The 13th Horseman

DRAKE LAY IN bed, listening to the ticking of his clock. He’d stopped looking at it a few hours ago, when the hands had been creeping past one o’clock. No matter how hard he’d tried since then, he couldn’t fall asleep.

He put it down to worry. He could never sleep when he was worried, and right now things were queuing up to be worried about.

Someone was trying to kill him. Someone had tried to kill him. Twice. That was one of the things bothering him, but that wasn’t even the biggie.

Armageddon. The end of the world. It sounded ridiculous – the idea that the whole world could just suddenly and abruptly come to a stop. How could one man destroy the whole world and everyone on it? It seemed impossible.

And yet both Pestilence and War had said it was possible. And, of course, Death Nine wasn’t just any normal man.

Drake thought about that. The old Death was human now – someone ‘dark and sinister’ if Pestilence was right. That pointed to one obvious suspect. And the metal sphere had come from inside his classroom.

Could Dr Black be the old Death? Drake had been relieved when Mr Franks showed up to take him away from the history teacher’s classroom, but now he couldn’t help but wonder what he might have found out if he’d hung around.

The cupboard, he thought, might still hold some answers, even if it didn’t hold the bodies of Bingo and his cohorts. It was worth a look, anyway. He’d have to find some way of unlocking the door, of course, but maybe there’d be something in there to help him figure out if Dr Black really was Death number nine. And, if he was, maybe there’d be some sort of clue as to whether he really was capable of ending the world.

Drake rolled over, making the bed creak. A few nights ago he’d been lying awake worrying about starting school. Now he was lying awake worrying about the Apocalypse. A lot had happened since Monday.

Drake got up, tiptoed to the window and looked out. Through the darkness, he could just make out a small red roof at the far end of the garden.

Pulling on a jumper and wriggling his feet into his shoes, Drake undid the window latch, and quietly slid the wooden frame open.

Famine was sitting on the grass outside the shed, his back leaning against a side wall. He looked up as Drake approached, revealing a face smeared with streaks of brown. The fat man’s fingers dipped into a jar of chocolate spread he held between his thighs. He scooped out a dollop of the stuff, licked the finger clean, then clamped a pudgy hand over the jar.

“It’s mine,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” Drake said. “I’m not hungry, anyway.”

“Lucky you,” Famine replied, as he scooped out some more of the gooey spread.

Drake sat on the grass beside him. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Thought some fresh air might help.”

“It won’t,” Famine said. “You don’t need as much sleep now. Hardly any, really.”

“Really? I don’t know if that’s good or bad,” Drake admitted.

“Bad,” Famine told him. “Very bad. Being awake’s overrated.”

Drake thought about this. “I suppose you could get lots done, though, without sleep.”

“Maybe. If you had something worth doing,” Famine said. “All we have to do is wait. You don’t need to be awake to wait.”

He reached the bottom of the jar. Drake watched in horrified fascination as the horseman stuck his tongue into the container and began licking the inside clean.

“You’re doing the right thing, I reckon,” Famine said, when the jar was spotless.

“What do you mean?”

“Jacking it in. We’ve been waiting on the call for what, six or seven thousand years now? Starting to drag a bit, if I’m being honest. You’re best getting out when you can.”

“How come you’ve all lasted?” Drake asked. “Why is it just Death that keeps –” he reached for a suitable word, but couldn’t find one – “cracking up?”

Famine shrugged. The shed he was leaning against creaked loudly in protest. “Death’s the leader, and he’s the most powerful. Maybe it’s that that does it. The power. Or maybe it’s the responsibility. Don’t ask me.”

“The most powerful?” Drake muttered. “I can’t even summon my horse.”

“You’ll get there. It just takes practice. And the right mindset.”

“And the ability to whistle,” Drake added.

Famine grunted what might have been a laugh. “Yeah, that’s a help an’ all.” He lifted up a roll of flab and pulled out a tin of mackerel. “You really can’t whistle?” he asked, cracking the ring pull and tearing open the lid.

