them both wide. She walks in to untie Iblis' lead, and leads the blanketed stallion down the ramp. The Cat, still tied, begins to fidget as her stablemate leaves her side. Avril dashes up the ramp to untie the mare and soothe her before she begins to rear or kick and injures herself. Maggie holds the stallion off to the side of the ramp, and The Cat clatters down quickly, nearly dragging Avril along.

"This mare is getting as attached to your stallion as she is to that blasted goat, I hope she can transfer her affections back after he goes back to Danny Byrne's this summer!" Avril sounds as if she is complaining, yet she smiles as the black and the grey sniff and nuzzle each other's necks.

"When she has a foal to nurse, she'll forget the goat and the stallion, both. And if we breed her back next spring, she'll never look back, either." Maggie gives the stallion's lead a tug. "Come on, old man, let's get your blanket off and your saddle on, your date with destiny has to happen before you get a date with that mare!"

As Maggie turns, she notices a group of tweedy gentlemen observing the horses just off the van, and, coming from the other direction, a large group of their friends. James has also turned, and waves at the group he knows, and Maggie sees Assumpta and Peter wave back. Just at that moment, she hears, beside her, the soft whicker of her stallion, and feels him tug back on the lead, hard.

"Hey, old man, what's got your attention, huh?" The stallion whickers again, and then, in a display he doesn't often use, rears up on his hind legs, whinnying and pawing.

Maggie lets the lead slide through her hands, then takes it up again as he comes down. "Okay, okay, we'll go see your kid, hand on a sec, will ya?"

Maggie grabs a hunk of mane and vaults onto the stallion's back. As she weaves the fingers of both hands into his mane, Iblis rears again, trumpeting a challenge, shaking his head so that his mane flies off his neck, blowing in the breeze. He comes down again, and, arching his neck and throwing his tail in the air, struts towards the group of people from Ballykissangel, his knees and hocks pumping high in the air in a floating trot. He circles the group of people just once, until, as he trots back to the front of the group, little Aisling pulls her father forward until he releases her, and she pushes between Peter and Assumpta to run toward the stallion.

Maggie turns to see the Jockey Club group, mouths all open and a look of horror on more than one face, but before any of them can shout, Iblis has halted and turned, and Asiling has thrown her arms up around the stallion's chest. Iblis arches his neck down to encircle the child, snorting gently and lipping at her loose blonde curls. He whickers as a mare would to her foal. Brendan and Siobhan are both grinning, as is Avril, having seen the way the old horse dotes on children. Vincent Sheahan steps out of the back of the large group, and then walks up to the black horse, patting his neck, and looking for a moment at Aisling, then up at Maggie.

"This is some horse, Maggie, I hav'ta say. Crikey, never thought a stallion would take to a kid like this, but there ya go, he's an Arab, an' not so far from the black tents, either." Vincent pats the stallion again, but then turns back to Aisling as she addresses him.

"Father Sheahan, would you give me a leg up, please?"

"Of course, darlin'!" The priest smiles and makes a cup of his two hands, bending over, as Maggie slides backward on Iblis' back.

The child steps into the priest's interlocked fingers, and he lifts her up as she grabs the mane Maggie has let go of and swings her right leg over the stallion's withers.

She turns and smiles, now eye to eye with the blonde man, and says, "Thank you, Father."

His face beams, seeing his own little sister in this girl child.

Maggie hands the lead line to the little girl, and asks, "Do you want me to stay on, or would you like a short ride on your own?"

"By myself, please?" Aisling looks over her shoulder.

"Of course, dear, but don't wear him out, he still has to win a race today."

"I'll be careful, Aunt Maggie, thank you!" Maggie slides further backwards, going off the stallion's rump, and Aisling presses her heels into the stallion's barrel as he obligingly trots off at a pace to insure his small passenger is not shaken or dislodged.

Jim and Avril join Maggie and the rest of the BallyK crowd, Avril still leading The Cat, who is watching her "boyfriend" trotting around the yard with his rider. She whickers nervously, but the stallion, normally attentive, ignores her, concentrating on Aisling. The five Jockey Club officials join the group, Avril introducing the one man she knows, who then introduces his colleagues.

