Horrid Henry's Stinkbomb (3 page)

All they had to do was to add the powder to the bottle outside the Secret Club— and run!

“Ready?” said Horrid Henry.

“Ready,” said Rude Ralph.

“Whatever you do,” said Horrid Henry, “don’t spill it.”

“So you’ve come crawling back,” said Moody Margaret. “I knew you would.”

“No,” said Sour Susan. “I just happened to be passing.”

She looked around the Secret Club Tent.

“Where’s Linda?”

Margaret scowled. “Gone.”

“Gone for today, or gone forever?” said Susan.

“Forever,” said Margaret savagely. “I don’t ever want to see that lazy lump again.”

Margaret and Susan looked at each other.

Susan tapped her foot.

Margaret hummed.

“Well?” said Margaret.

“Well what?” said Susan.

“Are you rejoining the Secret Club as Chief Spy or aren’t you?”

“I might,” said Susan. “And I might not.”

“Suit yourself,” said Margaret. “I’ll call Gurinder and ask her to join instead.”

“Okay,” said Susan quickly. “I’ll join.”

Should she mention her visit to Henry? Better not. After all, what Margaret didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“Now, about my stinkbomb plot,” began Margaret. “I decided—”

Something shattered on the ground inside the tent. A ghastly, gruesome, grisly stinky stench filled the air.

“AAAAARGGGGG!” screamed Margaret, gagging. “It’s a— STINKBOMB!”

“HELP!” shrieked Sour Susan.

“STINKBOMB! Help! Help!”

Victory! Horrid Henry and Rude Ralph ran back to the Purple Hand Fort and rolled around the floor, laughing and shrieking.

What a triumph! Margaret and Susan screaming! Margaret’s mom screaming! Margaret’s dad screaming! And the stink! Wow! Horrid Henry had never smelled anything so awful in his life.

This called for a celebration.

Horrid Henry offered Ralph a fistful of candy and poured out two glasses of Fizzywizz drinks.

“Cheers!” said Henry.

“Cheers!” said Ralph.

They drank.

“AAAAAARRGGGGGG!” choked Rude Ralph.

“Blecccccch!” yelped Horrid Henry, gagging and spitting. “We’ve been—” cough!— “Dungeon-Drinked!”

And then Horrid Henry heard a horrible sound. Moody Margaret and Sour Susan were outside the Purple Hand Fort. Chanting a victory chant:

“NAH NAH NE NAH NAH!”

HORRID HENRY’S SCHOOL PROJECT

“Susan! Stop shouting!

Ralph! Stop running!

William! Stop weeping!

Henry! Just stop!”

Miss Battle-Axe glared at her class.

Her class glared back.

“Miss!” screeched Lazy Linda. “Henry’s pulling my hair.”

“Miss!” screeched Gorgeous Gurinder. “Ralph’s kicking me.”

“Miss!” screeched Anxious Andrew. “Dave’s poking me.”

“Stop it, Henry!” barked Miss Battle-Axe.

Henry stopped. What was bothering the old bat now?

“Class, pay attention,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Today we’re doing Group Projects on the Ancient Greeks. We’re studying—”

“—the sacking of Troy!” shrieked Henry. Yes! He could see it now. Henry, leading the Greeks as they crashed and slashed their way through the terrified Trojans. His spear would be the longest, and the sharpest, and—

Miss Battle-Axe fixed Henry with her icy stare. Henry froze.

“We’re going to divide into small groups and make Parthenons out of cardboard toilet paper rolls and construction paper,” continued Miss Battle-Axe. “First you must draw the Parthenon, agree on a design together, then build and paint it. I want to see everyone sharing and listening. “Also, the Principal will be dropping by to admire your work and to see how beautifully you are working together.”

Horrid Henry scowled. He hated working in groups. He detested sharing. He loathed listening to others. Their ideas were always wrong. His ideas were always right. But the other children in Henry’s groups never recognized Henry’s genius. For some reason they wanted to do things their way, not his.

The Ancient Greeks certainly never worked together beautifully, thought Horrid Henry resentfully, so why should he? They just speared each other or ate their children for dinner.

“Henry, Bert, William, and Clare, you’re working together on Table Three,” said Miss Battle-Axe.

Horrid Henry groaned. What a horrible, horrible group. He hated all of them. Why didn’t Miss Battle-Axe ever put him in a fun group, with Ralph or Graham or Dave? Henry could see it now. They’d be laughing together in the corner, making trumpets out of toilet paper rolls, sneaking candy, throwing crayons, flicking paint, having a great time.

But oh no. He had to be with bossyboots Clare, crybaby William and—Bert. Miss Battle-Axe did it on purpose, just to torture him.

“NO!” protested Horrid Henry. “I can’t work with her!”

“NO!” protested Clever Clare. “I can’t work with him!”

“Waaaaah,” wailed Weepy William. “I want to work with Andrew.”

“Silence!” shouted Miss Battle-Axe. “Now get in your groups and get to work. I want to see everyone sharing and working together beautifully—or else.”

There was a mad scramble as everyone ran to their tables to grab the best pencils and the most pieces of paper.

