The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis

by Michael de Larrabeiti

  But in all that hubbub no one, except Hanks, heard the inspector or even knew where he was. The animals charged at the car and battered it severely. The Borribles whooped and yelled and all Sussworth could see from his viewpoint were feet and hooves dancing round him and kicking more muck into his face no matter which way he turned.

  Hanks heard the inspector’s voice quite clearly but Hanks was not moving. He was safe, he thought, and he cowered on the back seat of the patrol car, his hands covering his tightly closed eyes, hoping to heaven that he was out of danger, but he was not.

  As the animals surged round both sides of the motor its bodywork was bashed and dented by their sheer ferocity. So violent was the attack that the chassis of the car must have twisted or snapped at some point, for suddenly, without any warning, the two rear doors fell open, leaving Sergeant Hanks completely unprotected.

  The very moment this happened the front runner of the escaping sheep spotted the gap and darted in at one door, to emerge at the other in less than a split second. It was straight away followed by more sheep and then by pigs too, all pushing and shoving and pummelling at Hanks with their vicious hooves.

  The sergeant screamed for mercy but it was no use. More and more animals chose that way out, slobbering and slavering and coughing and sneezing to such good effect that at the end of it all Hanks resembled some old round boulder that slugs and snails had crawled over all night, to leave coated with glittering silver in the morning.

  Treld swung on her rope as the last of the animals left the abattoir, watching her comrades group themselves near Sydney and Chalotte and Sam the horse. Knocker leapt from his chopping block to the floor. ‘Come on,’ he shouted. ‘Quick, let’s go.’

  The Borribles were fully prepared to do just that but as they moved forward they found their way barred by a line of about twenty policemen, their shields and visors in position, their truncheons at the ready. These men had escaped injury by hiding outside behind the great open doors, swept there by the charge and power of the stampede. They were unharmed, fresh and determined to revenge themselves.

  ‘Oh bugger it!’ cried Sydney.

  ‘Catapults,’ shouted Chalotte.

  Treld, unnoticed in the rafters, took another swing on her rope and, bending as she swung, undid the catch on a huge metal container that was fixed in position above the entrance. She had realized what it was earlier, when undoing the bolts on the front door.

  It was a cylinder about twice as high as a man and maybe six feet wide, fed and filled by conveyor belts which rose from the factory floor. The undoing of the catch normally allowed the bottom of the container to open so that its contents might fall into the back of a lorry; only this time there was no lorry and the heavy load dropped straight down and swamped the policemen below entirely, just as they charged. And what fell from above was a ton and a half of viscous offal, bright vermilion lungs and purple livers, gaudy tripes and dark blue intestines, all jumbled together with hearts and kidneys, tails and tongues, trotters and skin, stomachs and bowels, eyes, teeth, bone and brains; and all of it slippery with a fast thickening blood.

  The Borribles fell back, sickened and surprised. A soft crimson explosion had engulfed the policemen and they were gone. In their place was a shambles, a rising, heaving quicksand of red sponge. Huge drops of gore pattered down, warm and heavy like a tropical rain. Even the Conkers held up their arms to protect themselves and some of them Screamed. So did Treld, but hers was a scream of joy.

  Knocker glanced up and understood where this terrible deliverance had come from. As he looked the girl left her rope, ran along a pipe, down a girder and landed near him. She jerked her head at the moving pile of reeking gobbets and rubbed her hands together.

  ‘That should keep ’em quiet for a minute,’ she said. ‘I think we’d better go now, before they gets annoyed.’

  No one laughed and for a brief moment the only sound heard was the sound of Chalotte retching where she sat and swayed on the back of the horse, her face like a broken mask.

  But there was no staying there however anyone felt. With a great yell of exultation Treld slapped Sam on the rump and, picking his way round the mass of offal, his nostrils flaring at the thought of freedom, the horse stepped eagerly through the slaughterhouse gates. The Conkers followed, the adventurers too, and outside, so quickly were things happening, they were just in time to meet the advance of Swish and her contingent, rushing along in the wake of the first stampede.

