The 13th Horseman Part 4

Drake shook his head. "No."

"Well, that's just b.l.o.o.d.y marvellous," War muttered. "A horseman that cannae ride a horse."

"What? I can't hear you, it's too noisy!"

"Doesn't matter," War said more loudly. "Can you hold a rope?"

Brakes screeched behind them, followed by the crunch of metal colliding with other metal.

"What kind of question's that? Of course I can hold a rope."

War's hand reached back over his shoulder and plucked the boy from the saddle. Drake barely had time to realise what was happening before he was plonked down again. He recoiled in the force of the sudden wind. He was in front of War now, the big man's body no longer s.h.i.+elding him. A rein was pressed into Drake's hands. He heard the shhnnk of a sword being drawn from a sheath. "Good," War intoned. "Hold that, and for G.o.d's sake don'ta""

The end of the sentence was lost as War rolled sideways off the horse's back. He hit the ground shoulder-first, rolled on the tarmac, then sprang to his feet, his broadsword raised and ready.

Drake felt himself sliding in the saddle and clutched the reins tightly to his chest. "Don't what?" he cried. "Don't what?"

But War was too far away to hear. He stood his ground before the spinning orbs, eyes flitting from one to the other. They crisscrossed along the street, moving over, around and occasionally through the now stationary traffic.

"Ye want some?" the giant growled, twirling his sword round in his right hand. "Come get some."

The blades screamed through the air. One of the spheres raced ahead, closing in for the kill. War planted his size nineteens, put his weight on his front leg, and swung. The first ball exploded before the sword could connect. A hail of razor-sharp metal barbs burst forth. They rattled against War's armour and dug into the few exposed patches of his leathery skin.

He gave a low grunt as the hooks tore into his flesh, but followed through with his swing. The sword whistled through the s.p.a.ce the first orb should've been occupying, then arced round in a full circle. He spun on the spot, bringing the blade back round, directly into the path of the second sphere.

The ball dipped sharply, dodging the sword and clattering against the ground beside War. He brought up a foot, slammed it down with a ker-ack, but the sphere was past him. It bounced twice, like a basketball, then spluttered back into the air. With blades whirring, it streaked off after the horse, and the boy on the horse's back.

"Aw," grimaced War. He pulled the first of the hooks from his arm and watched the ball rocketing away. "b.u.g.g.e.r."

Drake bounced violently in the saddle, his knuckles white on the reins, his face fixed in a mask of terror. The horse's breath snorted in and out through its wide, flared nostrils, slow and steady, as if even this frenzied pace was taking no effort to maintain.

"Slow down!" he wailed. "Whoa! Stop! Whatever it is you do!"

Drake hadn't seen War's encounter with the armoured spheres, but that didn't matter. They were a distant memory now, a distant threat. The threat of falling off and splattering like an egg against the ground a" that one was much more pressing.

The horse thundered on, muscles moving beneath its ruby flanks, its mane blazing like an inferno. They were almost at the end of the street now, surely moving far too fast to take the ninety-degree bend that was racing up to meet them. A row of shops lined the road dead ahead. Drake could see himself reflected in the gla.s.s fronts, four identical versions of himself on four identical horses, all about to be caught up in the same identical crash.

"Look. Building!" Drake cried, leaning down and shouting directly into the horse's ear. The ear flicked, as if swatting away a fly, but the horse's gallop didn't falter. "Come on," he begged. He bounced backwards in the saddle and gave a sharp yank on the reins. "We need toa""

With a whinny, the horse leaped into the air. Drake gripped with his legs and wrapped the reins round his wrist and braced himself for another jarring impact.

It never came.

"Stop," Drake whimpered, as the ground fell away and the horse's hooves began to clatter across the wide-open sky.

A long way back along the street, War plucked the last of the barbs from his skin as he watched his horse take to the air. Even there, a hundred or more metres away, he could hear the boy's panicked screams.

War shook his head. "I told him," he sighed, sliding his sword back into its sheath. "What did I tell him? For G.o.d's sake, don't pull back on the reins."

Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down. The words repeated in Drake's head like a mantra. Looking down would be stupid. Looking down would be insane.

Drake looked down.

Aaaaaah, screamed his brain. Aaaaaaaaaaah!

The town spread out below him like a map. The streets, the cars, the houses a" they were all tiny, and getting tinier by the second as the horse climbed steadily higher.

