The Borribles

by Michael de Larrabeiti

  He tried to keep awake, to guard the treasure and to relive the events of the past hours, but his head fell forward and Sam the horse plodded calmly along the edge of the traffic, across Augustus Road and over by Southfields Underground station, down Replingham Road and past the opening to Engadine where they had been attacked and forced into the clutches of Dewdrop and Erbie.

  And all the Borribles slept, even Torreycanyon who should have been on watch, and even Stonks who should have been guiding Sam, but Sam paced on without need of command. He had heard talk of the Wandle and of King George’s Park so that was where he went. He stepped out evenly, realizing the Borribles were exhausted, halting gently by traffic lights and paying particular attention when changing lanes and navigating roundabouts.

  He trudged on and Stonks snored in the driving seat and the others dreamt behind, at the mercy of chance. But luck stayed with the Adventurers, the rain continued to fall in heavy drops and no adult had time to observe the horse and cart or think them out of place as they went slowly along the streets, bearing the Borribles away from Rumbledom and towards the dubious safety of Wendle territory.

  It was dusk when they awoke. Sam stood in a deserted side street by King George’s Park, sleeping between the shafts, all energy drained from him.

  When the Borribles came to move their limbs they found it almost impossible. Stiffness and fatigue seemed to have fixed them in one position for ever. Stonks had fallen sideways on to the driver’s seat and lay curled up in Dewdrop’s raincoat. It was Torreycanyon who was the first to stick his head out into the evening air.

  It had stopped raining and the street lamps shimmered gold on the wet roadway and made it dark, shiny and deep. Torreycanyon looked at his watch. Five o’clock. He glanced at the name of the road and ducked under the canvas to check it on his street map in the light of his torch.

  ‘Longstaff,’ he said. ‘Good old Sam, we’re right near to King George’s.’

  The others sat up one by one, groaning as they realized how battered their bodies were. They huddled together for warmth and made a cold meal before continuing their journey. As they ate they argued among themselves about which route they should take for the return trip to Battersea. The easiest way was by boat through Wendle country to the Thames, the way they had come, but some of the Adventurers had their doubts.

  ‘I think we should go overland,’ said Chalotte, ‘not by boat.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Napoleon looked up sharply.

  ‘I didn’t mean anything personal to you, Nap,’ Chalotte answered. ‘It’s just that Flinthead gives me the creeps.’

  ‘Any other way must be safer,’ said Knocker. ‘Must be.’

  Napoleon laughed. ‘It’s too late, friends, you should have kept awake. Sam has brought us right to King George’s.’

  There was an uneasy silence under the canvas.

  ‘Don’t let’s go bonkers,’ said Sydney at length. ‘The Wendles are Borribles, after all; they’ll be pleased our expedition was a success.’

  ‘Anyway, we are in too bad a shape to go by any but the shortest and easiest way,’ said Napoleon. ‘Just think, you’ll be home in two or three days.’

  ‘Remains to be seen,’ said Knocker.

  Napoleon laughed again. ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ he said.

  It was decided after a little more discussion that all they could do was to walk on as far as the banks of the Wandle and camp there. Napoleon would make contact with a lookout, and ask for the Adventurers to be taken back to The Silver Belle Flower. After that everything would depend on the Wendles.

  When they were ready, they clambered down the cartwheels to the gleaming pavement and struggled into the straps of their haversacks. They were a sorry sight, limping and shuffling as they got into marching order, with improvised bandages round their heads and limbs. Vulge and Stonks had made themselves crutches from Rumble-sticks and could manage to get along only with help from the others. All of them moved badly and every step they took was torture.

  Knocker, in spite of his serious wounds and the feelings of his companions, went to the rear of the cart and threw aside the coverings that hid the treasure box from view. He dragged it towards him and hoisted it on to his injured back, and though he stumbled and nearly fell under the weight, nothing in the world would have induced him to leave it behind.

  ‘You are a fool, Knocker,’ said Chalotte. ‘How can you take that box after what has happened?’

