"I'll go first," he said. "I'll give you the whistle if it looks all right." He tested the rope and looked closely at the faces of his fellow Adventurers. " 'Ere we go—and don't let's get caught."
And he slipped over the edge and was gone. One moment he had been standing there smiling and wagging his head, the next nothing was to be seen but a section of tightened rope. A minute later the rope became slack and they heard the familiar Borrible whistle.
"I'll go next," cried Chalotte excitedly, and she took the cord firmly between her hands and stepped backwards into space, walking casually down the side of the shaft.
"Verdammt," said Adolf, nudging Knocker, "she is very good that girl."
Napoleon decided that Sydney should follow Chalotte and then he himself would go down. To Knocker and Adolf he simply said, "You two come afterwards, and remember the Adventure has really come to its climax now. You are not to interfere with any of us unless we ask. This is our Adventure, see."
Adolf watched the Wendle slither down the rope, leaving him and Knocker standing alone on the windy hill. "He doesn't like you very much, you know," he said to Knocker. "He thinks you are up to something."
Knocker grinned and whispered to the German, "I am up to something, mate, and you're going to be up to it with me. As for Napoleon it's in his nature to be suspicious, Wendles always are."
"Ho ho," hooted Adolf, "never mind all that. Something is what I like to be up to. Let's hurry."
Stonks and Torreycanyon sneaked through the gorse bushes on their bellies and approached the Great Door with caution. A premature alarm would alert the defences and change the task of the Borrible attackers from a difficult to an impossible one. The grass and bushes were damp with the threat of the coming dew and soon the two attackers and their clothes were drenched.
"We'll soon dry off when we get inside," said Torreycanyon. "I'll use my Rumble as a towel."
"It's funny in a way, isn't it?" said Stonks. He stopped crawling and faced his companion. "Going after a bloke with the same name. It's like going after yourself. I mean, the names we've got aren't our names, they're really theirs, and when we've eliminated them, why then the names will be ours for ever, and the Adventure we've had, even if we've been killed, can never be taken away."
"It'll be taken away if we're all killed and nobody gets back to tell the story. If it's never written down, then it's gone for ever, have you thought of that?"
"Yeah, maybe Knocker shouldn't have come this far. He can't be Historian if he's captured or killed."
Torreycanyon held Stonks by the arm for a moment. "Ah," he said, "but if he hadn't have come this far he would have had no story to tell."
About ten yards from the door they stopped side by side and checked their watches.
"Another five minutes."
"Look at that door," said Stonks, with respect in his voice, "im-bloody-pregnable." It was true. Although not large, for Rumbles are about the same size as Borribles, it was stoutly built in oak, with iron bars reinforcing it. Its hinges were massive and heavy, designed to withstand a great deal of battering. By the time it was vanquished, that door, all the Rumbles in Rumbledom could be behind it.
"This is the time for guile," said Torreycanyon wisely, "but what kind of guile, I do not know."
Stonks looked at his watch. "Come on," he said, "I have an idea. Let's unwind our ropes."
Stonks joined the two pieces of cord together, then crouching, he made for the trees that grew a short distance from the Bunker door. Torreycanyon followed.
At the foot of a stout sapling Stonks said, "You're going to climb this tree, so as it'll bend down with your weight. Here's the rope, tie the middle of it round the top of the tree and drop both ends down. Got it?"
"Yeah," said Torreycanyon, " 'course I got it," and he scrambled up the tree which drooped more and more as he climbed higher.
The tree swooped and bobbed as Torreycanyon tied the rope to the slim trunk and threw the loose ends to Stonks, whose shape he could make out only dimly in the darkness below. Then Torreycanyon felt himself drawn nearer and nearer to the ground, as the strongest of the Borribles pulled on the rope until the topmost twigs of the tree touched the grass.
"Stay where you are, Torrey," said Stonks breathlessly, "keep your weight on while I tie it down to this root over here."
It took Stonks but a moment to secure the sapling and when he had finished he allowed Torreycanyon to step from his perch.
