Henry picked up the tin and stopped. Why wasn’t it rattling? He shook it.

  Silence.

  Horrid Henry ripped off the lid and shrieked.

  The Purple Hand cookie tin was empty. Except for one thing. A dagger drawn on a piece of paper. The dastardly mark of Margaret’s Secret Club! Well, he’d show them who ruled.

  “Worm!” he shrieked. “Get in here!”

  Peter entered.

  “We’ve been raided!” screamed Henry. “You’re fired!”

  “Waaaah!” wailed Peter.

  * * *

  “Good work, Susan,” said the leader of the Secret Club, her face covered in chocolate.

  “I don’t see why you got three cookies and I only got two when I was the one who sneaked in and stole them,” said Susan sourly.

  “Tribute to your leader,” said Moody Margaret.

  “I still don’t think it’s fair,” muttered Susan.

  “Tough,” said Margaret. “Now let’s hear your spy report.”

  “NAH NAH NE NAH NAH!” screeched a voice from outside.

  Susan and Margaret dashed out of the Secret Club tent. They were too late. There was Henry, prancing off, waving the Secret Club banner he’d stolen.

  “Give that back, Henry!” screamed Margaret.

  “Make me!” said Henry.

  Susan chased him. Henry darted.

  Margaret chased him. Henry dodged.

  “Come and get me!” taunted Henry.

  “All right,” said Margaret. She walked toward him, then suddenly jumped over the wall into Henry’s garden and ran to the Purple Hand fort.

  “Hey, get away from there!” shouted Henry, chasing after her. Where was that useless guard when you needed him?

  Margaret nabbed Henry’s skull and crossbones flag and darted off.

  The two leaders faced each other.

  “Gimme my flag!” ordered Henry.

  “Gimme my flag!” ordered Margaret.

  “You first,” said Henry.

  “You first,” said Margaret.

  Neither moved.

  “OK, at the count of three we’ll throw them to each other,” said Margaret. One, two, three—throw!”

  Margaret held on to Henry’s flag.

  Henry held on to Margaret’s flag.

  Several moments passed.

  “Cheater,” said Margaret.

  “Cheater,” said Henry.

  “I don’t know about you, but I have important spying work to get on with,” said Margaret.

  “So?” said Henry. “Get on with it. No one’s stopping you.”

  “Drop my flag, Henry,” said Margaret.

  “No,” said Henry.

  “Fine,” said Margaret.

  “Susan! Bring me the scissors.” Susan ran off.

  “Peter!” shouted Henry. “Worm! Lord Worm! Lord High Worm!”

  Peter stuck his head out of the upstairs window.

  “Peter! Get the scissors! Quick!” ordered Henry.

  “No,” said Peter. “You fired me, remember?” And he slammed the window shut.

  “You’re dead, Peter,” shouted Henry.

  Sour Susan came back with the scissors and gave them to Margaret. Margaret held the scissors to Henry’s flag. Henry didn’t budge. She wouldn’t dare—

  Snip!

  Aaargh! Moody Margaret cut off a corner of Henry’s flag. She held the scissors poised to make another cut.

  Horrid Henry had spent hours painting his beautiful flag. He knew when he was beat.

  “Stop!” shrieked Henry.

  He dropped Margaret’s flag. Margaret dropped his flag. Slowly, they inched toward each other, then dashed to grab their own flag.

  “Truce?” said Moody Margaret, beaming.

  “Truce,” said Horrid Henry, scowling.

  I’ll get her for this, thought Horrid Henry. No one touches my flag and lives.

  Horrid Henry watched and waited until it was dark and he heard the plinkyplonk sound of Moody Margaret practicing her piano.

  The coast was clear. Horrid Henry sneaked outside, jumped over the wall and darted inside the Secret Club Tent.

  Swoop! He swept up the Secret Club pencils and secret code book.

  Snatch! He snaffled the Secret Club stool.

  Grab! He bagged the Secret Club cookie tin.

  Was that everything?

  No!

  Scoop! He snatched the Secret Club motto (“Down with boys”).

  Pounce! He stole the Secret Club carpet.

  Horrid Henry looked around. The Secret Club tent was bare.