  ‘You would if it was your name, wouldn’t you?’ retorted Knocker, guilt making his temper short.

  ‘Well, I don’t like it,’ said Torreycanyon, ‘but I know Adolf would have understood about your second name.’ And he took one of the handles and helped Knocker lower the box from his shoulder so that they could carry it between them.

  ‘So!’ cried Napoleon Boot, shoving forward, pushing his comrades aside. ‘So that’s what it’s all about. That’s what you’ve been after all along, you two-timer. You’d never have got it out of Rumbledom without us. Spiff and you had it planned all along, didn’t you? Well, it’s ours as well, you know … it’s gotta be shared out.’

  ‘It’s not Borrible,’ said Sydney. ‘Throw it away.’

  ‘That’s not very bright, now we’ve got it this far,’ butted in Torreycanyon. ‘Look at the way those Rumbles lived. They had everything up there. You didn’t see that workshop of theirs, wonderful it was … I’d like one, back in Hoxton.’

  ‘Well, whatever happens, we can’t share it out here,’ said Knocker, turning towards Napoleon and thrusting his face up against the Wendie’s. ‘Spiff wants to share it equally between the tribes who sent members on the expedition. Each one of you will take a share back with him when he goes.’

  ‘Ha! Do you expect me to believe that load of old cobblers?’ asked Napoleon, his face green in the light of the street lamp. ‘You may trust Spiff, but I wouldn’t give him the bogeys out of my left nostril.’

  There was a dreadful silence under that lamp post, and some hearts sickened to think they had been so far and had done so much together and could now quarrel over a box of money. Stonks said as much and he was backed up by Chalotte and Sydney, Bingo, Vulge and Orococco.

  ‘Sod the money,’ shouted Stonks. ‘Here we are, dying on our feet, and you two argue. Let’s get into the park before that damn treasure kills us all. We need a good night’s kip. We can talk about the money tomorrow.’

  His voice woke Sam, who tottered on his four feet. He neighed and turned his head. Sydney ran to him and the others followed, the money forgotten for the moment. They shone their torches over the horse and saw that his hide was caked with blood and covered with scratches and stab wounds.

  ‘Here you are yammering on about money,’ cried Sydney angrily, pointing her finger at Napoleon and Knocker, ‘and the horse that saved us all is neglected by the lot of you.’

  They freed Sam from the traces, patted him and expressed their sorrow at having ignored him for so long. Then they led him towards the park, and as Sam stepped out they noticed that he was limping badly because of an injury in one of his back legs.

  ‘Look at that,’ shouted Sydney at them all, as if they’d each and severally been responsible for the damage. ‘Wounded like he is and brought us all the way down here. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Sam ought to be retired on that money.’

  The gates to the park had been closed at dusk but Napoleon soon picked the lock and the Borribles, Sam first, went into King George’s. The park was black and silent and the grass wet, but they had brought the cart canvas with them, and when they reached the banks of the Wandle they spread the tarpaulin on the ground and sat on it to keep dry. Soon the sky cleared of clouds, the stars appeared and the night turned cold, but the Adventurers wrapped themselves in their combat jackets and sleeping bags, and sat round in a circle, except for Sydney who stood by Sam, stroking and speaking to him.

  Then began the story telling, the moment that Borribles love above all others. They wanted to
know who had done what and how, and in what order, and to whom. Bingo wanted to know what had happened to Vulge; Vulge wanted to hear Torreycanyon’s tale, and Torreycanyon wanted to know how Chalotte and Sydney had fared. Napoleon told his story to Orococco and Orococco recounted his Adventure to Knocker, and Knocker’s voice trembled as he recounted, almost as a penance, how Adolf had opened the safe.

  And there were tears in the Adventurers’ eyes and lumps in their throats as they remembered the German and his mad, jolly voice and the way he had hooted at them. No one said anything to Knocker directly but there were looks and silences during the story of the safe, and Knocker looked at the ground between his feet.

  But the stories went on and past quarrels began to be forgotten because the Borribles looked at each other and realized how lucky they were to be alive. Never had Borribles had such an adventure.

