The Borribles

by Michael Larrabeiti

  "One of you Rumbles nip off and get a match, will you? I want to pick my teeth." He leant on his iron bar and shifted the grip on the dustbin lid. He laughed aloud at his own stupidity. He hoped the others were safe out of it by now and not wasting time by joking with the enemy.

  A sudden noise above his head made him spring into action. So that was why the Rumbles had been so quiet, they'd found a way to outflank him through he roof. If they came at him from two directions at once he wouldn't last long. He clambered onto the car and looked closely at the ceiling. A square flap was being lifted away. Torreycanyon glanced at the group of Rumbles standing by the workshop entrance. They hadn't moved. He swung the iron bar over his shoulder; if any Rumble put so much as a snout through that trap-door, he would swipe it flatter than a dead cat on a motorway.

  The trap-door lifted and a hand appeared and took a grip on the underside and pulled it open to reveal a black hole from which thick smoke drifted. There was a coughing and spitting from the shaft and somebody was taking in large gulps of air. Torreycanyon prepared to strike.

  "I'll give you cough and spit, you myxomatosed rabbit," he said, "you snouty old stoat."

  The hand came out again and Torreycanyon lowered the bar. It was a small human hand, not a paw at all. On the other end of that hand must be a Borrible.

  A begrimed and bloody face appeared. Its red-rimmed eyes blinked and the mouth was open, taking in as much air as it could, and then, very nearly suffocated and lifeless, the small body of Bingo flopped out like a filleted fish, and fell into Torreycanyon's arms.

  Torreycanyon placed his comrade on one of the seats of the car and looked at the enemy. They were sidling nearer, so with a mighty and blood-curdling bellow he threw his iron bar and it skeetered and bounced across the concrete, sweeping the Rumbles' legs from underneath them. They retreated; they had had enough of this mad Borrible, and they did not want to take him on again until he was dropping with fatigue.

  Bingo fluttered his eyelids and looked up. "Oh, Torrey," he groaned, "I'm so glad it's you. I couldn't go a step further, my knees are worn raw and my lungs feel like two smoked haddocks." And poor Bingo started coughing again.

  There was another scrabbling noise above Torreycanyon's head and he drew his catapult and seized a stone from Bingo's bandolier. But he saw another hand and the head of Napoleon Boot soon followed it. He was in no better state than Bingo. His eyes were streaming and cuts from a dozen lance wounds had covered him in blood which in turn was covered in grime and grease and soot. His clothes were torn all over and his scuffed knees stuck out through large holes in his trousers. Torreycanyon helped him down and rested him on a seat alongside Bingo.

  "Looks like you done all the fighting yourselves," said Torreycanyon, "and you're going to have some more to do, soon as you get your breath back."

  Napoleon said nothing but lay gasping. Bingo, breathing a little easier, raised himself to a sitting position and looked over the twenty yards of body-strewn no-man's land to where the Rumbles stood.

  "What are they waiting for, Torrey?" he asked.

  "More ammo and more friends," answered Torreycanyon. "They've gone right off me."

  "Have you any kind of a plan?" asked Bingo, a little dazed.

  "Not half," said Torreycanyon. "Get out!" And in answer to Bingo's puzzled shake of the head he said, "There's a garage door here but I don't know if it opens; I suppose so. The trouble is I don't know what's on the other side. More Rumbles most like. It must be daylight, you know—very dodgy."

  "It's the only chance we've got," said Napoleon, coming to himself and standing up, although he staggered violently. "There's no point in going back into the shaft, that would be certain death."

  "Well, in that case," said Torreycanyon, "watch the bunnies while I get down and try the door. If they move, let them have it with your catapults. You're lucky to have a stone or two left, I haven't."

  He jumped down onto the floor of the garage near to the huge sliding door. He approached the red button, licked his lips and looked at it as if trying to cast a spell. As his hand hovered in the air he turned suddenly to look up at Bingo and Napoleon.

  "Here," he said sharply, "either of you Borribles got a match?"

  Knocker stumbled on down the Great Door corridor, the weight of the box of money boring deep into his back. His muscles ached, the sweat poured from underneath his Borrible hat and down into his eyes, and the pungent smoke chafed at his lungs. Orococco led the way, scouting round every bend and corner and beckoning the others on. Vulge limped and staggered behind, supported by Adolf when the German was not fighting a rearguard action against the Rumbles who followed along the tunnel. When the lights went out they could feel their enemies come nearer and strike at them in the dark with the sharp points of their lances. Furry bodies brushed past and tried to separate them and bring them down, but they kept together and counter-attacked with such ferocity that the Rumbles suffered many casualties.