The rus.h.i.+ng of the headwind stole Drake's breath away. The horse's hooves clip-clopped noisily on thin air. Somewhere, far off to their left, a pa.s.senger on a pa.s.sing aeroplane watched the horse running across the sky, took a long, hard look at his complimentary drink, then slowly sat it down on the fold-away tray.

And behind them, unnoticed, a spinning ball of techno-magic mumbo jumbo tore across the sky.

"D-down," Drake whimpered. "Down, boy."

The horse tossed its head back and shook its fiery mane. It banked steeply upwards, until it was almost running vertically. Drake screamed as he slid backwards off the saddle. The reins, still wrapped round his wrists, jerked tight and he found himself dangling helplessly, his legs bicycling in mid-air.

With a snort, the horse turned sharply right and began to race towards the distant ground. Drake was flicked upwards, before gravity thudded him back down into the saddle. He felt the upsurge of wind and heard the high-pitched whine of the sphere as it soared past him, tumbling end over end.

The ball curved like a boomerang, punched through a fluffy white cloud, then rejoined the chase. Up here, with nothing to get in its way, the ball was fast. It began to close the gap almost at once. Even over the roaring of the wind, Drake could hear the whirring of the blades. He remembered the sting of the cut on his cheek. Then he imagined it a thousand times worse.

He clenched his legs round the horse's broad back and ducked down low in the saddle. "Yah!" he cried, flicking the reins just as War had done. "Ya-aaaaaaaaaaah!"

The world went blurry round the edges. For the second time in sixty seconds, Drake was saved by the reins round his wrist as he was thrown backwards off the saddle. Still the horse galloped faster, until it was dragging Drake along, his legs stretched out behind him.

"Not yah," he cried. "I've changed my mind. Not yah! Not yah! "

The animal gave a long, loud whinny. It sounded, Drake thought, suspiciously like a laugh.

The roar of gunfire erupted behind them. The horse banked sharply to the right and something whistled past Drake's head. Several somethings. He glanced back and caught a glimpse of a gun barrel poking out from within the sphere.

"Yes yah. Definitely yah!" Drake cried. "Yah, yah, yah!"

Fire spat from the barrel of the gun. The horse went into freefall and Drake felt the bullets streak by just above him. He looked down to find the ground racing up. He'd barely begun to scream when the horse levelled off, clattering him back down into the saddle.

They were racing just a few metres above an open field now, kilometres outside the town. A road ran alongside them a kilometre or so to the left. Down on the right, a narrow river meandered towards an old stone bridge.

Twisting in the seat, Drake searched the sky. The ball was nowhere to be seen. "Where did it go? Did you see it?" he cried. He hesitated, then added, "Why am I asking a horse? I mean, it's not like you can understand what I'm saying." Another pause. "You can't understand what I'm saying, can you?"

The horse shook its head.

"Good," said Drake. "That would've just been too weira" Look out ! "

The sphere rose up from behind the bridge, spraying bullets in a wide horizontal arc. The horse neighed loudly, startled by the gunfire. Stumbling, it plunged into the river. The coldness of the water made Drake gasp. It swirled in through his open mouth, filling his throat and his belly. He felt the reins pull away, heard the frantic splas.h.i.+ng of the horse. And then he was floating.

And then he was sinking.

And then, he was drowning.

The darkness eased behind Drake's eyelids, like shadows fleeing the coming of dawn. Something warm and wet pressed against his mouth. And his cheeks. And his forehead. It pulled back as he sat up and spewed dirty river water on to the gra.s.s.

"Knew it," said Famine. His head was directly above Drake's, his rubbery lips folded into a wide smile. "Kiss of life. Never fails."

Drake turned his head and spewed again. Not water, this time.

"What... what happened?" he asked, when he had finished retching. "Where's the ball thing?"

"Over there." Pestilence's head appeared from behind Famine's bulk. He pointed to a scorched patch of ground nearby. "And over there. And there. And there's a bit down there, by those trees. War headb.u.t.ted it. It was really quite impressive."

"You're lucky we found you when we did." War was standing a short distance away, running his hand over his horse's flank. "And you're lucky Famine's got his first-aid certificate."

"Have you been eating Frosties?" Famine asked. His tongue rummaged around inside his mouth. "You have, haven't you? That's definitely Frosties. And milk. Semi-skimmed."

Drake's hand went to his own mouth. "I think I'm going to puke again."

War clapped his horse on the back and turned to Drake. His face was beard, scowl and very little else in between.

"I warned you, didn't I?" he said. "*For G.o.d's sake,' I said, *don't pull back on the reins.'"

