‘My family and friends,’ he began, ‘never have we been so insulted. We gave hospitality to some penniless travellers, wanderers like ourselves. We broke no law nor harmed anyone, and yet we were attacked and set upon by the so-called agents of law and order. Our circus and funfair is ruined, our livelihood gone. It will take us many weeks to put things back to where they were.’ Signor Buffoni stuck his hands into his pockets; his stomach sagged over his belt unhappily. He thought for a minute and then raised his head. ‘But we have survived worse than this, haven’t we?’
The circus people looked at one another and began to remember. ‘Yes,’ yelled several of them. ‘Not half.’
Signor Buffoni smiled. ‘Remember the New Delhi cricket riots; remember the typhoon in the Java Sea; remember the shipwreck on the Barrier Reef. What is the Battle of Clapham Common to us? A mere bagatelle.’
The circus people cheered, they slapped each other on the back.
Signor Buffoni clenched both his fists and shook them. ‘And so, my family and friends, we must get this show back on the road, now, as it is. Mend the timber, mend the canvas and mend the guy ropes. We will work through the night, we will glue it, hammer it, sew it and splice it.’
‘Yes,’ roared the circus people. ‘We’ll show ’em. They can’t shove us off the road as easy as that.’
‘Well said,’ shouted Signor Buffoni across the noise, ‘but let us not forget that they have imprisoned our clowns and our acrobats. We need our kith and kin, we want our friends to be free. There comes a time when even the law-abiding citizen is forced to break the law … and this is it. We must do something and we must do it now.’
The circus people were just about to cheer Signor Buffoni’s speech again when there was a movement at the tent flap and Wanda the monocyclist rode headlong through the opening, advanced five yards, retreated three, turned several circles, went into reverse and then jumped to the floor, catching the bike by the saddle as it fell. ‘Ta-ra,’ she shouted out of force of habit and bowed.
‘Neither the time nor the place,’ said the Fat Lady. ‘We’re trying to discuss ways and means, seriously.’
Wanda dismissed the Fat Lady with a wave of the hand. ‘You can’t discuss ways and means if you don’t know the way to the means,’ she announced mysteriously.
‘Well tell us your story,’ said Signor Buffoni, ‘and we shall listen.’
Wanda was happy now that she had the undivided attention of her colleagues. She cleared her throat. ‘As you know,’ she said, ‘I am no hero but I am no dope, either. I decided the fighting was not for me and took myself off to the quiet of my caravan and watched the fracas from the window, and some fracas it was and I have seen plenty. When it was all over I see the guardians of law and order loading our clowns and our acrobats into one of their meat wagons like sides of beef. This is not right, I say to myself, so I mount my one-wheeler, slip into a dark-coloured raincoat, wind a scarf around most of my face and set off at a fast rate in the wake of the fuzz.’
‘Where did they go?’ said Marco, flexing his muscles. ‘I’m going to beat them coppers into the ground like tent pegs.’
Wanda held up her hand, palm outwards, demanding patience.
‘They are not far, my friends and cousins. But a few yards up this South Circular Road is a strange angular building with a wire fence round it. My guess is that it serves as some kind of long-term lock-up not known to the general public. A secret jail whose hours of visiting are few and not advertised in the morning newspapers.’
‘Thinks like that don’t happen,’ said the Fat Lady. ‘How can you tell it is a prison?’
Wanda placed a hand on her hip and sneered. ‘Because, chubby-cheeks, for the simple reason I actually see our uniformed friends bending sticks on the heads of our compatriots and pushing them into the aforementioned hoosegow and turning a large key in a small apeture known to all as a lock. For me this is enough. Our chums are inside and maybe will stay there for ever, or until they are deceased which will be quite long enough, for them.’
‘Hmm,’ said the Sword-Swallower, ‘it might be a private entrance to the Underground railway system.’
Wanda shook her head emphatically. ‘Since when do the peelers take prisoners to prison by public transport?’
