The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis

by Michael de Larrabeiti

  And so the hours passed lazily and that evening Strikalite, Sunroof and Chevvy brought the Adventurers even more food from the market at Camden Town, and very many of their Scrapper comrades brought provisions along too, ready to share and enjoy a long and noisy feast.

  ‘You see, they have a hard time during the day,’ explained Sunroof, ‘always running round, laying in stores. They likes to make themselves comfortable at night.’ And make themselves comfortable they did. They stretched out on the seats in the bus, switched up the heating and joined in the banquet with a will. They had all come to hear stories: name stories first and then the story of how the Adventurers had journeyed to this particular part of London, but above all they wanted the story of the Great Rumble Hunt and all that had happened since.

  In view of the hospitality they had received it was only right that the Adventurers should tell their tale, especially as it was the most famous Borrible story ever told. So Knocker began, ‘Because,’ he explained, smiling self-consciously at Chalotte, ‘I was supposed to be Historian on that first trip, remember?’ And he cleared his throat and took a swig of beer.

  He started the saga by telling how the Rumbles went to Battersea Park and how the great expedition had got under way. He told of the trip up the river and the discovery of Adolf, and his companions added to the story as it progressed, and Vulge told how he had killed the chief Rumble and Bingo recounted his great fight in the library. On and on it went, each participant telling his or her own chapter in the way that suited them best, and the Scrappers sat and listened, nodding and asking questions, for there was much to be learnt from the tale and they did not want to miss a bit of it.

  In this way the story continued, telling of the leaving of Sam in King George’s Park, the expedition to recover him and the saving of the captives in Flinthead’s mine, the fight to the death between Flinthead and Spiff and, at last, the bringing of Sam to Battersea with the aid of Ben the tramp and his friend Knibbsie.

  By the time it was all told and all the questions had been asked it was very late, but the Scrappers leant back in their seats and clapped their hands and whistled through their teeth and shook their heads. ‘Such stories,’ said Strikalite. ‘I never thought I would hear such stories. You are lucky to be alive.’

  ‘Indeed we are,’ agreed Chalotte, her face sad, ‘but Adolf isn’t and that is not Borrible. It is a great adventure, certainly, but one that we should not have got involved in at the beginning. We should not be risking our ears, we should be living craftily and cleverly like the Bumpers of Brixton, the Conkers of the Caledonian Road and the Scrappers of the Scrapyard, back in our own markets, keeping out of the rain. Somehow it is the Adventure that is dragging us along with it, whatever we try to do.’

  ‘There’s no way we could dump Sam,’ said Twilight. ‘Not now.’

  Chalotte nodded at the Bangladeshi. ‘What you say is perfectly correct. That is the paradox. To be Borrible we must save Sam; to save Sam we find ourselves doing things that are not really Borrible.’

  Vulge wagged his head in his own knowing way. ‘I tell you that once Sam’s in Neasden, out of Sussworth’s way, I swear I’m back to Shoreditch like a dose of salts. It’s the complete Borrible life for me then. Quiet and relaxed with stories and just enough nicking to live on.’

  ‘All very nice,’ said Napoleon, ‘but how do you live like a nice quiet Borrible with Sussworth and Hanks breathing down your neck all the time?’

  Orococco sighed. ‘Bombles have always been on the run,’ he said, ‘all through history, and I can’t see it ever changing, unless we can turn everyone into Borribles.’ He laughed. ‘And that would take a few Borrible lifetimes.’

  Chalotte tossed her hair and her eyes shone. ‘How do we know?’ she asked, her tone belligerent. ‘There may be more and more Borribles happening all the time, probably is. All we can do is make sure we stay Borrible, don’t get caught and turned into adults. Keep out of sight and Borrible must always help Borrible. It’s as simple as that.’

  There was silence after this while everyone thought their own thoughts, including the Scrappers. The silence lasted for a long while until Chalotte said, ‘It’s the only way, you know.’

  Sydney raised her head. She was sitting next to Sam where he lay at full stretch on his straw. ‘It is too,’ she said. ‘That’s why we had to help Sam. He’s a Borrible and he helped us once; now we’ve got to give him what we’ve got, and all we’ve got is the chance of getting him away from Sussworth and years of slavery … or ending up as catsmeat, one and the same thing really. We owe it to Sam to see that he’s looked after, properly, for as long as he lives. It don’t matter what lies Sussworth tells about us, that we’re murderers and such. We know what he says about us is not true; he’d say anything about anybody who didn’t agree with him.’

