Sussworth stamped his feet one after the other and then turned quickly from the map. His eyes narrowed and his voice grew deeper, taking on a Churchillian ring.
‘This time we shall not fail. We shall fight them in the streets and down the alleys, across the labyrinthine ways of the metropolis, every yard, every foot, every inch. Behind each of you dwarfs, remember, are ten men of the SBG. You will overcome and you will never walk alone. This is the big match. I shall bowl the Borribles a death-dealing googly. They shall not pass. We shall be unseen and undetected and the ground will be covered with clipped ears like leaves in autumn.’
Sergeant Hanks grinned and shouted for joy, but Sussworth was not pleased and he held a hand high against the interruption and straightened his back.
‘And I shall be right there with you, men. I have made arrangements for a caravan to be placed at my disposal. It will be personal and private with its own bathroom and lavatory. I am going to take up my abode in this caravan and I shall live in it until these scavengers and their horse are captured. There shall I labour, like Monty did in the Western Desert. I shall make our deeds into history.’
Sussworth’s moustache revolved slowly now with contained power, like a ship’s propeller. ‘Epoch-making history! My finest hour! We happy few! The Desert Fox! Never before!’
‘Certainly,’ said Hanks, taking a digestive biscuit from his pocket and sliding it into his mouth.
Sussworth stood to attention and extended himself to his fullest height and jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the map. ‘Wherever these flags are thickest there shall I be in the thick of it,’ he said.
Hanks waved the Borrible ear he held above his head and cheered, spraying the front row of dwarfs with saliva and crumbs. Sussworth inclined his head and the SBG policemen saluted, turned to the right and marched from the room. The dwarfs, after a moment’s hesitation, saluted too and then followed them.
The inspector watched them go. His moustache lifted from his top lip like a trapdoor and revealed a smile, the smile of a sharp-toothed rabbit.
‘If only the DAC could see us now,’ said Hanks, popping another biscuit into his mouth. ‘I’d be Sir Sergeant Hanks already with more letters behind my name than a London postal district. Eh?’
Inspector Sussworth sniffed. ‘It’s just as well he can’t see us, Hanks,’ he said. ‘Using dwarfs is a bit out of order and the DAC wouldn’t want to be associated with anything out of order. He wouldn’t stop us, you understand, he just wouldn’t want to be associated with it. In fact, Hanks, it’s all got to be kept very hush-hush. In future, in reports and radio messages and suchlike, make sure the men always refer to the dwarfs as … as …’
‘Lookouts,’ suggested Hanks.
‘Lookouts,’ said Sussworth, ‘as I said.’ He gazed at the map again and a dreamy expression filled his eyes. ‘Somewhere in London, they are, those Borribles … somewhere in London. I wonder where. I wonder where.’
The Borribles stood under the trees in the darkness. The temperature had risen and the rain was falling again, dripping from the leaves and running down necks. Sam stamped a hoof, impatient to be off.
‘We can’t stay here,’ said Sydney. ‘Sam will catch cold; he’s shivering already.’
The Borribles were still watching the acrobats erect their tent, fascinated by the speed and expertise with which the operation was performed.
Chalotte touched Knocker. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘we’d better get a move on.’
Knocker looked at his watch. It was only eleven o’clock. As he raised his head to speak someone bumped into him from the side. It was one of the acrobats, walking backwards and tugging on a length of cable.
‘Watch out,’ shouted the newcomer. ‘Get out the way, can’t yer see I’m trying to lash this guy rope?’
Knocker said nothing but reached forward rapidly and grabbed the acrobat by the neck. ‘Shuddup,’ he said, ‘else I’ll throttle yer.’
‘Leave off,’ said the acrobat. ‘Stop messing about. Why aren’t you getting on with the work? I’ve a good mind …’ The acrobat’s voice faltered. He had noticed the other Borribles in the darkness under the trees and he was more than a little disconcerted to find such a group on the common in the middle of the night. Stonks came up behind him and took hold of an arm.
‘’Ere,’ said the acrobat, his voice less confident. ‘What’s your game, eh?’
