The 13th Horseman - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,10

halfway to his open mouth.

Pestilence cleared his throat quietly. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it,” he said, his eyes fixed on the scabby cat. “It’s a lot for him to take in.”

For a few long moments the world seemed to stand perfectly still. Then, with a low “Woof,” Toxie turned and wandered off across the grass. All three men let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Bit of advice,” War scowled. “Don’t go insulting a Hellhound, particularly not one that’s standing next to you at the time.”

“But... it’s a cat,” Drake said, his voice a low whisper. “I wasn’t insulting him, he’s a cat!”

“He’s got some problems. With changing,” Pestilence said, mouthing the last two words silently. “Bless.”

“Changing? What are you—?”

“It’s not important,” War intoned, his voice clipped by irritation. “You need to join us in the shed.”

“No.”

The giant frowned. “No?” he repeated, as if hearing the word for the first time in his life.

Drake’s fear had temporarily deserted him, replaced instead by anger at being kept against his will. “You said I’m in charge here, right?”

“That’s right,” said War reluctantly. “Death is technically the leader of the Four Horsemen, but—”

“Then I order you to let me go. No garden looping or any of that. Put it back to normal and let me go home.”

“But we haven’t even started discussing your responsibilities,” War protested. “There’s a lot to get through if—”

“Now!” Drake demanded.

War’s bulging muscles twitched briefly. He bit down on his lip, fighting the urge to shout. An icy shiver of terror shot down Drake’s spine as he realised he may have gone too far.

Eventually, though, the giant gave a single nod of his head. “Whatever you say,” he said. “Pest.”

Pestilence reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary television remote control. He jabbed a few buttons, then slipped the device back in his pocket.

“You’re free to go,” said War.

Drake eyed the men closely as he backed towards the high grass. When he felt the foliage brushing against him, he turned and plunged off through the weeds. The others watched as the trodden undergrowth sprang back into place in his wake.

“Well,” breathed Pestilence, “all in all I’d say that went really rather well!”

“SETTLE DOWN GUYS, settle down.”

It was first period. Science. The teacher, Mr Franks, swaggered into the classroom, one hand shoved casually in his trouser pocket. In the other hand he carried a sheet of paper that he studied as he crossed to his desk. He half sat, half leaned on the table, facing the assembled class, still reading the note.

“Stop mucking about with that gas tap, Kara,” he muttered, without looking up. “They’re not for playing with.”

Near the back of the class, Drake gazed absent-mindedly out of the window. The events at the shed yesterday evening were replaying over and over in his mind. He should have told his mum about the men again. She could have called the police and had all three of them arrested.

Then again, if she hadn’t believed him, he’d be back at the child psychologist, and she’d be worried sick. Besides, she seemed so tired when she’d finally arrived home. He’d slipped off to bed without saying anything soon after that. And, he only now realised, he never did get that pizza.

He’d just have to stay out of the garden for a while, that was all. For ever, if possible. Life was complicated enough without a freak show trying to recruit him as their ringmaster.

Getting lost in the grass so many times had been weird, though. He was still convinced there was a perfectly rational explanation for it all. He just couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. Still, it was bound to come to him eventually.

“Right, listen up, everyone,” said Mr Franks. The low murmur of the class died down, as all eyes turned to the teacher.

“Billy Sharp, Michael Ash and James Bing didn’t return home from school yesterday. The police are searching for them, but as of this morning I’m sorry to say they still haven’t been found.”

A low wave of chatter swelled across the room, sweeping from pupil to pupil as they turned to each other and began to guess what could have happened to their missing schoolmates.

“Can anyone remember seeing any of them after lunchtime yesterday?” Mr Franks continued. “If so, it’s very important you let me know now.” His gaze washed over the class. “Anyone?”

Drake watched the other pupils with interest. He had no idea who