  Sydney drew a deep breath when she’d finished. It was the longest speech she’d ever made in her whole life. She blushed.

  ‘Right,’ said Stonks.

  ‘That’s why,’ added Knocker, ‘we have to keep telling our story wherever we go; so that people realize how important it is.’

  Sunroof leant back in his bus seat and blew his breath out over his teeth. ‘Blimey,’ he said. ‘That’s all too deep for me. I just lives like a Borrible because I am a Borrible.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Strikalite. ‘Imagine living like a grown-up. Work, work, work; then die, die, die. They must be stone-raving bonkers.’

  There were murmurs of approval when Strikalite expressed this sentiment and no doubt the discussion would have continued had it not been for a sudden noise at the door. It hissed, folded open and a gust of wind and rain tore into the warm interior of the Borrible hideout bearing with it two Scrappers dressed in oilskins and streaked with mud. Between them they carried what looked like a bundle of rags, wet and filthy. The two Scrappers dropped this bundle on the floor and one of them prodded it with his foot while the other returned to the roaring night, plunging into the darkness.

  ‘What is it, Clinker?’ asked Sunroof. ‘Trouble?’

  Clinker pulled off his sou’wester to reveal a cunning face, sallow with years of dirt. He sniffed and poured himself a mug of tea from the big brown pot which stood on the floor. He kicked the rags again, not hurrying with his answer.

  ‘We found this creeping about near the Roundhouse,’ he said at last. ‘We didn’t like the look of it so we duffed it up and then brought it in to show you. He’s been moaning a lot; must be hurt.’

  Twilight, who was nearest, knelt by the unconscious captive and examined him closely. ‘I don’t recognize the bloke,’ he said. ‘Give us a wet cloth, someone, and I’ll try to wipe a bit of the dirt off his mush.’

  Bingo got to his feet and dipped a lump of cotton waste in a bucket of water and then handed it to Twilight who began, gently, to wipe the mud-covered countenance. Knocker and Napoleon came and stood behind the Bangladeshi and gazed down.

  Suddenly Napoleon swore: ‘Bloody Nora,’ he said, ‘it’s Scooter, that’s who that is. This could mean that all the dwarfs in creation are after us … and the SBG not far behind. I told you we should have killed him.’

  There was consternation in the room and everyone reached for a catapult. One or two of the Borribles even pulled on their waterproofs, ready to run for it.

  Chalotte did not panic. She pushed Napoleon aside and bent over the injured dwarf. ‘Leave it out, Nap,’ she said, ‘and just have a butcher’s at these ears of his. The plastic ones are gone remember, you pulled ’em off, and the others’ve stopped bleeding now, see, and they’re even more pointed than they were the day before yesterday.’

  Even the deep doubts of the untrusting Wendle were tempered a little by this evidence, but he said nothing.

  Vulge did: ‘Look at that,’ he cried. ‘His ears are almost as pointed as ours.’

  ‘He looks like a Borrible to me,’ said Sunroof, squinting down from the edge of the group that now surrounded the prisoner.

  Knocke
r stared at Chalotte. ‘He’s right,’ he said. ‘If he ain’t a Borrible quite yet he’s certainly becoming one, and we all know that’s not possible.’

  Napoleon pushed his way forward. ‘Plastic surgery,’ he said. ‘You know Sussworth would stop at nothing to get a spy back in with us.’ He knelt and fingered the dwarf’s ears. ‘I don’t know,’ he continued eventually. ‘How can we tell, we’re not medical experts. They can do fantastic things these days. They have heart transplants, kidneys, lungs, even arms … all that. Why not ears?’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Chalotte. ‘There’d still be a scar this close to an operation. The ears are changing because he’s becoming a Borrible. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘It happened to us all, once, a long time ago,’ said Stonks.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Napoleon, ‘of course it did, but we were kids then; it only happens to kids. This bleeder is a dwarf, a midget, small like us but he’s an adult, he’s normal.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Knocker, thinking hard, his brow creasing. ‘Perhaps what Coco was joking about earlier is possible. Perhaps even normal people, if they want to become Borribles hard enough, will become Borribles. Who knows? Lots of things that we think impossible are possible, I bet.’

