Read Borribles Go For Broke, The Online
Authors: Michael de Larrabeiti
Borribles Go For Broke, The (16 page)
‘There you are,’ said Spiff, ‘and they’re all like that.’ He smiled at Chalotte’s discomfiture. ‘I promise you there’s a copper’s size thirteen boots standing on the topside of that manhole and there’s a size thirteen copper standing in ’em too.’
They marched on at a good pace towards the River Wandle and were not far from their destination when two warriors burst out of a branch corridor and ran off, shouting.
‘Come on you lot,’ they bawled. ‘General meeting, Flinthead’s orders, haven’t you heard?’ Their footsteps died away.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Bingo, his face pale. ‘Hide?’
‘Not likely,’ said Spiff. ‘When Flinthead calls a meeting everyone goes except those who are dead or on guard. If we don’t do what everyone else does we’ll be spotted and dragged out into the light and he’d recognize us for sure. We’ll have to go along, and we’ll have to sprint too.’
And sprint they did, speeding towards the great hall, and as they ran they were joined by hundreds of Wendles all scurrying in the same direction. The tunnels grew wider and higher and the number of Wendles increased moment by moment until soon there was a solid host of jostling bodies hastening onwards in obedience to Flinthead.
Spiff and the others, their hearts thumping, were borne along in this violent crush for at least half a mile or so, then the pace of the mob around them slackened to a jog, then to a walk and finally to a shuffle. There were Wendles everywhere now, clamped together, incapable of independent movement. Suddenly they surged forward with a new and frightening power and, caught by an irresistible force, the four Adventurers, their feet no longer touching the ground, were sucked into an immense cavern where the brick roof arched high up and out of sight.
Once, back in the nineteenth century, this hall had been the central chamber for the Wandsworth sewage system until, made obsolete
by more modern techniques, it had come under the sway of Flinthead. There he was now, sitting on a tall raised platform, lolling back in a large wooden armchair which served, on all important occasions, as the Wendle chieftain’s throne. Beside him was his second-in-command, Tron by name, and within call stood at least fifty members of the bodyguard: hard-fighting warrior Wendles, hand-picked for their loyalty and single-mindedness.
by more modern techniques, it had come under the sway of Flinthead. There he was now, sitting on a tall raised platform, lolling back in a large wooden armchair which served, on all important occasions, as the Wendle chieftain’s throne. Beside him was his second-in-command, Tron by name, and within call stood at least fifty members of the bodyguard: hard-fighting warrior Wendles, hand-picked for their loyalty and single-mindedness.
The Adventurers wriggled and pushed through the crowd and made their way to the side of the hall.
‘Keep still,’ whispered Spiff, ‘and don’t look up. Whatever happens, don’t catch Flinthead’s eye; he’ll suss you out in no time.’
Chalotte took Spiff’s warning seriously and hid herself behind the mass of Wendles who stood between her and the platform, pulling her helmet further down on her head so that she could scrutinize events without fear of being discovered.
Flinthead, she saw, hadn’t changed in the slightest since she’d last seen him. Not for him the helmet made from an old beer can; his, and his alone, was fashioned from beaten copper and it had an extra piece that came down the front of his face in order to protect the nose—but that nose was not designed for concealment. It was an evil nose, a big nose, soft and plastic and eager to sniff out anyone who threatened Flinthead or his supremacy. The chieftain’s jacket was covered in luminous paint of gold and his waders were soft and of the finest quality, lined with wool to keep his feet warm. But Flinthead’s power did not reside in his clothes; it issued from his eyes. They were blank and they did not glint or gleam. Neither did they move unless the head moved; they were opaque and impenetrable, frosted over like smashed windscreens.
Gradually the noise in the great hall died away. Slowly Flinthead raised a hand for silence, but there was no need. The crowd had been stilled by the chieftain’s gaze alone. He waited a moment longer before speaking and when he spoke his voice came as a shock. It was a friendly voice and he smiled too, but his mind was a great distance from the smile; his mind was a cold metallic thing, working in silence for its own secret ends.
