The Borribles

by Michael de Larrabeiti

  ‘She’ll be safe there,’ said Knocker. ‘We’ll tie her up midway between the two boats. The Ethel Ada will think she belongs to The Raven and The Raven will think she belongs to The Ethel Ada.’

  And so The Silver Belle Flower was firmly tied to a mooring ring and, with one last look at the gloomy river, the Borribles turned and went back to the gym for a celebratory meal and an early night. Only twenty-four hours to go and the expedition would be under way.

  ��

  The last day was a day of rest for the eight but not for Dodger and Knocker. They went first to tell Spiff about the boat, and they found him sitting at his desk in his orange dressing gown, flicking through a huge book of Borrible rules.

  ‘That Ziggy was always a pessimist,’ he said. ‘I knew you could do it. A piece of pudding stealing a boat.’

  The visit to Spiff was brief in the extreme for there was still plenty for Knocker to do in the storeroom: eight rucksacks had to be packed with a selection of the gear that the High Street Borribles had collected from the shops of Battersea. Each Adventurer had a pair of sturdy boots, waterproof khaki trousers and a combat jacket to keep warm at night when most of the travelling would be done. There were Borrible hats—brown camouflage on one side and a luminous reddy-orange on the other; a life jacket each for the river trip and sharp long-bladed knives. There were catapults too, with spare rubbers and pouches.

  Knocker and Dodger fingered the catapults lovingly. They were the best, as used by professional poachers, made out of polished steel, strong and springy. They had a long range and fired stones, marbles or ball bearings with great power. To carry a supply of ammunition Spiff had acquired some old army money belts which had little pockets stuck on them; each pocket would carry a rounded stone, and the belts could be slung across the shoulders like bandoliers. Every Adventurer would have two of them, giving forty shots per person.

  Spiff had also seen to it that every Borrible on the expedition had a waterproof watch on one wrist and a compass on the other, and in each rucksack was the A to Z map of the London streets. There were matches for lighting fires and a basic ration of food in case anyone got lost or separated from the others.

  Knocker was pleased with the work that had been done.

  ‘Everything,’ he said, ‘except money.’

  At dinner time Spiff came into the room with some food and he sat with the two trainers while they ate. He inspected the haversacks and asked what was in each one, making sure that nothing had been overlooked. He asked about the route, made suggestions, chuckled one moment, was grave the next. He stayed about an hour before he got up to leave.

  ‘Well, life is all a chance anyway,’ he said. ‘Our Eight have got a hard time in front of them but they couldn’t have been better prepared. I’d like to thank you. Dodger, for helping … so here’s a little memento.’ He pulled from his pocket one of the waterproof watches that the expedition had been equipped with. ‘The lads got a bit enthusiastic and got too many of them,’ he added by way of explanation. ‘It’s engraved on the back.’

  Dodger turned the watch over and read out loud: ‘The Great Rumble Hunt. Dodger Borrible, Trainer. Good luck.’ He was delighted, Knocker could see that. The watch was one of those big army timepieces with an assortment of different faces and knobs on it. ‘It’s luminous, too,’ said Spiff. He looked at Knocker. ‘Don’t you worry, there’ll be something for you later on.’

  Knocker nodded without enthusiasm. ‘Thanks, Spiff,’ he said.

  Still Spiff didn’t pass through the door. There was something complicated going on behind that crafty face.

  ‘I want you to bring the Eight here on the way to the boat,’ he said at last. ‘I want to say a last word to them, good luck and all that.’

  Knocker felt tired and empty. Everything was beginning for the others; for him all was ending. Why, oh why, he thought, do I have a name already!

  Spiff continued to linger by the door. ‘Look, Dodger,’ he said, ‘I’m not trying to get rid of you, but if you’d like to start back home now, you can … You’d make it before dark. Drop into the gym on your way, say goodbye to the team and tell them to come here tonight, about elevenish.’

  Dodger stood up and strapped on his watch. ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘That’s just what I’ll do.’

  ‘Right,’ said Spiff. ‘That’s settled.’ And he left the room whistling.