  ‘What about Ninch then?’ said Napoleon, screwing his face up tight and hard. ‘He stayed with us long enough and it don’t seem to have made him all sweetness and light, does it?’

  ‘That’s because he’s interested in money,’ said Chalotte. ‘That’s the difference.’

  There was a groan from the figure on the floor, then another, a deeper longer one. Scooter’s eyes flickered in his mask of mud and the tip of his tongue tried to moisten his lips. He coughed and his eyes flickered once more and stayed open. He smiled up at Chalotte.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I knew I’d find you. Have you seen my ears? I’m one of you now.’

  Chalotte nodded. ‘We’ve seen ’em,‘she answered. ‘In fact we’ve never seen anything like ’em.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ interrupted Napoleon. ‘You should be back on the other side of King’s Cross. We told the Conkers to take you with them or keep a guard on you. What happened?’

  Scooter lifted himself on one elbow and looked up at the ring of faces above him. ‘They did guard me,’ he said. ‘Took me to some other block of flats just after you left, but they saw my ears changing and said it wasn’t their job to guard a Borrible who hadn’t done any harm, so they let me go.’

  ‘There,’ said Bingo. ‘That proves something.’

  ‘Yeah,’ sneered Napoleon, ‘it proves that them Conker guards have got more trust than sense. “Never trust anyone until you have to and then not much,” that’s what the proverb says.’

  ‘How’s the shoulder?’ asked Chalotte.

  ‘Stiff,’ said Scooter, ‘very stiff, but I’m getting better. I’m well enough to come with you now, honest. Don’t leave me behind again …’ And even as he spoke the dwarf’s eyes glazed over and his head dropped backwards to the floor.

  Knocker bent and grabbed Scooter under the arms. ‘Take his feet, Bingo,’ he said, ‘and we’ll get him warm and dry. He’s not well at all, whatever he says.’

  Scooter was placed on one of the long bus seats and made comfortable. His wet clothes were exchanged for dry ones and Chalotte examined the dwarf’s wound. It was red and badly inflamed. She looked at Strikalite. ‘We need some disinfectant.’

  Chevvy was in earshot, his raincoat already on. ‘I’ll get you what you need,’ he said. ‘There’s a first-aid box in the scrap men’s lean-to. That’ll do nicely.’ He jerked his head just once and left.

  ‘Good,’ said Chalotte. ‘Now we’d better get some food into this bloke. Someone heat the soup while I swab down this gash in his shoulder.’

  Scooter opened his eyes again. ‘I’d like some food,’ he said. ‘Don’t leave me behind. I promise you I’m really well enough to come with you.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Napoleon, who had not left the vicinity of the dwarf since he had been brought into the bus. ‘What about your dwarf chums and their reward? Are you sure you weren’t followed?’

  Scooter answered directly, staring straight at Napoleon, his eyes feverish but the honesty burning through the grime on his face. ‘No one followed me,’ he said. ‘I took damn good care of that. I’m a Borrible now.’ And with this remark the dwarf closed his eyes and fell into the deep sleep of exhaustion.

  Knocker took Chalotte’s elbow and moved her away from the bed. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

  The girl shrugged. ‘We don’t know everything, even about Borribles,’ she said. ‘For the time being I’m going to believe his story.’

  ‘Huh,’ snorted Napoleon. ‘All right, I admit the ears look kosher, but Aristotle Rule, okay. He’s got to be watched and guarded until we’re positively sure.’

  At this point the door sprang open and another gust from the night blew Chevvy back into the bus. Under his arm he carried a small white first-aid box and he handed it to Chalotte, but he did so automatically. He looked worried.

  ‘I’ve been talking to some of the lookouts,’ he said. ‘They say there’s something dodgy going on. They’re not quite sure what but there’s some reports of some little fellers coming into the yard … a couple of dozen maybe. Borrible-size they reckon, probably them dwarfs you told us about. They must be looking for you and the horse.’

  ‘The dwarfs,’ said Napoleon. ‘I told you this bloody Scooter was a traitor. Medicines! There’s only one medicine he needs.’ The Wendle clenched his fists.

  ‘There’s no time for that now,’ said Strikalite. ‘We can do that after. We’d better get our gear on and find these dwarfs and kick ’em out.’

  ‘It’s not the dwarfs so much,’ said Napoleon, ‘but wherever they are the SBG won’t be far behind.’