Henry snatched the purple, blue, and red pencils and a big pile of paper.

“I haven’t got any paper!” screamed William.

“Tough,” said Horrid Henry. “I need all these for my design.”

“I want some paper!” whined William.

Clever Clare passed him one of her sheets.

William burst into tears.

“It’s dirty,” he wailed. “And I haven’t got a pencil.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Henry. “I’m doing the design, William can help me build it, and everyone can watch me paint.”

“No way, Henry,” said Clare. “We all do a design, then we make the best one.”

“Which will be mine,” said Horrid Henry.

“Doubt it,” said Clever Clare.

“Well I’m not making yours,” snarled Henry. “And I’m doing the painting.”

“You’re doing the gluing, I’m doing the painting,” said Clare.

“I want to do the painting,” wailed William.

“What do you want to do, Bert?” asked Clare.

“I dunno,” said Beefy Bert.

“Fine,” said Clever Clare. “Bert will do the cleaning. Let’s get drawing, everyone. We want our group’s Parthenon to be the best.”

Horrid Henry was outraged.

“Who made you boss?” demanded Henry.

“Someone has to take charge,” said Clever Clare.

Horrid Henry reached under the table and kicked her.

“OOWWWW!” yelped Clever Clare. “Miss! Henry kicked me!”

“Did not!” shouted Horrid Henry. “Liar.”

“Why isn’t Table Three drawing?” hissed Miss Battle-Axe.

Clare drew.

William drew.

Bert drew.

Henry drew.

“Everyone should have finished drawing by now,” said Miss Battle-Axe, patrolling among the tables. “Time to combine your ideas.”

“But I haven’t finished,” wept William.

Horrid Henry gazed at his design with satisfaction. It was a triumph. He could see it now, painted silver and purple, with a few red stripes.

“Why don’t we just build mine?” said Clare.

“’Cause mine’s the best!” shouted Horrid Henry.

“What about mine?” whispered William.

“We’re building mine!” shouted Clare.

“MINE!”

“MINE!”

Miss Battle-Axe ran over.

“Stop shouting!” shouted Miss Battle-Axe. “Show me your work. That’s lovely, Clare. What a fabulous design.”

“Thank you, Miss,” said Clever Clare.

“William! That’s a tower, not a temple! Start again!”

“Waaaah!” wailed William.

“Bert! What is this mess?”

“I dunno,” said Beefy Bert.

“It looks like a teepee, not a temple,” said Miss Battle-Axe.

She looked at Horrid Henry’s design and glared at him.

“Can’t you follow instructions?” she shrieked. “That temple looks like it’s about to blast off.”

“That’s how I meant it to look,” said Henry. “It’s high-tech.”

“Margaret! Sit down! Toby! Leave Brian alone! Graham! Get back to work,” said Miss Battle-Axe, racing off to stop the fight at Table Two.

“Okay, we’re doing my design,” said Clare. “Who wants to build the steps and who wants to decorate the columns?”

“No one,” snapped Horrid Henry, “’cause we’re doing mine.” “Fine, we’ll vote,” said Clare. “Who wants to build mine?”

Clare and William raised their hands.

“I’ll get you for that, William,” muttered Henry.

William burst into tears.

“Who wants to do Henry’s?” said Clare.

Only Henry raised his hand.

“Come on, Bert, don’t you want to make mine?” pleaded Henry.

“I dunno,” said Beefy Bert.

“It’s not fair!” shrieked Horrid Henry. “I WANT TO BUILD MINE!”

“MINE!”

“MINE!”

SLAP!

SLAP!

“That’s it!” shrieked Miss Battle-Axe. “Henry! Work in the corner on your own.”

YES! This was the best news Henry had heard all morning.

Beaming, Henry went to the corner and sat down at his own little table, with his own glue, his own scissors, his own paints, his own construction paper, and his own pile of toilet paper rolls.

Bliss, thought Henry. I can build my Parthenon in peace.

There was just one problem. There was only a small number of toilet paper rolls left.

This isn’t nearly enough for my Parthenon, thought Horrid Henry. I need more.

He went over to Moody Margaret’s table.

“I need more rolls,” he said.

“Tough,” said Margaret. “We’re using all of ours.”

Henry stomped over to Sour Susan’s table.

“Give me some rolls,” he said.

“Go away,” said Susan sourly. “Margaret took our extras.”

“Sit down, Henry,” barked Miss Battle-Axe.

Henry sat, fuming. This was an outrage. Hadn’t Miss Battle-Axe told them to share? And here were his greedy classmates hogging all the toilet paper rolls when his Parthenon desperately needed extra engines.

BUZZZ. Break time!

“Leave your Parthenons on the tables to dry,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Henry, you will stay in at break and finish.”

What?

Miss break?

“But—but—”

“Sit down,” ordered Miss Battle-Axe. “Or you’ll go straight to the Principal’s Office!”

Eeeek! Horrid Henry knew the Principal, Mrs. Oddbod, all too well. He did not need to know her any better.

Henry slunk back to his chair. Everyone else ran shrieking out of the door to the playground. Why was it always children who were punished? Why weren’t teachers ever sent to the Principal’s Office? It was so unfair!