  Knocker had a miserable afternoon and evening. He checked the haversacks over and over again just to give himself something to do. He meandered and mooched about the storeroom until at last he went upstairs and rested on his bed in the room which he shared with Lightfinger. He hadn’t seen Lightfinger for ages. How long ago it seemed, that night when they had found the Rumbles in Battersea Park and had captured one. How much had happened since then; now everything was ready for the attack. He gazed at the ceiling until he dozed and the noises of the street drifted further away, and his sleep became deeper and deeper.

  It was dark when he awoke and he felt very cold, having neglected to creep under his blankets. He sat up and shook himself and rubbed his body vigorously to get the blood running. Getting to his feet he groped for the light switch. What time could it be? Not that the others needed him any more but he would have liked to have seen them off. He made for the stairs and ran down them, two at a time.

  On the landing he bumped into Spiff who was coming from his room with some papers in his hand. ‘Aha, there you are, Knocker,’ he said and beamed at the chief lookout. ‘Got your lads downstairs, just going to give them a word or too, can you come down?’

  ‘Course,’ answered Knocker, and followed Spiff to the basement.

  The Eight were all present and correct. They too had spent a restless time, though they had tried their hardest to sleep to ready themselves for the rigours of the night.

  They looked very soldier-like, thought Knocker as he examined them. Warmly dressed, their hats cocked jauntily over their ears, they stood tense and straight, glancing occasionally at their watches or compasses. Most impressive and warlike of all were the double bandoliers of stones they wore and the shiny, lethal catapults stuck into their pockets. The Adventurers shone with health, their skins glowing, but they could not conceal their impatience. They wanted Spiff to say what he had to say and then let them get on the road.

  Spiff rustled his papers. ‘You’ll be off in a minute, so I won’t keep you long. I just want to remind you of the object of your expedition. Whatever happens you must not forget it. It is to knock out the Rumble High Command, eliminate them. We want no more of them in our part of London. They must be shown that they can’t come down here whenever they think they will and move on to our manor. Whatever happens to you, and we all know the dangers you face, if you eliminate your target, your name will be confirmed and remembered. You have the luck to be going on the greatest adventure anyone has ever heard of.’

  Knocker shuffled his feet and wished Spiff would stop making a meal of it. He was feeling sorry for himself and wanted the Eight out of sight, out of mind.

  But Spiff hadn’t quite finished. ‘You’ve a long way to travel, a dangerous way, and a difficult, perhaps impossible task to accomplish, and I’m sure I speak for all Borribles when I wish you the best of luck. And don’t get caught.’

  The speech was over and Knocker and Spiff watched as the Adventurers stepped forward to pick up their rucksacks. With a nod for Spiff and a nervous smile for Knocker they left the room one by one. The last to leave was Napoleon. He stood by the open door, looking trim and dangerous; his eyes were bright and excited. His face broke into a cocky and unpleasant smile.

  ‘Sorry you ain’t coming, Knocker,’ he said triumphantly, ‘but I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.’ And he slid silently out into the darkness.

  Knocker swore and rushed across the room and shoved the door hard with his foot so that it slammed and shook the house.

  Spiff sat down at the table and looked at Knocker’s back while he opened the enormous r
ule book he’d been reading that morning. ‘Over here, Knocker,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a farewell present too.’

  ‘Stuff the present,’ said Knocker ungraciously, but none the less he crossed the room to sit down opposite Spiff.

  Spiff ignored Knocker’s remark. ‘Well, here it is,’ he said. ‘I’m going to read it to you, only once, so you’d better listen … This is from the Borrible Book of Rules, paragraph thirty-four, subsection three a. I quote, “No Borrible who is already named may go on any name adventure whatsoever, he may not even go on a non-name adventure if a Borrible who has no name wishes to take precedence. This rule is unalterable and no exceptions may be made at all, ever.”’

  Spiff drew a breath and ran his finger to a note at the bottom of the page.

  ‘“Except for the following exceptions.”’ He pursed his lips to stop from smiling as Knocker looked up sharply.

  ‘“One. A named Borrible may take part in a name adventure when no other un-named Borrible is available. The choosing of the named Borrible in such a case will be by drawing lots.”’