  Except for—

  Henry considered. Should he?

  Yes!

  Whisk! The Secret Club tent collapsed.

  Henry gathered it into his arms with the rest of his spoils.

  Huffing and puffing, gasping and panting, Horrid Henry staggered off over the wall, laden with the Secret Club.

  Raiding was hot, heavy work, but a pirate had to do his duty. Wouldn’t all this booty look great decorating his fort? A rug on the floor, an extra cookie tin, a repainted motto—“Down with girls”— yes, the Purple Hand Fort would have to be renamed the Purple Hand Palace.

  Speaking of which, where was the Purple Hand Fort?

  Horrid Henry looked around wildly for the fort entrance.

  It was gone.

  He searched for the Purple Hand throne.

  It was gone.

  And the Purple Hand cookie tin— GONE!

  There was a rustling sound in the shadows. Horrid Henry turned and saw a strange sight.

  There was the Purple Hand Fort leaning against the shed.

  What?!

  Suddenly the fort started moving. Slowly, jerkily, the fort wobbled across the lawn toward the wall on its four new stumpy legs.

  Horrid Henry was livid. How dare someone try to steal his fort! This was an outrage. What was the world coming to, when people just sneaked into your garden and made off with your fort? Well, no way!

  Horrid Henry let out a pirate roar.

  “RAAAAAAAA!” roared Horrid Henry. “AHHHHHHH!” shrieked the Fort. CRASH!

  The Purple Hand Fort fell to the ground. The raiders ran off, squabbling.

  “I told you to hurry, you lazy lump!”

  “You’re the lazy lump!”

  Victory!

  Horrid Henry climbed to the top of his fort and grabbed his banner. Waving it proudly, he chanted his victory chant:

  NAH NAH NE NAH NAH!

  4

  HORRID HENRY’S CAR JOURNEY

  “Henry! We’re waiting!”

  “Henry! Get down here!”

  “Henry! I’m warning you!” Horrid Henry sat on his bed and scowled. His mean, horrible parents could warn him all they liked. He wasn’t moving.

  “Henry! We’re going to be late,” yelled Mom.

  “Good!” shouted Henry.

  “Henry! This is your final warning,” yelled Dad.

  “I don’t want to go to Polly’s!” screamed Henry. “I want to go to Ralph’s birthday party.”

  Mom stomped upstairs.

  “Well you can’t,” said Mom. “You’re coming to the christening, and that’s that.”

  “NO!” screeched Henry. “I hate Polly, I hate babies, and I hate you!”

  Henry had been a ring bearer at the wedding of his cousin, Prissy Polly, when she’d married Pimply Paul. Now they had a prissy, pimply baby, Vomiting Vera.

  Henry had met Vera once before. She’d thrown up all over him. Henry had hoped never to see her again until she was grown up and behind bars, but no such luck. He had to go and watch her be dunked in a vat of water, on the same day that Ralph was having a birthday party at Goo-Shooter World. Henry had been longing for ages to go to Goo-Shooter World. Today was his chance. His only chance. But no. Everything was ruined.

  Perfect Peter poked his head around the door.

  “I’m all ready, Mom,” said Perfect Peter. His shoes were polished, his teeth were brushed, and his hair neatly combed. “I know how annoying it is to be kept waiting when you’re in a rush.”

  “Thank you, darling Peter,” said Mom. “At least one of my children knows how to behave.”

  Horrid Henry roared and attacked. He was a swooping vulture digging his claws into a dead mouse.

  “AAAAAAAAAEEEEE!” squealed Peter.

  “Stop being horrid, Henry!” said Mom.

  “No one told me it was today!” screeched Henry.

  “Yes we did,” said Mom. “But you weren’t paying attention.”

  “As usual,” said Dad.

  “I knew we were going,” said Peter.

  “I DON’T WANT TO GO TO POLLY’S!” screamed Henry. “I want to go to Ralph’s!”

  “Get in the car—NOW!” said Dad.

  “Or no TV for a year!” said Mom.

  Eeek! Horrid Henry stopped wailing. No TV for a year. Anything was better than that.

  Grimly, he stomped down the stairs and out the front door. They wanted him in the car. They’d have him in the car.