"No, you didn't," Drake snapped. His pulse was racing, adrenalin pumping the blood through his veins. "You said *For G.o.d's sake don't...' and then you jumped off. How was I to know the horse would start flying?"

"Don't be so stupid. It didn't fly," War said with a grunt. "Horses don't fly. They gallop."

"Well, it galloped across the sky!" Drake replied. He pulled himself up to his full, unimpressive height. "Horses don't do that."

"Well, that depends on the horse!" War roared, bending until he was almost nose to nose with Drake. "Now, you're going to come back to the shed, and you're going to start your training."

"No, I'm not!"

War's face went the colour of his beard. He opened his mouth to shout, but Pestilence slipped between them and quickly guided Drake away.

"If I might interrupt," he said, smiling thinly. "I think what my irate colleague is trying to say is that we'd very much appreciate it if you'd perhaps come back to the shed and listen to what we have to say." He held up his hands. They were still hidden beneath white rubber gloves. "Just hear us out, that's all."

Drake remained silent for a long time. Pestilence watched him, eyebrows waggling encouragingly. "Here," Drake said at last. "Tell me here."

Pestilence glanced at the others, as if looking for some cue. None came, so he shrugged, then carried on.

"The Four Hors.e.m.e.n of the Apocalypse have existed since the dawn of time itself," he began. "We are servants of the Almighty, created for one purpose and one purpose only."

"To usher in the end of the world," blurted Famine.

"Oooh, shut up, you!" Pestilence gasped, his hands going to his hips. "I'm supposed to do that bit! You never let me do that bit!"

"Just get on with it," said War.

Pestilence shook his head. "That's my favourite bit," he muttered. "Anyway. Yes. We were created to usher in the end of the world." He looked pointedly at Famine before continuing. "It's a pretty important job, really. I mean, it's probably a" what a" sixth most important job in all creation?"

"'Bout sixth," Famine confirmed. "'Bout sixth, yeah."

"It's about the sixth most important job in all creation," Pestilence said. "And it's great. I mean, it's an honour to be picked and everything, it's just..."

Drake waited for the rest of the sentence. It didn't seem to be forthcoming. "It's just what?"

"G.o.d, it's dull," Pestilence groaned. "I mean, we've been kicking about for thousands of years, us three, just hanging around, you know? Waiting on the phone call. Thousands of years and nothing. Not even a false alarm."

"So? What's that got to do with me?"

"Death got fed up of waiting," Famine said. Drake could tell from the fat man's voice that he was munching on something. He couldn't bring himself to look and see what it was. "He decided he was going to bring on Armageddon himself and cleared off. Short of it is, we're down to three. And with him planning on destroying the world, the powers that be decided we needed a replacement, sharpish."

"You," said Pestilence. "Me? Why me?"

Pestilence shrugged his slender shoulders. "No idea. We don't know the why-fors, we just know you're our fourth horseman."

"Fifth horseman, surely?" Drake corrected. "The last guy was the fourth."

Pestilence shot the others a nervous glance. Famine kept his own gaze on the ground. Even War looked slightly uncomfortable, but it was he who eventually broke the silence.

"Actually, he was more like the twelfth."

"Twelfth?" Drake said. "I don't understand."

"We've had... a number of Deaths," War admitted. "Nine, actually. Not counting you."

"Nine? Why? What happened to them?"

Famine crammed his food into his mouth and began counting on his fingers. "Mad, mad, suicide, mad, quit, mad, goldfish, suicide, mad," he said.

"Wait," said Drake, replaying the list in his head. "Goldfish?"

"Admin error," explained Pestilence, rolling his eyes. "Do not even go there. You should've seen him trying to ride the horse."

"So, counting us three, there have been twelve hors.e.m.e.n before you," War continued. "Making you the thirteenth."

"Unlucky for some!" Pestilence trilled. He caught War's expression. "Sorry," he whispered. "Not helping."

"No, I'm not the thirteenth." Drake shook his head emphatically. "I'm not doing it."

"But it's a good job," said Pest encouragingly. "It's a great job!"

"A great job? They all killed themselves or went mad!" Drake cried. "That hardly screams *job satisfaction', does it?"

"Well, no," admitted Pestilence. He held up a little red b.u.t.ton with *I AM 4' printed on it in jolly yellow lettering. "But you get a badge, look."

"Death Five didn't go mad or kill himself," Famine reminded him. "He quit."

"Right, well I'll do that, then," Drake said. "I quit. There."

War's voice was a low growl. "You can't quit. You haven't accepted the job yet."

"So, if I take the job, I can quit? Simple as that?"