Orococco stood up quickly. ‘They’ve locked the door,’ he said angrily, looking at Napoleon.
‘Yeah,’ said Bingo. ‘What’s that about, eh? Answer me that.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Napoleon, ‘I … asked Flinthead to do it, so we could sleep and eat without being disturbed.’
‘We could get drowned in here if the tide rose,’ said Vulge. ‘I don’t like it. Us Borribles hate being locked in anywhere.’
‘You’ve got a cheek.’ Napoleon defended himself. ‘Why, this is part of Flinthead’s own apartments that he’s gone and let us use.’
“He don’t exactly trust us, do he?’ said Vulge, striding up and down the room. ‘Don’t let us go anywhere on our own, and locks us in for the night. I hates being locked up at all. It’s worse than the nick, underground, gives me the creeps.’
‘It’s not natural,’ continued Bingo, ‘all this bowing and scraping to Flinthead. Shouldn’t bow an’ scrape to anyone, a Borrible. I don’t think your lot are very Borrible, come to that.’
‘Are you saying I’m not a Borrible?’ cried Napoleon, livid, and he pulled off his hat and pointed to his ears.
‘We don’t know about you, yet,’ put in Knocker, quietly.
‘And we don’t know about you, yet,’ retorted Napoleon.
‘How does a bloke like Flinthead get all that power, eh?’ asked Chalotte. ‘That’s what I should like to know.’
‘Because he saw what needed doing and he did it, because he’s tougher and brighter than anyone else.’ answered Napoleon furiously. ‘Look. We came on this trip to get the Rumbles, not for a holiday. Why don’t you all just have a good meal and a good night’s sleep? That’s what I’m going to do.’ And with that the Wendle began to help himself to the food that had been provided, and refused to be drawn into any further conversation that night.
The others grumbled for a while among themselves, but then, being just as hungry and as tired as Napoleon, they ate their fill, stretched their limbs, chose a few cushions, spread the blankets and were all soon fast asleep.
They slept long and deep and woke late. Fresh food and drink was brought to them, and when they were ready to march there was a loud knocking at the door and it was thrown open. In the doorway and in the high corridor beyond, stood a crowd of about thirty Wendles, part of the elite guard, armed and dressed for a foray beyond the limits of the underground caverns. Each one carried a Rumble-stick as well as a catapult, and bandoliers were slung over their shoulders. The detachment was again led by Tron and Halfabar.
‘Come,’ called Tron into the room. ‘We are to take you to King George’s Park, then you have only a little way to go before you cross Merton Road and so leave our territory.’
The Adventurers checked their catapults and stones, stepped out into the corridor and stood together. The Wendles formed up tightly, and the whole group made off down the tunnel, guiding their steps with circles of light from their torches.
After a brisk march they entered the huge hall where they had met Flinthead. The small stage was still there but now no one sat on it nor was there one Wendle, apart from their escort, to be seen. They crossed the hall and entered a tunnel which dropped down to the Wandle and once there they followed the towpath along its edge.
‘The tunnels look deserted,’ explained Tron, ‘but don’t forget that it is four in the morning. The night-stealers have not returned from their work and the day-stealers are still sleeping. Then we have permanent lookouts everywhere along Merton Road; that is the beginning of no-man’s land.’
The Adventurers had to admit that the Wendles were more friendly than they had been the previous day. Even Halfabar seemed to regret the misunderstanding that had occurred between him and Adolf on their first meeting.
‘Come back safely so that you can tell me the story of your adventures,’ he admonished the German in warm tones.
‘So I will, Halfabar,’ hooted Adolf, ‘so I will.’
Suddenly, on a command from Tron, the column halted. They had come to the end of the underground section of the River Wandle. All torches were extinguished and the warriors stood motionless in the obscurity, waiting patiently until their eyes had become completely accustomed to the darkness of the night. Only then did Tron make a sign and one of his scouts slipped soundlessly from the tunnel, wading slowly through the mud and water.
After a second or two the scout gave a low whistle which was answered immediately by a guard stationed on the river bank. Tron lifted his hand again and two more Wendles disappeared outside, and so he continued until half his command had gone. Then the first Wendle reappeared. All was well; the guards had advanced along the Wandle and had seen no suspicious activity. It was not quite dawn and they could get the Adventurers to King George’s Park and be back underground before it was full daylight.
Tron waved the Adventurers forward and one by one they slithered down from the towpath until they were waist deep in clinging sludge. They strode away stiffly, well protected in borrowed waders, but they could not escape the terrible stench of the mud where it bubbled up in steamy clouds as they pushed their legs and feet forward. Fortunately they did not have far to go. As soon as they were clear of the tunnel entrance the guards hauled them on to a small path lying on the east side of the river and there the escort awaited them.
‘And how do you like Wandsworth, my friend Adolf?’ asked Halfabar, as he pulled the German to the bank.
Adolf spat down into the muddy stream. ‘Why, it is just as smelly as Hamburg; I feel quite at home.’ He grinned.
