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Authors: Michael de Larrabeiti

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BOOK: The Borribles
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The Rumbles had been terrified by the precipitate arrival of Sam and his cart and had retreated in panic, but when they saw the treasure carried from the bunker they were roused to action and advanced en masse to prevent, even now, the escape of the Borribles.
They were wary of approaching the horse from the front, but they did not scruple to run at the cart from an angle and throw their lances with all the strength they could muster. The bravest of them ran alongside and tried desperately to climb on board, and some threw lances at Sam, hoping to wound him, to injure a leg or a hoof. But things had changed in favour of the Borribles. Inside the cart were the hundreds of stones they had loaded earlier, and this godsend was as important as the arrival of Sam himself. Now the Borribles took out their catapults to fire broadsides of sharp projectiles with telling effect, and the Rumbles, though attacking constantly, were forced to retreat to a respectful distance.
Nothing could stop Sam. He pulled the cart along by the side of the hill that covered the bunker. The ground pitched and rolled beneath his hooves, as explosions and fires continued to devastate the Rumble stronghold. A hundred plumes of yellow smoke were hanging foul against the sky, misshapen and forlorn, like the clouds of burning dust above a hundred London crematoria. The heart of the Rumbledom empire had been consumed by a mysterious detonation and it would be many years before it could be repaired and rebuilt.
Sam headed into the dense mass of warriors and they brandished their
spears in fury. One slip from the horse under the salvos of those flying lances and the escape would be over.
‘Keep going, Sam,’ prayed Knocker, ‘as fast as you can.’
But Sam veered suddenly, so violently as almost to tip the Borribles overboard.
‘Hey, what’s going on?’ shouted Stonks.
‘I don’t know,’ cried Knocker. ‘It’s Sam—’ He broke off and stood up in the driver’s seat. ‘Look, look,’ he yelled, ‘over there.’
Over there was back towards the hill they had just left with such difficulty and danger, and Sam, for good reasons of his own, had decided to charge in that direction.
‘Now, we’re really in the cart,’ said Orococco.
Seeing Sam turn, the Rumbles also looked across to the bunker and, when they did, gave a mighty shout and ran to intercept the Borribles. Here perhaps was a chance of victory. On the edge of the steep slope, in the centre of an embattled gateway, at the very core of the explosions, three figures had appeared, silhouetted against high flames that leapt and danced behind them. Unless they were rescued within a minute or two, Torreycanyon, Bingo and Napoleon would be forced to retreat into the fire, or die on the spears of the enraged Rumbles.
Knocker urged Sam to a gallop ‘Oh, come on, Sam,’ he pleaded. ‘Oh, Sam, run, run, run, or we’ll be too late. No more to die, not now, not now!’
The horse galloped on and the Borribles crowded to the front of the lurching cart, firing forwards and sideways to keep their enemies beyond lance range of the horse. Sam neighed as loudly as he could and the Rumbles fell back in dismay under his second onslaught, robbed yet again of the Borrible blood they had hoped to spill. When Sam skidded and slid to a halt before the burning garage only Torreycanyon was able to get into the cart without help. Bingo and Napoleon, weakened by the wounds they had sustained in the library, and their insides demolished by the near-suffocation of their trip along the ventilation shaft, had to be manhandled aboard. They fell into senseless heaps over the unconscious form of Vulge, and they knew nothing more until several hours later.
Knocker wheeled the fearless horse about once more to face the enemy troops, but courage was deserting the Rumbles. They knew now
that their High Command had gone and there was no real cohesion in their ranks. Their principal bunker had been completely ruined and was in flames about their ears. The workshops, the armoured car, the laboratories, the library, the kitchens, the dormitories—the whole structure had been dismantled and their best warriors killed, slain in single combat or vanquished by stealth and cunning.
They had tried everything and they had fought well, but they had perished beneath wheels and hooves or they had been struck down by the unerring aim of the Borrible catapults. Demoralized, they fell back, and though they kept pace with the cart they kept well out of range and their numbers thinned as Sam cantered to the very confines of Rumbledom, and to the main road that bounded it.
Sam halted. It was rush hour on a cold, wintry morning. The cars and buses zipped along the wet road, sending up a fine spray, hastening into the centre of the city. Not one adult could be seen walking anywhere; it was too early, the weather too inclement. The Battle of Rumbledom, fought mainly underground, seemed to have passed unnoticed.
