The Borribles

by Michael Larrabeiti

  When Halfabar had been placed in The Silver Belle Flower to recover, Adolf was permitted to continue pulling the boat.

  "Walk in the river and follow us slowly," he was ordered, "and do everything we tell you. If any of you make a move towards a catapult, well . . . you'd better tell them what, you Wendle in the boat. We could starve you out without lifting a finger. There's fifty behind you now, as well as fifty in front."

  Knocker glanced round, as did his friends, and figures appeared wading through the water behind them, perhaps more than fifty, all bearing Rumble-sticks. The Adventurers were hopelessly outnumbered, all they could do was obey.

  "Who's the Borrible who's been doing all the talking?" Knocker asked Napoleon, who looked worried, as if the Wendles might take it out on him for this incursion.

  "He's a two-name Borrible," whispered Napoleon, "but he's just called Tron. If he had a name for all the things he's done he'd be a hundred-name Borrible, I can tell you. Hard as nails he is, and Flinthead, our chief, why, he's just the same. Nobody comes in or out of here without their say-so."

  "I thought this had all been cleared by Spiff. I thought we had permission," said Knocker.

  "No doubt we have," said Napoleon, turning his face to Knocker with some astonishment." If we didn't have permission we'd have been done over by now." "But you're a Wendle yourself . . ." "Don't matter. I've been out, away; they've got to be careful. Only right isn't it, when you think about it? I mean you jumped on the Rumbles quick enough when they came down to your patch."

  "Where do Wendles get all their blessed Rumble-sticks?" asked Bingo, wide-eyed and amazed.

  "We captures some and makes the others," said Napoleon, "but we've got catapults too, you know, and good with 'em we are. Tron can shoot round two corners and still knock a copper's hat off."

  The tunnel widened out a little now. There was a path on either side and both of them were crowded with warriors who gazed without friendliness at their brother Borribles in the boat below. Adolf they prodded with their spears and the Adventurers sat quietly, hoping that he would not lose his temper and start another fight. They felt miserable and apprehensive. Borribles, although inclined to argue amongst themselves, were on the whole congenial people. The Adventurers had known that Wendles were the fiercest of all the tribes but hadn't realised that they were quite so military and suspicious. Napoleon tried to explain the situation to his companions as they went along.

  The Wendles, he argued, lived in constant fear of the Rumbles; their territory was the nearest to Rumbledom and had a long frontier with it. Along that frontier the Rumbles outnumbered the Wendles by at least five to one and the Borribles of Wandsworth had only kept their freedom by maintaining a warlike stance. Over the years this had made them into warriors, mistrustful, cunning and hard.

  "Still, they certainly look like a gross of top quality villains to me," said Vulge, "and I should know, we've got a few over in Stepney."

  The conversation was brought to a halt by the loud voice of Tron shouting down at the exhausted Adolf.

  "Stop there, you, mush!"

  "I've got a name, you know, Wendle," said Adolf, looking up, his face covered in mud and sweat. "In fact, I've got three names, Adolf Wolfgang Amadeus, and I would never tell you the story of how I got them," and with that insult Adolf swore his favourite oath, "Verdammt."

  "You probably got the names second-hand," said Tron sneering and beginning to bring out the first in a series of Borrible insults.

  "Even that is better than finding your name in a dustbin," said Adolf with spirit. "Fingy is the name that would suit you well if it were not too flattering."

  "Cut it out," yelled Knocker, "this can only lead to trouble. Remember we are after the Rumbles, not each other."

  Adolf turned his muddy face to Knocker; even under the grime and weariness the blue eyes sparkled mischievously. "Yes, great leader," he said ironically. "Our adventure must come first," and then he whispered in a lower tone so that only Knocker could hear him, "but I hope I get a crack at this lot one day. I'll bash those tin helmets of theirs right down past their teeth."