‘Nothing,’ said Knocker. ‘We don’t want nothing, we ain’t doing nothing, we’re just on our way across the common, nice ’n’ quiet like.’
The acrobat moved his face nearer to Knocker’s, looking him straight in the eye. ‘’Ere,’ he said again, ‘you’re the same size as me you are, all of yer. Are you a dwarf too, or are you kids on the run?’
Knocker did not answer for at that moment a voice came from the half-erected tent: ‘Hey Scooter, wake up. Pull on the bloody rope, will yer. The effin’ pole’s waving all over the place.’
‘You’d better let me,’ said the acrobat called Scooter, ‘or they’ll all be over here.’
‘Go on then,’ said Knocker. ‘Don’t try anything funny, there’s ten of us.’
‘Oh is there?’ said Scooter. ‘I’m frightened to death, ain’t I?’ He shook himself away from Knocker and Stonks and passing the rope he held round the trunk of the nearest tree he began to pull on it, and the Borribles could see the centre of the nearby tent rising. When he had finished Scooter tied the end of the rope to a branch and turned to face the Borribles, his hands on his hips, smiling. He made no attempt to escape or call his friends.’
‘You shouldn’t be worried,’ he said, addressing them all. ‘We’re travellers, circus people, fairground gypsies. We’d never give you away to anyone, least of all the law. It’s against our traditions.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Knocker. ‘How do we know?’ but you’ll
Scooter shrugged his shoulders. ‘Suit yerself,’ he said, ‘but you’ll have to let me go in a minute; I’ve got lots of work to do and the others will start looking for me.’
‘We’re moving on anyway,’ said Napoleon. ‘It’s not safe here. We could take you with us, if we wanted.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Scooter.
‘We’re on our way to Brixton, that’s all,’ said Knocker at last.
Scooter folded his arms and leant against a tree. ‘So are we,’ he said. ‘In three days’ time we’ll be setting out for Brockwell Park to do a show. You could travel with us. No one would see you in the caravan and they wouldn’t notice an extra horse.’
‘No,’ said Knocker, ‘we’ll go now,’ but it was too late. Six people were suddenly coming close to the Borribles.
‘Come on, Scooter,’ called one of them. ‘Why aren’t you doing your share? We all want to go to bed you know.’
The Borribles quickly loaded their catapults and got back to back under the trees. Sydney held the horse ready to run but still Scooter did not move. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘don’t be scared. Look.’ He turned and raised a hand towards his colleagues. ‘Move steady,’ he called out. ‘I’ve found some people who could use some help.’
The advancing acrobats halted for a moment and then came on, warily. They spread out under the trees; one of them leant on the handle of a sledgehammer. Against the glare of the circus floodlights the Adventurers could see that although only of Borrible height he was thickset, as big as Stonks. ‘Who are they?’ he asked. ‘What do they want?’
‘We don’t want anything,’ answered Chalotte. ‘We’re just crossing the common.’
‘Look, Ninch,’ said Scooter, speaking to the acrobat with the hammer, ‘they’re just a bunch of kids going to Brixton … with a horse.’
‘A horse!’ retorted Ninch with excitement. ‘A horse, eh? Strike a bleedin’ light.’
‘What about the horse?’ said Sydney, immediately on the defensive.
‘What about it?’ replied Ninch. ‘I bet you’ve nicked one of ours, that’s what. Frisby, go and count ’em, quick.’
>
One of Ninch’s companions walked away and the others shuffled their feet, ready for trouble.
‘Leave it out, Ninch,’ said Scooter, ‘they’re just bits of kids I tell yer. From what I can see a good meal wouldn’t do ’em no harm.’
‘The horses are all there.’ Frisby’s voice came from the other side of the half-erected tent and Ninch’s body relaxed.
‘That’s all right then,’ he said. ‘They’re welcome to come along with us, if they want. Never let it be said that a traveller don’t know how to be hospitable.’ And with that the chunky figure turned and strode away, his companions following him.
The Borribles breathed a sigh of relief and put their catapults into their back pockets. Scooter laughed. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘At least come and eat some grub with us before you go. They’re cooking up Irish stew tonight. Once we’ve got the work done, that is.’
