The Borribles

by Michael Larrabeiti

  "How many Rumbles in your Bunker?" asked Torreycanyon.

  A thin yellow tongue appeared briefly along the slit in the Rumble's snout. "There's hundweds, certainly, maybe more, but we're only one Bunker, there are hundweds of those too, all interconnected."

  "And the High Command, the eight top names, where are they?" asked Sydney, her voice cool.

  "You know about the Eight?" asked the Rumble, looking at them with a growing terror. "Then you're not ordinawy childwen, you're . . ."

  "That's wight, my old china," scoffed Vulge, "we're howwible Bowwibles. You want to listen when we talk to you."

  The questioning went on all through the afternoon, with the Rumble gradually realising that this was the Great Rumble Hunt that had been promised.

  The Borribles found out many things. The Rumble that Knocker and Lightfinger had captured all that time ago had returned alive to Rumbledom country. His story had struck fear and dismay into the hearts of all Rumbles, young and old, male and female. But that fear had hardened into anger, and the dismay had crystallised into resolution and the Rumbles had looked about them.

  At first the High Command, following the general mood, had over-reacted, conscripting all their able-bodied animals into the Warrior Corps. Training had been intensive and Rumble scouts had been sent out regularly as far as Southfields and even to Wandsworth Common. Some had been settled in a continuous line along the railway line over which it was thought the Borrible force would be obliged to advance, for the Rumbles had expected a mass invasion. This impression had been conveyed to them by Timbucktoo, the Rumble that Knocker had treated so roughly in Battersea Park. He had led his compatriots to believe that a vast horde of Borribles was on the march and that all of Borrible London was in a state of war.

  But the weeks had gone by and there had been no sign of the enemy. The Borrible threat receded in the mind of the ordinary Rumble. The scouts deserted their posts and returned to the life of comfort and ease to which, to tell the truth, they were well used. Patrols still went out to Southfields and such, but Rumbles dislike the streets as much as Borribles hate the countryside and so the patrols had become less frequent and more inefficient. Most Rumbles completely forgot the menace of the Great Rumble Hunt, others suggested that it had only been a vain threat made in anger, one that the Borribles could never sustain. "Anyway," thought the average Rumble, if he thought about it at all, "those Borribles are mean snivelling little dirty things, they could never make the long and perilous journey to Rumbledom, they don't possess the wherewithal, the knowledge, the brains. They couldn't mount such an expedition with their resources. They live in rotten little streets and barely scrape a living. They have enough to do to stay alive. No," they argued, "the vast domain of Rumbledom, on top of the great hill, on top of the world almost, is safe."

  But the Rumble High Command did not see the problem in quite the same way. They had been threatened, and though the threat might only be an idea as yet, it was an idea of their overthrow and a great danger lurked in it. It was a concept that could lead only to disaster if nothing was done. Furthermore, they felt, they had a perfect right to go wherever they wished, beholden to no one, and that right must be defended.

  So the High Command had made a plan, emanating from their chief and dictator, Vulgarian. They must strike before they were struck; destroy the Borribles of Battersea before their idea could take root and spread. A large Rumble force of crack regiments would be equipped for a night attack on Battersea High Street, to seek out and destroy any Borribles they found and obliterate the Borrible war-machine that Timbucktoo had assured them was being prepared.

  Warriors had been put into special training and were ready to undertake the long journey. They had not the slightest intention of marching those many miles; they already had one motor-car and only awaited the delivery of others before setting out. They intended to strike with speed and in several places at once, causing as much panic and destruction amongst the Borrible population as possible.

  In addition to such offensive measures, the Rumbles had seen to their own defences and reviewed the whole situation. There were only two entrances to the main bunker, and both were guarded day and night. Rumbles it was said never let go of anything, and they would hang on to Rumbledom for grim death. What had never occurred to them was that a tiny force of chosen Borribles would infiltrate their territory and attempt to assassinate the High Command and so leave the Rumbles leaderless and ineffective. Thus the Adventurers found that the element of surprise was with them; no one knew of their arrival. That was the good news; the bad news they had already known: they were hopelessly outnumbered and retreat, even if they succeeded in their task, would be impossible.