  The Adventurers were ordered to stand on the bank while the boat was made fast and Halfabar lifted out. He had recovered enough to stand now, although he looked a little groggy and his face was greener than usual because of the quantities of stinking water he had swallowed. He looked round until he saw Adolf, a wet and muddy figure who was being hauled ashore by Stonks and Torreycanyon. Halfabar staggered away from the two Wendles who held him upright and pushed roughly through the little knot of Adventurers who waited on the tow-path. He halted in front of Adolf and shoved his green face up to the slime– and sweat-covered one of the German.

  "It is not over between you and me," he hissed, his angry and smelly breath enveloping Adolf's head and making him wince. "One day we'll meet again, where you can play no tricks, and I'll kill you."

  "A Borrible who has no tricks is no Borrible," said Adolf pleasantly, reciting an old German proverb. "You'd better go and have a good rest; you need more strength, my little girl. Right now you could probably hit me a hundred times before I noticed you were there." And the German turned and followed his companions along a narrow but dry sewer tunnel that led upwards and away from the main river.

  The Adventurers were escorted by an armed guard of Wendles and all around they heard the squelching tread of those who had captured them in the river. On their river patrols the Wendles always wear waders and when they walk the noise is strange and makes the hair creep, and when a hundred march together it sounds like a wet centipede on the move.

  "Where's Napoleon?" Knocker asked Bingo who was beside him.

  "They took him off ahead, on his own," answered Bingo. "I hope he sticks by us."

  Knocker was worried but he comforted himself with the thought that however suspicious the Wendles might be of outsiders, it was in their interest that the Great Rumble Hunt should take place. The chances of it succeeding were small but if it did the Wendles would be safe for years to come. After all, they had sent one of their own men to be trained for the mission.

  "It'll be all right," said Knocker, loud enough for all his companions to hear, "they've probably just taken Napoleon off to check that we're not trouble-makers. He'll be back."

  They marched on and the tunnel rose and twisted and they shone their torches at the floor which was uneven and broken.

  "Keep close together," said Knocker. "If there's any trouble we'll form two lines, back to back."

  A few minutes later they came into a vast underground cavern with a floor that sloped steeply away from them. It must once have been the central chamber for the Wandsworth sewage system back in the nineteenth century. Now it was dry and its elegant brick arches were beginning to crumble.

  Scores of Wendles were present, standing around the side of the cavern, with late-comers emerging from the many corridors that led there from all parts of the huge borough. Each Wendle held a torch and together they spread an eerie light over the scene. Tron's voice sounded from behind. "Keep going, straight in front of you, over there, where you see that platform. You're going to see Flinthead."

  On the far side of the hall stood a small podium and on it was one chair and in that chair sat Flinthead himself; by his side stood Napoleon Boot, talking rapidly to his chief, who appeared to be ignoring him.

  Flinthead gazed down at the Adventurers as they lined up. His eyes didn't move and though Knocker watched very carefully the Chief Wendle didn't seem to blink. Knocker surmised that this was because he always lived in the dark and never saw the sun, though it was said that he knew exactly what happened everywhere. Flinthead was the most cunning, the most merciless and the most unpredictable of all the Wendles. Every Wendle went in deadly fear of him, yet he commanded a strange loyalty, a loyalty born out of the threat that surrounded the whole community.

  Knocker looked across at Napoleon for some hint of what was going to happen but Napoleon could only raise and lower his eyebrow
s quickly to indicate that they would all have to wait and see what Flinthead would do. Still the Chief of the Wendles said nothing. Everything that had been in the boat was now brought forward and exhibited in front of the line of captives and while they waited Knocker continued his scrutiny of the Chief Wendle. His eyes were frosted over like lavatory windows, impenetrable; they didn't gleam or glint and still they didn't move; it was uncanny. His face was rubbery and, in the light of the hundreds of battery torches, seemed streaked with grey and dark green. His nose was like a false plastic one that had been too near the fire and had melted. It was an evil nose, a dangerous nose, a nose that could smell out treachery and deceit even when there was none. On his head he wore a helmet of copper riveted together in sections and it had an extra piece that came between his eyes and attempted to protect, or hide, the nose, but the nose was too big for concealment. His body was small and wiry, like that of other Borribles, and he was clothed in warm wool-lined waders and a plastic jacket painted with bright golden paint.