The Borribles gathered at the back of the cart and held on to the tailboard; even Knocker left his seat and came to look. There in the falling mist and swirling rain stood several hundred Rumbles, leaning despondently on their spears. They could come no further; in the streets they would be recognized and caught. The Borribles had eluded them, sorely wounded it was true, but still they had escaped. Now the Rumbles would have to return to their shattered bunker and salvage what they could.
The Borribles did not cheer, did not wave their catapults aloft, they simply watched as the Rumbles turned slowly and melted away between gorse bushes and trees, or went down into the hollows or up over the hillsides, until there was nothing to be seen but the blue-grey rain blurring the outlines of the black and green of Rumbledom. There might never have been a Rumble on the face of the earth and sadness filled the hearts of the victorious Adventurers.
‘Oh,’ sighed Chalotte, blinking, ‘I wish there’d been some other way.’
‘Maybe there was, maybe there wasn’t,’ said Torreycanyon. ‘One thing is sure, once we got in there, we had to fight like the clappers to get out. They ain’t soft.’
The moment of reflection was ended by Sam, who saw a gap in the
traffic and set off across Parkside and passed into Queensmere. The Borribles were heading into the broad calm of the residential area where Dewdrop had taken them stealing. They were safe from Rumbles now, but if the bodies of Dewdrop and his son had been found, the police would be looking for them and, of course, Sam.
Knocker sat on the driving seat of the cart wrapped in Dewdrop’s mackintosh. To the adult eye he looked a little small to be in charge of a horse but there was hardly anyone to be seen anywhere, and what further aided the Borribles was that it was raining heavily, and those few people who were moving in the streets ran by with their heads down, intent only on their own thoughts.
As for the other Adventurers they had strung the canvas over the back of the cart like a tent, and in its shelter they were bandaging each other’s wounds and eating what was left of their provisions. They needed rest badly and it was comforting for them to lie down and ease the pain in their limbs, allowing a friend to tend to their cuts and bruises. Each of them took a turn at delivering first aid and eventually Knocker left his seat to be replaced by Stonks, and he lay back while Chalotte bound the gashes in his arms and legs, and rubbed ointment into the bums on his shoulders and hands.
‘These are bad wounds,’ she said. ‘You are a fool. You worried about the money when you could have escaped, and worse, Adolf is dead because of it.’
Knocker did not answer. It was warm and dry under the canvas, and the steady sound of the horse’s hooves and the drumming of the rain on the canvas was lulling him to sleep. Napoleon, Bingo and Vulge had been cleaned up and fed but had hardly opened their eyes during the process and were once again in a deep slumber. Sydney was keeping watch over the tailboard but she too was tired, and Knocker could see her head nodding forward as if it were going to fall off at any moment.
Torreycanyon was the only one who had any energy left. ‘I’m as fresh
as a Rumbledom daisy,’ he kept saying, and insisted on recounting his adventures to Orococco, who simply closed his eyes and began to snore.
‘Well, Torrey,’ said Sydney, ‘if you’re so daisy-fresh, you come and keep watch for me. I can’t keep awake.’
Knocker waited. When it was silent inside the cart he turned his attention to the Rumble treasure chest and touched it with an injured hand. It was sooty and still warm. Quietly, taking care not to awaken anyone, he shoved the box behind him and disguised its appearance with a piece of old canvas and some discarded clothing. Then he leant back against it so that no one could move it without his knowing.
He tried to keep awake, to guard the treasure and to relive the events of the past hours, but his head fell forward and Sam the horse plodded calmly along the edge of the traffic, across Augustus Road and over by Southfields Underground station, down Replingham Road and past the opening to Engadine where they had been attacked and forced into the clutches of Dewdrop and Erbie.
And all the Borribles slept, even Torreycanyon who should have been on watch, and even Stonks who should have been guiding Sam, but Sam paced on without need of command. He had heard talk of the Wandle and of King George’s Park so that was where he went. He stepped out evenly, realizing the Borribles were exhausted, halting gently by traffic lights and paying particular attention when changing lanes and navigating roundabouts.
He trudged on and Stonks snored in the driving seat and the others dreamt behind, at the mercy of chance. But luck stayed with the Adventurers, the rain continued to fall in heavy drops and no adult had time to observe the horse and cart or think them out of place as they went slowly along the streets, bearing the Borribles away from Rumbledom and towards the dubious safety of Wendle territory.
 
It was dusk when they awoke. Sam stood in a deserted side street by King George’s Park, sleeping between the shafts, all energy drained from him.