Drake put his fingers in his mouth and blew. A slightly damp silence emerged. “Nope,” he said. “I’ve never been able to do it.”

Famine lifted the can to his lips and half drank, half ate the fishy contents. Drake thought that it was just as well he wasn’t hungry. After that, he didn’t think he’d ever want to eat again.

“What’s your horse like?” Drake asked, when Famine had wiped the oily fish residue from his chin.

“Bandy-legged,” Famine said, then he laughed a hollow laugh. “I don’t ride much, these days.” He looked at his hands, all smeared with oil and fish bits. “Don’t do much of anything, these days.”

They sat in silence for a while longer. “I think... I mean, I’m not sure, but I think one of my teachers might be Death. The old Death, I mean. The last one.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Dr Black, his name is. Do you think he could be?”

Famine shrugged. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Well, because he might try to kill me again, for one thing.”

“Yeah, he might at that. Still, I suppose it’ll all be over soon.”

Drake frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The Apocalypse. If he kicks it all off, it’ll all be over for everyone. Won’t have to worry about anything any more.”

Drake thought about this. “Yeah. I suppose.”

He got to his feet. There was a strong breeze blowing around the garden, and he was surprised he didn’t feel cold. “I’m going to head back to bed and lie awake until morning.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Famine said.

Drake gave him a nod. “See you later.”

“See you later.”

Drake was almost at the wall of weeds when he stopped. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

Famine shook his head. “I don’t mind.”

“Why don’t you quit? If you don’t like it, why don’t you quit?”

“Look at me,” Famine said. He gestured down at himself in general. “What else could I do?”

Drake didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he smiled in what he hoped was a supportive way. “Bye, then,” he said, and he pushed aside the first few blades of the tangled grass.

“G’night, Drake.”

With one final glance back, Drake slipped into the grass and headed for home.

“How was horse riding?”

The question accosted Drake before he had reached the end of the path. Mel popped up from behind the fence. Drake couldn’t help noticing that her hair was a shocking shade of red.

“Um... it didn’t really work out in the end,” he told her. “Don’t think it’s my strong point.”

“Shame,” said Mel, but Drake thought she looked secretly quite pleased by this news. “Maybe I can teach you one day.”

“Yeah, that would be... What happened to your hair?”

“Oh that; like it? I’m in disguise.”

“What as? A tomato?”

“Hey, that was quite quick for you,” she said, smiling. “No, I’m disguised as someone with red hair.” She explained it slowly, as if talking to an idiot. “So, you know, someone who’s not me.”

Drake hopped over the gate. “And why are you in disguise, exactly?”

“Because I don’t want to be recognised when we sneak back into Dr Black’s classroom,” she explained.

“And why are we doing that?” Drake asked. Even though he’d had exactly the same idea himself, he was interested to hear Mel’s reason for it.

“Because I was thinking – he still lied. Whether Bingo and that lot turned up or not, he still lied about you being the last one to see them. So, after you went into the shed with your uncle – which, you know, is a new level of weird, by the way – I went back to the school and watched for Dr Black coming out.”

“And?” Drake asked.

“He didn’t.”

“He didn’t what?”

“He didn’t come out. I stood there until ten o’clock. He didn’t come out.”

Drake raised both eyebrows in surprise. “Ten o’clock? Seriously?”

“Wasn’t like I had anything better to do,” Mel said. “After that, I went straight home and disguised my head. He’s up to something, I’m sure of it, and we need to find out what.”

Drake bit his tongue, then decided just to go for it. “I think he’s going to try to destroy the world.”

Mel looked back at him blankly.

“I mean, I’m not sure, but he might be.”

“Right,” she said slowly. “Because I was thinking he might be sleeping in his classroom or something. Like, maybe he couldn’t pay his rent.”

“Or it could be that,” Drake backpedalled. “It could be that too.”