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ asked the Fat Lady. ‘To the rescue.’
There were shouts of approval from everyone present but Wanda raised her hand again. ‘We will need to be cautious,’ she said. ‘Something like thirty or forty officers of the law went down into the ground with the prisoners, and there are six others on guard outside by the inspector’s caravan. A little while later, for I continued to keep my eye on things from behind a tree, a Roller with a chauffeur appeared and from this chariot a toff emerged and he too went below. I fear that something nasty is being cooked up in a kitchen about which we know nothing, and we do not even know what is on the menu.’
‘Then,’ said Marco, ‘the sooner we get our clowns and acrobats out of there the better it will be.’
‘Not half,’ shouted Vispa the ventriloquist, and he was so excited that he made his voice come from behind everyone and they all turned around to see who was coming and there was confusion and pandemonium.
‘Wait a minute, wait a minute,’ called Signor Buffoni. ‘If we do this—’
‘If,’ shouted his audience. ‘Not if … when.’
‘When we do this,’ continued Signor Buffoni, ‘we must first think of the safety of the circus. Let the greater number of us remain behind and load up as quickly as they can all the broken bits, everything … Then, when we’ve rescued our mates we’ll be ready to move and take the circus with us, and instead of going on to Brockwell Park, as planned, we’ll go back to Hackney and mend everything there. If we move quickly enough we’ll be back home and off the streets before the policemen know we’ve gone.’
There were cheers of agreement at the end of this speech and the circus people left the tent immediately and began to organize themselves; one large group being chosen to get the circus ready for the road, and a smaller one, a kind of commando, being given the responsibility of rescuing their colleagues, the clowns.
‘What we must do,’ said Signor Buffoni, who had once been in the army although nobody was quite sure which one, ‘what we must do is make sure we have a line of retreat. We do not want the police following us back to Hackney; we need a couple of hours’ start at least.’ And with no more discussion than that the small band of intrepid travellers took leave of their friends and relatives and made off across the dark and silent grass of the common, flitting from tree to tree, heading straight for Clapham South, led there by Wanda on her monocycle.
At a distance of twenty yards or so from Sussworth’s caravan the circus commando took cover behind two or three large trees. By the light of a distant street lamp they could see three policemen huddled against the wire fence surrounding the mysterious building that was the entrance to the underground citadel. Beyond it the main road curved, empty of all movement, away westwards, down the long hill towards Balham, and a light wind drove the rain from the dark reaches of south London in flurries across the tarmac.
‘There were six on guard when I left,’ whispered Wanda. ‘The other three must be in the caravan … and the Roller’s gone.’
‘What shall we do?’ asked Signor Buffoni. ‘How shall we proceed?’
‘We have a plan,’ said Marco, ‘Vispa and I. All you have to do is watch.’ And at a sign from Marco the ventriloquist threw his voice past the three policemen and against a blank wall so that it rebounded and appeared to be coming from somewhere near the Underground station. The three policemen sprang upright immediately and faced about, turning their backs towards the trees where the circus people were concealed. It was no wonder they moved so quickly. The voice the ventriloquist was using sounded exactly like Sussworth’s.
‘Have I caught you men napping when you should be on duty?’ said the voice. ‘I warned you men to be alert;
this could mean demotion. Get yourselves over here, you slovenly lot.’
The policemen stared towards the station but they could see no one. Slowly they advanced to the edge of the road, going in the direction they thought the voice was coming from, not daring to ignore the orders of their superior.
No sooner had they begun to move than Marco ran from his hiding place, came up behind them and with his enormous strength banged their heads together so smartly that they fell senseless to the ground.
As soon as this was accomplished the rest of the circus people appeared and dragged the unconscious policemen into the dark by the side of Sussworth’s caravan. Here the Sword-Swallower went through their pockets and found a set of keys to the citadel, which he immediately handed over to Signor Buffoni.