When the Borribles came to move their limbs they found it almost impossible. Stiffness and fatigue seemed to have fixed them in one position for ever. Stonks had fallen sideways on to the driver’s seat and lay curled up in Dewdrop’s raincoat. It was Torreycanyon who was the first to stick his head out into the evening air.
It had stopped raining and the street lamps shimmered gold on the wet roadway and made it dark, shiny and deep. Torreycanyon looked at his watch. Five o’clock. He glanced at the name of the road and ducked under the canvas to check it on his street map in the light of his torch.
‘Longstaff,’ he said. ‘Good old Sam, we’re right near to King George’s.’
The others sat up one by one, groaning as they realized how battered their bodies were. They huddled together for warmth and made a cold meal before continuing their journey. As they ate they argued among themselves about which route they should take for the return trip to Battersea. The easiest way was by boat through Wendle country to the Thames, the way they had come, but some of the Adventurers had their doubts.
‘I think we should go overland,’ said Chalotte, ‘not by boat.’
‘What do you mean?’ Napoleon looked up sharply.
‘I didn’t mean anything personal to you, Nap,’ Chalotte answered. ‘It’s just that Flinthead gives me the creeps.’
‘Any other way must be safer,’ said Knocker. ‘Must be.’
Napoleon laughed. ‘It’s too late, friends, you should have kept awake. Sam has brought us right to King George’s.’
There was an uneasy silence under the canvas.
‘Don’t let’s go bonkers,’ said Sydney at length. ‘The Wendles are Borribles, after all; they’ll be pleased our expedition was a success.’
‘Anyway, we are in too bad a shape to go by any but the shortest and easiest way,’ said Napoleon. ‘Just think, you’ll be home in two or three days.’
‘Remains to be seen,’ said Knocker.
Napoleon laughed again. ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ he said.
It was decided after a little more discussion that all they could do was to walk on as far as the banks of the Wandle and camp there. Napoleon would make contact with a lookout, and ask for the Adventurers to be taken back to
The Silver Belle Flower
. After that everything would depend on the Wendles.
When they were ready, they clambered down the cartwheels to the gleaming pavement and struggled into the straps of their haversacks. They were a sorry sight, limping and shuffling as they got into marching order, with improvised bandages round their heads and limbs. Vulge and
Stonks had made themselves crutches from Rumble-sticks and could manage to get along only with help from the others. All of them moved badly and every step they took was torture.
Knocker, in spite of his serious wounds and the feelings of his companions, went to the rear of the cart and threw aside the coverings that hid the treasure box from view. He dragged it towards him and hoisted it on to his injured back, and though he stumbled and nearly fell under the weight, nothing in the world would have induced him to leave it behind.
‘You are a fool, Knocker,’ said Chalotte. ‘How can you take that box after what has happened?’
‘You would if it was your name, wouldn’t you?’ retorted Knocker, guilt making his temper short.
‘Well, I don’t like it,’ said Torreycanyon, ‘but I know Adolf would have understood about your second name.’ And he took one of the handles and helped Knocker lower the box from his shoulder so that they could carry it between them.
‘So!’ cried Napoleon Boot, shoving forward, pushing his comrades aside. ‘So that’s what it’s all about. That’s what you’ve been after all along, you two-timer. You’d never have got it out of Rumbledom without us. Spiff and you had it planned all along, didn’t you? Well, it’s ours as well, you know … it’s gotta be shared out.’
‘It’s not Borrible,’ said Sydney. ‘Throw it away.’
‘That’s not very bright, now we’ve got it this far,’ butted in Torreycanyon. ‘Look at the way those Rumbles lived. They had everything up there. You didn’t see that workshop of theirs, wonderful it was … I’d like one, back in Hoxton.’
‘Well, whatever happens, we can’t share it out here,’ said Knocker, turning towards Napoleon and thrusting his face up against the Wendie’s. ‘Spiff wants to share it equally between the tribes who sent members on the expedition. Each one of you will take a share back with him when he goes.’
‘Ha! Do you expect me to believe that load of old cobblers?’ asked Napoleon, his face green in the light of the street lamp. ‘You may trust Spiff, but I wouldn’t give him the bogeys out of my left nostril.’
There was a dreadful silence under that lamp post, and some hearts sickened to think they had been so far and had done so much together
and could now quarrel over a box of money. Stonks said as much and he was backed up by Chalotte and Sydney, Bingo, Vulge and Orococco.
