Horrid Henry and the Mega-Mean Time Machine (6 page)

Peter printed out the note and carefully scrawled:

HENry

There! thought Peter proudly. That looks just like Henry’s writing. He folded the note, then sneaked into the garden, climbed over the wall, and left it on the

table inside Moody Margaret’s Secret Club tent.

“Of course Henry loves me,” said Moody Margaret, primping. “He can’t help it.

Everyone loves me because I’m so lovable.”

“No you’re not,” said Sour Susan. “You’re moody. And you’re mean.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not. You’re just jealous ’cause no one would
ever
want to marry you,” snapped Margaret.

“I am not jealous. Anyway, Henry likes
me
the best,” said Susan, waving a folded piece of paper.

“Says who?”

“Says Henry.”

Margaret snatched the paper from Susan’s hand and read:

Margaret sniffed. “Just like dog poo, you mean.”

“I do not,” shrieked Susan.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” snorted Moody Margaret, crumpling the poem.

Sour Susan was outraged.

“No. It was waiting for me on the clubhouse table. You’re just jealous because Henry didn’t write
you
a poem.”

“Huh,” said Margaret. Well, she’d show Henry. No one made a fool of her.

Margaret snatched up a pen and scribbled a reply to Henry’s note.

“Take this to Henry and report straight back,” she ordered. “I’ll wait here for Linda and Gurinder.”

“Take it yourself,” said Susan sourly. Why oh why was she friends with such a mean, moody, jealous grump?

Horrid Henry was inside the Purple Hand Fort plotting death to the Secret Club and scarfing down cookies when an enemy agent peered through the entrance.

“Guard!” shrieked Henry.

But that miserable worm toad was nowhere to be found.

Henry reminded himself to fire Peter immediately.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

“I have an important message,” said the Enemy.

“Make it snappy,” said Henry. “I’m busy.”

Susan crept beneath the branches.

“Do you really like my shampoo, Henry?” she asked.

Henry stared at Susan. She had a sick smile on her face, as if her stomach hurt.

“Huh?” said Henry.

“You know, my
shampoo
,” said Susan, simpering.

Had Susan finally gone crazy?

“
That’s
your message?” said Horrid Henry.

“No,” said Susan, scowling. She tossed a scrunched-up piece of paper at Henry and marched off.

Henry opened the note:

Henry choked on his cookie. Marry Margaret?! He’d rather walk around town carrying a Walkie–Talkie–Burpy–Slurpy–Teasy–Weasy Doll. He’d rather learn long division. He’d rather trade all his computer games for a Princess Pamper Parlor. He’d rather…he’d rather…he’d rather marry Miss Battle–Axe than marry Margaret!

What on earth had given Margaret the crazy, horrible, revolting idea he wanted to marry
her?

He always knew Margaret was nuts. Now he had proof. Well well well, thought Horrid Henry gleefully. Wouldn’t he tease her! Margaret would never live this down.

Henry leaped over the wall and burst into the Secret Club Tent.

“Margaret, you old pants face, I wouldn’t marry you if—”

“Henry loves Margaret! Henry loves Margaret!” chanted Gorgeous Gurinder.

“Henry loves Margaret! Henry loves Margaret!” chanted Lazy Linda, making horrible kissing sounds.

Henry tried to speak. He opened his mouth. Then he closed it.

“No I don’t,” gasped Horrid Henry.

“Oh yeah?” said Gurinder.

“Yeah,” said Henry.

“Then why’d you send her a note saying you did?”

“I didn’t!” howled Henry.

“And you sent Susan a poem!” said Linda.

“I DID NOT!” howled Henry even louder. What on earth was going on? He took a step backward.

The Secret Club members advanced on him, shrieking, “Henry loves Margaret, Henry loves Margaret.”

Time, thought Horrid Henry, to make a strategic retreat. He dashed back to his fort, the terrible words “Henry loves Margaret” burning his ears.

“PETER!” bellowed Horrid Henry. “Come here this minute!”

Perfect Peter crept out of the house to the fort. Henry had found out about the note and the poem. He was dead.

Good-bye, cruel world, thought Peter.

“Did you see anyone going into the Secret Club carrying a note?” demanded Henry, glaring.

Perfect Peter’s heart began to beat again.

“No,” said Peter. That wasn’t a lie because he hadn’t seen himself.

“I want you to stand guard by the wall, and report anyone suspicious to me at once,” said Henry.

“Why?” said Peter innocently.

“None of your business, worm,” snapped Henry. “Just do as you’re told.”

“Yes, Lord High Excellent Majesty of the Purple Hand,” said Perfect Peter. What a lucky escape!

Henry sat on his Purple Hand throne and thought. Who was this foul fiend? Who was this evil genius? Who was spreading these nasty rumors? He had to find out, then strike back hard before the snake struck again.

But who’d want to be his enemy? He was such a nice, kind, friendly boy.

True, Rude Ralph wasn’t very happy when Henry called him Ralphie Walfie.

Tough Toby wasn’t too pleased when Henry depantsed him during playtime.

And for some reason, Brainy Brian didn’t see the joke when Henry scribbled all over his book report.

Vain Violet said she’d pay Henry back for pulling her pigtails.

And just the other day Fiery Fiona said Henry would be sorry he’d laughed during her speech in the assembly.

Even Kind Kasim warned Henry to stop being so horrid or he’d teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.

But maybe Margaret was behind the whole plot. He had stinkbombed her Secret Club, after all.

Hmmm. The list of suspects was rather long.

It had to be Ralph. Ralph loved playing practical jokes.

Well, it’s not funny, Ralph, thought Horrid Henry. Let’s see how
you
like it. Perhaps a little poem to Miss Battle- Axe…

Horrid Henry grabbed a piece of paper and began to scribble: