The Borribles

by Michael Larrabeiti

  "But that is not what we came for." Knocker looked at the ring of faces that surrounded him, searching for some support. The support came immediately, from an unexpected source.

  "No," said Napoleon Boot stepping forward, "that is not what we came for. I'm with Knocker."

  "I think I have earned my English name," said Adolf. "I understand Chalotte, she is right, we have done enough, but I go with Knocker. That is because I am slightly mad. I have a thing about Adventures."

  "We all want to go really," said Bingo, sitting on his haversack, "but . . . I mean . . . we've been so knocked about by Erbie, and we haven't eaten properly for ages."

  "We aren't fit for the job, now, are we?" said Torreycanyon. "Perhaps we should rest up for a bit, eh?"

  "What are you on about?" snapped Napoleon. "We can't go back now, what would we look like?"

  Seven Borribles looked selfconscious and shifted their feet.

  "However rotten we feel," insisted Knocker, "we've got to go on. We're free now, that's a tonic in itself. Anyway, you lot can do what you like. The three of us are going. Get the horse, Nap."

  Bingo stood up and the others moved a step.

  Chalotte said, "If Knocker and Nap can agree for once then something very dodgy is happening, so we'll have to go along, I suppose, to see what they're up to," and she gave Knocker and Napoleon a long and piercing look.

  Bingo shrugged his shoulders, threw his haversack into the cart and quoted a proverb at no one in particular, "If you're my friend, follow me round the bend."

  The others did as he did and exchanged grim smiles with Knocker. The horse was brought from the stable and Sydney went over and spoke to him affectionately.

  "So we're all going to Rumbledom, Sam, after all, and you will come with us. Rumbles don't like horses, but we do, you will be our mascot and mate and we will protect you." And all of them stroked him and gave him lumps of sugar they had taken from the house and they put him between the shafts and made ready. They took a long raincoat from the house too, a good one that Dewdrop had always worn on rainy nights, and Bingo who was the lightest, sat on Stonks's shoulders, for he was the strongest, and Stonks sat on the driving seat of the cart and they put the raincoat round Bingo's shoulders and it looked for all the world as if an adult was driving. The rest of the Adventurers hid under the tarpaulin at the back and with a crack of the whip and with a "Giddeyup, old Sam, me deario, ain't it?" Bingo drove them out of the yard and they began the last lap of their journey to the borders of Rumbledom, South-West Nineteen.

  "There's one thing," said Knocker, as they all sat warm and content under the canvas, "we were in Engadine so long that the Rumbles have probably given us up for dead—and if they don't like horses, so much the better. Sam can take us right up to their front door and kick it down."

  7

  It was dark.

  It was the darkest part of the night but Sam knew the way to Rumbledom and he pulled the cartload of Borribles joyfully, knowing in his heart that he would be beaten and cursed no more. He took them away from the hateful memories of Engadine, and Bingo, secure on the shoulders of Stonks, sang a rousing Borrible song to himself, a song that told of the dangers past and the dangers to come.

  "Sound the fife and beat the drum,

  We're riding, we're riding to Rumbledom!

  Dewdrop's dead, and 'Erbie too,

  We're going to do what we must do.

  Onwards we ride to glorious fame,

  To rout the Rumbles and earn a name!

  With a fee and a fo and a fie and a fum,

  We're riding, we're riding to Rumbledom!

  From Peckham, and Stepney, and Tooting we come!

  We're riding, we're riding to Rumbledom!

  Wandsworth, Whitechapel and Neasden too,

  We're going to do what we must do.

  Ahead lies battle and maybe death,

  We'll soldier on as long as we've breath

  To rid the world of that snouted scum,

  We're riding, we're riding to Rumbledom!

  Armoured in courage from bonce to bum,

  We're riding, we're riding to Rumbledom!

  Though they are many and we are few,

  We're going to do what we must do.

  So, giddeyup Sam, and spare no speed!

  Forward to war, O noble steed!

  To triumph, or Hell, or Kingdom Come,

  We're riding, we're riding to Rumbledom!"