  When the Borribles were satisfied with their interrogation they moved away from their prisoner so they could talk without being overheard. They leant against the trees and discussed matters, scanning the horizon at the same time.

  "Well," said Bingo, "how are we going to play it?"

  "What our friend forgot to mention," said Knocker, "is that although there are only two entrances to the Bunker, there is in fact a ventilation shaft that comes out above the kitchens. It's in one of the books. I think that's the way we—I mean you—should go in."

  "Wait a minute," interrupted Stonks. "My target is the doorkeeper. I'll have to go in through the door, otherwise I might not find him."

  "I've got an idea," cried Torreycanyon. "We can make a diversionary attack on both doors, just a couple of us, and the main body can get in through the ventilator."

  "Here comes 'Rococco," said Stonks, "running."

  "What a mover," said Sydney. "I hope it's not bad news."

  Orococco stopped a few yards from the copse, turning to make sure no one was watching before he slipped into the trees.

  "Hello," he panted, "everything okay?"

  "We're just talking about how to attack," said Napoleon. "Any trouble?"

  "Nah," answered the Tooting Borrible, "I've just been for a little runaround, see what I could see. Did you get the Rumble I sent you?"

  "Not half," said the Wendle. "What did you find out?"

  "Well, I don't think they know we're here," said Orococco. "I saw quite a few of them wandering about with those lance things of theirs, Rumble-sticks, but they didn't look worried, just stooging up and down. I found the two entrances to the place, and I found out where the ventilation comes out, on top of a hill. It will be a piece of duff."

  Napoleon turned from listening to the Totter and looked at Knocker, suspicious again. "And what will you be up to during the attack, eh?"

  "Adolf and me will help cause as much confusion as possible," answered Knocker, without looking at the Wendle.

  "Not half, verdammt, " agreed the German.

  After a little more discussion Torreycanyon's plan was adopted unanimously and the Adventurers went back to the clearing. There, a surprise awaited them. The Rumble had disappeared, even the ropes that had bound him were gone.

  "Who tied him up then?" Napoleon shouted at Vulge, anger tightening his face.

  Vulge looked guilty. "I made sure he couldn't get free." He glanced at the others. "Really I did."

  "Bloody well looks like it, don't it?" said Napoleon. "If he gets back to his Bunker we've had it."

  "Don't panic," giggled Sydney, "look at Sam."

  The horse was lying down at one side of the clearing with a stupidly contented expression on his long face. From his mouth dangled a little frayed end of rope; it swung gently with the movement of his champing jaws.

  "Well, I'll be double verdammted, " cried Adolf. "Sam's eaten him," and he hooted.

  "Would you Adam-and-Eve it?" said Stonks incredulously. "So he has, the sly old rogue."

  "That makes one Rumble the less," said Napoleon practically. "I wondered what we were going to do with him."

  Sam gave a neigh of pleasure and rolled over on his side, stuck out his legs and promptly went into a deep sleep.

  "That's just what I'm going to
do, man," said Orococco, "get something to eat and then have a good snooze. After all, tonight's the night, eh?"

  That seemed like a good idea to everybody and after a light snack they curled up in their sleeping bags. Knocker, Adolf and Chalotte took the first watch of two hours, two hours to gaze across the chilly greeny-grey expanses of inhospitable Rumbledom.

  It was deep winter now and high up on this hill the air was sharp-edged and brittle. "No wonder those Rumbles have fur coats," thought Knocker, as he watched and shivered. Nothing moved out there in the vastness, nothing except a few adults taking dogs for walks or children racing along on bicycles. It was strange, he reflected, how this raid was going to take place and no adults, no policemen would ever know about it—but then there was a lot happened that they never knew about and didn't want to know about, either.

  Chalotte came and leaned against a tree nearby. She didn't look at Knocker at first, but kept watch over the green land where the advancing mist of dusk was making it difficult to distinguish between trees and gorse bushes, pathways and grass.