"Whatever it is you're going to do, Stonksie, you'd better do it now, because the others are going in at this very moment."
As Torreycanyon said this someone stirred behind the Great Door. Stonks winked at his companion and took up the spare piece of rope that dangled from the tree-top. He went over to the Great Door, knocked and then spoke up firmly in a Rumble voice. "Sowwy to twouble you, old bean, but I've something splendid here and I thought you might like it, I mean it could do wonders for your weputation. Come on, Stonks, open up there's a good sort."
There was a second's hesitation on the far side of the door and then Stonks and Torreycanyon heard the bolts being slid and a key being turned in the massive lock.
"Torrey," whispered Stonks, "when I tip you the wink, do that rope," and Stonks stood behind the door as it swung slowly open.
Then Stonks the Borrible spoke to Stonks the Rumble, both of them the strongest of their tribe.
"I wealise you're vewy stwong, Stonksie, but even I don't think you can keep hold of this," and the Borrible put the rope's end around the door and thrust it into the greedy hand of the Rumble. "Hang on," said the Borrible, "wemember we Wumbles never let go," and he made a gesture to Torreycanyon who severed the restraining cord with one sweep of his knife. The sapling was released and it sprang upright with enormous power and speed, dragging the short end of rope with it. The Rumble door-keeper at the end of the rope, true to his breeding and upbringing, held on tightly and shot through the doorway like the first Rumble rocket to the moon, knocking the Great Door open with such force that it would have killed Stonks had he not jumped away from the danger.
The Rumble whizzed over the Borrible's head at escape velocity and was swung away in a wide arc. Still he held on and if he could have strengthened his grip he might have lived for ever, but when the sapling reached its apogee it suddenly and treacherously reversed its direction. So there came a moment when the Rumble was travelling away from the door at a speed that was much faster than safe, and the top of the sapling was travelling at the same speed but back towards the door. The rope became taut and even the remarkable strength of Stonks the Rumble could not hold onto it and it was torn from his grasp. He disappeared into the black night, a fast-moving silhouette against the starry sky.
"He'll be burned to a frazzle on re-entry," said Stonks with a sniff and a spit. They waited a long while in silence.
"He's been ages up there," said Torreycanyon with irritation.
Just then there came a scream and a crashing of branches from about three hundred yards away. Then there was a dull crump and the ground where the Borribles stood shook and shivered.
"Ah, that sounds like a satisfactory abort," said Torreycanyon, rising from his crouching position and sheathing his knife at last. He stepped over to Stonks and took his hand and shook it. "I'd like to be the first," he said, "to congratulate you on being the first of us to win a name. Well done, Stonks, no other's name but yours now."
The Great Door to the Bunker now stood open and undefended. The two Borribles tip-toed towards it and peered in. An electric light showed an entrance hallway with a comfortable armchair for the guard on duty. There were some blankets and nearby a little table with food and books to sustain the watcher during the long night. On the other side of the hallway a lighted tunnel led off to the heart of the Burrow. Both the hallway and the tunnel were lined with bricks and there was carpet on the floor and pictures on the walls. It looked very warm and comfortable, homely.
"Nobody about," said Stonks and they entered th
e hallway and pulled the massive door shut behind them.
"What a smashing place," said Torreycanyon. "Don't stint themselves, do they?"
"They have no need to, mate, no need," said Stonks and he shot the bolts and turned the key in the lock. "Look," he went on, "I've done my bloke so I'll stay here and watch the exit, that way we've got a line of retreat." He picked up the Rumble-stick which had belonged to the guard who had left his post so precipitately and he hefted it in his hand. "Any Rumble who tries to get the door from me will have four inches of nail in him. You can tell the others when you see them. I'll also pull some bricks from the wall and make a couple of barricades across the tunnel. If you come back this way you'll have to give the whistle and I'll let you over."
"It's a good idea," said Torreycanyon. "I'll tell anybody I see." Then he said, "I'd better get going. Goodbye, Stonks—don't get caught, eh?" And there was a catch to his voice as he spoke.