  There was a whoop of celebration and friend greeted friend. Knocker stepped aside and took in the scene. The area in front of the abattoir was, as far as he could see, empty of policemen. There were three patrol cars but they were battered wrecks, their tyres flat, their windscreens and headlamps smashed, their doors hanging loose. Beyond them the last few of the animals were leaving the entrance to the yard and galloping into Baynes Street.

  Treld pointed. ‘We’ll have to follow them and keep as close as we can,’ she said. ‘It’s our only chance.’

  Knocker nodded and called to the adventurers. ‘Try and stay close to Sam,’ he said, ‘and follow on to Chalk Farm.’

  ‘Blancmange,’ shouted Treld.

  ‘Blancmange,’ shouted Swish.

  ‘Blancmange,’ shouted all the Conkers.

  Sydney spoke once more to Sam and the horse neighed like a steed of ancient battles and shook his head and bared his teeth. Ready for anything he moved towards the streets. Sydney grabbed Sam’s mane and held on grimly. Behind her Chalotte threw her arms around Sydney’s waist and pressed her head against her friend’s shoulder. ‘I hope I don’t fall off,’ she said.

  It was too late to worry now. Sam began to pick up speed, and the Borribles, all seventy of them, formed a protective hedge around him and swarmed out into Baynes Street and into Royal College Street, lifting their pace to a gallop.

  The charge was irresistible and no line of policemen could have stopped it, but there was not the slightest sign of law and order. The SBG had concentrated its efforts in and around the slaughterhouse, little thinking that the Adventurers could break through its defences and not dreaming for a moment that they could break out again even if their first attack were successful. Above all, Inspector Sussworth had not included the Conkers or the animals in his calculations. Under such an unexpected onslaught his troops had run for cover. So the Borribles, following in the wake of the escaping herds and with no one to prevent them, hastened towards the high railway bridges of Royal College Street and Camden Road; and what a sight met their eyes.

  It was full rush hour with thousands of people going home by bus and car and on foot. Trains rattled across the sky and it was so dark that the street lamps could hardly shine through the squalls of rain gusting everywhere. Through all this activity the stampede had passed and now everything was in disorder.

  Lorries, cars and buses had swerved from the roads, crashing into lamp posts and mounting kerbstones. The drivers, recovering from their shock, were just beginning to climb from their seats and were shouting and arguing with one another. Pedestrians stood dazed, oblivious of the rain, staring after the departing animals as they raced round the corner and down the Camden Road towards Camden Town; the pigs squealing louder than ever, the sheep bleating, the horses neighing and the cows still tossing their dangerous horns.

  The people walking up Camden Road could not believe the evidence of their own eyes. Here they were, just up from the Underground, hurrying homeward for tea, their heads bent against the weather and the car lights, when suddenly, out of the black night, came a wave of noise and terror, threatening to engulf them.

  Everyone on that crowded street dived for the closest doorway or bolted into the nearest side road or climbed the handiest wall. The traffic stopped immediately and completely, drivers happy to be safe within the protection of their vehicles, never mind the damage. They too could not believe their eyes: sitting in their cars in the middle of one of London’s main roads and nothing but animals on all sides just as far as
one could see—an ocean of animals. So all the traffic stopped, right back to Kentish Town and beyond; round by Regent’s Park and Albany Street and down to Mornington Crescent too. And those at the rear could not understand what was going on and hooted their horns, and got out of their cars and phoned the police and the fire brigade, but that only made matters much worse as more vehicles tried to enter the area and the traffic jam became solid and immovable.

  The Conkers were delighted. They sped along the pavements, maintaining their guard around Sam and the Adventurers, hiding them from view, brandishing their catapults ready to warn off any adult who attempted to halt their flight. But no adult dared intervene; they were far too confused and shocked to take an interest. In their very own streets they had witnessed a stampede and then, only seconds later, a horde of mad children had appeared, all of them girls it seemed, their faces begrimed with dirt and spotted with blood, their clothes torn and filthy.