  Bingo's companions joined in the song, their hearts full of a divine excitement, a feeling which mingled strangely with the serene joy they felt at being Borribles, at being alive and together on an adventure that would be sung about again and again in the years to come.

  Sam took them through many deserted roads and gardens and strange silent streets, heaving the old cart across the steep hills which guarded the borders of Rumbledom. The horse strode out purposefully, head down and legs thrusting hard, the colour of his coat alternating between deep purple and gold as he entered and left the quiet pools of light which fell gracefully from the tall white swan-necks of the concrete street-lamps. Sam pulled them from Brookwood to Elsenham, into Augustus where the slopes began in earnest. Up Albert Drive and Albyn, through Thursley Gardens and along Seymour and Bathgate, up Somerset Road at last and the slopes flattened and the sky lightened and turned blotchy like yesterday's porridge and a cold dark wind came across a boundless open space and numbed the intent of the Adventurers as they peered from beneath the warm canvas. The crisp air lined their lungs with ice, chilling their blood at the heart. Sam hesitated. One last road to cross—Parkside. He shook his head and neighed valiantly and went out into the green and black stillness that was Rumbledom.

  Bingo guided the horse and cart to a large clump of trees not far advanced into the wilderness. The wintry light of morning glinted without friendliness on a sheet of water nearby. "Bluegate Gravel Pit, Disused," said the map.

  "We'll camp by the water's edge," said Knocker to Bingo, "then at least we can't be attacked from the rear, and we can post lookouts along the line of trees."

  "There's no one about," said Bingo, "it doesn't look like we've been spotted. If we make it to those trees, we'll be safe."

  Sam pulled them towards the copse. The cart lurched and jolted and the Borribles, who were standing now, had to hang on with all their strength to avoid being thrown out under the wheels. They looked keenly in every direction to see if there was any sign of their enemies, but not a bird flew overhead and not a dog hunted through the clumps of grass, even on the horizon where the grey sky was brightening.

  "Come on, Sam, my old deario," cried Bingo in a tired voice, "nearly there, ain't it? Then we'll rest and eat all day, my little darling."

  Sam dragged the cart deep into the copse and halted. His coat was steaming and his legs were trembling after the long uphill flight from Engadine. Bingo pulled on the brake and the Adventurers leapt to the ground. They spread out in all directions to search through the undergrowth, making certain that there were no Rumbles in hiding or, even more dangerous, that there was no entrance here to a Burrow, one of those large underground warrens where Rumbles live in security and comfort.

  They found no trace of the enemy and so Napoleon and Vulge prised Bingo up and away from the shoulders of Stonks and stood him on the ground. Bingo stretched and rubbed his legs. "What an empty and gloomy old dump Rumbledom is," he said. "What's on the other side?"

  "Not much," said Knocker. "There's no more London, just countryside with separate houses, funny."

  "And they lives down below," whispered Vulge, pointing downwards, "right under our very feet, eh?"

  "That's right," said Orococco. "They lives in Burrows and we lives in Boroughs. That's the difference!"

  "Hey, you lot," called out Napoleon, "come over here and help me with poor old Stonks. He's gone all stiff-solid, carrying Bingo all this way; he's got cramp in all his muscles. Poor sod can't move."

  The Borribles gathered round and inspected their rigid
companion.

  "Don't worry," he said, hardly able to move his mouth, "I'm all right, honest. Keep your eyes open 'stead of fussing about me; they might creep up on you."

  "Chalotte and me will go on watch," said Sydney, and the two girls went to the edge of the copse to stare across the rolling fields.

  The others lifted Stonks gently from the cart. He came off the seat as stiff as an armchair. They laid him on the grass on his side but his body remained in the sitting position.

  "Just give me a rub down." He tried to laugh. "I'll soon be as good as new."

  They took turns in rubbing Stonks hard on his legs, arms and back, and when his muscles were loosened a little they covered him with sleeping bags to keep him warm. Then they settled down for a council of war.

  No noise came across the open spaces of Rumbledom but traffic whined along Parkside now as people began to make their way to work. Only one thing was moving near them in the dreary landscape, the cool black steam that rose from the surface of the gravel pit.