"Well, Ms. MacAllister, I had a bit of worry, there, when that child dashed out in front of your stallion, but it's clear they know each other." The eldest member of the five is addressing Maggie, he has a notably British accent.

"Yes, she takes riding lessons on him every week," Maggie answers. "So, have you all decided if we'll run on turf or sand?"

"The sand is well-drained, but we'd expect a faster time over the distance, so we'll let you choose, Ms. MacAllister." The senior official is still watching the child, now walking her mount back towards her parents, standing somewhat off to the side of the rest of the group.

"In that case, we'll take the sand, it's what we're more used to anyway. He'll either make the time or he won't, and I'd rather have good footing." Maggie steps to her horse's side, and puts her hands out for Aisling to lower her left foot into, and lowers the child to the ground. "When we're done with his race, Aisling, would you like to cool him out for me?"

"Could I really?" Aisling is up on her toes, eagerness oozing from her pores.

"Of course, dear, we'll take off his tack and put a robe on him, and you can walk him around the track a couple of times, so he doesn't stiffen up and get sore tomorrow, okay?" Maggie slips a little lesson into the offer of a treat.

"Oh, cool, thanks so much, Aunt Maggie!" Aisling gives Maggie a hug, then takes Siobhan and Brendan's hands and starts to pull her parents towards the track railing, ready to watch "her" horse run his race.

"'Cool', haven't heard that in a while!" James O'Connor shakes his head.

"Everything old is new again, dear," Maggie answers him. "Well, gentlemen, I'll take Iblis and get him tacked up, and we can get underway, if you would like? And by the way, no one has ever actually told me what time we are shooting for here. Are you willing to share that?"

The officials confer for a moment, and the senior answers Maggie, "Well, Ms. MacAllister, we'd like to see him run a mile in under 2 minutes 15 seconds, but given his height and his age, if he breaks 2 minutes thirty, we'll be quite satisfied."

Maggie grins widely. "Gentlemen, we'll see that 2 and fifteen, barring bad luck, and go under it if we can!" She unbuckles the blanket, and strips it off the stallion's back, handing it to James, and all five of the Jockey Club officials inadvertently smile, and a couple of them let out soft "aahhs". The stallion's black coat gleams and shines in the spring morning light, and his muscles ripple as he steps out in a loose-gaited walk. He looks in the prime of his life, nowhere near his chronological age.

The senior club official reaches out and says, "A moment, Ms. MacAllister?" Maggie turns, and the man steps forward, and runs his hand down Iblis' neck, across his back, and off his croup. He then removes a small electronic device from his jacket pocket, and passes it over the stallion's neck, lifting the mane. It beeps, and he reads the number, then consults a piece of paper pulled from the other pocket.

"All in order?" Maggie asks.

"Well, I was sure you'd tried to put one over on us for a moment, this horse does not look nearly as old as his papers say he is, but this chip number is correct. May I examine his mouth?" He steps to Iblis' head.

"Of course." Maggie answers, and steps to the side a bit, as the man bends and pulls Iblis' upper and lower lips apart, looking into the mouth from the side. The stallion rolls his eyes a bit, showing white, and Maggie stifles a snort of laughter she knows the club officials would not understand or appreciate.

"Well, he ages well within the range of normal, and his breed is a long-lived one, after all. He's in magnificent condition, Ms. MacAllister, and I can see why Ms. Burke wants to use him. I'd like to see him over fences some time, I imagine he's a handy little hunter as well."

"I have, and he is, Mr. Smythe, he most certainly is!" Avril answers, and she and Maggie move off again, towards the horsebox.

She moves to The Cat's off side and whispers to Maggie. "Can he really do 2:15, Maggie?" Her worry is evident in the tone of voice.

"I don't know, Avril, but I have to be confident, or why even try?" Maggie pats the stallion's neck, and loops his lead through an eye hook on the side of the van.

