The 13th Horseman - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,51

with the horseman, to convince him to call the whole thing off, but it was as if he were hypnotised. So, while he wanted to say ‘no’, what he actually said was: ‘OK.’

They left the locker room, then stopped abruptly when they saw the other two horsemen waiting for them.

“Ta-daa!” chimed Pestilence, holding out his arms. “What do you think?”

A stunned silence fell.

Pestilence looked like a violent encounter between a motorcyclist and a cowboy. On his bottom half he wore black leather chaps over his usual white trousers. Tassels dangled along the seams, swishing outwards when he turned to give the other horsemen a twirl.

His boots, which reached almost to his knees, were also leather, but shinier than the chaps. They finished with a large, square heel at the back, giving Pest another few centimetres in height.

The leather jacket he wore was studded across the shoulders. It hung open, revealing a black waistcoat underneath and, below that, a white roll-neck sweater.

There was a soft creak as Pestilence pulled on his cap. Also leather. Also studded, with a chain hanging across the front, just above the peak.

War, at last, found his voice.

“What... in the name of God... are you wearing?”

Pest looked down at his outfit. “What’s the matter with it?”

“That’s your official uniform, is it?” asked War, in the tones of someone who was a hair’s breadth away from the end of his tether.

“More or less,” Pest said. “I just sort of... zooshed it up a bit. It’s leather. Very practical, leather.”

War shook his head, then turned to Famine. He was still wearing the same faded grey tracksuit as before. “And what’s your story?” War asked.

“It doesn’t fit,” Famine said. “I can’t get the trousers past my knees. I ripped the backside right out of them trying to pull them on.”

“And what about the measuring scales? You’re supposed to appear carrying scales. It says so in the book.”

Famine looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, I sort of sat on them.”

War’s forehead twitched. “You mean you broke them?”

“Not exactly, not exactly,” Famine said. “See, I was trying to pull the trousers on at the time, and I didn’t know the scales were on the seat, and, well...” His voice trailed off and he gave a wobbly shrug. “I could try to get them back, I suppose, but I might need a hand. And some sort of lubricant.”

Pest’s face went an interesting shade of green. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Great,” War growled, looking up to the ceiling. “Just great. You’ve lost your scythe, you’ve wedged your scales where the sun doesn’t shine and you…” he looked Pest up and down. “I don’t know where to start. Some bloody Apocalypse this is going to be.”

“Speaking of which, we’d best get a move on,” Pest said. He took a deep breath, then turned to Drake and positioned his mouth into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but was a good effort all the same. “You ready, then?”

Drake felt himself nod. The weight of thousands of years of expectation pushed down on him, smothering his will to resist. He was Death, the fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse, and he had a job to do.

“Said your goodbyes to everyone?” pressed Pest. “You know, to your mum, and all that?”

“My mum?” Drake mumbled, as if confused by the word. Then his eyes went wide and his head went light, and like that, the spell was broken. “My mum! My mum’s going to die. Everyone is going to die!”

Drake’s breath came in big, shaky gulps, too fast for his lungs to cope with. “We can’t do this. We can’t go through with it. We can’t.”

War shot Pestilence an angry glare. “Oh, well done. Nice work.” He gestured with a thumb towards the hatch. “Get upstairs, the pair of you. We’ll be up in a minute.”

“But... the Apocalypse,” Pest said. “What if we’re late? We can’t be late!”

“What are they gonnae do? Fire us?”

“No, but they could banish us to Hell,” Famine said.

“Aye, just let me see them try it,” War snapped. “Now get upstairs. We’ll be up in a bit.”

Famine and Pest exchanged a worried look, but they both knew better than to argue with War. Drake watched them until they had clumped all the way up the stairs, and out through the hatch at the top. Only then did he turn to the other horseman.

“We’ve got to do something,” Drake said. “We can’t let this happen. All the people, we can’t just let them die.”

“Sit down,” War told him.