Horrid Henry's Stinkbomb

by Francesca Simon

  “Here are just some of the wonderful attractions you will enjoy at Book World,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “‘Thrill to a display of speed-reading! Practice checking out library books! Read to the beat!’ Oh my, doesn’t that sound fun!”

  “AAAAAARGGGGGGGGG!” screamed Horrid Henry.

  2

  HORRID HENRY’S STINKBOMB

  “I hate you, Margaret!” shrieked Sour Susan. She stumbled out of the Secret Club tent.

  “I hate you too!” shrieked Moody Margaret.

  Sour Susan stuck out her tongue.

  Moody Margaret stuck out hers back.

  “I quit!” yelled Susan.

  “You can’t quit. You’re fired!” yelled Margaret.

  “You can’t fire me. I quit!” said Susan.

  “I fired you first,” said Margaret. “And I’m changing the password!”

  “Go ahead. See if I care. I don’t want to be in the Secret Club any more!” said Susan sourly.

  “Good! Because we don’t want you.”

  Moody Margaret flounced back inside the Secret Club tent. Sour Susan stalked off.

  Free at last! Susan was sick and tired of her ex-best friend Bossyboots Margaret. Blaming her for the disastrous raid on the Purple Hand Fort when it was all Margaret’s fault was bad enough. But then to ask stupid Linda to join the Secret Club without even telling her! Susan hated Linda even more than she hated Margaret. Linda hadn’t invited Susan to her sleepover party. And she was a copycat. But Margaret didn’t care. Today she’d made Linda chief spy. Well, Susan had had enough. Margaret had been mean to her once too often.

  Susan heard roars of laughter from inside the club tent. So they were laughing, were they? Laughing at her, no doubt? Well, she’d show them. She knew all about Margaret’s Top Secret Plans. And she knew someone who would be very interested in that information.

  “Halt! Password!”

  “Smelly toads,” said Perfect Peter. He waited outside Henry’s Purple Hand Fort.

  “Wrong,” said Horrid Henry.

  “What’s the new one then?” said Perfect Peter.

  “I’m not telling you,” said Henry. “You’re fired, remember?”

  Perfect Peter did remember. He had hoped Henry had forgotten.

  “Can’t I join again, Henry?” asked Peter.

  “No way!” said Horrid Henry. “Please?” said Perfect Peter.

  “No,” said Horrid Henry. “Ralph’s taken over your duties.”

  Rude Ralph poked his head through the branches of Henry’s lair.

  “No babies allowed,” said Rude Ralph.

  “We don’t want you here, Peter,” said Horrid Henry. “Get lost.”

  Perfect Peter burst into tears.

  “Crybaby!” jeered Horrid Henry. “Crybaby!” jeered Rude Ralph. That did it.

  “Mom!” wailed Perfect Peter. He ran toward the house. “Henry won’t let me play and he called me a crybaby!”

  “Stop being horrid, Henry!” shouted Mom.

  Peter waited.

  Mom didn’t say anything else.

  Perfect Peter started to wail louder.

  “Mooom! Henry’s being mean to me!”

  “Leave Peter alone, Henry!” shouted Mom. She came out of the house. Her hands were covered in dough. “Henry, if you don’t stop—”

  Mom looked around.

  “Where’s Henry?”

  “In his fort,” sniveled Peter.

  “I thought you said he was being mean to you,” said Mom.

  “He was!” wailed Peter.

  “Just keep away from him,” said Mom. She went back into the house.

  Perfect Peter was outraged. Was that it? Why hadn’t she punished Henry? Henry had been so horrid he deserved to go to prison for a year. Two years. And just get a crust of bread a week. And brussels sprouts. Ha! That would serve Henry right.

  But until Henry went to prison, how could Peter pay him back? And then Peter knew exactly what he could do.

  He checked carefully to see that no one was watching. Then he sneaked over the garden wall and headed for the Secret Club Tent.