Mel considered the alternatives. “Either one’s reason enough to snoop around in the cupboard, I reckon.” She made up her mind. “If he’s planning on destroying the world, then we’ll stop him. If he’s using the cupboard to sleep in then we’ll, I don’t know, fart on his bed or something. Deal?”

“Deal,” said Drake, then he drew in a breath. “Imagine he was planning to destroy the world,” he said. He tried to sound like he was joking, but his voice took on a serious tone all by itself. “What if we couldn’t stop him? What if no one could?”

Mel thought about this. “That,” she announced, at last, “would be a real bummer.”





THIS TIME, THEY waited until lunch before going anywhere near Dr Black’s classroom. He was on guard duty at the canteen, making sure the food didn’t incite anyone to riot. This meant he would be out of the way for at least twenty-five minutes. That left plenty of time for Drake and Mel to snoop around.

The cupboard door, however, was still locked. Drake studied it. He tapped the wood in several places, without having any real idea why. He’d seen them do it in DIY shows on TV before, so presumably it must serve some purpose.

“I suppose I could try walking through it,” he said. One of the good things about Mel, he had discovered, was that he could say almost anything he wanted to her, and she never seemed in the least bit surprised. Like just then, for example.

“You could try that, certainly,” she said. She held up a key. “Or, we could try this.”

Drake’s eyes lit up. “Where did you get that?”

“Like I said, I have my sources. Don’t ask too many questions,” she said mysteriously. Then she added, “It was there. On the desk.”

“Oh,” said Drake, a little disappointed. If there really was something sinister in the cupboard, Dr Black was unlikely to leave the key just lying around for anyone to find. “Give it a try, then,” he urged.

Mel slid the key into the lock. There was a soft clunk as it turned. Mel pushed the door open and a cool breeze hit them both in the face. From within the cupboard, Drake heard the low drone of an air-conditioning system, and a feeling of dread began to pump through his veins.

“Mel, wait,” he said, but Mel was already stepping into the darkened space and fumbling for the light switch. He bounded in after her as the light came on, revealing a room just two metres wide, and about three times as long.

The cupboard was completely empty, aside from a table that took up almost the entire length of the back wall. A black cloth covered the table and hung down to the floor on all sides. On top of the tablecloth were tools and circuit boards and oddly shaped pieces of metal. Above it, bolted on to the ceiling, two fans noisily pumped out cold air.

Mel raced up to the table and began prodding at the circuit boards. Drake was more cautious. The fans were just like those in the Junk Room cave. He kept his eyes open for self-assembly robotic demons as he walked over to join her.

“I don’t believe I’m seeing this,” said a voice from behind them. Drake and Mel turned to find Mr Franks in the doorway of the cupboard. He had his arms folded across his chest and an expression that was halfway between disappointed and furious. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Mel was talking before an excuse could form in Drake’s head.

“I’m glad you’re here, Mr Franks,” she said. “Something fishy’s going on.”

“You’re breaking into Dr Black’s cupboard. That’s what’s fishy,” the teacher said reproachfully.

“No, check this out,” Mel said, indicating the circuitry and components on the tabletop. “Tell me this isn’t weird stuff for a history teacher to have lying around?”

Despite himself, Mr Franks peered past them. He cast his gaze across the items on the table.

“What is that stuff?” he asked, staying back by the door. “You shouldn’t be messing about with it. Dr Black wouldn’t like it.”

“No,” Mel said. She gave a low whistle. “He probably wouldn’t. What do you think it is?”

Drake studied the bits of metal. He didn’t recognise any of them, although he recognised their shiny chrome colour. “Not sure,” he said, only half lying.

Mr Franks took a few faltering steps into the cupboard and looked down over their shoulders. “It’s probably nothing,” he said. “Just... some sort of project, or something.”

“Yeah, Project Destroy the World,” Mel said dramatically. “Or Project Build a Home Computer in Sixty Collectable Parts. One or the other.”

“It’s not like any computer I’ve ever seen,” Mr Franks said. Despite his initial concerns about them being in the cupboard, he couldn’t help but be interested by the components on the table. He picked up a circuit board and studied it. “It looks so... advanced,” he said. “Where did he get his hands on something like this?”

“You could ask him,” suggested Mel.

“Ha,” said Mr Franks, without humour. “Yeah, there’s an idea.”

Mel swallowed and pointed to the cupboard door. “No, I mean, you could ask him.”

Mr Franks and Drake both set down the components they were holding, and turned round. The skeletal frame of Dr Black stood in the doorway, his face drawn in anger.

“What... do you think... you are doing?” he demanded in a voice like grinding teeth.

“Dr Black, there you are,” Mr Franks said. He walked towards the other teacher, trying to smile, but failing miserably. “I can explain; you see we were—”

The back of Dr Black’s hand caught Mr Franks across the side of the face. The younger teacher spun until he hit the closest wall. With a faint whimper, he slid down the wall and on to the lino floor.

“Whoa,” Mel said. For the first time since Drake had met her, she looked genuinely shocked. “That was harsh.”

Dr Black took a step into the cupboard. Behind him, the door swung closed. “Mr Finn. Miss Monday,” he said, over-pronouncing every syllable. “I told you not to come here again. I warned you to stay away, but yet here you are, trying to interfere with my plans.” He took another step towards them. “Do you think you can stop me? Is that it? Don’t you realise the irony? It isn’t your job to try to stop me. It’s your job to stand at the sidelines and cheer me on.”

“You are him,” Drake said. He’d had his suspicions, but having them confirmed still came as a shock. “You’re Death Nine.”

“At your service,” Dr Black said, bowing his head just slightly.

“Death Nine? What are you talking about?” Mel asked.

“The others told me why you left. What are you planning to do?” Drake asked. He couldn’t hide the tremble in his voice.

“First, I’m going to get my strength back. And then I’m going to do something –” he waved a hand around, as if searching for a fitting word – “spectacular.”

“Like what?”

Dr Black gave a low chuckle. “I’m not a Bond villain, Mr Finn. Do you really think I’m going to tell you every detail of my scheme?”

“Well, I kind of hoped...”

“I will tell you when I’m going to put it into action, though. When I’m going to start the ball rolling on Armageddon, so to speak.”

“When?”

Dr Black reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black smartphone. He swiped a finger across the screen a few times, then stabbed a thumb against one of the icons.

“Armageddon,” Dr Black said, with a callous smile. “There’s an app for that.”

“What did you do?” Drake demanded. “What have you done?”

“I’ve started the ball rolling on the end of the world, but you shouldn’t concern yourself with what I’ve done. You should worry about what I’m going to do next.” He leaned in closer. “I’m going to kill you, Mr Finn. Right now. And after I’ve killed you, I’m going to kill her.” He shifted his gaze to Mel for just a second, but in that moment, Drake saw his chance.

Roaring, he threw himself at the teacher, shoulder lowered, chin tucked into his chest. War had said that in human form the previous Death would be powerless. He looked frail too. One solid hit should be enough to take him down.

Drake ploughed into Dr Black, but it felt like he’d run head-first into a wall. The teacher didn’t so much as take a single backwards step. He caught the bent-over boy by the waist, hoisted him into the air, then smashed him back down on the floor beside Mr Franks. Drake was surprised – not by the unexpected wrestling move, although that was surprising enough in itself. He was more surprised by the fact that it didn’t really hurt.

It also didn’t hurt when the tip of Dr Black’s shoe was driven into his ribs, although he definitely felt it. Drake rolled clumsily in the narrow cupboard and scrambled to get back to his feet.

“Hey, leave him alone!” Mel yelled. She moved to lash out at the teacher, but Drake’s arm came up to block her way.