  “Don’t slam the door,” said Mom.

  SLAM!

  Horrid Henry pushed Peter away from the car door and scrambled for the left-hand side behind the driver. Perfect Peter grabbed his legs and tried to climb over him.

  Victory! Henry got there first.

  Henry liked sitting on the left-hand side so he could watch the speedometer.

  Peter liked sitting on the left-hand side so he could watch the speedometer.

  “Mom,” said Peter. “It’s my turn to sit on the left!”

  “No it isn’t,” said Henry.

  “It’s mine.”

  “Mine!”

  “Mine!”

  “We haven’t even left and already you’re fighting?” said Dad.

  “You’ll take turns,” said Mom. “You can switch after we stop.”

  Vroom. Vroom.

  Dad started the car.

  The doors locked.

  Horrid Henry was trapped.

  But wait. Was there a glimmer of hope? Was there a teeny tiny chance? What was it Mom always said when he and Peter were squabbling in the car? “If you don’t stop fighting I’m going to turn around and go home!” And wasn’t home just exactly where he wanted to be? All he had to do was to do what he did best.

  “Could I have a story CD please?” said Perfect Peter.

  “No! I want a music CD,” said Horrid Henry.

  “I want ‘Mouse Goes to Town’,” said Peter.

  “I want ‘Driller Cannibals’ Greatest Hits’,” said Henry.

  “Story!”

  “Music!”

  “Story!”

  “Music!”

  SMACK!

  SMACK!

  “Waaaaaa!”

  “Stop it, Henry,” said Mom.

  “Tell Peter to leave me alone!” screamed Henry.

  “Tell Henry to leave me alone!” screamed Peter.

  “Leave each other alone,” said Mom.

  Horrid Henry glared at Perfect Peter.

  Perfect Peter glared at Horrid Henry.

  Horrid Henry stretched. Slowly, steadily, centimeter by centimeter, he spread out into Peter’s area.

  “Henry’s on my side!”

  “No I’m not!”

  “Henry, leave Peter alone,” said Dad. “I mean it.”

  “I’m not doing anything,” said Henry. “Are we there yet?”

  “No,” said Dad.

  Thirty seconds passed.

  “Are we there yet?” said Horrid Henry.

  “No!” said Mom.

  “Are we there yet?” said Horrid Henry.

  “NO!” screamed Mom and Dad.

  “We only left ten minutes ago,” said Dad.

  Ten minutes! Horrid Henry felt as if they’d been traveling for hours.

  “Are we a quarter of the way there yet?”

  “NO!”

  “Are we halfway there yet?”

  “NO!!”

  “How much longer until we’re halfway there?”

  “Stop it, Henry!” screamed Mom.

  “You’re driving me crazy!” screamed Dad. “Now be quiet and leave us alone.”

  Henry sighed. Boy, was this boring. Why didn’t they have a decent car, with built-in video games, movies, and

  jacuzzi? That’s just what he’d have, when he was king.

  Softly, he started to hum under his breath.

  “Henry’s humming!”

  “Stop being horrid, Henry!”

  “I’m not doing anything,” protested Henry. He lifted his foot.

  “MOM!” squealed Peter. “Henry’s kicking me.”

  “Are you kicking him, Henry?”

  “Not yet,” muttered Henry. Then he screamed.

  “Mom! Peter’s looking out of my window!”

  “Dad! Henry’s looking out of my window.”

  “Peter breathed on me.”

  “Henry’s breathing loud on purpose.”

  “Henry’s staring at me.”

  “Peter’s on my side!”

  “Tell him to stop!” screamed Henry and Peter.

  Mom’s face was red. Dad’s face was red.

  “That’s it!” screamed Dad.

  “I can’t take this anymore!” screamed Mom.

  Yes! thought Henry. We’re going to turn back!

  But instead of turning around, the car screeched to a halt at a gas station.

  “We’re going to take a break,” said Mom. She looked exhausted.

  “Who needs to pee?” said Dad. He looked even worse.

  “Me,” said Peter.

  “Henry?”

  “No,” said Henry. He wasn’t a baby. He knew when he needed to pee and he didn’t need to now.