  Without warning, Orococco stopped at a sharp bend in the tunnel and beckoned to Knocker. What Knocker saw made him drop his precious box and bound forward. About twenty yards further along the tunnel Sydney and Chalotte stood ringed by enemy warriors. They were backed into a kind of alcove in the corridor and a circle of steel-pointed lances held them in check. Their bandoliers were empty and they were fighting with captured Rumble-sticks against ten of their enemies and were obviously on their last legs. Their hats were gone and their hair was grimy with soot, hanging in stiffened strands over their lined faces. Chalotte's lance was broken and she used it like a dagger, flailing it about with a desperate fury.

  Orococco and Knocker arrived together on the scene and struck the Rumbles from behind with lances they had scooped from the floor. They yelled and they shouted and the Rumbles fled into a side tunnel, thinking that the whole Borrible nation was at their heels. Three of their number lay on the ground and would fight no more.

  Chalotte and Sydney leant against the wall and wiped the sweat from their eyes.

  "One minute later would have been one minute too late," said Chalotte, breathless and shaking.

  "I thought I'd never see the sky again," said Sydney. "How many of us left?"

  "Just us," said Knocker, "and we aren't in good shape. The others have probably had it."

  "Let's get on," said Adolf. "There's as many Rumbles behind as in front."

  Sydney took up the rearguard with the German,

  Chalotte marched up front with Orococco and the little procession moved on, fighting its way slowly towards the Great Door. Rumbles came thick and fast from the side tunnels as soon as the Borribles had passed and crowded along behind, just waiting for a favourable moment to attack. What lay ahead the Borribles dared not imagine. Even if Stonks was still guarding the way out there would be hundreds of Rumbles, all well armed, lying in ambush for them in the cold green grass of Rumbledom.

  At last they came to one of the brick barriers that Stonks had built just inside the Great Door when he had captured it. Nothing of the barrier could be seen now. Most of it had been trampled and beaten down in some great fight. What remained was covered with the bodies of fallen Rumbles, piled one upon the other and reaching halfway to the roof of the tunnel. It was strangely quiet too and the Borribles stopped a few yards from the battlefield. Nothing moved before them and they looked at each other with wonder.

  "I wonder if Stonksie is under that lot?" said Chalotte.

  "He couldn't possibly have survived," said Knocker, dropping his box again. "He must have seen off hundreds of Rumbles. What an artist!"

  "Well they don't look exactly lively," said Orococco, "so perhaps there isn't one between here and the door."

  At that moment an enormous Rumble bounded over the broken barricade and scrambled towards them. He had a spear in each hand and hallooed and shouted in a muffled way.

  "Anyone got any stones?" asked Knocker urgently, drawing his useless catapult. There was no answer.

  "Those with spears up front," s
aid Knocker, throwing the lance he held at the oncoming monster. He grabbed another spear from the floor and formed a line with Orococco and Chalotte. The great shambling Rumble came on with a strange lolloping gait. He was the largest they had ever seen and probably the strongest. Perhaps, thought Knocker, Stonks had done for these Rumbles they saw about them, and then this powerful creature had taken him from behind as he fought in the tunnel. But whatever had happened the mighty shape still bore down on them, fearlessly, gleefully.

  At some distance from the line of Borribles, the giant Rumble stopped and waved the spears in his hands and danced from one foot to the other, then he turned in a circle and shouted happily. The muffled voice became a little clearer.

  "A Borrible, a Borrible," shouted the Rumble. "Don't worry, it's me, Stonks. Stonks, you fools, I've kept the Great Door, oh, come on."

  "Careful," said Knocker, "it must be a trick."

  "It's no trick, Knocker," said the shaggy figure. "Look." And the great Rumble threw down his two spears and lifting two hands—and they were hands—reached behind his neck and fiddled with something. Then the hands got hold of the snout and pulled hard and the whole furry cloak fell away to reveal none other than Stonks, the Borrible. "There," he cried, dancing some more, "it's only me."

  Astonished, the Borribles lowered their weapons and crowded up to their friend, all of them asking questions at once.

  "Take it easy," said Stonks, delighted by their amazement. "I'll explain."

  And he told them how he had captured the door with the sapling trick and they liked that. And how Torreycanyon had gone off into the tunnels alone while he, Stonks, thought it a good idea to stay and guard the door to secure a line of retreat, but before he did, he'd gone to find the Rumble door-keeper to make sure that he didn't recover and come back again. When he'd gone about three hundred yards he'd found the remains of the door-keeper all right but all that he could discover was the Rumble's skin. "A big coat with nothing inside, can't imagine what happened to the rest of him," he said to the others. "Perhaps there isn't anything inside them, who knows?" Anyway it had seemed to Stonks that it might help his defence of the Great Door, at least for a while, if he pretended to be a Rumble, and so he had donned the skin and it had worked very well, as they could see by the numbers of Rumbles lying about.