  On ran the Borribles, screaming defiance, and they ran where the animals led and the animals led to Camden Town where five wide roads meet to make a star. Here too the traffic was wedged tight, cars and buses locked bumper to bumper, shining under the streaks of light rain where it fell through the lamplight. Commuters, emerging from the Underground station, rushed to shelter from the wet in shop doorways. They gawped, puzzled to see so many headlamps blazing but not moving.

  As they stood there they became aware of a noise: a distant shouting and a hallooing, a thundering of feet, a bleating, a squealing and a lowing. They looked at each other nervously. Was this the end of the world as prophesied? Before they could answer the question the question answered itself for into sight came the stampede, heading down the slope of Camden Road straight for the Underground.

  There were not quite so many animals now. Some had found their way into the side streets, others had blundered into restaurants or trapped themselves in backyards, but there were still enough to frighten the life out of most of the onlookers, what with the speed they were going and the noise they were making. But that was not all. Behind the herd, riding relentlessly like spirits of the night, were two blood-bespattered girls on a fire-eyed stallion, their hair streaming in the wind, and all round them ran a ragged band of barbarous children.

  The horses neighed and galloped on, thrusting the commuters deeper into the doorways, leading the escape into Camden Town itself, and the sheep and pigs and cows followed on without hesitation. Into the entrance of the Underground station they went, cutting a swathe through the evening travellers, breaking down telephone boxes and demolishing the ticket collector’s cubicle. Then they wheeled and skidded from the exit, as in a chariot race, changing direction into Chalk Farm Road, hastening north, past the market.

  The market stalls were lucky. Most of them were positioned down one side of the road and only three or four were knocked over. Nothing could have suited the Borribles better and as they raced along they bent and scooped up handfuls of fruit; enough food to get them through a week.

  ‘Fruit of the barrow,’ yelled Knocker.

  ‘Fruit of the barrow,’ yelled the Conkers.

  Gradually the market was left behind and the Borribles slowed their pace a little and took stock of their situation. The course they were following would soon take them on over the canal bridge and away in the direction of the LMR goods depot, which lay to the west behind the old locomotive shed that people called the Roundhouse. To the east the side streets were dark and empty, although the main thoroughfare, Chalk Farm Road itself, was still crammed with cars which could not move an inch because of the great traffic jam at Camden Town.

  But at least the hubbub of the stampede had grown less, and eventually it disappeared altogether as the animals out-distanced the Borribles and began to climb Haverstock Hill on the road to Hampstead Heath. So Sydney drew rein and Sam the horse eased to a walk and then stopped, and the Adventurers and the Conkers gathered together, recovering their breath, and began to discuss their plight, quickly and urgently. They had to. Once the way was clear the SBG would be on their heels, of that there was no doubt.

  Chalotte glanced up and down the road. ‘We can’t stay here long,’ she said to Bingo, who stood by the horse’s head. ‘It’s too open. Too many people.’ -

  The whole band of Borribles was now gathered together on the corner of Ferdinand Street, leaning into the shadows, trying to look inconspicuous, but that was impossible—there were too many of them. Adults were stopping on the far side of the road, wondering. People were staring out of shops. They would be only too eager to tell the SBG what they had seen.

  Knocker pushed into the centre of the group, Swish and Treld at his elbow; the rain had plastered their hair to their skulls, the bright dyes had run and were staining their faces.

  If we stay here,’ said Knocker, ‘we’ll be caught, sure as fish is fried.’

  Swish held up a hand. ‘Take it easy,’ she said. ‘I’ve got it all worked out. Us Conkers will carry on up to Hampstead. I reckon most of the horses went that way and we’ll soon catch up with ’em. As soon as we do we’ll split into groups and every group will take a horse and head off in different directions. That way there’ll be so many reports going into the SBG about kids and horses old Sussworth won’t know his arse from his elbow.’

  Chalotte cocked her leg over Sam’s back and slid to the ground. ‘That’s great, but what about us?’ she asked. ‘We got away and everything but now we must get off the streets, and lively too.’