‘Irish stew,’ said Bingo. ‘I loves that; with dumplings?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Scooter, ‘with dumplings.’
After that there seemed no good reason for staying out in the rain and the Borribles went slowly towards the tent, which now looked as sturdy as a church. Scooter opened a flap and Sam, followed by the rest of the Adventurers, passed through it.
They found themselves in a space about thirty yards long by twenty wide. Along the shorter side, opposite the entrance, was a plank stage which the acrobats had nearly finished setting up. The Borribles hesitated. These circus people might be small but they were still adults, and Borribles do not like being in an enclosed space with adults.
Scooter had followed them into the tent and he chuckled at their discomfiture. ‘You can spend the rest of the night under the stage if you like,’ he said, ‘the horse as well. Have a good rest. Then you can march along with us when we go. It’ll be easier than skulking across the streets at night and less dangerous.’
‘Have you got any proper animal food,’ asked Sydney, ‘for Sam, the horse?’
‘Sam, eh?’ said Scooter. ‘Oh yes, we’ll have oats or some’at. What’s yer names?’
The Borribles looked at one another, hesitated, and then told him. As each name was given so Scooter’s face showed more and more surprise. At the end of the list he smiled hugely. ‘My name’s Scooter,’ he said, ‘but I like your names …’ His eyes narrowed and he looked at Knocker intently. ‘I would like to hear the story of them, some day.’
Knocker touched the catapult in his back pocket. Scooter had just spoken the most friendly of Borrible greetings. He looked sideways at the stage. The six or seven of Scooter’s companions, who up till then had been working hard, were now silent and still, raised hammers motionless in their hands. They had heard the special words and were waiting for the reply.
The silence continued and then Chalotte said, ‘We will tell the stories certainly, and your name is good too, Scooter. There must be a fine tale behind it, you must tell us how you won it before we leave.’
At this a great noise came from the stage as the acrobats threw down their tools and laughed and cheered and jumped to the ground. Scooter smiled again and lifted a hand to his hair, slowly pushing it back to reveal pointed ears, Borrible ears. And the other acrobats approached from the stage and they too showed their ears, all of them Borrible.
Knocker shook his head in amazement. He peered closely at Scooter’s ears; they seemed all right.
‘You can’t be Borrible,’ said Napoleon. ‘You don’t look right.’
Ninch tapped the Wendle on the shoulder. ‘Don’t look right, what do you mean, don’t look right? These are my friends: two girls here, Matzo and Lobda, and then there’s Flapjack, Sinbad, Duster and Frisby.’
‘They’re good names,’ said Knocker, ‘really, but what Napoleon means is, well, you don’t look like Borribles, I mean the ears do but …’
‘You look too strong,’ said Chalotte, ‘a bit like short adults.’
Ninch laughed and looked round at his friends. ‘Of course we do,’ he said, ‘it’s the circus that does that. The acrobatics, the swinging on ropes, putting up this tent, hauling cages into position. Clowning, you have to be fit for clowning.’
‘Anyway,’ said Scooter, ‘not all Borribles look the same, not by a long chalk. You’ve got two black ones with you, Napoleon looks green and him, Stonks, he looks more like one of us, doesn’t he?’
Stonks gave one of his rare smiles, pleased that his strength had been noticed.
Ninch put his arm round Knocker’s shoulders. ‘Don’t worry so much. Remember we are all Borribles together. We will eat and then you will feel better. Frisby has been doing the cooking in the caravan and he’ll be fetching it over in a minute. We’ll have a feast, and there’s oats for the horse as well.’
And so it was decided. The acrobats made a table with planks from the stage and they improvised a bench too. The Borribles took their places, a huge cauldron of stew was carried across from the caravan by Ninch and Frisby, and soup plates and spoons were placed before each person. Generous portions were ladled into the plates and the Adventurers lost no time in devouring all the food they’d been given, so hungry were they for a hot meal.
Towards the end of it Knocker looked across the table and raised his glass of beer at Chalotte. She returned the glance but her face was serious, expressing doubt. She angled her head at Ninch and shrugged, wondering. Was he a leader or was he just the most forceful personality in the group? The main thing she noticed about him was his strength. Perhaps only Stonks in the band of Adventurers could take him on in a fair fight and stand a chance of winning. All right then, as the proverb said, ‘If they won’t let you fight a fair fight then don’t fight ’em fair.’
