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Sample
A 10,000 Word Girl's Story set in Prague at the turn of the Century.
When Jamil inherits the Golden Horseshoe from a gypsy, he doesn't know what to do with it, other than put it on his mantelpiece. He laughs when she tells him that it will bring good luck to whoever it grants three wishes.
Isabella, has no money, and lives in poverty in the maid's quarters of the castle left to her by her father. Her life is miserable as she is forced to sell her possessions to live. Count Forkovsky, her father's accountant, is hounding her to sell the castle.
On her way to market one bitterly cold day, Isabella's horse Vobek loses a shoe. She meets Nobbles along the way and he introduces her to Jamil.
The blacksmith fixes Vobek's shoe. It is love at first sight.
Before Isabella leaves the forge, she notices the horseshoe on the mantelpiece and Jamil tells her to make three wishes. She does.
Soon her life is transformed and she moves back into the main castle. She dreams of marrying a prince and wearing her mother's diamond tiara.
One by one Isabella s wishes come true and a mystery unfolds.
CHAPTER TWO : THE LETTER
Thump, thump, thump. Someone was banging loudly on the back door. The morning light was visible through the crack in the torn curtains. Isabella stirred slowly from her sleep. She peered out of the window hoping that her visitor would not see her. There in the half-light was a man's shadow, standing tall, in a black winter coat. The snow was falling lightly on his shoulders. His sturdy boots had left large tracks up the path in the new snowfall.
"I know you're in there." His voice was gruff. "Open this door," he called, banging on the solid oak back door of the castle again. His boots shuffled in the snow.
Isabella stayed still. She waited for what she knew would come. A letter was pushed through the small brass letterbox, falling lightly onto the wooden floor. The man turned and the sound of his footprints grew less and less as he disappeared out of sight. Isabella let out a sigh of relief and clasped the letter in her hand. Her teeth chattered in the cold of the chilly morning. The fire was out, it was as dead as a doornail. She sighed again, gathering strength for the new morning. The day had already brought bad news.
Her cold fingers fumbled as she undid the letter, reading the badly handwritten note. It was as she'd thought, another message from Count Forkovsky wanting to buy the castle. Her father had left her little for the castle's upkeep, but she'd written back to the Count every time telling him the castle was not for sale, but she knew he was a very persuasive man.
Her father had warned her about the Count on numerous occasions, telling her not to have anything to do with him. But it was true, Forkovsky was the only man rich enough to buy the castle.
Isabella took several sticks of firewood out of the basket and placed them in the grate. She rubbed two sticks together, and when they were well alight she threw them onto the top with the others. The bellows helped and soon the slow fire burned filling the small back room with heat. She ambled into the kitchen and cut a huge slice of stale bread, taking care to remove the mould from the crust. Prodding the slice with a fork she toasted it over the flames until it was ready to eat.
Outside, the snow was falling heavily. The winter chill was biting but she would have to brave the cold to buy some more groceries. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly. Isabella changed her clothes hurriedly and put on her velvet cape.
Opening the door leading to the ground floor of the castle, she climbed the stone staircase. She shivered. The air was dank from the lack of flames from a fire. Her ancestors stared down at her from the oil paintings that lined the walls of the hallway. Isabella walked over to the marble mantelpiece in the main drawing room and took the lid off the delicate china pot that had been in the same place for centuries. Inside there were only four coins left, only enough for one day's shopping. She looked around her trying to decide which painting would be next to go to the auction rooms.
The one of wicked Great Uncle Sabestino or naughty Auntie Florence, she giggled. But once they had been sold, then she would have to sell her family's real treasures. The things she liked, that had been in the family line for generations. Soon she'd have nothing left except the walls of the castle. And there was only one man who wanted those - Count Forkovsky. A tear left the corner of her eye. She wiped it away and took a deep breath. She couldn't give up. Not yet, anyway.
She replaced the lid on the china pot carefully and made her way back downstairs to the servant's quarters that had been her home for several months.
The room was warm now. Sitting down by the fire she wrote a note to the auctioneers. She'd drop it in to them on her way back from the market. She added one or two more sticks from the basket and they crackled as they caught alight. After all she would need a good fire when she returned later. The bitter wind would chill her bones to the marrow.
As she walked towards the door, she noticed Count Forkovsky's letter on the side table. His handwriting made her cross. She snatched up the letter and threw it into the fire. It caught alight in the flames. Watching it burn brought a smile to her face.
CHAPTER THREE : VOBEK
Vobek greeted her with a whinny. He stared at her over his stable door as she approached hurriedly across the courtyard towards him.
Vobek was twelve now and a fine stallion. Isabella had looked after him since he was a foal and a present from her father on her tenth birthday. She had ridden him as soon as he was old enough. Walking, trotting and cantering through the trees, exploring the woodland paths around the estate.
The sunshine was warm on their backs. In Winter, when it snowed, Isabella spent her days grooming Vobek in the warmth of his stable. She'd told him all her secrets. He had listened intently, his muzzle placed near her nose. Then one Autumn day Vobek had shied at something in the hedge and Isabella had fallen to the ground hurting herself badly. She knew she would never ride again. Ever since, she had taken to putting him in a harness and using a jig. He had taken to it kindly and learned quickly.
"Vobek, my heart!" Isabella greeted him and stroked his soft white muzzle. "It's cold this morning but we must go to the market today." She gave him a carrot, which he accepted happily chewing on the sweet vegetable gratefully.
"First though, I need to clean your stable," she said tying him up outside.
She took the pitchfork, which leant up against a nearby wall, and got to work sifting through the straw. At one time, this job would have been done by the stable lads, but the task was now hers. After all it would have been pointless for her father to keep on the three lads, when there was now only Vobek living in the stable block.
She took in a huge amount of straw on the pitchfork spreading it out on top of the old and stood back admiring her work.
"There, we're nearly done." She patted the white stallion. "And your food which you can have when we get back," she added, pouring the oats into a bucket, putting it at the back of the box. She placed a small slice of hay in the manger in the opposite corner. Vobek whinnied.
Isabella brushed the stallion, then undid his rope leading him to the tack room where his harnesses were kept. The huge leather harness was far too heavy for a tiny girl but who else was there to help. She dragged it to where the stallion stood waiting. Vobek ducked his head as she slipped the heavy leather straps over his ears, and she moved the jig into position.
The stallion walked forward a couple of steps then paused while Isabella climbed aboard.
"We're ready, Vobek." Isabella's voice was soft. Her breath was visible in the cold air.
They trotted slowly down the winding drive, passed the fairytale yellow castle, with its pointed black spires, out through the open iron gates and onto the track that led to the market.
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