  There was a noise from Scooter’s bed at this and he sat up. His eyes were staring straight in front of him and his lips were dry.

  ‘He’s delirious,’ said Chalotte.

  The dwarf ignored her. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not the SBG, only Ninch. He wants the reward all to himself; he won’t tell the police if he thinks he can get the reward all to himself. No SBG this time … SBG next time.’

  Chalotte rushed over to the dwarf and forced him to lie down. Then she took the disinfectant from the first-aid box and poured some of it over his wound. ‘I hope this isn’t too late,’ she said. ‘He looks very ill to me; we’ll have to get a doctor to look at him.’

  Napoleon put on his waterproofs and made his catapult ready. He jerked a thumb at Scooter. ‘Aristotle Rule,’ he said. ‘Who stays with him?’

  ‘I will,’ said Chalotte. ‘He needs to be looked after anyway.’

  ‘And I will stay with you,’ said Sydney. ‘Two is safer than one if we should be attacked. I can get the horse ready as well; we might have to make a break for it.’

  ‘Good,’ said Napoleon. He turned to Strikalite. ‘This is your patch,’ he said. ‘How shall we do this?’

  The Scrapper counted his troops. ‘There’s eight of you and about thirty of us not already on watch. You split into three groups and then ten of us will come with each of your groups. We’ll spread out, our sentries will point us in the right direction.’

  Sunroof buttoned up his coat and tipped his sou‘wester down over his eyes. ‘We’ll get ’em,’ he said. ‘It’s a funny place at night, here.’

  Torreycanyon pulled on a borrowed pair of wellies. ‘I believe you,’ he said. ‘I really do.’

  Outside the night was swirling and pressing down on the earth like a hundred fathoms of ocean. A gritty cloud rolled low over the leaning vehicle stacks and filled the ill lit streets and alleys of the scrapyard with shreds of mist. The wind butted and pushed every way it could, like some ruffian. The high towers of rubbish swayed and groaned like the towers of a drowned city. Black shapes glided across the shadows, their limbs moving in slow motion. Pale fish-like faces floated up at the windows of the broken cars an
d then disappeared. It would be hard work that night to distinguish friend from foe.

  Napoleon blinked the rain from his eyes; the mud sucked at his feet. Behind him marched Knocker, peering to right and left in the gloom; behind came Strikalite and Sunroof and two or three other Scrappers. The rest of the Adventurers and all their groups were somewhere else, out of contact, cut off.

  Napoleon swore to himself. ‘Where’s them midgets?’ he said. ‘Where are they?’

  His question was answered as he rounded a corner and came face to face with five dwarfs, all of whom turned and ran at the very moment the Wendle appeared. ‘Follow me,’ cried Napoleon without the slightest hesitation, and he rushed after the enemy without even waiting for Knocker to come up with him. Napoleon wanted Ninch.

  Knocker was completely taken aback by his friend’s sudden departure but set off in close pursuit, shouting a warning as he ran. ‘Watch out!’ he yelled. ‘It may be a trap.’

  And so it was.

  Napoleon, running with Wendle expertise through the sticking mud, soon began to gain on the dwarfs but in doing so he also began to outdistance Knocker while Strikalite and Sunroof and the rest of the Scrappers were left far behind. In no time at all Napoleon was on his own, way ahead and only dimly perceived by his companions.

  When the dwarfs were convinced that Napoleon was isolated they halted their flight, turned and stood their ground, ready to attack their pursuer. They had made a serious mistake. Anyone who knew the Wendle well and knew something of his history, would have known that odds of five to one were the kind of odds that he thought fair, or even slightly weighted in his favour.

  Napoleon’s pace did not slacken and he fired his catapult as he ran. First one dwarf went down with a stone in his midriff, then another dropped with a smashed cheekbone. Still Napoleon charged, raising his voice in a fearsome Wendle battle cry that rang and echoed round the empty cars. At the last he dived through the air, flying-horizontally, butting one dwarf unconscious with his head and punching another in the throat as he dived. The last surviving dwarf, unnerved by this turn of events, made no attempt to assist his allies but was off like a shot. Ten yards was all he covered. Before he could go any further Napoleon was back on his feet and had dropped the fugitive with a well-placed stone in the middle of the shoulder blades. By the time Knocker arrived Napoleon was leaning against a car and scraping the mud from his clothes with the end of his catapult.