The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis (13 page)

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Authors: Michael de Larrabeiti

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic

BOOK: The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis
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As briefly as she could Chalotte told Stovepipe the story of Sam the horse and how she and the others were trying to get him to safety in Neasden. ‘We were lucky to get away from Clapham South,’ she said when she was rounding off the tale. ‘Most of the circus Borribles were clipped but two got away and came with us, Ninch and Scooter’
‘All we want to know,’ said Vulge, wagging his head nervously, ‘is what Sussworth has done with the horse. Have you heard anything on these machines of yours?’
Stovepipe sat and stretched his legs out in front of him. He jerked a
thumb over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got a permanent line to SBG headquarters now,’ he explained. ‘They’ve been getting very excited since you got away from Clapham South … very.’ Stovepipe eased his wheeled chair forward so that he could reach a bank of switches. He touched a button and a tape began to turn. ‘I recorded this yesterday,’ he said. ‘It might be what you’re after.’
The tape spun and the Borribles listened. A car went by outside; there was conversation in the street. A voice came from Stovepipe’s monitor speaker; it was the voice of the DAC.
‘ … it’s bloody stupid, Sussworth. I’ve had nothin’ but flak from the Commissioner and he’s gettin’ it in the neck from Downin’ Street. He wants my head on the block for this, and I warn you, Sussworth, if my head falls you’ll be the one goin’ for catsmeat, you and that odious Hanks.’
‘Yessir,’ answered Sussworth, and Knocker glanced at Chalotte. It seemed so strange to hear the inspector close like that, almost as if he were in the same room. The voice continued.
‘We’ll soon have the culprits who got them out, sir. I know who it is, circus vagabonds, sir …’
‘Sussworth,’ the DAC was shouting, he was very angry. ‘You idiot. I don’t care who did it. The main thing is that the Borribles have escaped and we are in trouble, both of us. I will have to resign unless you find where those Borribles are, got that? And if I resign I shall make sure that you end up standin’ in the dole queue. So, Sussworth, do not bother yourself about who got them out of the shelters, but concentrate all your effort and all your manpower on findin’ where they have gone. This is your last chance. After this it’s Chief Superintendent Birdlime, understand?’
‘Oh yessir,’ said Sussworth. ‘I understand, sir. I’ll find them, I’ll get them back into custody. I’ve dealt with the horse for a start, sir.’
Chalotte covered her face with her hands and the blood left Knocker’s face, but before he could say anything the DAC went berserk.
‘You’ve what, you incompetent little cipher? What have you got in your skull, cornflower sauce? What have you done?’
‘Sir, you did agree at Clapham South that it should be slaughtered.’
‘Your brain is a banana, Sussworth. That was under a different set
of circumstances. Tactics alter as and when strategy does. It’s elementary Clausewitz. When the horse was alive we at least knew that the Borribles would come lookin’ for it … it’s called a trap, Sussworth … an ambush.’
‘Ah that’s all right then, sir.’
‘All right! It’s not all right.’
‘No, sir. You see, I only sent the horse over to the abattoir this afternoon; they aren’t going to slaughter it until tomorrow. I’ll telephone and get them to hang on to the horse, sir. They’ve got plenty of stabling over there.’