  They were still talking when Napoleon suddenly stood up. ‘There’s a Wendle scouting us from the other side of the river,’ he said. ‘Switch off your torches.’ He went silently to the railings that bordered the river and whistled softly—a slight variation on the normal Borrible whistle—and he was answered within two seconds. Then the others heard him talking.

  ‘I’m going across,’ he announced when he returned. ‘Got to see Flinthead. You’re to wait here; better get some sleep. You’re quite safe, there’s Wendle night patrols all around. I’ll be back before dawn. Be ready to leave, and don’t try to go anywhere. You know they, we, don’t like strangers on our territory.’ Then without a word of goodbye he turned his back and disappeared into the night.

  ‘He’s a funny bloke,’ said Bingo. ‘You never know where you are with him; nice and friendly one minute, saving your life and fighting with you, and then all of a sudden he’s as cold as yesterday’s cabbage.’

  ‘I think,’ said Knocker, looking at the treasure chest, ‘that he’s just remembering he’s a Wendle after all.’

  Napoleon came back as promised just before dawn. The others rolled over in their sleeping bags and, without getting up, looked at him. The tall shapes of the buildings on the far side of the Wandle were dark against the sky. Napoleon was just a darker shape. They couldn’t see his eyes or his expression; only his voice told them that he was tense and tired.

  ‘We’re to stay here until it is nearly light,’ he began, ‘then I am to lead you across the Wandle, along the bank and then underground. We can rest, as we did before, for as long as we like, Flinthead said. Later they’ll take us to where they’ve hidden the boat. After that we can go—you can go—as long as we tell our stories, all of them.’

  ‘What,’ said Knocker, asking the question that was in everybody’s mind, ‘about the treasure?’

  Napoleon hesitated. ‘Flinthead didn’t mention it, nor did I.’ He went over to his sleeping bag, unrolled it and slipped inside.

  There was quiet. Knocker got up and went and sat by Napoleon. After a while he touched the Wendle gently on the shoulder. He could see Napoleon’s eyes now; they were open and staring at the sky.

  ‘So Flinthead said nothing about the money,’ he said.

  Napoleon blinked and said, ‘That’s right. I didn’t tell him about it, did I?’ He tried to roll over on his shoulder but Knocker stopped him.

  Bingo came over and joined them. Since the Battersea Borrible had saved Napoleon’s life and escaped with him from the library he had got closer to the Wendle than any of the others, and he wanted to get between Knocker and Napoleon if trouble started. Knocker spoke again, and everyone listened. ‘I don’t believe you. I think we ought to go home some other way.’

  The silence deepened a notch or two. Napoleon sat up brusquely and grasped Knocker’s arm.

  ‘I’ve told you—you’ve got no bloody option,’ he said between his teeth. ‘You’re stuck, all of you. There’s Wendles all round. There’s only one way out, and that’s down the Wandle, the way we came.’

  Knocker was not put off. The others waited for the outcome, holding their breath.

  ‘When you say we’re stuck,’ he said to Napoleon, ‘does that include you in or out?’

  Napoleon did not answer. A great struggle was going on in his mind and he could not speak while it continued. Lights came on in the building opposite and the sky was grey now. Soon they would have to make a move, one way or the other.

  ‘Tell us what really happened,’ insisted Knocker. ‘Come on, straight up.’

  ‘You owe us the truth,’ said Bingo.

  Napoleon got up and stepped over to the railings and looked at the surface of the Wandle as it floated by under its quilt of rubbish. Bingo thought for a second that the Wendle was going to run away.

  At last Napoleon turned and spoke to them all, in a low voice so he wouldn’t be overheard beyond the group. His words came all in a rush.

  ‘I am telling the truth. I know you do not trust Flinthead, Halfabar or Tron, or even me,’ he began. ‘I know you do not like the Wendles, even though they are Borribles like yourselves, but remember the threat we have always lived under. I swear that Flinthead will ask only to hear your stories, will see that you get rest and food. He will take nothing from you; he is proud of us. After all, he’s out of danger from the Rumbles for years to come. He told me how … how grateful he was … really.’