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Stay away from him. He’ll kill you. He’s crazy.”

Two pinpricks of red lit up in the teacher’s eyes. “You say the sweetest things.”

“What’s going on?” Mel asked, backing away.

“Tell her, Mr Finn,” Dr Black oozed. “Tell her everything. Tell her what you really are.”

“What’s he talking about?” The usual light-hearted tone was gone from Mel’s voice now. She was serious. And she was scared. “What have you got me mixed up in?”

“I’ll explain later,” said Drake. “I promise.”

“You know, Mr Finn,” Dr Black began. He raised his bony hands in a choking motion. “You really shouldn’t make promises that you cannot keep.”

THUDOOM!

The door at Dr Black’s back flew open with such force that it cracked the solid stone wall where it hit. The teacher spun one-eighty on his toes, his hands now clenched into fists.

At first, he saw no one, but a movement down by the floor soon caught his attention. He looked down to see a flea-ridden creature glaring back up at him. The hair on the cat’s back stood up as it bared its rotten teeth, extended its filthy claws and said, “Woof”.





ASHORT DISTANCE away, in a dark wooden shed in an overgrown back garden, a telephone rang. It was the first time, since time itself had begun, that this particular telephone had made a sound.

The three men sitting at the table tensed. War straightened his shoulders, adjusted his sword, then smoothed down his beard. Only then did he reach for the receiver and listen to the clipped tones of the person on the other end of the line.

“Yes, sir,” he said eventually. “I understand, sir.”

With a click, War hung up the phone. He undid the laces of his boots, then tied them again, tighter this time. Only then did he look at the other men.

“Right, then,” he said, with an uncharacteristic tremor in his voice. “That’s us.”

Drake looked down at the barking cat and couldn’t contain his delight. “Toxie!”

“Hey! It’s that ca—” said Mel, before Drake’s hand clamped over her mouth.

“Don’t say it,” he warned.

Dr Black’s lips drew up into a mirthless grin. “Nice kitty,” he said, then he toe-punted the mangy animal across the room. It clattered hard against the bottom of a bookcase. The shelves wobbled back and forth, back and forth, and then they toppled forward, showering Toxie in hardback history books, before crunching down on top of him.

The teacher returned his attention to his captive audience. “Now,” he said. “Where were we?”

There was a sudden boom and the bookcase exploded. A shape, like a small cat becoming a big something else, glowed white hot in the corner of the classroom.

The three still-conscious occupants of the cupboard watched as Toxie’s back tore open, and a row of spiky plates grew from his spine. His stubby bones snapped and splintered, then joined together again in new shapes and new sizes. A hide of molten granite burned through the tattered remains of his fur, as the slender muscles across his shoulders bulged. In just a few seconds, Toxie’s body had become that of a terrifying Hellhound.

His head, though, was still very much a cat.

“Getting there,” said Drake encouragingly.

Toxie wagged his forked tail and woofed happily. “What the Hell is going on?” Mel asked, catching Drake by the sleeve and not letting go.

“I’ll explain that later too. But for now, you might want to step back.”

He put himself in front of Mel just as Toxie’s powerful back legs twitched. The Hellhound bounded on to Dr Black’s desk, his paws leaving scorch-marks on the wood. Dr Black’s twisted grin didn’t falter.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” he growled, beckoning the monster over. Toxie’s tiny jaws opened wide as he hurled himself at the history teacher. Dr Black twisted to the side, raised his arm in front of his chest, then drove his elbow into the Hellhound’s throat.

Toxie’s momentum carried him forward, regardless. Dr Black turned and bent low as the full weight of the snarling Hellhound landed on his back. Incredibly, he didn’t fall. Even more incredibly, he straightened back up in one jerky movement.

“Bad kitty,” he said, then he ran backwards out of the cupboard. Drake and Mel watched him charge across the classroom, dodging desks and chairs, the Hellhound howling with fury on his back.