She leaves the horse and climbs up into the box again, coming back down the ramp with a saddle, pad, and bridle, as well as a soft brush tucked under her arm. She brushes the stallion down quickly, places the pad and saddle on his back, and cinches it, leaving the stirrups run up the leathers until she is ready to mount. She then pulls a small tool from her back pocket, unfolds it, and bends over each hoof, picking and inspecting both sole and wall for anything like a crack or chip. "Sound in wind and limb, we ain't discussin' mind!" Maggie mutters, and the stallion reaches around and nips her rump as she stands up from cleaning his left hind foot. "Ouch!" she hisses, and turns to face him, her face turning red, but seeing his eyes sparkling, she laughs instead, and puts one arm over his withers to lean into his neck for a moment. "We'll be okay, old man, we both know better than to do anything too stupid. If you feel something going wrong, just pull up, no mare is worth your life. You'll have purebreds galore if I put an ad in the English journals, never you mind missing out on one Thoroughbred."

Maggie is whispering softly, not wishing to hurt Avril's feelings. She stands, and unbuckles the wide leather halter, slipping it off the stallion's head, and running the soft brush over the bridle path and forehead before picking up the bridle. She slips the leather straps up over the muzzle and then back behind the ears, reaching under the jawbone to reach the throatlatch, which she fastens on the near side. Avril has finished tacking up The Cat as well, and, as they lead the horses towards the track, notices something odd about the stallion's bridle, there is no bit! Before she even begins to comment, Maggie answers the obvious question.

"I don't even usually use a halter or saddle, but I figured this bridle would look adequately conventional from a distance, and the reins will give me a bit more balance at speed, too."

Avril can only answer "Oh," and the pair walks on to the starting gate.

A track official is there to operate it, but he lets the women load their horses as they like. The stallion walks into the second stall, and Avril eventually persuades her grey to take the third slot. Maggie looks at Avril, who climbs up beside her mare and slides onto the small saddle, squaring her toes in the high stirrups. Maggie does the same, and setting her feet firmly, and up only half as high as Avril has, nods at the official.

He asks them both verbally, just to be sure, "All ready?"

Both women nod, looking straight ahead, and down low over the horses' necks, Maggie with her fingers firmly in the black's mane and only loosely on the reins.

"All right, then..." And the official triggers the gate, the front panels banging outwards with a huge clank. Both horses, knowing what to expect, launch themselves forward, the grey mare taking an immediate lead and moving to the inside.

Down at the middle of the large oval, standing at the rail, the five officials comment on a clean break, but none of them has yet started the stopwatches they all hold. Vincent Sheahan steps to their sides, his eyes not leaving the grey mare and her rider, and asks, "So, when ya gonna start timin' this race, then?" The rest of the BallyK group eyes him in surprise, even Orla and Connor in some awe of these five men who stand in judgment of their friend and her horse.

Mr. Smythe answers the tall Australian beside him, horseman to horseman. "The first mile will just be a warm-up for the little Arab, he'll start his race as the grey falls out, and we'll time the second mile, he'll be fully in stride by then. You seem to know something about horses, Father."

"Grew up in Australia, an' spend as much time with 'em as duty permits, even now. Hav'ta love that little black fella, he's dead game ta run, dressage-trained, too. Maggie tell ya he's got winnin' warmblood get in America?" Vincent is leaning on the rail as the pair of horses rounds the first turn, the grey still easily in front, but the black not foundering to pull ahead of her, running his own race.

Another of the club officials leans forward on the rail as well. "Yes, she did, and I actually looked up some of the record on his warmblood offspring. One in particular was ranked in the top ten for several years, and did well in international competition more than once. Fine bay gelding, he was. If this horse makes time today, I have a nice hunter mare I'll put to him, if Ms. MacAllister is willing. My grand-daughter is clamoring for something bigger than her little Welsh cob, and I saw today what a fine temperament this horse has, he'd sire a nice, steady foal on my mare, one I could trust my only grandchild to, I believe."

The other club officials have momentarily turned to eye their fellow with surprise, but turn back to the track as the horses approach the far turn, and round for home. The grey is still ahead, but the black is lengthening his stride, and beginning to pull up on her. Avril begins to struggle to slow her mare, but The Cat fights the bit and races on. The horses, as they pass the group at the rail, have now run a good mile and a quarter, and the mare ought to be tiring, but her competitive spirit pushes her. The officials have all hit their watch buttons as the black passes them, and watch now in silence as he lowers his head and lengthens his stride yet again, pulling aside the mare, now lathering.

