Part 12 (2/2)
Pestilence smiled, but Drake couldn't see it. ”You're going to quit, remember?”
”Oh, yeah. So I am,” Drake nodded. ”Is Famine going to be OK?”
”Hmm? Oh, he'll be fine. Just over-exerted himself a bit. Best to let him sleep it off.”
Up ahead, War's horse cleared a five-metre-wide stream in a single leap. Pest slipped his suncream into his jacket pocket and gave the reins a flick. Drake felt the ground fall away as the horse jumped. It seemed to hang in mid-air for several seconds, before landing on the opposite bank with a jarring jolt.
”What's my horse like?” Drake asked. He had to admit, he was a little disappointed he hadn't been able to summon it.
”No idea,” Pestilence replied. ”Every Death has had a different horse. Yours doesn't exist yet. It won't exist until you summon it.”
”War keeps saying I'm the rider on the pale horse, though.”
”Just a Bible quotation,” Pest shrugged. ”I think the first Death's horse was a sort of sickly green colour, but there's been all sorts since then. Death Eight's horse was made of living magma. Used to ruin his trousers whenever he sat on it.” Pest sighed sadly. ”No wonder the poor beggar killed himself. The goldfish had a lime-green one, if I remember right.”
”The goldfish had a horse?” Drake gaped. ”What, you mean even it could whistle?”
”After a fas.h.i.+on,” Pest said. ”If you squeezed it hard enough.”
”You didn't!”
”Of course the goldfish didn't have a horse,” laughed the horseman. ”It borrowed mine. But anyway, the point is your horse might be pale, or it might be bright purple, we'll just have to wait and see. War just likes his Bible quotes.”
”I don't think he likes me,” Drake said.
There was a lengthy pause before Pestilence spoke again. ”He doesn't like anyone. Not really. And he's... not convinced you're a suitable choice for Death.”
”And what do you think?”
”I think we could've done a lot worse.”
”Thanks,” Drake said. ”But what if he's right? What if there's been a mistake? Maybe I'm not supposed to be Death.”
”The powers that be don't make mistakes,” Pest a.s.sured him.
”What about the goldfish?”
”The powers that be don't make mistakes very often. That was a one-off.”
Drake stayed quiet for a while after that. The horses galloped across the wide fields, racing up the hills and thundering down the dales. Despite the blinding speed and the nagging worry that he could fall off at any moment, Drake actually found himself enjoying the journey.
A suspicion had been nagging at him for the past few hours, though, and Pestilence had been pretty forthcoming with information so far.
”The old Death,” he said. ”Death Nine. What did he look like?”
”A sort of big, black wraith figure. Like a living version of the Robe of Sorrows, if you can imagine such a thing.”
”Oh, right,” said Drake, a little disappointed. ”Not a skinny old man with a big hooked nose, then?”
”Ah, you mean what did he look like in human form?” Pest asked. ”Dark and sinister, probably, but that's just a guess. We never got to see him. He wasn't human when he started.”
”What was he?”
”Just an ominous black shape, really. We've had a few Deaths like that. G.o.d knows where they get them.”
”But he definitely turned human when he left?” Drake asked.
”Oh, yes. That's in the contract, that. Terminate the agreement in any way and you'll take human form, regardless of what form you might've been to begin with.”
”War said that he could do it. The old Death, I mean. That he could bring on Armageddon.”
Pestilence spoke hesitantly. ”He said he might be able to do it, but only if he'd planned things well in advance.”
”The robotic demon in the Junk Room, and the sphere things at school,” Drake said quietly. ”They must've been planned in advance, right?”
”Yes,” Pest admitted. ”I'd think they must have.”
”How will we know if he does do it?”
”We'll get a phone call. And, of course, there'll be signs.”
”What kind of signs?” asked Drake.
Pest shrugged. ”Oh, the usual. Earthquakes. Raining blood. Plagues of locusts. That sort of thing.”
He gave another flick of the reins and the horse bounded over the remains of an old stone cottage.
”They've got this book, see? Them upstairs. The Book of Everything. It tells them... well, it tells them everything, like you might expect. But most importantly, as far as we're concerned, it tells them when the end of the world is coming, so they can start rolling out the signs. It's a pretty foolproof system.”
War's horse slowed to a stop and the giant leaped down on to the gra.s.s. Pest brought his own horse to a halt beside him. The animal broke wind loudly.
”Ooh, better out than in!” laughed Pestilence.
With a hoa.r.s.e hacking sound, the horse coughed blood on to the gra.s.s.
”Probably better in than out, that one,” Pest said weakly. He swung his leg down into an expert dismount. He and War watched as Drake slid awkwardly in the saddle, kicked frantically in mid-air, then landed in a heap on the ground.
”Aw, smoothly done,” War said, clapping his hands together slowly.
Drake stood up and tried to brush the gra.s.s stains from his trousers. They smudged a little, but didn't go away. Mum wasn't going to be happy about that.
”Yeah, very funny. What did you stop for?” Drake asked.
”Last night you asked about Death's abilities,” War intoned. ”I thought now might be a good time to discuss them.”
Drake looked at the wide-open s.p.a.ce around them. Aside from a small tin shack at the foot of one of the hills, there was nothing in any direction but fields and trees and dirt-track roads.
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