Chalotte studied the acrobat carefully, searching his physical appearance for some clue to his personality. His hair was ginger and stuck out sideways like bristles on a chimney sweep’s brush. He had a round face, broad as a cabbage, with muscular cheeks and a big adult mouth; one of his eyes seemed wider than the other. His hands were broad and strong; fingers like coach bolts with hexagon nuts for knuckles. He wore a striped jersey of thick wool, cut off jaggedly at the elbows, and his fawn trousers were stained with oil. He made you think of a burglar who’d fallen on hard times. Chalotte shrugged; Borribles were burglars, after all was said and done.
She next turned her attention to Scooter. He was different. He was not so strongly built as Ninch, though he was still broad in the shoulder and beefy in the arm for a Borrible. He looked as tough as a bag of nails but somehow his face was more careless, more open. His black hair shone like tarmac in rain and touched his shoulders. His chin was pointed, his eyes brown and although his expression, like Ninch’s, had a touch of the adult, it was not troubled or preoccupied but clear and spontaneous.
Chalotte wiped some stew off her plate with a piece of bread. Something wasn’t quite right, but whatever it was eluded her. She looked at all the acrobats in turn. They were all talking and smiling; telling the stories of their names in true Borrible fashion, asking questions about the Great Rumble Hunt and scratching their pointed ears. It must be all right.
And so the eating and talking went on and the acrobats and the Adventurers warmed to each other’s company and suspicious fell away. As with all Borribles the stories flew thick and fast. The acrobats told tale after tale of their travels and the strange people they had met in other circuses and fairgrounds. The Adventurers told stories too, of Rumbledom and Flinthead’s mine, but they did not reveal what they were doing crossing Clapham Common at night and why Sam the horse was one of their number.
At last, after every person there had taken his or her part in the story-telling, heads began to droop and the acrobats went to their caravan and the Adventurers crept under the stage, taking Sam with them. Safe and warm in their sleeping bags, their stomachs full, they soon fell asleep and the night was dark and silent all around save only for the sound of a car now and then as it zipped along the rainy road which crossed the common just a hundred yards from w
here the vagabonds slept.
Only Napoleon Boot was wakeful, his knife under his hand, his catapult by his side. He was puzzled. He and Knocker and Chalotte and all the others had taken a good look at the ears of the acrobats to check that they were what they said they were, but the circus people had not inspected the ears of the Adventurers, and that wasn’t Borrible, not a bit Borrible. This thought nagged at Napoleon’s mind all night, but then Napoleon Boot had always found it difficult to trust anyone, especially if they were being friendly.
Whatever Napoleon’s suspicions the night passed without incident. In the morning, at the moment of daybreak, Scooter and Ninch woke the Adventurers with handfuls of fruit and fresh bread rolls and mugs of tea. When this meal was over Ninch went to the back of the tent and, making sure the coast was clear, he lifted the canvas over Sam’s head and the horse went out into the open, happy to find there the company of other horses and soft green grass to stand on under the trees. The Adventurers hesitated to follow.
‘Won’t it be dangerous?’ asked Chalotte.
‘Swipe me!’ answered Ninch. ‘No one will have time to notice you. Besides, there’s always loads of kids hanging round a circus, a few more won’t make any difference.’ And so, reassured, the Borribles followed the horse and saw what they had been unable to see the previous evening.
All round them were the trucks and trailers that carried the tons of equipment that Buffoni’s circus and fairground needed when it was on the road: tents and guy ropes; generators and miles and miles of heavy, all-weather cable; cages for the animals; containers for their food and of course all the huge four-wheeled caravans where the circus people lived when they travelled.
The noise of diesel engines was overpowering. Burly men in torn and dirty jeans and sweaters were testing the generators and a deep throbbing roar came from everywhere. Voices bawled from several loudspeakers at once; riggers were hammering nails and sawing bits of noggin. It was all chaos; it was all urgency and bustle.
The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis Page 5