The 13th Horseman - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,37

out?”

“He did. Thanks.”

“Ah, I love new teachers. So eager to be liked,” she said. “What did old Blackie want?”

“He just wanted to know why I didn’t go and see him yesterday, like he’d asked.”

“And what did you say?”

She turned to look at him, but found the space beside her empty. Drake was standing in the middle of the pavement, several paces back. He was looking past her at the road ahead.

“You OK?”

Mel turned and followed his gaze. Further along the street, she saw a shed made of dark wood, with a jolly red roof.

“What’s up?” Mel asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Can we not go this way?” Drake asked. “Is there another way to your house?”

“Lots of ways to my house,” Mel said. “What’s the matter, though? Is it that shed? Are you shed-o-phobic?”

“What? No.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Shed-o-phobia’s really common. Probably.”

“I’m not scared of the shed, I’d just rather—”

“Hey, look, there’s someone inside,” Mel said. She pointed to the door of the shed, which was now opening. A pale-faced man in a neat white suit stepped out and waved a rubber-gloved hand.

“Coo-ee! Drake!”

“Do you know that guy?” Mel asked.

Drake shook his head. “No.”

“It’s just that he’s sort of shouting your name,” Mel said. “And beckoning you over.”

“He must have me mixed up with someone else,” Drake said.

“Let’s go and ask him,” said Mel. She hooked her thumbs through the straps of her schoolbag and made her way towards the shed.

“No, wait, come back,” Drake said weakly, but he knew he was wasting his breath. He had no choice but to go after her.

Pestilence was grinning from ear to ear by the time they reached the shed. “Hello, Drake,” he said. He turned to Mel. “And who do we have here?”

“Mel Monday,” Mel said. She held out her hand. Pestilence looked at it nervously, as if it might explode at any moment.

“He doesn’t really do the handshaking thing,” Drake said. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Very wise,” Mel said. “You don’t know where I might have been.”

Pestilence’s eyes opened a little wider. “Exactly! Ooh, I like you,” he said. “What did you say your name was?”

“Mel Monday.”

Pest smiled warmly. “Monday’s child is fair of face,” he said. “Lovely to meet you, my name’s—”

“Bob,” said Drake, more loudly than he had intended. Pest and Mel both turned to look at him. “Uncle Bob. He’s my... He’s my Uncle Bob. Isn’t that right, Uncle Bob?”

“Will you hurry up?” growled a voice from inside the shed. “My back’s about breaking here.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” said Pestilence. He spun a plastic arrow that was attached to a square of card in his other hand. “Left foot green.”

“Left foot green? ” War cried. “How in the name of God am I supposed to—?”

Drake reached over and pulled the door closed, and the voice became muffled. A moment later, a loud thud shook the wooden walls of the shed.

“What do you want, Uncle Bob?” Drake asked.

“We... thought you might like to go horse riding,” Pest said. “We were going to do some practice, remember?”

This time, it was Mel’s eyes that widened. “Horse riding?” she said. “Can I come?”

Pestilence suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Well, I suppose, it’s not... I mean...” He opened the shed door. “One second,” he said, then he stepped inside and closed the door.

Voices muttered beyond the door. A moment later, it was yanked open, revealing a bearded giant standing inside. “You,” he said, stabbing a finger at Drake. “Get in. You,” he said, stabbing the same finger at Mel. “Go home.”

“Maybe you can come another time?” Drake suggested, before War caught him by the arm and dragged him into the shed. “See you tomorrow!” Drake managed to cry, and then the door slammed closed between them.

“Well, she seemed lovely,” Pest said. “But Uncle Bob? I mean, really? Do I look like a Bob? Why not Uncle Jose? Or... or... Uncle Alejandro?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Drake demanded, glaring at War. “You can’t just go dragging me in here any time you feel like it.”

“And you can’t go shirking your duties any time you feel like it. We let you go home last night on the understanding you met us after school. It’s now after school, so we saved you the bother of coming to us.”

Drake crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. For the first time since entering the shed, he spotted Famine. He was lying face down on a Twister mat, apparently unconscious.

“Right, fine,” Drake scowled. “Where are we