As they run, for a moment eye to eye, the stallion turns his head and, though only the two riders here him, makes a grunting sound, and, as they round the first turn again, the mare ceases pulling at the bit, and slows, the black now easily passing her. His make streams out behind him, and Maggie's hair, coming undone from the braid she had it in, mingles with it, red and black, like tongues of flame.

Back at the rail, Aisling, seated on Brendan's shoulders, bends down and whispers, "Daddy, who are those women, over on the other side?" She points across the track. Everyone glances up, and then in the direction of the child's outstretched arm, all except for James O'Connor. His eyes are closed, head bowed, and hands clasped in front of him, deep in prayer. Knowing what may well happen, he cannot bear to watch. Connor, seeing who is now watching this race, looks down at Orla on his one side, then over at Assumpta, and reaches out both hands to them.

Assumpta whispers a soft "Bright Lady," and takes Connor's hand, as does Orla on the other side. Peter looks at his wife, then bends to ask who the child is speaking of. Assumpta only shakes her head. He squints, and sees two women, one red-haired, with two long braids and a long green dress, and the second black haired, looking like something out of a Goth or Punk rock band, her face either tattooed or marked somehow with black lines over pale skin, and silver jewelry gleaming from lips and nostrils as well as ears. Her hair is spiked upwards, and she is dressed in red and black leathers.

"Talk about your odd couple!" he mutters, and Assumpta says, "Shush, don't say another word. If you make either of them mad, we'll both be lucky to live to regret it!"

"Wha.."

"Just HUSH!" Assumpta tells him, and seeing the look on her face, suddenly gone white, he acquiesces.

Just then the woman in green stretches out an arm to point at the ground in front of the racing stallion, and the black-haired woman laughs, coarsely, almost croaking, and makes a dismissive gesture, then spreading her palm out flat and making a wiping motion with her hand. Orla, Connor, and Assumpta all stifle gasps, knowing that only they are likely to see what is happening, but Aisling, too, cries out, as Iblis, nearing the far turn, appears to stumble for a moment. What the three adults see is what appears to be a sheet of flame spread out across the ground, underneath horse and rider, turning the churned track surface smooth and unmarked by boot or hoof again. Aisling sees only "her" horse nearly falling, as do all the others save O'Connor, eyes now squeezed shut in fear. As the flame smooths the track, the black recovers and lengthens stride again, entering the turn smoothly, and pushing all out for the finish line now two furlongs away.

Brendan pulls his daughter down and cuddles her. "Aisling, it's all right, he didn't fall, see, look, here he comes!" The child turns outwards again, pulling her face out of her father's shoulder, and begins to squeal, so her father sets her down, and she grabs the railing, bouncing up and down and hollering her loudest, cheering the stallion on.

Assumpta, Orla, and Connor are staring not at horse and rider, but at the two women on the far side. The woman in the long green dress raises her hand and waves, and the three bow their heads, then raise them again at the triumphant shout of the leather-clad woman, who raises a clenched fist in the air, and pumps it, just as the stopwatches click sequentially as the black stallion, pounding in a dead gallop, passes in front of each club official in turn.

As Maggie hears the shout, she sits up slightly in the saddle, and raises her fist as well, looking over her shoulder and across the track. She then drops the reins, rises in her stirrups, and, as Iblis drops to a fast canter, bends at the waist and bows, her right hand crossed over her chest.

The two women incline their heads, and turn, walking away hand in hand. Only Assumpta, Orla, Connor and Peter see them go, and likewise only those four see them literally vanish into thin air as they walk. Maggie, as Iblis canters past where the two stood, maintains her bowed head, though she is again seated in the saddle.

"Who..." Peter's face shows his shock.

Connor leans towards him, puts a hand on his shoulder and whispers into his ear just four words: "Brigid and The Morrigan." Peter feels a cold wave wash over him.

As the four again look closer around them, they see Brendan, Siobhan and Vincent huddled around the five Jockey Club officials, who are all muttering together, two appearing on one side of some dispute and three on the other. Finally, Smythe raises one hand.