  His head moved at last and his eyes shifted with it as if they had no independent movement. He looked along the line of Adventurers and at their belongings, then his head became immobile again. Napoleon continued to pour his story into Flinthead's ear, pointing out his companions in turn, giving their names and telling what equipment they had brought. Flinthead began to nod as the tale went on.

  "What power he has," thought Knocker, looking round the great hall. There must have been hundreds of Wandsworth Borribles in the cavern now and although they talked amongst themselves there was none of that cheerful anarchy that one normally associated with the general meetings of any of the Borrible tribes he knew.

  "Is your lot like this?" he asked Chalotte, who was standing next to him.

  "No, they certainly aren't," she replied. "Creepy, isn't it?"

  It was amazing to Knocker how Flinthead had acquired this power. A Borrible community as a rule has little organisation above that of the Borrible house, or at the most, and in emergencies only, the street.

  Knocker's thoughts were interrupted when Flinthead slowly raised his left hand, stopping all conversation in the great hall immediately. Every Borrible there must have had at least one eye on Flinthead, every Borrible that is except Bingo and Adolf who had been deeply engrossed in cheering each other with tales of what they were going to do to the Wendles when they got half a chance.

  "Ja," Adolf's voice boomed over the silent hall. "Starting with Halfabar, I'll obliterate them."

  "And I'll see to Flintbonce there, just for starters," yelled Bingo, and then stopped as he realised that maybe two hundred ears had heard him, that one hundred torches now beamed on him and two hundred eyes had seen him and would remember his face. Worst of all, the blank eyes of Flinthead himself now came to rest upon Bingo like the heavy hand of death.

  Flinthead waited and the hall became quieter and quieter, every increase in the silence making the atmosphere more difficult to breathe. Then he spoke and when his voice came it came as a shock. It was a friendly voice, warm and solicitous, like a kind uncle asking after a favourite nephew's health. His mouth smiled, but no other part of his face shared in that smile; his mind was elsewhere, wondering perhaps how to injure the health that had been the very point of his question. He addressed the line of Adventurers.

  "Welcome, my friends," he said, looking as if he wished Adolf and Bingo six feet deep in Wandle mud. "Welcome to Wandsworth. You must forgive us, fellow Borribles, if we seem so . . . defensive. You live far from these rugged frontiers, whereas we exist under the constant threat of Rumbledom and its rapacious denizens. It would be so easy for them, you understand, to come pouring down the hillsides and across Southfields and into this Borough where we . . . pick up a poor living. Heaven knows why they covet what is ours, but then greed is a terrible thing, and although the Rumbles seem to us to be rich beyond the dreams of avarice, we find them everywhere, taking more and more. You captured only one Rumble on your frontier and yet you immediately gathered an elite force from all over London to punish them. Think how much more we feel the need to protect ourselves when we have thousands of Warrior Rumbles on our very doorsteps. But let us forget your awkward welcome. Now that we know exactly who you are, and where you are going, we join in common cause with you. Your enemy is our enemy, your fight our fight."

  He coughed, thought for a moment and then went on. "Napoleon Boot, a warrior who carries our trust as well as our love, has told me of you and who you are and what you intend to do when once you reach Rumbledom. It is a good plan, though hazardous, and we hope you succeed. For the present our warriors will look after you. Sleep well and tomorrow Tron will set you on your way to Merton Road; there you leave our territory. Eat well, too. We shall give of our best."

  Knocker stepped forward and bowed low and then raised his head and looked straight into the cold eyes. "What," he asked, making his voice sound even and mature, "will happen to our boat? We shall need it for the return journey."

  A smile lived for a second on Flinthead's face and then died. "We shall guard your boat as carefully as something of our own. After all, you will need it to carry your spoils."

  "If indeed there are any," replied Knocker. "Can you, on our return, guarantee us a passage down the Wandle, till we are safe on the Thames?"