  It was easy to decide what they needed at that moment—food and rest. They opened their haversacks and made a feast of the food they had brought from Dewdrop's house. There were tins of beans, loaves of sliced bread, packets of biscuits, tins of steak-and-kidney pie, rice pudding, slabs of chocolate, both milk and plain, with nuts and raisins. There was cheese and liver-sausage and bottles of Guinness and cans of ale. Dewdrop and Erbie had lived well and it was a complete banquet, coming as it did after the weeks of privation in the cellars of Engadine.

  Then, with two of their number constantly on watch, they slept all morning. In the afternoon they just dozed or sat chatting lazily to one another, firing their catapults at the water as they talked. Some fell asleep again, to wake up later and join in the conversation. They talked about the Rumbles, their adventures so far, and of the training that Knocker and Dodger had given them and would they ever, all of them, get home safe and sound.

  "They like staying in the warm," said Knocker of the Rumbles. "It is well into winter now, so they'll spend most of their time in the Burrows. We've been so long in coming that it's probable that they've forgotten about us and won't have many lookout patrols on the go. On the other hand they are no fools and they're sly. They may have seen us already, they may be on the other side of the horizon, gathering their forces."

  "Has anyone, apart from a Rumble that is, ever seen the inside of a Burrow?" asked Chalotte.

  "No," said Knocker, "but according to Spiff, who knows more about them than any other Borrible, you want to forget the idea of it being a cosy little Burrow, it's really a defensive Bunker, very luxurious though, carpeted, pictures on the wall, separate rooms, beds, blankets and bathrooms, centrally-heated, of course, work-shops. They want for nothing and they eat well, though you couldn't eat what they eat, funny stuff, make you sick, it would. The Bunkers are complicated, designed like a spider's web, strong, lots of cement. Rumbles, they know every inch of it. Some of you will get lost, be set on in a cul-de-sac. But remember the place in the middle to which all the tunnels lead, it's called the Central. When you get in the Bunker you'll be on your own, each one of you has got to do for your namesake and then hop it. You know what they look like, you did that in training."

  "We get in, get our target, and then get out," said Sydney.

  "That's it," answered Knocker. "We'll rendezvous back here. If anyone is captured, or wounded, or killed, the others do not wait. The survivors take the horse and cart and they go, night or day. There may be thousands of Rumbles after us and they can fight, too. They could easily over-run us and massacre us by sheer weight of numbers."

  "I wish I knew what they were up to," said Vulge, standing up and firing his catapult at a plastic icecream cup floating on the gravel pit and sinking it with his first stone. "It's too damn quiet!"

  Just then Orococco pushed his head through the trees. "There's a sweet little Rumble comin' this way, sniffin' with his snout and poking about in the grass with a nail on the end of a long stick! I could exterminate the little nuisance from about fifty yards."

  "Oh, boy," said Vulge, slipping his bandolier over his shoulder, "if he's alone let's nobble him and ask him a few questions, see what his mates are up to."

  Napoleon who had been asleep rolled over and said lazily, "Yeah, someone go and bring the little feller in."

  "Don't harm him," said Knocker to Orococco. "We want him alive. Remember, they talk to children. If he doesn't suss you as a Borrible, tell him you've got something you want him to see, here in the trees."

  "That might make him run a mile," joked Orococco flashing his teeth.

  "Well, in that case, clout him across the head and drag him in by his feet," said Napoleon and went back to sleep.

  Those who were awake sprang up and ran through the bushes till they reached the perimeter of the copse. Across the windswept grass, picking his way slowly through the gorse bushes, they saw the Rumble. He was sniffing about cautiously and a great deal of the time he flicked his eyes around as if fearing attack or discovery. Orococco was already some distance away, skipping, affecting aimless pleasure.

  "He's pretending to be a normal," said Knocker, and they all watched.

  Orococco kept the gorse bushes between him and the Rumble for as long as he could but eventually the Rumble noticed him. The Rumble stopped and looked about with more nervous twists of the head. But he saw no one, only Orococco hopping happily along like a child playing truant from school. The Rumble sank behind a small gorse bush till only its snout protruded. Orococco pretended that he'd seen nothing and made as if to skip by, but then he stopped and the watchers saw him wave at the Rumble who came out from behind the bushes and stepped hesitantly towards the black Borrible.