"Gentlemen, why are are arguing? Every single watch shows similar times, and how we would handle that stumble on the far side won't change a thing, it can't have made more than two second's difference either way. Are we all agree on that?" All of then nod, turning to look at each other. "Well, then, let's go out on the track to speak to Ms. Burke and Ms. MacAllister, shall we?" Just as Smythe ducks under the rail, Vincent Sheahan reaches out to put a hand on the arm of the official who spoke of breeding his mare to Iblis.

"So, mate, what was his time, then?" Vincent's voice is strained, knowing how much this means to Avril and Maggie, both.

"Two minutes, eighteen seconds, Father. I shall be looking into shipping my mare across the Irish Sea next month, I believe!" The man has a big grin on his face as he ducks under the rail.

The whoops and cheers of Brendan, Vincent and then Orla and Connor penetrate James O'Connor's self-imposed trance, and he opens his eyes to see Maggie and Avril jogging Iblis and The Cat side by side down the home stretch, the stallion having slowed as he lapped the mare, and the two of them now both calming from the exhilaration of the race. His face, previously nearly waxen, flushes in joy, and he ducks under the rail, jogging towards the horses and riders.

"Well, what are we all standing here, waiting for, then?" Assumpta's sharp tongue goads the rest of the group into action, and they all head out onto the race track. Before the crowd reaches them, Maggie reaches across and shakes Avril's hand.

Avril smiles and says, "Maggie, I admit, I never thought he'd do it, and I've watched him for months now, on and off. He was FAST. He and The Cat might make one of the best horses on this track in a decade, between them!"

"So mote it, be, Avril, so mote it be! Now, shall we get down and loosen some girths and let our groom cool these two out?" Maggie chuckles at the look on Avril's face. "You let Iblis take The Cat's reins, and Aisling will take Iblis'." Momentary confusion clears from Avril's face.

"Yes, I think that will do very nicely indeed, Maggie. Let's see what those fine Jockey Club gentlemen say when they see that!" Both women stop their mounts, kick out of stirrups, and drop to the ground simultaneously, moving to loosen girths, and running stirrups up leathers, as Aisling, dashing ahead of the rest of the group, gets to Iblis' head and reaches up to hug his neck as the stallion lowers his head, nostrils still blowing.

"Shall I take him for a walk now, Aunt Maggie?" Aisling has already take up the reins the older woman has dropped on the track.

"Just a minute, dear, let me finish with the stirrups. Iblis is going to hold The Cat's reins, and you take his, and walk them one more time around the track, can you do that far?" Maggie asks the child.

"Sure, Aunt Maggie, it's not that far, and they've both already run it twice, if I couldn't walk that far I wouldn't deserve to ride Iblis, would I?" Smiling broadly, the girl clucks to the horses, and the stallion follows willingly, the mare hesitating a moment before feeling the tug from the stallion, and hearing the snort of breath he makes, telling her to come along.

"She'll never make a child's mount, will she?" Maggie asks Avril as the two turn to walk towards their friends.

"No, but her foal will, with him as a sire," Avril returns.

"Well, ladies, I expect you've guessed it already, but just to make it official..." Mr. Smythe holds his watch out towards them as Avril and Maggie approach. Maggie reaches out and takes it, squinting closely for a moment, then turns it to Avril, who, smiling, waves it away, so that Maggie hands it back into official hands. "Congratulations, Ms. MacAllister, we shall recommend to the full Board of the Club that offspring of your stallion and registered mares be allowed conditional registration in our roster, and, should any such offspring prove to be of good type and quality, we shall accord them full registration and unlimited breeding privileges into the future. The Club has only done this rarely, but after all, truth be told, DNA testing has already proven our Thoroughbreds to be, genetically speaking, purebred Arabians, just selected for different type down through the last few centuries, so we really aren't cross-breeding, anyway."

"Well, Mr. Smythe, I actually didn't expect that bit of info to be brought up, but I'm glad you did, since it's true. You won't see IAHA allowing the obverse situation to occur, but we aren't worried about their opinion, are we? From a veterinary point of view you are taking less risk with this outcross than you would by using most American Thoroughbred stallions, given the incidence of Lasix use these days!"