  "It's going to be dangerous, isn't it," she said. It wasn't a question.

  "We always knew some of us wouldn't survive," answered Knocker.

  "I sometimes think," said Chalotte, "that we're not really meant for this kind of Adventure. It would be nice to go back to being just a Borrible, living in our nice broken-down houses. You know the proverb 'Fruit of the barrow is enough for a Borrible'. I mean this Adventure has turned out to be far beyond what we normally do. It's suicide."

  "Wait a minute," protested Knocker, surprised. "This is the greatest Adventure we're ever likely to hear of, let alone go on."

  "Hmmmm." She sounded unconvinced. "You ought to make it clear to the others that by this time tomorrow they're likely to be dead. Who wants to die for a name? That was never Borrible."

  "Fruit of the barrow may be all right, but we've got to have Adventures, too. Look, if you hadn't come on this one you wouldn't have seen Dewdrop and Erbie and learned what happens to us when we get caught. We'd heard about it but now we've seen it, we know."

  "Yes, but supposing Spiff got it all wrong, supposing those Rumbles just came down on a spree, just to visit the Park, not take over all of Battersea, like he said. What then, eh? It would be silly, just them scared of us and us scared of them."

  "Oh, that's rubbish," said Knocker laughing coldly. "Old Spiff don't make bloomers like that, he just don't. He has studied the Rumbles for years, he knows them inside out. I mean, do you think the Wendles don't know what they're up against? Flinthead is Flinthead because of the Rumbles, it's all down to them . . . obviously."

  "You admire Spiff too much," said Chalotte. "The more I see of expeditions the more I think of getting back to where we belong. I mean how important is a name? You've got one and yet you're going on a suicide mission for another." She shook her head, glanced at Knocker, and then said what was really on her mind. "There's something else, isn't there? Something secret, that you know, and Spiff knows. Ordinary expeditions are fine adventures and funny, but this one is making us like the Wendles. That can't be good, can it? The things we do might look right now but they could turn out wrong in the end."

  Knocker became stern; he couldn't manage long and complicated arguments. "You and Sydney have really pulled your weight, all along. I didn't believe you could at the beginning, but you have. Are you going to spoil it all now by being scared?"

  Chalotte didn't become angry, in fact she smiled. "I told you at the start we'd be as good as anyone else. As for scared, well, we're all scared of something. You're scared that you won't get another name, and another after that." And she placed her hand ever so lightly on his and took it away again.

  Knocker blushed and turned his head to look at her but she was gone through the trees back to her lookout post. Over the sunless fields of Rumbledom the mist lay in pools and there was not a soul to be seen. Soon it would be dark; he would be glad when it started.

  The Borribles watched and slept by turns through the evening of that day but by midnight they could rest no more, so they roused themselves for one last meal together. They crowded under the cart and held their feast by the light of torches tied to the spokes of the cartwheels. They were subdued, but Adolf told them of his travels and how he had got his names, how this was the best adventure he had ever known and how happy and glad he was to be with such a band. He slapped Napoleon on the back and said he "wasn't bad for a Wendle," and even Napoleon had to laugh at that and he gave the German another can of Dewdrop's Guinness.

  At the blackest part of the night they began to prepare themselves. They reloaded their double bandoliers with the choicest stones and they replaced the used rubbers of their catapults. Adolf and Knocker even took with them the spare catapults they had used for their escape from Dewdrop's house. They removed all shiny things from their jackets and they tucked their trousers into their socks and tied the laces of their combat boots tightly and well so that nothing could get caught on nails and doors and things. They put Sam back between the shafts and loaded their haversacks onto the cart so they should be ready to run for it if they ever managed to get clear of the Bunker. When all was done they shovelled up a huge pile of stones from the gravelly shore of the lake and threw them into the cart as well. If they had to make a running retreat it would be an advantage to have a good supply of ammunition with them. At the very last, Knocker took a tin from his pocket, opened it, and began smearing his face with the contents. It was black greasepaint, used so that his white skin would not be spied by the enemy in the frosty starlight. Orococco laughed as the others followed suit.