Stonks caught hold of his friend and embraced him. "Take care, my old china. Win your name well. Don't you get caught now, I'd miss you."
And Torreycanyon turned abruptly, a tear in his eye, and he ran down the lighted, twisting, dangerous tunnel as fast as he could go, eager for his name.
Orococco and Bingo slid down the bumpy hillside, getting wet where they sat and slithered on the soaking grass. The slope ended in a small cliff and they fell together, all of a heap, into a little open space at the bottom of the hill.
"Quiet, Bingo," whispered Orococco, "we've landed right on their doorstep."
"Saves walking," said the Battersea-ite.
They crept on all fours till they came up against the Small Door. As its name indicated it was less important then the Great Door on the other side of the hill; even a Borrible would have to crawl through this one. There was a judas in the door so that the guard could see outside without having to open the barricade. Still kneeling the two Borribles looked at each other, then back at the peep-hole.
"I suppose this calls for guile," said Bingo.
"That's all we got, man," said Orococco. He knocked at the door. There was no answer.
"He's sleeping," said Bingo and he knocked, this time with the butt of his catapult, very loudly indeed.
There was a sudden and muffled snort from behind the door. Orococco shook his head. "Sleepin' on duty, they deserves to get duffed up!" He put his face close up to the judas. It was very dark there under the bank where the door was concealed.
The flap in the door flew open and a sleepy voice said, "Who goes there, Wumble or foe?"
"A weal Wumble," said Orococco, flashing his teeth.
"No such thing as a black Wumble," said the guard, his snout coming up close to the opening and quivering distrustfully. "What's your name?"
"My name's Owococco," said Orococco, winking at Bingo who was close to the door but out of sight of the person within.
There was a shocked silence from the Rumble, then he said, "Wait a minute, that can't be your name, it's my name."
"Tewwibly sowwy," said Orococco, "you must be mistaken, old boy. Owococco is posalutely my name, always has been, don't yer know."
"I have no wish to be offensive," said the voice behind the door, "but I ought to know my own name. I'm fwightfully sowwy but I am Owococco," and the snout came nearer the little opening and sniffed and sniffed.
"You don't even smell like a Wumble," said the snout.
"Well," said the Totter from Tooting, "all I can say is open the door and have a look, and you will absotively wecognise me as one of your vewy own."
"I can't do that," said the guardian, "it's against the wules, and according to my list evewyone is in tonight."
"All wight then," said the black Borrible, "stick your nose wight out and take a weally good sniff and wecognise me and let me in. I'm exhausted, and I have important news for the High Command."
"I'm one of the High Command," said the Rumble, suddenly intrigued, "you may tell me all."
"I'll tell you nothing until you let me in," insisted Orococco. The snout came further out and attempted to sniff round the Borrible's face but he fell back half a step and the snout was obliged to push itself a little further and again a little further, still snuffling and vibrating. It was then that Bingo rose and seized the snout in both hands and held on with all his might. Orococco slipped the strong cord from his waist and wound it several times round the snout and, tying it very tightly, he fastened the free end to the root of a strong growing bush. The Rumble could hardly breathe but Bingo did not let go, nor did the rope slacken, for all the animal's struggles behind the door. Orococco got close to the snout. "Shaddup," he whispered, "if you don't stop that wriggling I'll beat your nose till it looks like a limp wind-sock."
The struggling abated, then stopped altogether.
"Now, listen," went on the black Totter, "you can reach the bolts, and you can reach the lock. Open up. We have an ultimatum for your mates, and they're going to get it one way or the other, whether you have a snout or not."
Orococco Rumble hesitated, there was a little more kicking of padded feet and a flailing of arms, but the snout did not move an inch from its imprisonment. Then the two Borribles heard the bolts slide and the key grate in the lock and Orococco threw his body at the door with such force that the cord holding the snout broke with a loud twang and nearly pulled the Rumble's head through the small aperture. This fierce assault slammed the body of the guardian back against the wall of the passage and there was a sickening thud.