‘Now,’ said the circus owner, ‘if we can get our hands on the men in the caravan, we’re in business.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Vispa, and he marched to the caravan steps as bold as brass and began to give more orders, not only in Sussworth’s voice this time but in the voice of Sergeant Hanks as well.
‘What are those men doing in my caravan, Hanks? I want them out of there. It’s a disgrace.’
‘Yessir, yessir. Come on now, you constables, let’s be ’aving you nice and lively, on the double.’
There were at first only slight sounds from within the caravan but there came more and more as Vispa kept up his stream of orders. In less than a minute or two the door of the caravan was opened and, pushing against each other in their haste not to be last, the three policemen tumbled down the steps.
Once again Marco did his work. His huge fist struck three blows and the guardians of law and order collapsed unconscious.
‘Excellent,’ said Signor Buffoni. ‘Handcuff them all together, gag them too and we’ll lock all six of them in the caravan.’
‘That’s right,’ said the Fat Lady. ‘We’ll take these as well.’ She ripped the radios from all six policemen and shoved them under her huge jumper. ‘Who knows?’ she added. ‘They may come in useful.’
The moment all was ready Signor Buffoni used the captured keys to open the gate in the wire fence and then led his troops to the solid steel door which he opened in the same way. Inside they soon found the heavy manhole, and the Sword-Swallower, who was thought to have had a criminal past, made short work of the combination lock. Marco then spat on his hands, rubbed them together and hoisted the trapdoor all on his own. For a second the circus people were stunned, gawping at the staircase that wound down into the infinity beneath their feet.
‘Never mind,’ said Wanda. ‘We can’t turn back now.’
‘Certainly not,’ agreed Signor Buffoni. ‘Now follow me, and step quietly. Surprise is everything in these operations.’
It took the Buffonis hours to discover where the policemen were. From each landing led scores of corridors and there were scores of landings—each one needing to be investigated in case the prisoners were overlooked. By the time they had reached the last level of all the circus people had almost given up hope of finding their friends.
‘But don’t despair,’ said the Sword-Swallower, ‘there are signs of life down here; there are police raincoats hanging up on the wall, there is mud on the floor, there is a helmet on that chair. This is it.’
And it was. Rapidly Signor Buffoni gave his orders. ‘The Fat Lady will block the staircase,’ he said. ‘Let no one pass. The rest of you, follow me.’
There was an uncomfortable feeling in those wide steel corridors, a claustrophobic feeling of lethargy and hopelessness. The circus people could sense it as they tiptoed silently back and forth, looking for a clue that might tell them in which cell the captives lay. But there seemed to be no answer to their problem short of opening all the doors and waking all the policemen; no answer, that was, until Wanda was struck with a brainwave.
‘Have you not noticed, you guys,’ she said to Signor Buffoni and the others, ‘that the fuzz down here is so sure of its security that there’s no one on duty? They think no one can find the way in, let alone find the way out. Also, this here is a headquarters for our leaders to live in after the big bang. Now all these doors we have been looking at have spyholes in so that they can double up as prison cells in times of war, revolution and other disturbances. We have not wanted to open these spyholes in case we find a copper staring at us from the other side, but … these doors have bolts on the outside, one at the top and one at the bottom.’
‘Which means,’ said the Sword-Swallower, catching on to the idea, ‘our job is relatively easy after all.’
‘Too true, friend,’ said Wanda, ‘too true. All we have to do is open the bolts that are closed and close the bolts that are open, and wrong will be made right and right will be rightly wronged. A philosophical turn-round. Life’s problem answered in a nutshell by the sliding of a bolt.’
Very gingerly the circus people went to every steel door on that landing and changed the position of each bolt. At the end of this exercise they found themselves with four doors that they could open. They looked at each other and smiled.
‘Well,’ said Signor Buffoni. ‘I think this must be the time to start the ball rolling.’