  Orococco clapped his hands and talked for a while; he pointed towards the copse where his companions were hidden, then he waved again at the Rumble and skipped on.

  "Wonder if it'll work?" said Vulge.

  "Depends what he told him," said Chalotte.

  The Rumble stood where he was for several minutes waiting for Orococco to disappear over the horizon. As soon as he thought he was alone he turned and began to run towards the Borribles.

  "Verdammt, it has worked," cried Adolf, rubbing his hands.

  "Spread out," said Knocker. "Get behind a tree or something and when the little bleeder comes by, jump him."

  From their hiding places the Borribles watched the approach of the solitary Rumble. The animal's snout pulsated with suspicion, the small red eyes darted from right to left, probing, trying to see beyond the trees. It raised its Rumble-stick, it could smell something wrong but its greed had been greatly aroused by Orococco's tale. The padded feet brought it nearer and nearer. At the edge of the trees it halted and turned to look over the wild downs. Nothing moved on the surface of the countryside. The Rumble shifted the bag that was thrown across his shoulder, took a deep breath through its snout and plunged into the copse. It did not plunge very far. As it passed between two trees Vulge and Torreycanyon rose from the matted undergrowth like two fast-growing man-eating plants, one before and one behind the surprised Rumble.

  "Aaaaagh," it squealed, the sound beginning loudly but fading away to a weak and disjointed whimper.

  "Aaaaagh," imitated Vulge. Then he grabbed the Rumble by the scruff of its fur and shook it as if trying to dislocate every bone in its body. "You mouldy old eiderdown, we've come a long way to have a chat with you. Gone through endless dangers to engage you in fruitful converse, and all you can do is go 'Aaaaagh'."

  "Yeah," joined in Torreycanyon, slapping the animal gently across the snout, "you're a rat." He did not have the same inventive vocabulary that Vulge was blessed with.

  The animal drew itself up. "I'm not a wat," it said, "I'm a Wumble."

  "And I'm Towweycanyon, a howwible Bowwible," said Torreycanyon and he seized the Rumble-stick. "Look at this," he said to Vulge, "a very nasty tool."

  "Yeah," agreed the Stepney Borrible, "and there's thousands of Ru
mbles out there and they've all got one. Come on, let's get back to the clearing."

  They held the prisoner by his arms and dragged him back to the middle of the trees where the others soon gathered. They sat the Rumble down by the cart and tied him to one of the wheels.

  "Oh, my goodness," said the Rumble, looking nervously around, "I weally can smell a horse. You can't wealise how dweadful they are."

  "Isn't it marvellous how they can't talk properly?" said Vulge, giving the ropes a really good pull and a tug to make sure the prisoner couldn't escape.

  The Borribles sat round the prisoner in a semicircle and even those who had been dozing woke up and came over towards the cart to examine the captive.

  "Right," said Bingo cheerfully to the Rumble, "we're going to ask you some interesting questions, and you're going to give us some interesting answers. If you don't keep us amused, if we should get in the slightest bit bored, I shall give you to Sam to eat. He likes hay."

  "Sam's the horse," said Chalotte in a kindly, menacing way.

  "Aaaaagh," groaned the Rumble, weakly.

  "Well that's bloody boring for a start," said Vulge. "If he's going to say nothing but 'Aaaaagh' all the time, we might as well give him to Sam straight away."

  Sam the horse, hearing his name mentioned so often, ambled across to the group of Borribles and stood contentedly looking over their shoulders, munching. He looked at the furred creature with a certain amount of appetite, for it is a fact that horses enjoy eating the occasional Rumble, finding that they taste like well-matured hay, good and sweet and nourishing. The Rumble shrank back in his bonds. Though normally quite courageous, understandably enough neither he, nor any of his kind, could bear the sight or smell of a horse.

  "Don't let him near me," he shrieked. "I'll talk, I'll tell you evewything, only don't let him touch me."

  Vulge looked round the half-circle of his friends. "Well," he said, "at least that's better than 'Aaaaagh'."