And then there was a loud KRIK as Dr Black drove the beast against the wall. A spider’s web pattern spread up the plaster and Toxie let out a squeal of pain. Dr Black glared into the cupboard and fixed his eyes on Drake. He began to cackle, quietly at first, but quickly becoming louder until the sound of his laughter drowned out Toxie’s yelps.

“We should get out of here,” Drake muttered.

“You think?” Mel said. She took hold of Drake’s hand and he led her out into the classroom. “What do we do about him?” she asked, glancing back at the unconscious Mr Franks.

Drake thought for a moment, then firmly pulled the cupboard door closed. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “Probably.”

“Where do you think you are going, Mr Finn?” Dr Black demanded. He made a lunge for them, but Toxie dug his claws into the teacher’s shoulders and dropped to the floor. Dr Black was pulled backwards.

“Go, go, go,” Drake cried, pushing Mel towards the classroom door. They clattered out into the corridor and slammed the door closed, muffling the sounds of the battle raging inside.

“That was... What was...?” Mel stammered. She shook her head and pulled herself together. “What’s happening?”

“I’ll explain soon, I promise,” he said. “But now we have to run.”

He caught her hand again and pulled her along the corridor towards the exit. Pupils usually didn’t bother going upstairs during breaktimes, so the history corridor was completely deserted. Their footsteps echoed noisily as they made for the corner that led to the stairs.

Drake skidded round the bend, dragging Mel with him. Three figures blocked the top of the stairs. They turned their spotty faces Drake’s way as he appeared round the corner.

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t the knob ’ead,” Bingo muttered. “Been eating any Frosties lately?”

“Not now, guys, OK?” Drake said. He moved to pass them, but Dim and Spud blocked his way.

“We’ve been looking for you,” Bingo continued.

“No, you haven’t,” Drake said. “You walked right past me yesterday.”

“Yeah, well now we are looking for you, all right? Did you think we forgot what you done?”

There was a crash from along the corridor behind them. None of the three bullies so much as blinked.

“I’m warning you, get out of my way,” Drake said. “We need to get out of here. All of us.”

“You ain’t going nowhere, knob ’ead.” Bingo looked Mel up and down. He fixed his eyes on her checked skirt and leered. “And neither’s your girlfriend.”

Bingo made a grab for Mel, both hands raised, fingers spread wide. Drake let go of her hand long enough to shove the bully in the chest. “Leave her alone,” he yelled, in a voice that didn’t sound quite like his own.

In his panicked rage, Drake pushed the boy harder than he had intended. He watched helplessly as Bingo stumbled back towards the stairs. The bully’s face barely had time to register his surprise before he started to fall.

All four of them looked on, dumbstruck, as Bingo clattered down the hard stone steps. He bounced and rolled down the last few stairs and hit the floor below with a sickening crunch.

In the silence that followed, Drake was deafened by the thunder of his own crashing heart.

Mel looked down at the motionless boy, lying on his back, his limbs bent at awkward angles. Both shaking hands went to her mouth. “Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh God.”

“What have I done?” Drake whimpered. “He’s not moving. What have I done?”

Dim and Spud kept quiet. They followed Drake and Mel as they hurried down the stairs.

“I’ve... I’ve killed him,” Drake said. “I’ve actually killed him.”

“Maybe not,” Mel said. “I mean, maybe not. There’s no blood or anything.”

“No, but...” Drake remembered the crunching sound Bingo had made on the floor, and the way his head had battered off almost every step.

He stopped, three stairs from the bottom. “Why isn’t there blood?”

Mel carried on past him. “He might be OK. Maybe he just needs—”

“Mel, wait!” Drake cried, pulling her back just in time. With a mechanical whirr, Bingo’s legs and arms twisted backwards, raising his chest up towards the ceiling. His head spun all the way round until his face was pointed towards the floor. He looked like a dog wearing a human-suit, but the truth was, Drake knew, that he was neither of those things.