There was a long silence on the tape as the DAC digested this news. Vulge jumped to his feet and cheered; Chalotte lifted her face and smiled at Knocker.
‘Sussworth,’ continued the DAC at last, ‘you nearly gave me a coronary. Where have you got this horse?’
‘Oh quite safe, sir. In a slaughterhouse in Baynes Street; that’s Camden Town, on the canal.’
‘Good, good, at least that’s somethin’. Put a strong guard on that horse, Sussworth. While we’ve got it we have a chance of catchin’ those Borribles of yours. It seems that they would do anythin’ for that horse, anythin’.’
‘I know, sir. I can’t understand it.’
‘Right, anythin’ else, Sussworth?’
‘No, sir. I’ve got my men looking in every street in London, sir. Looking into every empty house, sir. Those Borribles won’t get far.’
‘They’d better not, Sussworth. If you let me down on this I’ll see to it that they won’t even employ you to collect trolleys in a supermarket car park. Think of that, Sussworth.’
‘Yessir, I do, sir. Continually and all the time.’
‘Excellent. Now somethin’ else. If those Borribles don’t know the horse is in Camden Town, how can they attempt a rescue, eh? Answer me that. If they think the horse is just a series of chunks of meat in rows of tins they’ll abandon the idea of savin’ it, won’t they? What are you goin’ to do about it, eh?’
‘Um,’ said Sussworth. ‘Ah, that’s a good question, sir. Pass.’
‘Do your Borribles know you sent the horse to Wandsworth Prison, Sussworth? Do they know that?’
‘They do indeed, sir. I made a point of telling them, sir, just to rub . it in.’
‘Good. We can count on them sendin’ a runner as far as that then, just to scout out the lie of the land, but don’t set a trap there, Sussworth; we want to catch them all. Put a notice on the prison doors sayin’ that the horse has been sent to Camden Town to await execution, and put other notices outside all police stations. That should do it. Make the date of the execution three or four weeks away, give them time to get there, and then watch all the bridges over the river … You’re bound to catch ’em that way.’
‘Oh yessir. A marvellous idea, sir.’
‘And don’t slaughter that horse until I give the word, do you understand?’
‘Yessir!’
‘And telephone me with all developments, wherever I am. Where’s your caravan?’
‘Near Camden, sir. Near the abattoir but not too near.’
‘Excellent. Well look lively, Sussworth. Be about your business and no more mistakes. Goodbye.’
The line went dead and Stovepipe switched off the tape machine. ‘How’s that?’ he asked. ‘Any good?’
Chalotte banged her hands together. ‘Stovepipe,’ she said, ‘you’re a marvel. That machine of yours has told us exactly what we wanted to know. Sam is in Camden Town and alive. Now we have a destination.’
‘It sounds dangerous to me,’ said Sherbet. ‘You heard what they said; it’s a trap.’
‘Yes,’ said Knocker, ‘but this time we know it’s a trap. That gives us a bit of an edge.’
Stovepipe began flicking through a notebook. ‘I write down their radio messages too,’ he said, ‘and I tell you, if you’re going north of the river then you’ll have your work cut out. Apart from watching every bridge the SBG seem to have what they’re calling “extra lookouts” everywhere.’
‘Perhaps,’ suggested Vulge, ‘that’s how they knew we were with the circus. Perhaps these lookouts saw us leaving Wandsworth Common.’
Knocker shook his head. ‘If we can’t use the bridges, getting across the river will be tricky.’ He topped up his tea from the pot and drained
his cup. The conference was at an end. With many thanks to Stovepipe for his information and a parting warning that he should not get caught, the two Bumpers and the three Adventurers walked slowly back to Electric Avenue. There would be much to think about and much to discuss over the meal that evening.
 