  "Man, oh man, I've seen everything now. If we has a daylight attack, will you fellas get me some white paint so my face don't stick out?"

  His friends, feeling a little foolish, told him to "Shaddup", but he only laughed again, and at odd moments through the night he chuckled to himself whenever he saw the others with their black faces.

  When they were ready to leave they stood together and very tough and determined they looked. One by one they went to the horse and patted him and asked him to be patient, standing in the traces like that, and Sam neighed like a war-charger and stamped a hoof. Then they synchronised their watches and took a compass bearing on the copse and finally, without a light to guide them, they moved off in single file. Orococco led them out, for as he said, not only did he know the way, but he was still the blackest of them all.

  8

  It was a cold and clear night and a ground frost made their footsteps crunch loudly as they walked over the stiff white grass. They did not speak but there was not one of them who did not yearn at that moment for the crowded and friendly streets of his Borough. After a walk of about a mile Orococco stopped and the Adventurers gathered in a circle. The Borrible from Tooting could not resist a joke even then. "Why, friends," he laughed, "we looks like a Black and White Minstrel Show."

  "Get on with it," snapped Stonks, who like everybody else was very tense and eager to begin.

  "Okay, Mr Bones," said Orococco, "you see that mound beginning to rise a little, over there, against the sky? That's the Bunker, only it looks like a hill. There's a couple of saplings and a few bushes to the right; they screens the Great Door. If we climbs the hill and walks over it in a straight line, we'll come to the exit hole of the ventilation network, and on in a straight line from that, 'bout half a mile, is the back door, smaller, not so well made. Don't stamp your feet when you're on the hill, you'll wake up all the rats in Rumbledom if you do."

  "Right then," said Stonks, "I get off here. My target's just the other side of that door."

  "With a hundred thousand friends," added Napoleon, sardonically.

  "Kind of odds that keep a Borrible alert," answered Stonks, not to be put down even by a friendly jest . . . and you never knew with a Wendle.

  "Who do you want to go with you?" asked Knocker. "We must get on, we've got to be out by dawn."

  "Torreycanyon, if he'll come," said Ston
ks turning to his friend.

  " 'Course I will," said Torreycanyon in answer and he began to creep quietly away. "We'll give you ten minutes, then we go in."

  The remainder went on, moving at a jogging trot up the side of the hill that rose over the Bunker. Sure enough, at the top, hidden by thick gorse bushes, was the main outlet for the air conditioning system of the whole Bunker city. It was covered by a large iron grille, solid and heavy, painted green to camouflage its appearance. Orococco said, "There she is. Now, who's coming with me to the other door? I can recommend it, very frail and only five hundred and fifty Rumbles guarding it. Any offers?"

  Bingo sprang up. "Battersea and Tooting together," he cried, "what a team! I'll pick you up by the legs, you old Totter, and bash them to smithereens with your head bone."

  Orococco turned to Knocker." Give us five minutes," he said, "and by the time you've got the kettle boiled for tea we'll be in there with you," and he and Bingo ran off.

  There were six of them left round the vent now; Chalotte, Sydney, Adolf, Napoleon, Vulge and Knocker himself. They squatted and waited.

  "Friends," said Vulge after a while, "those five minutes have gone into eternity. Shall we dance?"

  Napoleon forced his knife under the edge of the ventilation grille and pushed it in as far as it would go. Then he exerted all his strength and levered and twisted; the grille shifted in its sockets just a little.

  "It's coming," said Sydney, and shoved a stone into the gap so that the grille could not fall back into its grooves. Adolf and Knocker seized the edge of it and pulled together to upend the square of heavy iron before lowering it to the ground. Chalotte bent over the dark aperture and peered in. "It looks a long way down," she said.

  Napoleon risked a quick beam of light from his torch. The ventilation shaft dropped vertically for about ten feet then turned a right-angled corner.

  "There's only one way to find out where it goes," said Vulge, "and that's to go."

  They had all brought a length of strong rope with them, wound round their waists, and Vulge took his and tied it firmly to the foot of a nearby growth of gorse.