  Treld wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She looked like a savage with the blood on her face. ‘We thought o’ that,’ she said. ‘We’ll go up the road as far as the Roundhouse. There’s a goods depot behind there and a big bit of wasteland. Part of it is a scrapyard, enormous. There’s some Borribles in there, Scrappers they’re called. You can hide with them.’

  ‘Why don’t we just run for it?’ suggested Twilight. ‘Get as far away from here as we can?’

  ‘Because,’ said Swish, ‘we’ll be doing your running for you. Can’t you see, Sussworth will have every copper in London looking for you tonight and all next week. The best thing is for him to be chasing different horses all over London. That’ll give you a chance of creeping through to Neasden. It ain’t far now, you know … Swiss Cottage, Kilburn and Dollis Hill and that’s it.’

  ‘We’ve almost done it,’ cried Sydney, and she leant along Sam’s neck and patted it firmly.

  ‘“If almost was everything fruit would grow on lamp posts,” ’ said Napoleon, quoting from the Proverbs, and he spat on the ground.

  ‘Yes,’ said Knocker, ‘“and a Borrible who lets the grass grow under his feet will soon have it growing over his head.” ’

  Nothing could be added to that and before the eyes of the curious passers-by the Borribles continued their run up to Chalk Farm and Sam galloped with them. When they arrived in front of the Roundhouse the Conkers formed a huge mob across the pavement, blocking it and forcing adults to cross to the other side of the road. Behind the cover of this screen the adventurers levered open an iron gate in the wall at the side of the building, and disappeared from view. At the last minute, as the gate closed, Chalotte remembered something. She halted and grasped the bars with her two hands and pulled her face close to the opening. Swish and Treld waited there, sad but smiling; beyond them were crowded scores of their companions, on the lookout.

  ‘Hang on a mo’,’ said Chalotte. ‘We won’t see you again.’

  Swish ducked her head, strangely shy. ‘Oh, not for a while,’ she said, ‘but when all this dies down, you’ll go home this way and we’ll see yer. We’d better.’

  Treld placed her hand over Chalotte’s. ‘Swish is right,’ she said. ‘Don’t be down. You make sure you get Sam to Neasden and don’t get caught. You just think of us charging about London with hundreds of horses and poor old Sussworth not knowing whether he’s a copper or a cowboy. That’ll make you laugh.’

  Chalotte nodded, her spirits low. Hours of excitement, exhilaration and d
anger, and now nothing except an anticlimax and the emptiness and finality of a parting from new but trusted friends. She tried to put a brave face on it and quoted a Borrible proverb. ‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘“there’s no meeting without leaving.” ’ A whistle sounded from behind her.

  ‘Go on,’ said Treld. ‘Just remember how it will go down in Borrible history, eh? “The Great Slaughterhouse Rescue of Sam the Horse.” I tell you, Camden Town’s never seen anything like it.’

  ‘Nor have I,’ said Chalotte, and with a melancholy smile she turned and went to catch up with her friends. ‘Oh, Swish and Treld and all you Conkers,’ she called as she walked away, ‘don’t you dare get caught, any of you, ever.’

  10

  After the battle at the abattoir and the headlong flight down Camden Road it was strangely quiet behind the Roundhouse. Not a single sound came from the streets and there was not a light to be seen anywhere, save for a distant shining along some railway lines towards Primrose Will. It felt odd too, for the Adventurers, to be without the company of the Conkers suddenly. They had been good mates, good Borribles.

  But the Adventurers could not allow themselves to dwell on the past, and they advanced with resolution over a rough and unpaved ground, made soggy by the heavy winter rains. Orococco and Twilight were scouting ahead, trying to find the high corrugated iron fence that Swish had told them marked the boundary of the scrapyard, and Sydney led Sam close to the curving brick wall of the Roundhouse while Stonks held a shaded torch to show the way. The rest of the Adventures followed behind.

  It was almost impossible for the fugitives to believe that they were still in London. The black night made them feel weightless, cut off from everything. There was nothing to reach out for and touch, nothing to see.