  “He isn’t!” said Margaret.

  “She wouldn’t,” said Henry.

  “He’s planning to swap our lemonade for a Dungeon Drink?” said Margaret.

  “Yes,” said Peter.

  “She’s planning to stinkbomb the Purple Hand Fort?” said Henry.

  “Yes,” said Susan.

  “How dare she?” said Henry.

  “How dare he?” said Margaret. “I’ll easily put a stop to that. Linda!” she barked. “Hide the lemonade!”

  Linda yawned.

  “Hide it yourself,” she said. “I’m tired.”

  Margaret glared at her, then hid the jug under a box.

  “Ha ha! Won’t Henry be shocked when he sneaks over and there are no drinks to spike!” gloated Margaret. “Peter, you’re a hero. I award you the Triple Star, the highest honor the Secret Club can bestow.”

  “Ooh, thanks!” said Peter. It was nice being appreciated for a change.

  “So from now on,” said Moody Margaret, “you’re working for me.”

  “Okay,” said the traitor.

  Horrid Henry rubbed his hands. This was fantastic! At last, he had a spy in the enemy’s camp! He’d easily

  defend himself against that stupid stinkbomb. Margaret would only let it off when he was in the fort. His sentry would be on the lookout armed with a goo-shooter. When Margaret tried to sneak in with her stinkbomb— ker-pow!

  “Hang on a sec,” said Horrid Henry, “why should I trust you?”

  “Because Margaret is mean and horrible and I hate her,” said Susan.

  “So from now on,” said Horrid Henry, “you’re working for me.”

  Susan wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. Then she remembered Margaret’s mean cackle.

  “Okay,” said the traitor.

  Peter sneaked back into his garden and collided with someone.

  “Ouch!” said Peter.

  “Watch where you’re going!” snapped Susan.

  They glared at each other suspiciously.

  “What were you doing at Margaret’s?” said Susan.

  “Nothing,” said Peter. “What were you doing at my house?”

  “Nothing,” said Susan.

  Peter walked toward Henry’s fort, whistling.

  Susan walked toward Margaret’s tent, whistling.

  Well, if Susan was spying on Henry for Margaret, Peter certainly wasn’t going to warn him. Serve Henry right.

  Well, if Peter was spying on Margaret for Henry, Susan certainly wasn’t going to warn her. Serve Margaret right.

  Dungeon Drinks, eh?

  Margaret liked that idea much better than her stinkbomb plot.

  “I’ve changed my mind about the stinkbomb,” said Margaret. “I’m going to swap his drinks for Dungeon Drink stinkers instead.”

  “Good idea,” said Lazy Linda. “Less work.”

  Stinkbomb, eh?

  Henry liked that much better than his Dungeon Drink plot. Why hadn’t he thought of that himself?

  “I’ve changed my mind about the Dungeon Drinks,” said Henry. “I’m going to stinkbomb her instead.”

  “Yeah,” said Rude Ralph. “When?”

  “Now,” said Horrid Henry. “Come on, let’s go to my room.”

  Horrid Henry opened his Stinky Stinkbomb kit. He’d bought it with Grandma. Mom would never have let him buy it. But because Grandma had given him the money Mom couldn’t do anything about it. Ha ha ha.

  Now, which stink would he pick? He looked at the test tubes filled with powder and read the gruesome labels.

  Bad breath. Dog poo. Rotten eggs. Smelly socks. Dead fish. Sewer stench.

  “I’d go for dead fish,” said Ralph. “That’s the worst.”

  Henry considered.

  “How about we mix dead fish and rotten eggs?”

  “Yeah,” said Rude Ralph.

  Slowly, carefully, Horrid Henry
measured out a teaspoon of dead fish powder, and a teaspoon of rotten egg powder, into the special pouch.

  Slowly, carefully, Rude Ralph poured out 150 milliliters of secret stinkbomb liquid into the bottle and capped it tightly.

  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!”

  3

  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.