The 13th Horseman - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,23

“X-perience.” He grinned too broadly. It was the grin, Drake thought, of a man on the edge. “It’s not exactly the traditional spelling, but then again, we’re not exactly a traditional barbershop quartet, are we, Brian?”

Brian shook his head. “No. There’s only the two of us, for a start.”

“And we do the twiddly bits, don’t we, Brian? Show him your twiddly bits.”

Brian opened his mouth and made a sound quite unlike anything Drake had heard before. He imagined it was the type of sound a camel might make, were it to attempt to gargle a cat.

Alfred held his hands out at his sides, his point apparently proven. “Let’s see the Acapella Afterlifers do that, eh?” he said, between snorts of laughter. “Not a friggin’ hope!”

“Who are the Acapella—?”

“Right, nice to see you again, Alf, Brian, but we need to get a move on,” said War hurriedly. He clamped a hand on Drake’s shoulder and pulled him away from the men.

“Ah, always busy, right, lads?” Alfred said. “Any word on the old... you-know-what, yet?” He tapped the side of his nose. “Just between you and I, of course.”

“Nothing yet,” said War.

“Ah well, keep us posted. Nice to see you again, lads.” A thought struck Alf. He turned to Brian, his manic grin advancing further across his face. “Here, Bri, why don’t we give the lads a proper Alfred Randall X-perience send-off? Sing them on their way, sort of thing?” Alf turned back. “What do you say to that, lads?” he asked.

But the lads were gone.

Drake trudged across the sand, just a few metres behind War. Pestilence followed right behind him. Somewhere in the middle distance, Famine puffed and wheezed in slow pursuit.

“So, I thought Limbo was supposed to be empty?” Drake ventured. “I thought that was the entire point?”

“It was empty, once upon a time,” Pestilence told him. “But cram a few million lost souls in and it starts to feel a lot less roomy, if you know what I mean?”

Drake nodded. That made sense, he supposed. “Right. What’s with all the Barbershop X-press stuff, or whatever they were called?”

“There’s not a lot to do in Limbo,” Pestilence explained. “So a few thousand years ago they started forming singing groups. No instruments, obviously, just voices. Some of them are really quite good. Some of them... aren’t.”

“And some of them are the Alfred Randall X-perience,” added War, with a shudder.

“Quite a few rivalries have developed over the centuries,” continued Pestilence. “The Alfred Randall X-perience hates the Acapella Afterlifers. The Acapella Afterlifers can’t stand the Limbo Lyrical All Stars. And everyone hates the We Are Voice Experience.”

“Christ,” War muttered. “The WAVE. I’d forgotten about them.” He glanced at the dunes on either side of them, as if anticipating an ambush.

“It’s grown into quite a lively old place,” Pestilence went on.

Drake looked around. Apart from Famine, who was now almost too far away to see, there was nothing in any direction. Even the shed had long since disappeared beyond the horizon.

“Yeah, it’s not very lively,” Drake began, before his face thudded into War’s lower back.

“We’ve arrived,” the giant said.

“About time too,” Pestilence complained. “I’ve got blisters on my blisters, and this sand is doing my dermatitis no favours, let me tell you.”

“Sorry, where have we arrived?” Drake asked. He leaned round War, expecting to see more nothing. Instead, he saw a door.

The door was a glossy white with a brass handle situated almost exactly in the centre. There was a wooden frame round the door, painted to match, on to which the door’s hinges had been screwed. The door and frame stood upright on the sand, with no walls above or around them.

There was a sign on the door. It was small and rectangular, black in colour, with a gold-painted border. There were two words printed on the sign, also in gold. Drake read them out loud.

“Staff only,” he said.

“Right then, sunshine,” War said. His powerful hand wrapped round the door knob. “Walk this way and do not – I repeat, do not – touch anything.”

IT WAS DARK on the other side of the door, and the air smelled faintly of damp. War felt along the rough brick wall until he found the light switch. He flicked it on and the darkness was swept away by a sterile white glow.

Row after row of lights came on with a clunk. As they did, more and more of the room was revealed.

At first, Drake thought they were in a garage. Then he thought they were in