be don’t make mistakes very often. That was a one-off.”
Drake stayed quiet for a while after that. The horses galloped across the wide fields, racing up the hills and thundering down the dales. Despite the blinding speed and the nagging worry that he could fall off at any moment, Drake actually found himself enjoying the journey.
A suspicion had been nagging at him for the past few hours, though, and Pestilence had been pretty forthcoming with information so far.
“The old Death,” he said. “Death Nine. What did he look like?”
“A sort of big, black wraith figure. Like a living version of the Robe of Sorrows, if you can imagine such a thing.”
“Oh, right,” said Drake, a little disappointed. “Not a skinny old man with a big hooked nose, then?”
“Ah, you mean what did he look like in human form?” Pest asked. “Dark and sinister, probably, but that’s just a guess. We never got to see him. He wasn’t human when he started.”
“What was he?”
“Just an ominous black shape, really. We’ve had a few Deaths like that. God knows where they get them.”
“But he definitely turned human when he left?” Drake asked.
“Oh, yes. That’s in the contract, that. Terminate the agreement in any way and you’ll take human form, regardless of what form you might’ve been to begin with.”
“War said that he could do it. The old Death, I mean. That he could bring on Armageddon.”
Pestilence spoke hesitantly. “He said he might be able to do it, but only if he’d planned things well in advance.”
“The robotic demon in the Junk Room, and the sphere things at school,” Drake said quietly. “They must’ve been planned in advance, right?”
“Yes,” Pest admitted. “I’d think they must have.”
“How will we know if he does do it?”
“We’ll get a phone call. And, of course, there’ll be signs.”
“What kind of signs?” asked Drake.
Pest shrugged. “Oh, the usual. Earthquakes. Raining blood. Plagues of locusts. That sort of thing.”
He gave another flick of the reins and the horse bounded over the remains of an old stone cottage.
“They’ve got this book, see? Them upstairs. The Book of Everything. It tells them... well, it tells them everything, like you might expect. But most importantly, as far as we’re concerned, it tells them when the end of the world is coming, so they can start rolling out the signs. It’s a pretty foolproof system.”
War’s horse slowed to a stop and the giant leaped down on to the grass. Pest brought his own horse to a halt beside him. The animal broke wind loudly.
“Ooh, better out than in!” laughed Pestilence.
With a hoarse hacking sound, the horse coughed blood on to the grass.
“Probably better in than out, that one,” Pest said weakly. He swung his leg down into an expert dismount. He and War watched as Drake slid awkwardly in the saddle, kicked frantically in mid-air, then landed in a heap on the ground.
“Aw, smoothly done,” War said, clapping his hands together slowly.
Drake stood up and tried to brush the grass stains from his trousers. They smudged a little, but didn’t go away. Mum wasn’t going to be happy about that.
“Yeah, very funny. What did you stop for?” Drake asked.
“Last night you asked about Death’s abilities,” War intoned. “I thought now might be a good time to discuss them.”
Drake looked at the wide-open space around them. Aside from a small tin shack at the foot of one of the hills, there was nothing in any direction but fields and trees and dirt-track roads.
“Out here?”
“Yes, out here, where there’s less chance of you accidentally killing anyone.”
Drake’s stomach went tight. “I’m not killing anyone,” he said quickly. “Is that what I’m supposed to do? I’m not doing that.”
“Accidentally killing anyone, I said,” War growled. “No one’s asking you to kill anyone on purpose.”
“But isn’t that what I do, though?” Drake asked. He was suddenly realising exactly what he might have got himself into. “I mean, if I’m Death, that’s what I do, right?” He clamped a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God, I’m evil, aren’t I? Death, War, Famine, Pestilence; we’re all evil!”
“No one has to kill anyone,” Pestilence explained. “All we’re supposed to do is ride the horses across the sky come Judgement Day. We’re like mascots, really. Just sort of cutting the ribbon to declare Armageddon open for business.”
“And we’re not evil,” War said. His nostrils were flared in a sneer, as if the very suggestion offended him. “Wars can lead to freedom. A plague or a famine have no will of their