Part 17 (1/2)
”Sit down,” War told him. A leather couch squeaked in surprise as War's full weight came down on it.
”What?” Drake spluttered. ”There's no time!”
”Sit down and catch your breath,” War insisted. He lifted a magazine, then rested his enormous feet on the coffee table. ”You're nervous. I get it. Take a minute to get your head together.”
”My head is together. I'm not nervous,” Drake said. ”That's nothing to do with it. It's just... it's wrong. It's all wrong!”
”Aye. It's hardly surprising, you seeing it that way. You've only been in the job a day. No wonder it's messing with your head.”
There was something different about War's voice. It took Drake several seconds to realise what it was. He wasn't shouting. ”I'm gonnae let you in on a wee secret,” War said.
Despite himself, Drake took a step closer. ”What?”
War held up the magazine. There was a salmon on the cover. ”I always wanted to go fis.h.i.+ng,” he said.
Drake blinked. ”What?” he asked, for a second time.
”Fis.h.i.+ng. I always wanted to go, but never did. Don't know why, really.” He flicked through a few pages. ”You ever fished?”
”No, I... Why are you telling me this?”
”I'd have liked a boat too,” War continued. ”You know where you are with a boat.”
”On the water, usually,” Drake said automatically.
”Exactly.” War sighed and sat the magazine down. ”Still, too late now, I suppose. Missed out on that opportunity.” He looked over at a clock on the wall, then picked up another magazine. It was a thin, glossy one, filled with *Real Life' stories sent in by readers.
War scanned the cover, picking out the headlines. ”My baby breathes through his ears,” he read. ”Look at this one. Cannibals ate my feet.”
”What? So what? What are you on about?”
”It's life's rich tapestry,” War said. ”Check this one. I'm afraid of my own hair. Her own hair. The nutter.” He turned a page and chuckled at another headline. ”They're a strange old bunch, humans. Interesting. Annoying, a lot of the time, aye, but... interesting.”
Drake watched the giant, as he casually flipped through the magazine, occasionally chuckling at some story or other. He didn't know why, but as he looked down at War, a question just popped in there, right at the front of Drake's thoughts.
”Do you want to do it?”
War's eyes lifted and glared over the top of the magazine. ”What?”
”I asked if you wanted it to happen. Do you want the Apocalypse?”
”Do I want it? What do you mean, do I want it? What are you saying?”
”You don't, do you?” Drake realised. Excitement flushed through him. ”It doesn't have to happen. Don't you see? We can stop it.”
”Stop it?” roared War, suddenly back on his feet and looming larger than he had ever loomed before. ”Stop it? Have you even read your job description?”
”You didn't give me a job description,” replied Drake, standing his ground.
”Well, it's the exact opposite of what you just said,” War barked. ”We don't stop Armageddon, we welcome it in.”
Drake searched his face. ”But you don't want to.”
”What I want has nothing to do with it!” War bellowed.
”Just admit it,” Drake shouted back. ”Say it.”
The bit of War's face that wasn't beard turned scarlet. ”Admit what? That I don't want the Apocalypse to happen now because I'm worried you'll mess it up? That I don't want to have wasted six-and-a-half thousand years waiting for the end of the world, only for you to come along and ruin it for everyone?”
War kicked one of the couches so hard it flipped across the room and thudded against a wall. ”You are without doubt the worst Death we've ever had,” he boomed. ”And I'm including the goldfish in that. You're not picking any of it up, you haven't developed any of the abilities, you can't even whistle! We'll be a laughing stock!”
The gleaming breastplate rose and fell as War took a series of deep, steadying breaths. ”So, in answer to your question, no I don't want the world to end. At least, not today,” he admitted.
”Besides,” he added more quietly, ”I'd quite like to try fis.h.i.+ng.”
”Well, OK, then,” said Drake. ”So what are we going to do about it?”
”What's taking them so long?” sighed Pestilence. He was wearing a hole in the floor, pacing back and forth, his eyes trained on the open hatch. ”It's all very well War taking his time, he's not the first horseman. I am. If we turn up late, who do you think's going to get the blame? Muggins here, that's who.”
There was a sound of footsteps from below. Drake hurried up the steps and into the shed, with War at his heels.
”Finally!” Pest said. He gave Drake a friendly smile, then looked to War. ”Is that us ready for the off, then? Judgement Day's not going to start itself!”
”Aye, about that,” said War, with a sideways glance at Drake. ”There's been a bit of a change of plan.”
THE FOUR HORs.e.m.e.n of the Apocalypse stood in the clearing outside the shed. They were arguing. Or rather, three of them were arguing. The other was having a Cornetto.
”Have you lost your minds?” Pestilence asked, looking from War to Drake and back again. ”I mean, I mean... The entire point of our existence is to usher in the end of the world. Usher it in, not put a stop to it. Have you lost your minds?”
”We don't know if this is the end of the world, though, do we?” Drake said. ”It's the old Death doing it, so it's probably not the real thing.”
”Of course it is! War got the call!”
”Aye, but they've lost the book,” War said.
”That was careless,” Famine said, taking a bite from his cone.
Pestilence's gloved hands went to his mouth. ”They've lost the book? The Book of Everything? They can't have lost the Book of Everything. How could they lose the Book of Everything?”
War shrugged. ”No idea, but they have. They don't know anything for sure. It's guesswork. They told me on the phone earlier, but I didn't want to say anything, in case, you know, you had a breakdown or something. But aye, they've lost the book.”
”Oh, well... It doesn't matter,” Pest said, after some consideration. ”We got the call. It's not our job to question, it's our job to ride across the sky. Come on, War, we've been waiting a long time for this. We can't blow it now.”
”But that's exactly what will happen if we ride out with him in tow,” War stabbed a finger at Drake. ”He can't even summon his horse.”
”The end can't come soon enough for my liking,” said Famine. ”All this sitting around's doing my head in.”
”We don't have to sit around all the time, though,” Drake said. ”There's a world of things to do out there a” you don't have to sit in a shed playing board games. You could go fis.h.i.+ng, or hillwalking, or take up, I don't know, showjumping or something.” Drake aimed the next suggestion squarely at Famine. ”You could get a job reviewing restaurants, or, G.o.d, I don't know, join a theatre group.”
Pestilence briefly raised both eyebrows. ”Musical theatre?”