‘Wendles,’ began Flinthead, ‘I have called you together because
there is great danger here. The policemen of the SBG are guarding every exit into Wandsworth … I want to know why, I must know why. We have ample provisions of course, but if the blockade goes on too long we will face hardship, starvation even. Why, I ask myself, have we suddenly become the objects of this burst of SBG activity …? You will find out for me. You all know of the work I am doing on the Wandle mudflats, it is important work and it must not be interrupted. I do not want policemen down here, I don’t even want them to send the sewer men down here. You will remember the dangers we faced before because of outsiders; we do not want any more. The Wandle is for the Wendles. Be vigilant, you warriors, all of you beware strangers. A time of trial is coming, I smell it. The enemy is all around us. Report anything untoward to me or Tron. Be suspicious, be wary, trust no one. Stand guard at every exit, watch over the mine where the work goes on. I am awake for you day and night, brother Wendles; be watchful for me. Something or someone has penetrated our underground citadel, my nose tells me. Sharpen your knives, carry a spear and a catapult always with you. Wendles beware, there will be blood.’
there is great danger here. The policemen of the SBG are guarding every exit into Wandsworth … I want to know why, I must know why. We have ample provisions of course, but if the blockade goes on too long we will face hardship, starvation even. Why, I ask myself, have we suddenly become the objects of this burst of SBG activity …? You will find out for me. You all know of the work I am doing on the Wandle mudflats, it is important work and it must not be interrupted. I do not want policemen down here, I don’t even want them to send the sewer men down here. You will remember the dangers we faced before because of outsiders; we do not want any more. The Wandle is for the Wendles. Be vigilant, you warriors, all of you beware strangers. A time of trial is coming, I smell it. The enemy is all around us. Report anything untoward to me or Tron. Be suspicious, be wary, trust no one. Stand guard at every exit, watch over the mine where the work goes on. I am awake for you day and night, brother Wendles; be watchful for me. Something or someone has penetrated our underground citadel, my nose tells me. Sharpen your knives, carry a spear and a catapult always with you. Wendles beware, there will be blood.’
Abruptly Flinthead rose, and the light from the hand torches that almost every Wendle carried shone against his helmet. He stared at the back of the hall, his shapeless nose twitching. No one moved and no one spoke. Slowly Flinthead turned his face, sweeping his dull eyes across Wendle after Wendle, scaring them, sniffing nervously all the while like a city fox. Spiff, Chalotte, Stonks and Bingo stood without stirring, hardly breathing as Flinthead’s rigid gaze came to rest near them. It wavered and the nose tilted upwards and flared long and deep. Chalotte’s knees trembled and she was thankful that Spiff had made her disguise herself with those streaks of mud.
‘There is much amiss,’ called Flinthead, but his eyes moved on and searched elsewhere and he did not trouble to look for much longer. Only a moment more went by and then he raised his hand and dismissed the great assembly with a sign. Tron shouted an order and the special bodyguard surrounded their chieftain with a hedge of spears and escorted him away, chanting a kind of hymn as they did so:
‘Glory to Flinthead! Praise our lord,
King of the world below!
Sing of his name,
Extol his fame
From which all blessings flow.
King of the world below!
Sing of his name,
Extol his fame
From which all blessings flow.
‘Glory to Flinthead, great and good,
Wendle without a peer!
There are no bold
Heroes of old
To equal his career!
Wendle without a peer!
There are no bold
Heroes of old
To equal his career!
‘Glory to Flinthead, saviour true,
Father and guide and friend!
His is the might,
The kindly light
We’ll follow round the bend!’
Father and guide and friend!
His is the might,
The kindly light
We’ll follow round the bend!’
As soon as the four interlopers were free of the cavern and on their own Spiff halted and spoke roughly to Chalotte. ‘Now do you believe me?’ he hissed. ‘There is a copper on every manhole.’
‘I believe you,’ answered Chalotte, though her mind was preoccupied with other thoughts—the Wendle hymn haunted her. ‘Those bodyguards are mad, aren’t they?’ she said. ‘They really believe in that lunatic leader of theirs; Flinthead could do anything with them.’
‘Never mind all that,’ said Stonks, his voice strained. ‘What about that guardroom where we’re hiding, won’t they find it now?’
‘I dunno,’ said Spiff, ‘lots of Wendles live in old alcoves like that. I think Skug and Norrarf ought to be able to fob them off. I’m more worried about something else.’
‘Something else!’ cried Bingo. ‘What could be worse than this?’
Spiff rubbed his jaw and reached a decision. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you something you ought to see.’
Chalotte, Stonks and Bingo studied Spiff’s expression for a second. He smiled his superior smile.
‘All right,’ said Chalotte, ‘we’ll look, but that’s all. Don’t you go making things happen.’
Spiff shook his head in reassurance and once more he set off into the dark and sloping side tunnels with his companions following. Once more, also, he directed his steps with confidence and precision and it was not long before the small group of Borribles arrived on the banks of the River Wandle.
