Free The 13th Horseman by Barry Hutchison Page A

Alfred Randall, the Alfred Randall X-perience . But then, I expect they’ve told you all about that?”
    Drake glanced over to the Horsemen. They nodded encouragingly.
    “Uh... no,” Drake said. He heard Pestilence stifle a sob. “Actually, they haven’t.”
    A flicker of pain passed behind Alfred’s eyes. His lips pursed together so tightly they virtually disappeared.
    “But it’s my first day,” Drake added quickly.
    Alfred smiled. This seemed to satisfy him.
    “Well, that explains it,” he said. “I’m Alfred Randall, and we ” – he put an arm round Brian’s shoulder and pulled him in – “are the Alfred Randall X-perience , Limbo’s premier barbershop quartet. And, by the way, that’s X as in the letter X,” Alfred explained. “ X-perience .” He grinned too broadly. It was the grin, Drake thought, of a man on the edge. “It’s not exactly the traditional spelling, but then again, we’re not exactly a traditional barbershop quartet, are we, Brian?”
    Brian shook his head. “No. There’s only the two of us, for a start.”
    “ And we do the twiddly bits, don’t we, Brian? Show him your twiddly bits.”
    Brian opened his mouth and made a sound quite unlike anything Drake had heard before. He imagined it was the type of sound a camel might make, were it to attempt to gargle a cat.
    Alfred held his hands out at his sides, his point apparently proven. “Let’s see the Acapella Afterlifers do that , eh?” he said, between snorts of laughter. “Not a friggin’ hope!”
    “Who are the Acapella—?”
    “Right, nice to see you again, Alf, Brian, but we need to get a move on,” said War hurriedly. He clamped a hand on Drake’s shoulder and pulled him away from the men.
    “Ah, always busy, right, lads?” Alfred said. “Any word on the old... you-know-what, yet?” He tapped the side of his nose. “Just between you and I, of course.”
    “Nothing yet,” said War.
    “Ah well, keep us posted. Nice to see you again, lads.” A thought struck Alf. He turned to Brian, his manic grin advancing further across his face. “Here, Bri, why don’t we give the lads a proper Alfred Randall X-perience send-off? Sing them on their way, sort of thing?” Alf turned back. “What do you say to that, lads?” he asked.
    But the lads were gone.
    Drake trudged across the sand, just a few metres behind War. Pestilence followed right behind him. Somewhere in the middle distance, Famine puffed and wheezed in slow pursuit.
    “So, I thought Limbo was supposed to be empty?” Drake ventured. “I thought that was the entire point?”
    “It was empty, once upon a time,” Pestilence told him. “But cram a few million lost souls in and it starts to feel a lot less roomy, if you know what I mean?”
    Drake nodded. That made sense, he supposed. “Right. What’s with all the Barbershop X-press stuff, or whatever they were called?”
    “There’s not a lot to do in Limbo,” Pestilence explained. “So a few thousand years ago they started forming singing groups. No instruments, obviously, just voices. Some of them are really quite good. Some of them... aren’t.”
    “And some of them are the Alfred Randall X-perience ,” added War, with a shudder.
    “Quite a few rivalries have developed over the centuries,” continued Pestilence. “The Alfred Randall X-perience hates the Acapella Afterlifers . The Acapella Afterlifers can’t stand the Limbo Lyrical All Stars . And everyone hates the We Are Voice Experience .”
    “Christ,” War muttered. “ The WAVE . I’d forgotten about them.” He glanced at the dunes on either side of them, as if anticipating an ambush.
    “It’s grown into quite a lively old place,” Pestilence went on.
    Drake looked around. Apart from Famine, who was now almost too far away to see, there was nothing in any direction. Even the shed had long since disappeared beyond the horizon.
    “Yeah, it’s not very lively,” Drake began, before his face thudded into War’s lower