“OK,” Mel gasped, stepping back. She glanced sideways at Drake. “Explain this one. Now.”

“He’s a robot,” Drake told her.

“A robot?”

“In the cupboard. Dr Black must’ve done something to the real one and let the robot take his place.”

Mel frowned. “But wouldn’t that mean...?”

They both turned to look at the other two bullies. Circles of red light flickered on in the dark centres of Dim and Spud’s eyes.

Down on the floor, Bingo’s mouth pulled into an electric snarl. “Kill them,” he commanded. “Kill them both!”

“Move!” Drake yelped. Catching Mel by the arm he jumped the final few steps. Using Bingo’s chest as a springboard, they raced along the corridor towards the fire exit.

Dim and Spud bent over and wrapped their hands round their own ankles. The lines of their backs curved to form two almost perfect circles and they rolled, like hula hoops, down the stairs.

Drake pushed down the bar of the fire exit and the door swung wide. A piercing alarm began to scream, drawing the attention of the hundred or so kids dotted around the concrete rectangle before them.

“Get out of the way!” Drake bellowed, as he and Mel spilled out of the school. “Move, it’s not safe, it’s not—”

A crashing sound drowned him out. The spinning circles that were Spud and Dim punched through the walls on either side of the door, spraying chunks of stone and slivers of glass. The school grounds were filled with the sound of screaming as Spud and Dim pursued Drake and Mel across the concrete.

Drake sprinted on, pushing his way through the panicked masses, pulling Mel behind him. The robots were too fast. There was no way he could outrun them. He had to dodge round the crowds, but Dim and Spud ploughed through them, scattering schoolkids like skittles.

Frantically, Drake shoved two fingers in his mouth and blew. Air hissed out like a slow puncture. The spinning hoops were almost upon them now. “Come on,” Drake pleaded. “Just whistle!”

He blew again. There was no sound, but suddenly a horse was there, rearing up in front of them, sending the school yard into even greater chaos.

Fluid dripped from the white horse’s mouth, and from its eyes, and from the weeping sores that covered its flanks. Pestilence slid down from the saddle, and pulled Drake and Mel in behind him. Then he faced the rapidly approaching bullies, and did the last thing Drake would have expected.

He took off his rubber gloves.

The two bullies spun to a stop and straightened up in front of him. Pest held his hands up, palms facing them.

“Tell me, gents, do you know what ‘Guinea Worm Disease’ is?” he asked.

Dim and Spud didn’t reply.

“It’s a rather unfortunate medical condition that results in a metre-long worm growing inside your stomach, then chewing its way out through the nearest available exit. It’s not contagious.” Pestilence looked at both of his hands in turn. “Usually.”

Drake tapped him on the shoulder. “Uh, Pest...”

“One second, Drake,” Pestilence said. “I was just about to share something with your friends here.”

“But, Pest, you don’t—”

“Leave this to me, Drake. I do know what I’m doing.”

He pressed his hands against the bullies’ foreheads. A sickly green glow spread out from his palm and fingertips. Dim and Spud stared at him, their faces impassive. Pestilence’s delicate features creased into a frown.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Drake said. “Techno-magic mumbo jumbo. They’re robots.”

Pestilence’s face went several shades paler. “Robots? Ah, so is that how they did the spinny thing? I did wonder.” He withdrew his hands. “Wasting my time with that, then,” he said. He smiled nervously. “We should probably go.”

“One step ahead of you, Uncle Bob,” Mel said. She was sitting on the horse, towards the back of the saddle. Pest leaped up in front of her, and they both pulled Drake up between them.

“Hold on,” Pest warned. Drake felt Mel’s hands on his waist. They gripped him tightly as she pulled herself close against his back.

Pestilence flicked the reins, and the world around them became a streak of speed.

“Hey, Chief,” Mel said into Drake’s ear.

“Yeah?”

She tightened her grip round his waist. “Your family is frickin’ nuts.”