  “This is our only stop, Henry,” said Mom. “I think you should go.”

  “NO!” screamed Henry. Several people looked up. “I’ll wait in the car.”

  Mom and Dad were too tired to argue. They disappeared into the station with Peter.

  Rats. Despite his best efforts, it looked like Mom and Dad were going to carry on. Well, if he couldn’t make them turn back, maybe he could delay them? Somehow? Suddenly Henry had a wonderful, spectacular idea. It couldn’t be easier, and it was guaranteed to work. He’d miss the christening!

  Mom, Dad, and Peter got back in the car. Mom drove off.

  “I need to pee,” said Henry.

  “Not now, Henry.”

  “I NEED TO PEE!” screamed Henry. “NOW!”

  Mom headed back to the gas station.

  Dad and Henry went to the restroom.

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” said Dad. “Hurry up or we’ll be late.”

  Late! What a lovely word.

  Henry went into the restroom and locked the door. Then he waited. And waited. And waited.

  Finally, he heard Dad’s grumpy voice.

  “Henry? Have you fallen in?”

  Henry rattled the door.

  “I’m locked in,” said Henry. “The door’s stuck. I can’t get out.”

  “Try, Henry,” pleaded Dad.

  “I have,” said Henry. “I guess they’ll have to break the door down.”

  That should take a few hours. He settled himself on the toilet seat and got out a comic.

  “Or you could just crawl underneath the partition into the next stall,” said Dad.

  Aaargghh. Henry could have burst into tears. Wasn’t it just his rotten luck to try

  to get locked in a restroom that had gaps on the sides? Henry didn’t really want to be wriggling around on the cold floor. Sighing, he gave the stall door a tug and opened it.

  Horrid Henry sat in silence for the rest of the trip. He was so depressed he didn’t even protest when Peter demanded his turn on the left. Plus, he felt car sick.

  Henry rolled down his window.

  “Mom!” said Peter. “I’m cold.”

  Dad turned the heat on.

  “Having the heat on makes me feel sick,” said Henry.

  “I’m going to be sick!” whimpered Peter.

  “I’m going to be sick,” whined Henry.

  “But we’re almost there,” screeched Mom. “Can’t you hold on until—”

  Bleeeechh. Peter threw up all over Mom. Bleeeechhh. Henry threw up all over Dad. The car pulled into the driveway.

  Mom and Dad staggered out of the car to Polly’s front door.

  “We survived,” said Mom, mopping her dress.

  “Thank God that’s over,” said Dad, mopping his shirt.

  Horrid Henry scuffed his feet sadly behind them. Despite all his hard work, he’d lost the battle. While Rude Ralph and Dizzy Dave and Jolly Josh were dashing around spraying each other with green goo later this afternoon he’d be stuck at a boring party with lots of grown-ups yak yak yaking. Oh misery!

  Ding dong.

  The door opened. It was Prissy Polly. She was in her bathrobe and slippers. She carried a stinky, smelly, wailing baby over her shoulder. Pimply Paul followed. He was wearing a filthy T-shirt with vomit down the front.

  “Eeeek,” squeaked Polly.

  Mom tried to look as if she had not been through hell and barely lived to tell the tale.

  “We’re here!” said Mom brightly. “How’s the lovely baby?”

  “Too prissy,” said Polly.

  “Too pimply,” said Paul.

  Polly and Paul looked at Mom and Dad.

  “What are you doing here?” said Polly finally.

  “We’re here for the christening,” said Mom.

  “Vera’s christening?” said Polly.

  “It’s next weekend,” said Paul.

  Mom looked like she wanted to sag to the floor.

  Dad looked like he wanted to sag beside her.

  “We’ve come on the wrong day?” whispered Mom.

  “You mean, we have to go and come back?” whispered Dad.

  “Yes,” said Polly.

  “Oh no,” said Mom.

  “Oh no,” said Dad.

  “Bleeech,” vomited Vera.

  “Eeeek!” wailed Polly. “Gotta go.”

  She slammed the door.

  “You mean, we can go home?” said Henry. “Now?”

  “Yes,” whispered Mom.

  “Whoopee!” screamed Henry. “Hang on, Ralph, here I come!”

 

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