  "My own personal bodyguard shall be with you as you leave here and shall be at your disposition when you return. That shows how important it is to us that your mission succeed and will be a measure of our gratitude if it does. Next time we shall know you and our welcome will be more . . . amiable. For the present Tron will take you all to a comfortable room that has been prepared."

  Flinthead gestured and Tron and Halfabar came forward and indicated that the Adventurers should follow them. After bowing in the direction of the podium they turned about and walked across the huge hall in the footsteps of their guides. The Wendle crowds pushed back and made room for them as if frightened of touching their bodies, but they gazed curiously at their cousins for it was rare for them to meet Borribles from another Borough.

  Knocker did not follow the others immediately. He moved closer to the platform and looked up at Flinthead once again.

  "Does Napoleon come with us, or does he stay here with you?" he asked the Chieftain.

  The Chief Wendle smiled like a tombstone. "He had best stay with you, I think, then you can leave together in the morning. He has told me all I want to know, especially about you, Knocker. I think the Adventure might succeed with you at its head."

  "I am not its leader, Flinthead," protested Knocker, looking angrily at Napoleon.

  "I know," said, Flinthead dismissively, "you are a—what is it—Historian? We all know how to bend the rules, especially that Spiff fellow. Well, whatever you are, I hope you win through. I ask only one thing, and this I want you to promise, that you come back to us and recount all the details and dangers of your expedition and adventures. One of the few pleasures I have is listening to the stories of those who set off to earn their names. I want to hear how you fare, including Napoleon here; a fine name he will have."

  "It will be only a small recompense for all the hospitality we have received at your hands," said Knocker politely, though he was deeply troubled in his mind by Flinthead's behaviour. He knew from Spiff that the Chief Wendle had a reputation for meanness and double-dealing. But at that moment all Knocker could do was to pretend he believed everything he was told. Knocker looked at Napoleon. He was a Wendle too and in a crisis would stand and fight with the Wendles, that was only natural. It wouldn't do to trust him with any secrets; secrets would only get to the ear of Flinthead and if the secrets were valuable then Knocker's life, and the lives of the others, wouldn't be worth a handful of Wandle mud.

  Flinthead stood, ready to leave. "You are too kind," he said and then without another word he raised his hand and the Wendles in the hall began to leave. Flinthead's bodyguard assembled at the rear of the platform and the Chief went down the steps and was lost in the
middle of his men. The bodyguard was formed of well-armed and experienced fighting Wendles, about fifty of them. It would be almost impossible to harm the Chieftain without their connivance, and they were probably loyal to a man.

  Napoleon watched his leader go and then came to the front of the platform and jumped down to stand beside Knocker.

  "That is a great Borrible," he said scornfully, "no little Spiff in a dressing-gown, but a warrior who thinks and plans and knows things. He sees what you are thinking even as it comes to your mind."

  "Spiff is just as crafty and just as clever in his own way," answered Knocker. "Anyway, let us catch up with the others, I'm starving."

  Napoleon shrugged his shoulders and turned to lead the way across the hall which was emptying now of Wendles. "They should have sent half a dozen of us on this expedition," he said, "we'd have done it easy."

  "You may think that Wendles are better than anyone else, but we think we're pretty good, too." Knocker spoke evenly, trying not to argue with Napoleon.

  Napoleon drew a deep breath as if going to launch into an angry speech, but he stopped as if he had remembered something. He half smiled. "Yes," he said at length, "we'll just have to put up with what we've got."

  They ran along a dry tunnel and soon caught up with their companions who were being escorted by Tron, Halfabar and about twenty other armed Wendles. After a while they were led into a well-furnished and comfortable room which by Borrible standards was luxurious indeed, with carpets on the floor, a few armchairs and an abundance of cushions and blankets for relaxation and sleep.

  The haversacks were brought in and the guards hurried away, only Tron and Halfabar stood at the door for a moment, looking at the Adventurers as they threw themselves down to rest. Then they too departed, locking the door behind them.

  Orococco stood up quickly. "They've locked the door," he said angrily, looking at Napoleon.