The column formed up once more, half the bodyguard in front with a torch or two to show the way, the Adventurers in the middle, and the rest of the bodyguard behind. Tron gave the word and they stepped out in good order. The Wendles sang heartily as they marched, a stirring fighting song which was their favourite.
‘We are the Wendles of Wandsworth Town,
We’re always up and the others are down.
We’re rough and we’re tough and we don’t give a damn,
We are the elite of the Borrible clan.
Reach for your Rumble-sticks!
Try all your dirty tricks!
Nothing can beat us
And none shall defeat us.
Say a wrong word and we’ll hammer you down,
We are the Wendles of Wandsworth Town!
‘We are the geezers who live below
The shoppers and coppers and the traffic flow.
We revel in muck and we rollick in mud,
The slime of the sewers enriches our blood.
Call yourself Borribles!
We are the Horribles!
Cruel black-as-inkers,
Cut-throating stinkers!
Say a wrong word and we’ll hammer you down,
We are the Wendles of Wandsworth Town!’
Tron led the group along at a fast pace. The sky became lighter and the torches were extinguished. After a ten-minute march the green fields of King George’s Park came into view, and Tron raised his right hand and the column halted.
‘What’s going on?’ Bingo asked Napoleon, who was standing just in front of him.
‘Wait and see,’ said Napoleon. ‘They know what they’re doing.’
‘I’ll be glad when we’re away on our own,’ whispered Vulge. ‘Wendles is creepy.’
As if in answer to Vulge’s impatience, Tron came back down the line and spoke to them. ‘We have to cross the river here,’ he said, ‘but there are some secret stepping stones, just under the surface of the water, so you shouldn’t even get wet. Halfabar will go over first and show you where they are. I must get back underground before it gets much lighter. We’re too conspicuous along here, not like the streets.’
Halfabar stepped down from the towpath and, prodding with a Rumble-stick to find his way, he indicated the exact position of the stepping stones. Once the Wendle was across, each Adventurer in turn was lent a spear by a member of the bodyguard, and they followed Halfabar through the w
ide quagmire of sucking mud until they came up against the railings of the park. Not one person slipped from the sunken stones and soon Tron joined them to give directions for the next stage of their journey. The bodyguard remained on the east bank, squatting on their haunches, obediently waiting for their leaders to return.
‘Right,’ said Tron. ‘Now we must leave you. The next part of the your trip will be easy. We have sent messages out during the night and our lookouts know of your passage. You won’t see them but they will see you, and as they know what you look like and how many you are, they won’t bother you as long as you keep to the route. If you stray from it, we won’t be responsible for the consequences.
‘Follow the river through the park until you come to the end of the fields. There the river goes under a bridge. Above you is a road, Mapleton Road. That will take you westward, across another bit of the park, past the bandstand, and at the end of Mapleton turn into Longstaff, right at the end, then left, then right. That’s Merton Road, where our influence and power to help you ends.
‘Head south along Merton until you reach Replingham Road. We have our last outpost in a school there. Take that road westward until you reach Southfields, which lies under the great hill you will have to climb to reach Rumbledom. Once you have left our last outpost the dangers that wait for you are many. Beyond Southfields there will be a Rumble scout in every tree. You will have to devise some way of passing their lines unnoticed, or you will never reach Rumbledom alive, let alone achieve your aim. I wish you success and the gaining of a good name and … don’t get caught.’
With this Tron and Halfabar left the Adventurers, taking the spare Rumble-sticks and waders with them. They bounded over the Wandle without hesitation, flitting across the mud of the river as if it had been as solid as the pavement on Wandsworth High Street. On the other side they gathered their bodyguard together and with a wave they ran off at a trot, back to the safety of their underground citadel.
When they had gone, Vulge patted Napoleon on the back with a friendly hand. ‘Lost your playmates, now. Have to put up with us again, won’t yer?’
Napoleon knocked Vulge’s hand away. ‘He is a fine Borrible, that Tron,’ he said, ‘and he has given us good advice.’
Torreycanyon shouldered his haversack and looked out over the deserted park. ‘Well, me chinas, I think we’d better get a move on and get as far away from this park as we can. It’s cold and nasty.’ And without a further word the Adventurers set off into the green silence, bearing their burdens with them.
The journey to Merton Road was not difficult and Napoleon led them there at a steady pace. It was a busy and noisy road, with cars roaring by and adults waiting in long bus queues, shifting from foot to foot or staring helplessly into the middle distance, hating the idea of yet another day at work.
When the Borribles came to Replingham Road they gathered together and crossed in a bunch, avoiding the heavy traffic. On a corner they could see a large secondary school of five storeys, with groups of pupils waiting by the main gates for the whistle blast that would announce the start of lessons. Just to one side of the group stood two Wendles disguised in the uniform of the school.
‘Wendles?’ asked Napoleon.
They nodded and waited for the rest of the band to approach, moving away from the school children before they spoke.
‘We are the last outpost. When you leave us you’re on your own. You go straight up there. See the twist in the road? Follow it. It’s a long walk, they say, lonely, a kind of no-man’s land; no Borribles, no Rumbles … as far as we know. Things will change when you get to Southfields and cross into Augustus Road. It will start to climb rapidly; steep, very. Then more trees and lots of posh houses. Some Wendles have won their names up there. The stories say there are no shops, so you won’t be able to live off the land, and there will be Rumble patrols in every garden, I should think. I don’t know how you’ll get through without being sussed, but then that’s your problem, isn’t it?’