‘The main problem is getting across the river,’ said Knocker, leaning back on a broken sofa and spooning some baked beans into his mouth. ‘A bridge is the worst place in the world to get caught, no way out but down to the water.’
‘We’ll be walking into a trap,’ said Chalotte, ‘when we should be living like these Bumpers live. They’ve got it right, living in the market, happy with what they’ve got. Look at us … out on the road, fighting for our very existence. It’s not Borrible and I know it’s not Borrible but at the same time we can’t let Sam down. It’s a mess.’
Knocker scraped the bottom of his bean can and took a deep breath. ‘I reckon I learnt a thing or two down Flinthead’s mine, I suppose we all did. When we got out alive I thought how stupid that digging for treasure had been, and yet I came out a better Borrible, I think, and somehow it’s all tied up with Sam, getting him away from pulling Dewdrop’s cart. He had no life before that, did he? Work, work, work for Dewdrop and then slaving away for the park keepers. Sam has to be kept free, away from Sussworth, away from work.’
Ninch, who was lying on the floor, rolled over on to his stomach. ‘Lot of fuss about an old horse,’ he said. ‘We had better ones in the circus. I didn’t notice anything special about him.’
Sydney banged her mug on the floor. ‘Not special,’ she cried, the anger mounting in her voice. ‘He saved all our lives, that’s all, but it’s not just that. Like Knocker says, you can’t describe what it is exactly. We just like him. He is Borrible and he’s beautiful too … Oh, I don’t know how to put it. He’s one of us and you have to help him out because he can’t help himself.’
Knocker agreed. ‘Sid’s right,’ he said. ‘Sam has to go to Neasden; it’s more than just getting him there now, it’s the beating of Sussworth. Somehow we’ve got to show that Borrible is Borrible and won’t be bullied. For me, being a good Borrible is mixed up with that horse, but
now Sussworth has got him prisoner and if he has his way he’ll kill Sam and enjoy doing it … I’m going to stop him if I can.’
‘Are you after a third name?’ asked Arfinch, closing one eye. ‘Is that what you’re after?’
Knocker smiled bitterly. ‘Once maybe, not any more. I’m not looking for great adventures; we’re just trying to take care of our own, in this case, Sam. I’d want to do that even if he hadn’t done us a good turn in Rumbledom. It’s Sussworth who won’t let us be Borrible, trying to cut our ears off, demolishing our houses. I hate Sussworth for trying to change us into something we don’t want to be. He’d love to have our noses to the grindstone.’
There was a longish silence after this speech. Chalotte studied the carpet in front of her and remembered what Knocker had been like just before the Great Rumble Hunt. He had certainly changed a lot. All he had wanted then was to win more names than any other Borrible. Now his thoughts were a great deal less self-centred. There were obviously more degrees of being Borrible than she had thought possible and Knocker was gradually, but steadily, moving up them.
The silence was broken, strangely enough, by Scooter, who had listened intently to every word that Knocker had spoken. He suddenly leapt to his feet, yelled and threw his empty bean can up to the ceiling. It bounced and fell to the floor with a clatter.
‘Horray for Knocker,’ he shouted, ‘and Sam and Borribles everywhere.’ Then he stopped and became self-conscious and sheepish, staring at his feet.
The Adventurers and the Bumpers laughed to see Scooter’s red face. It was rare to see a Borrible blush and always caused great mirth among their companions when they did. Only Ninch was not amused.
‘Bloody daft, I call it,’ he said. ‘All that fuss about a horse.’
This time Knocker ignored him. He sat back on the sofa and made himself comfortable. ‘All I want to know is,’ he said, ‘is there anyone who doesn’t want to come with me? Because I don’t know how I’m going … but I’m going.’
Vulge tilted his head sideways. ‘We’ve talked about it enough,’ he said. ‘Sussworth can’t win this one whatever happens.’
Knocker looked at Chalotte and she felt him look at her. ‘Who
could refuse Knocker?’ she said. ‘Not that I would anyway because I believe he’s right.’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Bisto suddenly, and he crossed the room so that he could face everyone. ‘I’ve got things to say now, it’s an idea. I’ve been sitting here listening to you talking an’ you’ve got to get across the river, right? Without being seen, right? Well, the answer is staring you in the face. You done it before on the way to Rumbledom. You sails down the river and land between bridges, where it’s safe, in the middle of the night.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Bingo, ‘and where do we get a boat? We’re a long way from Battersea Park lake.’
‘I thought about all that,’ said Bisto. There was a huge smile on his face now, like he was proud to have thought of the idea and delighted to give it away. “First, you don’t need a boat, you have a raft instead; or better still, two rafts because a raft big enough for you all would be too heavy to carry.’
‘To carry?’ said Bingo.
‘Carry,’ said Bisto looking pleased with himself. ‘Making the raft is no problem. Every night the market streets are covered with old pail-lets, bits of timber, wire, nails, everything we need to make a good solid craft. The real problem is getting it from here to the river; it’s two or three miles.’
‘That’s too far,’ said Knocker. ‘By the time we’d carried the rafts we’d be too knackered to paddle, especially if the tide was against us.’
Bisto slapped his hands. ‘That’s just it, man. Me an’ the girls and boys, we had a talk. You don’t carry them, we do; you just jog along and carry your own stuff. It’d be our contribution to the war effort.’
‘You?’ said Chalotte and she shook her head at Arfinch.
The West Indian girl’s expression became stern. ‘And why not?’ she queried. ‘It’s not only you who can have adventures. There’s eight of us, two rafts, four to carry a raft … and just in case we’ll bring another team of eight to take over when we’re tired. They can be lookouts too. We can all run like rockets in Brixton.’

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