Maggie shakes Smythe's hand as it is offered, and begins to walk towards the side of the track, joined on the other side by the official who had spoken with Vincent regarding his own mare. Before the pair can get into a discussion, however, the BallyK group joins them, and Maggie is pulled aside into numerous hugs from her friends.

Avril gets pulled into the hugging as well, and soon finds Vincent's arms around her shoulders. She freezes, then allows herself one brief hug in return before stepping backwards. Vincent's face is flushed from the excitement and happiness over the outcome of the time test, but he also pulls back when he realizes who he is hugging.

Last of all, James takes Maggie into his arms, and not only hugs her, but kisses her soundly. He whispers into her ear, "Thank God you're alive!"

She answers, "You can if you want, but it wasn't him that smoothed out that track back there, and I'll bet he's the one put the pothole there in the first place."

James pulled back, looking puzzled and a bit hurt.

"You didn't see...?" Maggie asks.

"I had my eyes closed the whole time, Mags, I couldn't bear to watch, I just kept praying." He pulls her close again.

Maggie chuckles and tells him, "Well, you missed a good show, Jimmy, but I'll tell you later. Now let me go, I've got to talk to a man about his mare, here." O'Connor lets go, but keeps possession of just one hand, and walks beside Maggie as she turns back to the official with a hunter mare he wants a foal by Iblis out of.

Peter hangs back, pulling Assumpta with him, to whisper to her, "'Ssumpta, Connor said those two were Brigid and The Morrigan? I kinda know who Brigid is, but who's..."

Assumpta puts her fingers across his lips. "Shush, don't call her name unless you want her attention. She's one of the three daughters of The Dagda, you can read more about it when we get home. Ever hear of the Hindu goddess, The Kali?" Peter nods his head. "Well, she's not unlike who was just standin' across this track a few minutes ago. Do me a favor, will ya' and never, ever, chuck a rock at a crow or raven?" Assumpta starts walking again, slowly, so as not to wrench an ankle in the soft ground. Just then they hear the sound of a man running up behind them, and see the track official who operated the starting gate pass them to catch ahold of Vincent Sheahan's shoulder to stop him.

"What? Are you sure?" Vincent's face has turned white, as has James O'Connor's.

"Yes," the track official answers, just as Peter gets into good earshot again. "I'm sure, it's on every station on the radio, and I daresay it'll be all over the telly as well. He's finally passed, the Pope is dead." Vincent turns to look at the rest of his party, and James and Peter turn to Maggie and Assumpta.

Peter speaks first. "Ah havta go, 'Ssumpta, ah've got ta go t'a church. We'll all go together, an Vincent, can ya give James a ride back ta BallyK?" Vincent nods, and the three of them leave, James and Peter kissing Maggie and Assumpta on the cheek before they leave. They are followed closely by the three Irish club officials. The two Englishmen look at the diminshed Irish party, and Maggie answers their unspoken curiosity. "They're rather devout, you see."

She's answered by two "Ah's", and the entire group continues its walk, Brendan and Avril soon walking ahead to meet Aisling as she comes around the track from the opposite direction with the two now cooled horses. Brendan picks Aisling up and Avril takes the reins of both horses, ruefully noting that Iblis bit down hard on The Cat's reins more than once. She slaps the mare's neck.

"You couldn't just go along with him, eh, ya eedjit?" Iblis snorts, and rubs his head against Avril's shoulder.

"All right, give me a minute, or, here, take hold of your own reins and have Maggie to do it, I've enough to do with this mare of mine!" Iblis indeed takes his own reins out of Avril's hand, and trots towards the large group of people walking towards him. Siobhan has carried a small bag of equipment with her the entire time, and pulls out a stethoscope.

"Mind?" she asks, looking at Maggie.

"Go right ahead, Doctor!" Maggie answers, unbuckling the throatlatch as Siobhan presses the scope against Iblis' ribs, just under the loosened girth.

"Ah, lovely, I'll just go have a listen to The Cat, so." And the tall vet marches off the short distance, less unbalanced by her second pregnancy than Assumpta has been by her first.

Maggie slips both bridle and saddle off the black horse, and pats him on the rump. "Go on, have a good roll, I'll brush you off before I put a sheet on you, and you WILL get a bath when we get back to the stable! And yes, you will get to breed that grey mare, so mind you don't colic or bloat or fall over your own four feet, now these gentlemen have come all the way from England to see you!" She laughs as the black horse snorts and trots off.