‘Sod the money,’ shouted Stonks. ‘Here we are, dying on our feet, and you two argue. Let’s get into the park before that damn treasure kills us all. We need a good night’s kip. We can talk about the money tomorrow.’
His voice woke Sam, who tottered on his four feet. He neighed and turned his head. Sydney ran to him and the others followed, the money forgotten for the moment. They shone their torches over the horse and saw that his hide was caked with blood and covered with scratches and stab wounds.
‘Here you are yammering on about money,’ cried Sydney angrily, pointing her finger at Napoleon and Knocker, ‘and the horse that saved us all is neglected by the lot of you.’
They freed Sam from the traces, patted him and expressed their sorrow at having ignored him for so long. Then they led him towards the park, and as Sam stepped out they noticed that he was limping badly because of an injury in one of his back legs.
‘Look at that,’ shouted Sydney at them all, as if they’d each and severally been responsible for the damage. ‘Wounded like he is and brought us all the way down here. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Sam ought to be retired on that money.’
The gates to the park had been closed at dusk but Napoleon soon picked the lock and the Borribles, Sam first, went into King George’s. The park was black and silent and the grass wet, but they had brought the cart canvas with them, and when they reached the banks of the Wandle they spread the tarpaulin on the ground and sat on it to keep dry. Soon the sky cleared of clouds, the stars appeared and the night turned cold, but the Adventurers wrapped themselves in their combat jackets and sleeping bags, and sat round in a circle, except for Sydney who stood by Sam, stroking and speaking to him.
Then began the story telling, the moment that Borribles love above all others. They wanted to know who had done what and how, and in what order, and to whom. Bingo wanted to know what had happened to Vulge; Vulge wanted to hear Torreycanyon’s tale, and Torreycanyon wanted to know how Chalotte and Sydney had fared. Napoleon told his story to Orococco and Orococco recounted his Adventure to Knocker,
and Knocker’s voice trembled as he recounted, almost as a penance, how Adolf had opened the safe.
And there were tears in the Adventurers’ eyes and lumps in their throats as they remembered the German and his mad, jolly voice and the way he had hooted at them. No one said anything to Knocker directly but there were looks and silences during the story of the safe, and Knocker looked at the ground between his feet.
But the stories went on and past quarrels began to be forgotten because the Borribles looked at each other and realized how lucky they were to be alive. Never had Borribles had such an adventure.
They were still talking when Napoleon suddenly stood up. ‘There’s a Wendle scouting us from the other side of the river,’ he said. ‘Switch off your torches.’ He went silently to the railings that bordered the river and whistled softly—a slight variation on the normal Borrible whistle—and he was answered within two seconds. Then the others heard him talking.
‘I’m going across,’ he announced when he returned. ‘Got to see Flinthead. You’re to wait here; better get some sleep. You’re quite safe, there’s Wendle night patrols all around. I’ll be back before dawn. Be ready to leave, and don’t try to go anywhere. You know they, we, don’t like strangers on our territory.’ Then without a word of goodbye he turned his back and disappeared into the night.
‘He’s a funny bloke,’ said Bingo. ‘You never know where you are with him; nice and friendly one minute, saving your life and fighting with you, and then all of a sudden he’s as cold as yesterday’s cabbage.’
‘I think,’ said Knocker, looking at the treasure chest, ‘that he’s just remembering he’s a Wendle after all.’
 
Napoleon came back as promised just before dawn. The others rolled over in their sleeping bags and, without getting up, looked at him. The tall shapes of the buildings on the far side of the Wandle were dark against the sky. Napoleon was just a darker shape. They couldn’t see his eyes or his expression; only his voice told them that he was tense and tired.
‘We’re to stay here until it is nearly light,’ he began, ‘then I am to lead you across the Wandle, along the bank and then underground. We can
rest, as we did before, for as long as we like, Flinthead said. Later they’ll take us to where they’ve hidden the boat. After that we can go—you can go—as long as we tell our stories, all of them.’
‘What,’ said Knocker, asking the question that was in everybody’s mind, ‘about the treasure?’
Napoleon hesitated. ‘Flinthead didn’t mention it, nor did I.’ He went over to his sleeping bag, unrolled it and slipped inside.
There was quiet. Knocker got up and went and sat by Napoleon. After a while he touched the Wendle gently on the shoulder. He could see Napoleon’s eyes now; they were open and staring at the sky.
BOOK: The Borribles
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