  There was silence and the others watched as Bingo walked over to the box and said, ‘Wish we’d never set eyes on the thing. Been a good adventure apart from that.’

  Knocker spat. ‘My job is to take the box back and I’ll do it even if I die.’

  ‘Even if we all die,’ said Chalotte.

  ‘The trick,’ said Torreycanyon, ‘is to get it back without dying.’

  ‘They won’t take it from us,’ insisted Napoleon. ‘They will wait to get their share. I’ll be coming back to Battersea with you so that I can bring the Wendle share back to Wandsworth.’

  ‘We shouldn’t touch it at all,’ said Chalotte. ‘It’s money, and money isn’t Borrible.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Vulge. ‘Chalotte’s right, but any road they won’t attack us. It would be Borrible against Borrible.’

  ‘It’s happened before,’ said Orococco. ‘Money brings trouble.’

  Napoleon raised his head. The blood had gone from his face and there were mauve patches under his eyes. He shook his head sadly at his companions. ‘If they wanted to take it, they would have taken it already … but you won’t listen. They don’t want it. Everything will be all right.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Chalotte. ‘Have we journeyed so far and survived so much that we are now going to jump at our own shadows?’

  No one answered the question and Knocker shook his head, quoting a dark proverb, ‘“the shadow cast by a Wendle is twice as long as his body.”’ He stared hard at Napoleon and tried to read the truth in the Wendle’s eyes, but Napoleon’s eyes wandered and looked elsewhere.

  ‘We shall have to move soon,’ he said. ‘I can hear the early buses in the streets and it is nearly daylight.’

  Within a few minutes the Adventurers were ready to set out once more, and they filed past Sam to give him a last stroke and a word of farewell. The uncertainty that stretched before and the sadness that lay behind had made them despondent. There was something else too: they hated themselves for deserting the horse who had helped them through so many dangers, who had risked his own life, time and time again, to save theirs. Sydney was distraught, weeping with grief, and was the last to squeeze through the gap in the railings that led to the river. She had lingered to gather a handful of fresh grass for Sam; she wanted to wish him farewell alone.

  ‘Goodbye, old Sam,’ she said. ‘I’ll never forget you, never. We can’t take you any further because of the river, because we have to go underground, but I tell you, Sam, if I ever get out of this adventure alive I’ll find out where you are and I’ll come back for you, however far it is . . and that’s a promise. And I’ll steal you away one night and you’ll come back to Neasden with me and you won’t work again, Sam, ever.�
�� And Sydney put her arms around the horse’s neck and kissed the side of his face.

  When she had gone Sam ambled over to the railings and stuck his head over them to watch the tiny figures of his friends marching along the towpath, towards the dark semicircular hole where the Wandle disappeared under the streets of Wandsworth; and Sam shed bitter tears.

  Napoleon led the way but his step was not springy or light. He looked unhappy, not at all like a Borrible returning home covered in glory. Knocker and Torreycanyon followed along with the treasure chest, and the others came behind, all of them still weary despite their night’s rest.

  The silence along the towpath was uncanny and the adventurers saw not a soul, at least to begin with. It was only when they glanced over their shoulders that they saw how the path had become crowded with heavily armed warriors who had materialized from the very bankside. Across the river they could see more Wendles rising mysteriously from the mud to stand watching as the Borribles marched by.

  Bingo, who felt that his companions were allowing themselves to be overawed by the Wendles, raised his voice in song, and that London voice, bright and defiant, rang out over the river:

  ‘Hurrah! Hurrah! The Battle’s won!

  The victors are marching from Rumbledom!

  We smashed the evil furry crew,

  We finished the job we went to do.

  Let our great deeds and high renown

  Spread to the ends of London Town.

  Brave though bloody, here we come!

  The victors returning from Rumbledom!

  ‘Rejoice! The foe is overcome!

  The victors are marching from Rumbledom!

  We trounced the enemy through and through,

  We finished the job we went to do.