The Star of Kazan

The arcaded palace of a prince, now the royal stables, was lit by pools of light from the gas lamps on the walls. From the chapel further down the road came the sound of the Vienna choirboys singing vespers.

There was the smell of straw, of saddle soap . . .

A lone dark horse was walking down the well-worn path towards the great double door, which opened now from the inside. The boy leading the horse walked steadily on, but just before he reached the door he turned and waved.

The people clustered on the pavement waved back. They waved back hard. A row of little boys, silent for once because the occasion was so important. A girl with frizzy hair who was frowning because it had all become rather solemn and after all a horse is just a horse. A lady to whose long black skirt there clung the fragments of a buttered roll.

Annika had been pushed forward to the place of honour, closest by the gate. Her eyes followed every step that Zed took, but in some other part of her mind she was waking up on that first morning in Spittal when an unknown boy had ridden past her window, and she had known that both the boy and his horse would become part of her life.

Inside the stables a horse whinnied his welcome and Rocco replied. Then Zed led him forward over the threshold – and the great door closed on them both.

For a moment there was no sound except the singing of the boys in the little church.

Then, ‘I’m hungry,’ said Hansi – and Ellie nodded, and they all went home.