The two Wendle scouts looked at each other as if to say that nobody would get them on such a foolhardly mission. They were being brave enough just guarding this place and likely to get caught at any minute.
The Adventurers strode on, realizing that their adventure was perhaps a lot more forlorn than they had at first imagined, and that many perils still lay between them and the achievement of their goal.
Now, thought Knocker, the adventure begins in earnest, with dangers everywhere, and it will be a long, long while before we return to the safety of Wandsworth and the comforts of Battersea.
6
As the two Wendle scouts had indicated, the journey up the rising slope of Replingham Road was long and tiring. The houses in that part of Wandsworth wore a desolate air and there was hardly any movement in the streets, but then it was past nine thirty in the morning; children were at their lessons, their parents at work.
The Borribles kept close together, eyes flickering to left and right. It was the first daytime trek of the expedition and they had to be ready to run, hide or give battle; their catapults were grasped in their hands, stones ready for firing.
They were trudging towards the lower slopes of Rumbledom, haversacks becoming heavier with every step. Occasionally a door opened in the dead front of a house and a woman shook a doormat or came out to sweep a step. A man hastened by, late for work, and he turned briefly to scrutinize this strange band of earnest children who carried catapults and wore woollen hats; but he was too preoccupied by his own problems to think much about the bizarre nature of the sight and he hurried on.
Then things began to happen. The steady progress of the Borribles’ advance was interrupted when a car passed them, close to the pavement, and screeched to a halt fifty yards further up the road. A policeman, burly in his blue uniform, leapt from the car and stood in the middle of the pavement with his arms and legs spread wide as if he owned the road, the front gardens, the houses and all the world. His face was red and glowing with pleasure.
‘Blimey! A Woollie in a nondescript,’ said Bingo. ‘There’ll be another one behind us.’
Bingo was only too right; glancing over their shoulders the Borribles saw another car parked a hundred yards behind them. A second brawny policeman was getting out of it, a grin on his face.
‘Verdammt,’ swore Adolf. ‘We’d better get out of here.’
The Adventurers had stopped on the corner of a side road leading out of Replingham; it was called Engadine Street and the Borribles were never to forget that name. Slowly, having loaded their catapults, they backed into it, and then took to their heels, putting on a burst of speed for twenty or thirty yards before skidding to a standstill.
‘Bingo,’ shouted Knocker, ‘you know the Woollies. Take over.’
The two policemen appeared on the corner and stood together for a moment, looking along the street. They waved the first car back to them, the other flashed on up the hill.
Bingo said, ‘That second nondescript will have gone round the block to seal off the other end of the road. They know we’re Borribles. We’re going to have to fight this one, and even then there’s a good chance of getting caught.’
‘Oh, I’m glad this has happened.’ Stonks grinned, flexing the elastic on his catapult. ‘Walking gets boring on its own.’
‘Right,’ said Bingo, ‘here they come. Pretend to be scared … like we’re running away. Spread across the road. When I give the word, turn and fire. I’ll be in the middle. Those of you on my left take the copper on the left, those on the right the copper on the right. Aim for their knees.’
The Borribles retreated, slowly at first, then more quickly until they were running as hard as they could. But the policemen could also run and were gaining on the fugitives when Bingo yelled at the top of his voice, ‘Now!’ and the Adventurers turned, springing into the air and landing with their catapults ready. They fired their volley together and both policemen fell as if their legs had been scythed from underneath them. Five stones arriving like bullets
on a kneecap are as effective as amputation.
The police driver, at the near end of the street, had been watching the skirmish from the open window of his car, but when he saw his two colleagues rolling on the ground, clasping their knees in pain, he slipped his motor into gear and drove it down the middle of Engadine to come to their rescue.
Chalotte ran to the cover of a front garden. As the car came by, she let it have a stone, glancing along the bonnet. It was beautifully done; the windscreen veined suddenly with a million lines of cold silver and the driver could see nothing. He was going too fast and swerved to be sure of avoiding his crippled colleagues who still lay in the road. The car went out of control, bounced across the pavement and sent Adolf spinning into the gutter. There was the sound of tearing metal and shattering glass as the car buried its nose in the brick coping that protected one of the house fronts. The driver, who had earlier unfastened his seat belt, went through the frail windscreen like a locomotive and concussed himself on what was left of the wall.
‘Yippee!’ yelled Bingo and ‘Yippee!’ yelled the others, but Vulge called a warning. ‘There’s one on his radio. There’ll be a squad of coppers up here in less time than it takes to wink an eye.’
Sure enough, one of the lamed policemen had pulled out his pocket transmitter and was about to speak into it.
Perhaps the quickest loader and firer of the team was Chalotte. A stone had flown from her catapult almost before Vulge had finished shouting. It smashed into the hand radio and knocked it to the ground, broken and useless.
The Borribles Page 10