‘Yes,’ said Chalotte, ‘I recognize this; it was near here that our boat was moored, and it was over the far side somewhere that we left Knocker and the others so that we could escape with the treasure.’ And remembering her friends she contemplated the waters of the river and saw that they were still as thick and as foul as fish glue. The Wandle crawled by her feet with a slow and unstoppable strength, only just covering the rolling banks of mud that shifted and rippled beneath its surface.
Spiff gobbed into the water and the spit made no splash or murmur. ‘All very touching,’ he said, ‘but we’d better get going before some Wendle starts asking us what we’re up to.’
They pressed on, following the Wandle in the direction of its current, travelling along a well trodden towpath. From time to time they passed small groups of Wendles roaming this way and that, but they were not too closely scrutinized, nor did they receive more than the usual number of suspicious glances.
As they progressed the vault above their heads flung itself higher and wider until it was almost impossible to see the far side of the river. Now the shoals of mud surged into sight above the water and the stream dawdled and meandered through a vast area of black dunes which gleamed wet in the half-light, pulsating like stranded monsters. These were the treacherous swamps of the Wandle mudflats where a relentless suction threatened the life of any creature that lost its way or of any traveller who put a foot wrong.
There were more and more Wendles round the Adventurers every minute, most of them warriors and all of them taking Flinthead’s orders seriously, peering into alcoves and tunnels and inspecting each other’s faces. But Spiff was not to be put off by this tactic and did likewise, brandishing his catapult in a warlike manner and approaching each Wendle he passed and staring at him offensively, asking who he was and where he came from and what
he was doing. Whatever Spiff’s faults, there was no doubting his bravery or his audacity.
he was doing. Whatever Spiff’s faults, there was no doubting his bravery or his audacity.
Chalotte knew this and was on the point of mentioning it to Bingo when she and the others became aware of harsh and unnatural noises in the distance. She heard first a sharp crack repeated at regular intervals, sometimes followed by a cry; then there was a deep rumbling as of wood on wood together with a grinding and a clanking of metal, and all this strident discord was combined with a slurp, slurp, slurp of water and mud. Chalotte felt a finger of ice prodding at her heart and she reached out to touch Stonk’s arm, but the face he turned towards her was just as fearful as her own.
The noises pounded on, clanking, rumbling, slurping; louder and louder, oppressive, terrifying. Suddenly, as the four Borribles rounded a bend in the towpath, the noise swelled to a crescendo and the strangest sight met their eyes. Spiff raised an arm and pointed dramatically.
‘There,’ he said, pleased with himself, ‘ain’t that wonderful?’
Far away from the spot on which they stood, in between two vast banks of mud and in the middle of the underground river, was moored a floating platform constructed from huge rough planks of stolen timber. In the centre of the platform was a derrick and at the base of the derrick and spliced on to it with a cumbersome wooden axle was a treadmill, large enough for a Borrible, or even two, to walk in. Some poor mud-covered wretch was already toiling in it and, as Chalotte stared, one of the four Wendle guards on the platform cracked a whip and the great wheel revolved and buckets rattled upwards on a long chain, rising to the top of the derrick. There they rolled over to empty their cargo of sludge into the waters of the River Wandle and begin again their long journey down into the deepest depths of the mine.
Spiff sprawled on the ground at the side of the towpath and beamed; the others squatted near him. ‘Marvellous bit of engineering, that is,’ he said, ‘absolutely marvellous.’
Chalotte glanced along the river bank. There were scores of Wendles doing what Spiff was doing; some were chatting, some were just relaxing, but all of them kept a close eye on the activity in midstream, waiting for something to happen.
Stonks spoke to Bingo. ‘This is the exact place we lost the treasure.’
Chalotte swore. ‘So it is, dammit.’
‘But how can you dig down through a river?’ asked Bingo.
‘Course you can,’ said Spiff. ‘They do it all the time, engineers. You start on one of those mudbanks, just above the surface of the water, or you wait till the tide’s out, and as your hole goes down so you put planking all round you, nice and tight; tongue and groove is best. How do you think they built bridges in the old days? Just the same.’
‘Well, it’s bloody clever,’ said Bingo. ‘You’ve got to admit that.’
‘Invented by Flinthead,’ said Spiff. ‘And whatever else you can say about him he ain’t daft.’
‘And who’s the poor sod in the treadmill?’ said Stonks. ‘What’s he done to deserve that?’
Spiff let his head fall back and looked up into the roof, making his comrades wait for an answer so that their brains had time to work. ‘Well,’ he said eventually, ‘he did just what we are doing, he got on the wrong side of Flinthead, didn’t he? Go and have a closer look, Stonks.’ Spiff laughed, as cold as death, his laughter mocking the idea that was just beginning to form in the minds of his companions.
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