  Knocker looked down at the table again.

  Spiff went on. ‘“A named Borrible may take part in a name adventure when a vacancy occurs through accident or injury at the last moment and there is no time to draw lots.”’ Spiff looked up. ‘That’s a very useful one that is, very useful, I’ve nobbled a dozen or so in my time, I can tell you … Do you know, I’ve got more’n a few names myself, maybe a score … Never believe it to look at me, would you? Oh yes, you have to know yer way round the old rule book, can’t break the rules until you know the rules, but let’s get down to exception seven two. It’s one I haven’t used before.’

  Spiff coughed and put on a special voice. ‘“When an expedition is deemed to be exceptional and outstanding, a named Historian may accompany the expedition to record its deeds for later inclusion in the Borrible Book of Proverbs. He may act in an advisory capacity only, taking no part in the actual adventure, be it fighting or stealing, etc., etc …”’ He paused for effect. ‘“ … until such time as all members of the adventure have won their names by performing the tasks allotted to them. At that time the Historian becomes equal with the expedition and may join entirely in the expedition.”’

  Spiff closed the book with a bang and looked at Knocker, who was dying to smile and laugh and shout all at the same time but didn’t want to in case he’d misunderstood.

  Spiff winked and jerked his head. ‘How would you like to be an Historian, Knocker? Never been one of those, have you?’

  ‘No,’ said Knocker, his heart thumping.

  Spiff rose to his feet. ‘Right, Knocker, clothes are in the cupboard, and a knapsack; everything’s there, I did it myself this afternoon. Get changed. Don’t want to miss the boat, eh? Ho, ho!’

  Knocker dashed into the cupboard and threw off his everyday clothes and got into the set of expedition gear that was hanging ready behind the door. As he changed Spiff talked to him, for he had much to say before Knocker left.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he began, suddenly serious, ‘they don’t know you’re coming but they won’t go without you. I sent Lightfinger down there with some cock and bull story. He won’t let them away till you arrive.’ Spiff was silent for a minute or two, watching Knocker’s preparation with more attention than the event deserved.

  ‘Do you want to know the real reason you’re going?’ he asked at last.

  Something in Spiff’s voice made Knocker stop tying his bootlaces and he listened intently.

  ‘Real reason?’ he queried.

  ‘Yes, the real reason. Look, you will have to be Historian, write it all down when you get back and all that cobblers, but it don’t really matter, see, long as it looks like you are obeying the rules, but as soon as the Eight have won their names or look like winning their names, brother, you move.’

  ‘Move?’

  ‘Double fast,’ Spiff said, his sharp expression getting sharper. ‘I’ve had reasons for setting this adventure up … and now I’m telling you. In those Rumble manuals they hint about a treasure they’ve got hidden, tons of it. We need that treasure down here, Knocker, and you’re the Borrible to get it.’

  ‘But Spiff!’ Knocker was appalled. ‘Money ain’t Borrible, we’re not supposed to touch it, or have anything to do with it.’

  ‘And look how we live, Knocker, nicking grub, abandoned houses … That money could make a difference. I know what I’m talking about; I’ve been around since the days of the old queen, Victoria I mean. We suffered then, really suffered … Now I know you want a second name more than anything on earth, and I’ll see you get it, but only if you do what I say. I’ve been waiting years for this chance, and I’ve wangled it so you can sort things out, Knocker. You get the Rumble treasure and I’ll see you get another name, maybe two, the sky’s the limit … But whatever you do, don’t tell anyone what you’re up to, especially Wazzisname Boot. I know the Wendles, inside out, back and front, up and down. They’re trouble, real trouble. Above all, watch out for one called Flinthead; he’d kill you for the fun of it. Believe you me, if you get on the wrong side of him your life won’t be worth a fiddler’s fart.’

  Knocker’s face paled. ‘But this is an adventure within an adventure,’ he said, coming closer to Spiff.

  ‘That’s right, Knocker, it is. I’ll see you get your second name all right, but it’s going to be bleedin’ dangerous and don’t think it isn’t.’