Gently, and taking a deep breath, Signor Buffoni eased open the first door. Inside was as brightly lit as outside and a pitiful scene met his eyes. The Adventurers, with no beds, no blankets and no cushions, lay fast asleep on the cold steel floor, curled in each other’s arms for warmth. Their clothes were torn, their faces bruised and dirty, furrowed with wandering tracks where tears had run.
Signor Buffoni was speechless with pity. Wanda wasn’t. ‘Did you ever see such a sight in all your born days?’ she said. ‘Kids handcuffed.’
‘What are we going to do with them?’ asked the Sword-Swallower. ‘They’re not ours.’
‘Not ours,’ retorted Signor Buffoni, ‘of course they are ours. They are friends of our acrobats; they were invited into my big top and what is more they fought on our side. That makes them honorary Buffonis. Wake ’em up and send ’em on their way.’
‘Certainly,’ said Wanda, and she snatched the bunch of keys from the Sword-Swallower and began to unlock the handcuffs from the wrists of the Adventurers, shaking each one awake as she did so.
Chalotte was the first to open her eyes and she stared at the ceiling, not realizing where she was. She rubbed her hands into her face and then saw that her wrists were free. She looked at Wanda, stupidly.
‘I’m dreaming,’ she said. ‘I’m dreaming.’ But she wasn’t. There were the others, getting to their feet, massaging their stiff arms, and the cell door was open too and five or six circus people were staring through the opening.
‘Hurry,’ said Signor Buffoni, ‘the way out is clear but there is no time to lose. We have to release the clowns and the acrobats yet. Come on.’
The Adventurers needed no second bidding. Still dazed and confused, and weak from hunger too, they stumbled from their cell and ran along the corridor until they reached the foot of the stairway that would lead them to freedom. Here they found the Fat Lady on guard, wedged into the exit, but she saw them coming and with no need for orders she moved her solid body from their path.
The Borribles hardly said goodbye but raced up the concrete stairs of the citadel as fast as they could go. It seemed to all of them that they would never reach the top, that they would never feel the wind on their faces again, but at long last they saw the trapdoor above them and it was open. Soon they were pushing and pulling each other up the final flight of steps and a moment later they were gulping down huge mouthfuls of the night air.
All was empty around them. No one moved on the spaces of the common or on the high roads. Only the wind and the rain rustled in the trees and not a sound came from Sussworth’s caravan. For a second the Borribles looked at each other and touched hands.
‘Let’s not hang about,’ said Napoleon as soon as he’d regained his breath. ‘There’s no point in staying here to be caught, is there?’
‘Any way,’ said Knocker, ‘but let’s go towards Brixton. We know there’s a market there, and we need food.’
The Adventurers agreed on this plan of action and set off at a run, cutting across a corner of the common and heading towards the back streets of the South Side. They were bubbling with happiness at being free. It was wonderful to be out in the open—even the rain felt special, like a gift. But in that brilliant moment of happiness they’d forgotten one thing; they’d forgotten the very reason for their journey. Only Sydney remembered it. Only her heart was sad and she could not run at the same speed as the others. Her feet were heavy and the tears streamed down her face. On the very edge of the common, as the Adventurers were about to cross the main road towards the houses, Sydney stopped and leant her forehead against a lamp post.
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I can’t go any further. We’ve got away but they’ve got Sam. You heard what Sussworth said. They’ve taken him to Wandsworth Prison … They’re going to turn him into catsmeat. Oh Sam!’
The others gathered around Sydney and tried to comfort her. ‘What can we do, Sid?’ asked Vulge. ‘What can anyone do?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sydney. ‘Perhaps I could be near the prison when they bring him out.’
The others did not answer. It seemed that Sam’s situation was hopeless. Chalotte sighed and grabbed her friend by the shoulders and there, in the circle of Borribles, under the lamp post, with the rain still soaking them all, she gave Sydney the straight of it.
The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis Page 9