The two Englishmen watch as the horse goes sniffing along until finding a quite dry, sandy patch, where he lays down, scrubs his neck sideways into the soil, and then proceeds to roll back and forth several times, at one point pausing to twist his spine back and forth, four legs straight up in the air, letting out a groan as he furously scratches his own back. At that point even the reserved Englishmen cannot help themselves, and they laugh at the horse's antics, for all the world acting as if he were out on his own pasture, not having just run over two miles, hard.

Avril leads The Cat towards Maggie and the Englishmen, as Brendan and Siobhan lift Aisling and swing her along every few steps, then letting her walk in between them, all three holding hands. The entire group starts towards the stables and the parked van, pausing to let the horses drink a small bucket full of water each.

"I could do with a tall cold drink myself," Avril remarks.

The English officials offer dinner at their hotel, but Avril refuses, as do Maggie and the rest, knowing how long the drive home will take them in the horsebox. The two visitors then say goodbye to the BallyK group, and head back to said hotel, and Connor and Orla go with Brendan, Siobhan, Aisling and Assumpta to where the cars were parked.

Assumpta finds Peter has left her car there for her to get home, and so the group part ways. Orla, Connor and Assumpta exchange a few words after Brendan and his family have left.

"So, Iblis really did stumble then, and She, well, They, fixed it, smoothed the track again?" Assumpta asks.

"Yeah," Orla answers her, "and I'm bettin' the reason more force wasn't brought to bear against us was because He had his eye turned south!"

"Yes, though it's been all over the news for days the man was dyin'," Connor adds, "convenient of him to do it now!"

"Connor!" exclaim both women, but he laughs.

"Truly, the man was sufferin', it's better for him to die, and I'll lay odds he's glad he's out of it, too! Now let's go home!" He and Orla kiss and hug Assumpta, and they split off as well.

Back at the van, Avril and Maggie are brushing down the two horses, picking hooves, and throwing loose robes on the pair, before offering them both larger drinks of water from their home barn. They walk them around the stable complex, just to be sure there's going to be no colic, and then load the pair into the box, securing all the tack and gear and closing everything up before they climb into the cab. Maggie breaks out the ice water she'd left in a bottle earlier that morning, and the two women quench their own thirst.

"So," Maggie starts, after a half hour on the now dry road, "shall I just leave Iblis at your place until The Cat's next heat, and cover her there?"

"That makes the most sense, I think. How many times do you think we should cover her? I presume you'll want to be there to handle him?" Avril is seeing plans she has pondered for so long come to pass, she is smiling broadly.

"Yes, I'll handle him, unless you want to let him handle it all himself out in the pasture? He won't get himself kicked, he knows better!" Maggie laughs.

"No, we'd better not risk it, The Cat is such a flighty thing, for all she's not a filly any more. I expect Siobhan has breeding hobbles we can use to tie one hind leg up, better to be safe than sorry."

"Yes, she probably does, but isn't that risky, what if she slips, she could break her leg, too, you know. We never used them for any of the mares that came to him in the States, he's a good teaser, and old enough to know when the time is right, or not." Maggie secretly thinks the Thoroughbred breeders have some medieval practices still in effect.

"Well, if you're sure he'll be all right." Avril sounds unsure.

"He'll be fine. If we want to, we can build him a ramp out of bales of straw, and if she kicks he'll be above her. Probably a more through cover that way, too. Say, just make sure Vincent isn't coming around the days we do the breedings, all right? I've done more than my fair share explaining the 'birds and the bees' to one priest my own age, I don't want to demonstrate it with horses to one young enough to be my son!" Maggie chuckles.

Avril joins her, the tension lessened. "No, I don't want to demonstrate the facts of life that way, either. Besides, every man I ever knew immediately developed a severe inferiority complex after seeing their first live cover, we might as well spare what few we can, eh?" At that, both women laugh heartily, then settle into companionable silence. Steady spring sunshine bathes the hills as the big horsebox rumbles along, winding back along the road home to Ballykissangel.