  Spiff closed an eye to indicate that he’d said his say; Knocker pushed his arms into his haversack straps and went to the door. ‘A second name, bloody hell. I’d best be off then.’

  ‘That’s about the size and shape of it,’ said Spiff.

  Knocker opened the door and felt the coolness of the night on his face. He looked round the room one last time. ‘Goodnight, Spiff, and thanks. Don’t get caught.’

  ‘You’re the one who needs to remember that,’ said Spiff. ‘There’s ten million dangers in that city out there … Now go, son, and say nothing to no one.’

  Once in the open Knocker looked up through a fine rain to the few stars in the sky and hoped they were his lucky ones. Then he took a deep breath and ran with a loping stride down the High Street towards Battersea church, the knapsack bumping on his back. The pavements were empty and shone damply in the reflected light of the street lamps; his footsteps echoed from the wet walls of the black buildings and his heart sang and bubbled within him. He still could not believe it. He was going—going on the best expedition he’d ever heard of—the Great Rumble Hunt.

  Twenty yards from St Mary’s church he halted and listened carefully. Lightfinger rose from behind a dustbin.

  ‘Knocker,’ he whispered.

  ‘Knocker.’

  ‘It’s OK, over here.’

  Knocker went forward and patted Lightfinger on the shoulder. ‘I’m going,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ answered Lightfinger. ‘You must have lost your marbles. This expedition is madness … It’s all down to Spiff, I bet. I’m not even sure it’s Borrible.’

  Knocker crossed the churchyard and climbed on to the embankment wall. The Silver Belle Flower lay just below him, rocking gently in the slight swell that came from midstream. The oars were out and Napoleon was giving whispered commands to keep the boat from banging against The Raven. Seven white faces and one black one looked up as Knocker jumped down to join them. He saw amazement in their expressions; how would they take it? But then did he care? It was his adventure, too, now. Whatever they said, whatever they thought, he was going.

  Knocker had boarded at the stern, by the rudder, and he sat down and faced Napoleon, who was in the stroke seat.

  ‘I’ll row, you steer,’ said Knocker putting his face close to the Wendle’s.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Napoleon, half rising, the question full of suspicion, his face tight with anger.

  ‘I mean,’ said Knocker, ‘that I’m coming with you.’

  4

  There was no one to see
them off but Lightfinger, and he watched the boat edge slowly round the stern of The Ethel Ada like a huge insect with only four legs. Darkness covered the craft and soon Lightfinger could only hear the voice of Napoleon giving orders: ‘Paddle, stroke side, ease up, bow. Hands on the gunwale, number five. Forward all.’ When Lightfinger could hear no more he turned and walked quickly away, glad that he had no part in the Great Rumble Hunt, glad that he was to have nothing to do with the murky and perilous Thames.

  The Silver Belle Flower crept out from the shelter of the barges moored along the southern side of the river, but not too far out. Napoleon wanted to be within easy reach of the bank and its complicated blackness; should a police launch appear the Borribles would need to take cover in the shortest possible time.

  Napoleon let the boat drift until the bow was pointing westwards, then he tensed his muscles and gripped the two rudder strings tightly.

  ‘Come forward,’ he whispered. The crew leant towards him in their seats. ‘Paddle,’ said the navigator, and the boat sprang upriver like a live thing, eager to be under way.

  Nobody spoke except Napoleon, there was too much work to be done. Every rower was concentrating his whole body, every bit of his brain, on handling his oar as cleanly as possible. The water surged below the boat and lifted it regularly, trying to bear it backwards and down to the sea. Occasionally a dark mass of barges, lashed together into one rigid floating city, slid by them, towed or pushed by a small tug. Mysterious lights gleamed and men with deep voices called to one another, and from either shore came the distant groan of traffic, trapped in the streets. It was nearly midnight, and small and fearful on the Thames the Borribles soon lost the sense of time and place. No matter; as the rowers’ technique improved, a feeling of exhilaration passed from one to the other and Napoleon, who had never been out on the great river before, let alone in command of his own ship, was bursting with pride. He could have sailed for ever.