Well, readers, we've finally come to the end of this adventure, and, I hope, have tied things up with a nice bow ;) Thanks for reading (especially if any of you have been here from the beginning!)
Bay
We meet in the hotel.
Partly because it's open and visible, and partly because Sean Kendrick and Puck Connolloy and I in the tea house sounds out of place. I suppose I'm being a bit theatrical. For a moment, I think of Malvern, and I frown. But I'm not calling Sean here because I want to show him up.
I want to show him off. Him and Puck.
And besides, Malvern's not so much of a big man anymore. I guess in the end, losing his son really did tear him up.
It certainly tore up his public image, the way he screamed and yelled. He blamed the race officials and Sean and Puck and even me in an off-hand comment on the street one day.
Everyone knows by now the bluster is just for show. Maybe he really does mourn his son. Maybe he really does regret not loving him when he was here. But what he can't do is erase his utter disregard for Mutt while he was alive from the minds of everybody on Thisby. Even the tourists seem disillusioned after the race.
Malvern is down and out. And everybody knows it.
He doesn't have a foreman anymore. Despite a half-hearted attempt to lure Sean back to the yard. Sean said no.
A few of the stable hands walked as well, though most of them stayed. Although Malvern's a hard man, it's difficult to find a job on Thisby since we don't boast a lot of them. And a lot of those stable hands know nothing else. They've worked for Malvern their whole lives. I suppose, even to a bad man, that engenders a certain sense of loyalty.
His Yard will stand, just as it's always stood, though it seems older somehow, more worn, tired. Malvern, too, seems old and tired. He's been quiet these last few weeks. Maybe trying to salvage his image, sell a few more stock to the stragglers. Maybe wishing his son was still here to do it with him. After all, there's no heir to the Malvern Yards anymore.
I sip my hot chocolate and lean back in my chair, watching the patrons in the hotel. Now that the races are over, most of the tourists are gone. There's just a few hangers-on who haven't booked their ferry yet. They'll be gone in another week or so, I imagine. Island residents give me cheery hellos. I get a few tipped hats and nods of respect from fellow riders.
Now that Sean has Corr back and isn't in the Malvern Yards, there've been some rumors circulating about a certain island girl who chased Corr back to the sea. I don't know who started them. I haven't said a thing. But I haven't exactly disputed them, either.
Malvern hasn't tried for Corr. Especially not after he made a scene in the hotel and Eaton got up to remind him that there are rules on Thisby older than blood. Older than the sea. Older than us. That time his desire for an audience back-fired. It seems to be doing that more and more lately.
Boots hit the ground beside me and I look over to see Dad walk up from the bar, a beer in his hand. He pulls a chair out from the table and spins it around so that he can straddle it, plunking his beer down on the table. He's dressed nice again. Well, Thisby nice. In a new pair of jeans, a clean button up shirt and a vest. He's got a jaunty checkered cap on his head and he's clean shaven, his hair curling just above his ears. He looks younger than he's looked in a long time. He meets my eyes and smiles.
"Well, Bay, I can't say I ever imagined the two of us sitting here waiting to interview a new foreman."
I grin back. "I can't say I did either. I also can't say I ever imagined you becoming a consultant for a new Yard on Thisby."
Dad declined the offer of being my foreman when I declared my intentions of opening grandma and grandpa's Yard as a functioning stable again. He said it is too soon and that's fine by me. I don't want to push him. But he offered to act as a consultant for me, give me tips and pointers, keep the Yard from floundering in her first year. He's working his fishing gig still, of course, but there's been talk of restoring the old house and he even took me into Skarmouth yesterday to start looking at paint and wood and other construction supplies.
Although I didn't win the Scorpio races, my racing has given me a little fame. A few people have offered to help out when I expressed interest in opening a Yard. It's going to take time. Dad and I don't have a lot of money saved up. But if we work hard and take it one step at a time, I think we'll be able to pull it off. After all, we've already got the foundations. And they're strong foundations.
Good Thisby stock. Stalwart and unafraid, melded with the island, born singing the siren song of the sea.
Puck and Sean arrive shortly after, hand in hand. I've never seen the two of them look more right than when they are together.
I can't help but smile.
And neither, it seems, can the rest of Thisby, who all give each other wise nods and admit that they saw this relationship coming from a mile away, though I think most of them are exaggerating. No one ever expected quiet and sullen Sean Kendrick to settle on wild and petulant Puck Connolly.
They walk up to the table. Puck takes a seat and Sean walks up to the bar to get them a couple of drinks.
Puck smiles at me. I introduce her to Dad. Though they've seen each other around, they've never officially met.
She shakes his hand like they're old friends.
Sean comes back with two coffees and sits one in front of Puck. He takes the fourth seat at the table and he's smiling. A real honest-to-goodness smile.
"Mr. Fisher," he nods at Dad.
"Call me Callum," Dad says.
Sean dips his head. "So what's this I hear about a Yard?"
"Well, I've got a stable, if you've got a horse," I say.
He looks at Puck.
"We might have horses," he says.
"Where'd you get a stable?" Puck asks.
"My mom."
Sean raises an eyebrow. Dad and I share a mysterious look, but we don't delve deeper. There'll be time enough for that later.
"Not as big as Malvern's yet, of course, but it's old. Old as Thisby herself. Got stalls for the capaill uisce and everything."
"It's secure?" Sean asks.
"Solid stone," Dad says.
Sean looks impressed.
"It's even got the paintings," I say. "And stained glass."
Sean whistles. "That is old."
"Stained glass? Like the church?" Puck asks.
"Old Thisby tradition," Sean explains. "Supposed to make the water horses feel more at home. Makes the air look like water."
I've never heard that before, but it sounds right.
"But you know what's really going to help the Yard?" I prompt.
Dad leans forward.
Sean takes a sip of his coffee.
"What?" Puck asks.
"A foreman, his island Queen, a blood-red capaill uisce, and the first island horse to ever win the Scorpio Races." I smile slyly.
Puck's eyes light up.
"It takes more than that to make a Yard," Sean says critically.
"We've also got Malvern's first foreman on as consultant." I tilt my head toward Dad.
Dad gives me a grimace. "Please don't introduce me like that when we get patrons."
"You were Malvern's…" Puck trails off.
"Yes." Dad nods. "Before Kendrick. Quite a few years before."
Puck looks impressed.
Sean is quiet, staring at the table, thinking.
"I also hear this Yard has the secret to breeding winners," I say. "Winners mean buyers, Mr. Kendrick."
Sean gets a mischievous grin. "Eleven times out of ten, Ms. Fisher."
Puck and Dad look confused.
"Oh, but I hear the twelfth time works wonders." I laugh.
Sean looks at Puck, then at Dad and me. "We like those odds," he says. "Don't we?" he asks Puck.
She grins. "We like them very much."
