Stacy Gregg - Prince of Ponies

“But these are horses,” the Colonel objected. “They are not priceless paintings or sculptures.”

“Yes,” Dr Rau replied. “Horses are an even greater treasure. They are living, breathing art.”

Beneath her rug in the corner, Zofia saw Dr Rau shuffle his feet in the straw and take a step closer towards Prince. He had his gloved hand on Prince’s halter! Zofia’s heart was pounding.

“This horse, Prince of Poland, has all the traits of the Aryan race. In time he will be pure white like his father. And his bloodlines are impeccable …” The Master hesitated, seemingly unsure as to whether he should unfold the whole plan to the Colonel, but was unable to resist. And so he continued.

“As we speak, my men are gathering together the very best horses in the whole of Europe – Lipizzaners from Austria, Thoroughbreds from France, and now from Poland we take these Arabians. All of them are a part of the Führer’s grand scheme. For it is not just the humans, the Aryan race, who will bring glory to the Third Reich. We will also create a new super-breed of horses. The horses in your stables will be moved to Dresden. Here we will open a new stud farm, with all the best stallions and the very best mares from every breed. We will combine these horses and create the perfect, ultimate war horse.”

The Colonel’s voice was anxious. “You mean to say you are taking my horses?” he said. “To Dresden?”

“As I’ve already told you, Colonel,” the Master replied, “they are no longer your horses, and be calm – I do not intend to take them all. Only the best stallions will serve the purpose of the Führer.”

He stroked Prince’s muzzle.

“You were right when you said this one is the very best horse in the stable,” he said. “He is magnificent.”

Underneath the rug, watching him touch her horse like that, Zofia felt a fury that made her sick to her stomach. And then the Master continued and things became so much worse.

“Prince of Poland is truly the greatest horse in your possession,” the Master said. “So great, that he is not going with the others to Dresden.”

“But I thought you said—” the Colonel began, but the Master cut him dead.

“In the morning, he will travel with me, back to Berlin. Hitler himself has a special plan for this horse.”

The Master gave Prince a hearty slap on his neck to confirm his decision, and then he wheeled about.

“Now,” he said, clapping his hands together. “I think we are done with the inspection. I should like to eat.”

And with that, he marched back out of Prince’s stall, with his SS officers in his wake, leaving the bewildered Colonel to bolt the door behind them.

In the darkness once more, Zofia waited until her heart stopped pounding and she was certain they had gone before she emerged from beneath the rug. She was still shaking, and as she lifted her hands up to take hold of Prince’s halter, she realised just how close she had come to being discovered. At the same time, though, she knew it had been lucky that she had been in the stall to witness this, for now she knew the Master’s plan.

“Did you hear what he said?” Zofia whispered to Prince. “It is worse than we ever imagined, Prince. Hitler, the Führer himself, wants you.”

Prince’s ears swivelled as she spoke to him. He was listening intently. Did he realise the danger they were in? Zofia knew now that there was nothing else for it and no time to waste.

“When the Master comes for you in the morning, you’ll already be gone,” she said to him. “You and I, we have no choice. We must run. We leave tonight.”

Mira took a tight hold of the leather leash and felt Rolf strain with all his tiny might against her control.