Bingo vaulted into the corridor, rolled over and came to his feet holding his catapult at the ready, but he did not fire for this was Orococco's game. Orococco seized the Rumble-stick that leant inside the doorway and used the point to fling aside the door. The Totter drew back his arm, ready to thrust the deadly sticker into the furry breast of his namesake, but before his muscles could act the Rumble fell forward onto the floor, the weight of his body banging the Small Door shut.
Bingo sprang to his feet and turned the body over. "Strewth," he said, "you must've broke his neck when you opened the door."
"Never stand behind a door when there's someone coming through the other side," said Orococco. "That's an old Tooting proverb which ain't in the book but ought to be."
"Hey," said Bingo, coming over to stand before his comrade, "you've got your name already. That's great, congratulations," and he slapped the Totter on the shoulder.
"Thanks, man," said Orococco, "now we'd better see about getting yours." And he turned and locked and bolted the door before slipping the key into his pocket. "Remember I got the key, Bingo, just in case I don't make it. Now let's go see if the others got the kettle on yet." And holding the sticker across his body he ran as fast as he could down the tunnel and Bingo sped along close behind him.
Vulge lay full length in the narrow ventilation shaft and inched his body along with his elbows; the top of the tunnel scraped his back. Behind him he could hear the others breathing hard as they followed. After a few yards, which seemed like miles, he came to a greasy grating set in the floor. He reached behind him with an effort and pulled his torch from a pocket of his combat jacket. He masked the beam with his hand and saw that he was at the end of the tunnel. Something bumped against his feet.
"Chalotte," he heard her say.
He shone his torch on the grating and saw that it was held down by four screws. He reached for his knife and slowly began to unscrew them.
"What's up?" asked Chalotte.
Vulge twisted his head as far as he was able. "Grating to the kitchens, four screws," he whispered and then went back to his work. It took a long while but at last the grating came free and he slid it below his body and stuck his head down to look into the kitchens.
It was an enormous modern installation, equipped with long stainless-steel ranges and endless working surfaces, for it had to cater for the hundreds of Rumbles who lived in the Bunker and on its smooth running would depend their health and well-being. The management and ordering of such a place would demand c
omplex skills and the Rumble commissariat could only be controlled by members of the High Command.
At that moment only three Rumbles of any importance were visible to Vulge, two females and one male, and they had not been in the kitchens long for they were rubbing their eyes and yawning. The two female Rumbles began bellowing orders, and skivvies and scullions, about a dozen of them, rushed to their duties. Huge saucepans were sent clanging and spinning onto the stoves, the hot-plates glowed red and herbs and plants were washed and shredded and the morning gruel soon simmered in the pots.
With a start that nearly gave him away Vulge recognised the male Rumble; it was the chief, the main one, his very own target. Vulge withdrew his head quickly and scrambled over the opening into the end section of the shaft, allowing Chalotte to move up a little. He shone his torch behind her and saw Sydney. He popped his head down through the hole again and watched. The High Rumbles stood in the middle of the kitchen urging their minions on, smelling the soups and supervising the baking of the Rumble bread. Vulge pulled out his catapult and was easing a stone from his bandolier when the Chief Rumble, Vulgarian himself, spoke to the women. He sounded irritable and short-tempered.
"I wish you'd huwwy, you two. When I say an early bweakfast, I mean an early bweakfast. I've got a nasty feeling something's afoot. Last night, one of our Wumbles didn't weturn, and I'm wowwied. Come on, huwwy it up."
"It's no good," snapped Chalotte Rumble, "it can't be weady for another half-hour at least," and she jerked her snout up an inch to indicate the end of the discussion.
"Hmm," said Vulgarian, "then I'll go and have a bath. Send me my bweakfast on a tway as soon as it's weady," and he pulled his dressing-gown tight about him and stalked off without another word.
"What a bully," said the Chief of the Commissariat to her companion. "Who does he think he is? We wun this department."
"Don't take any notice," said Sydney Rumble, "he's due for a nasty shock one day."
The Borribles Page 16