  "I got so used to wearing the skin," continued Stonks, "that I forgot I had it on when you lot appeared. It was only when Knocker threw his sticker at me that I remembered. Anyway the door's in our possession, but I should think there's twenty Rumble Brigades on the other side of it."

  Weary as they were the Borribles congratulated Stonks and patted him on the back and laughed again and again at his tale. Though their position was hopeless, it certainly helped to be told a cheerful story. Even Vulge limped forward, leant against the wall, wagged his head till it nearly fell off, and said, "Take the skin home and use it as a mat. It will look like one of those tiger rugs they have in posh houses sometimes."

  They marched on over the barricades that Stonks had defended so valiantly and with so much cunning and came at last to the Great Door. Here they rested for a while and took stock of their situation. Behind the nearest barricade were gathering the hordes of Rumbles who had snuffled along behind them in the tunnels. They did not attack for they did not have to. They knew that sooner or later the Borribles would have to open the door and the Rumbles also knew that on the other side were hundreds more of their Warriors from other Bunkers, fresh and eager to fight. The Borribles would be caught between two fires and one by one they would perish, or be captured. Then would the Rumbles take their revenge. Knocker looked at his sorry and exhausted band. All of them were wounded to some degree, most of them had dried blood mixed into the dirt of their faces. There was no ammunition left for their catapults, so there was no chance of them carving their way through the Rumbles with well-aimed stones. They had as many lances as they could carry, for lances covered the floor all around the Great Door where Stonks had fought. But a lance could be thrown but once, or used at close quarters, and at close quarters they would be swamped by the sheer weight of numbers and they would be captured alive. Knocker shuddered to think what would happen to them. Furthermore, they had no food and nothing to drink. The longer they stayed where they were the weaker they would become. Their plight was grim.

  From beyond the barricade the red eyes of the Rumbles watched, glowing, burning into the Borribles, hating them and yearning for their deaths. They began a low chant which rose louder and louder and was taken up by hundreds more beyond them, pouring down the tunnels, united and organised now for the final battle.

  "Bite up the Bowwibles," they chanted. "Bite up the Bowwibles." And then there came a beating on the door and it trembled in its frame and the same chant was taken up outside and the door was smashed regularly now with some kind of battering ram, probably an old tree trunk rolled in from the fields of Rumbledom.

  "Rest until they batter down the door," said Knocker, "then we'll have to fight."

  "Well," said Vulge who was a little more rested and whose wound had been bound up again by Adolf. "At least we did it. We've taken five of their names—probably the whole eight, if we could hear the others tell their stories."

  "Torreycanyon, Bingo and Napoleon," said Stonks. "I hope they're all right."

  "Well, man," said Orococco, "we never expected to get right through the Adventure without losing someone."

  The thumping on the door continued.

  "It looks like we're going to lose everyone," said Vulge, leaning against the wall and feeling his shoulder with stiff fingers.

  "Isn't it funny," said Chalotte, she was sitting on the floor with her legs stretched out in front of her, "isn't it funny, only a little while ago, we were doing our best to get into this place. Now we're inside and they are bashing the door down to get at us. Things do change round, don't they?"

  The Great Door was beginning to loosen on its massive hinges; it wouldn't be long now before the door fell open and Rumbles mustered around the entrance to throw in their lances. The Borribles would have to fight back to back until they fell.

  It was decided that Stonks and Knocker and Chalotte would defend the door while Adolf, Sydney and Orococco would man the barricade. Vulge would keep them supplied with weapons, lances or bricks. They all decided not to be taken alive, to endure the ignominy of capture, to be beaten, tortured perhaps, and worked to death as slaves with their ears clipped.

  At length, when the door could stand no more attacks, Stonks quickly slid the bolts and undid the lock. The next blow from the battering ram encountered no resistance and the door toppled to the ground and six Rumbles and a tree-trunk fell through the opening. Three Borribles sprang upon them with lances and dispatched them before they could rise. So far so good, but looking beyond the doorway they saw a sight to shrink the heart of the bravest Borrible.

  Dawn, grey and bleak, had spread across the dark green wetness of Rumbledom. The trees were black and leafless and their branches stirred roughly in a gusty and damp wind. Rain fell heavily and swirled in the stormy air like shreds of cloud come down to earth, but it was not the weather that caught Knocker's eye as he looked out. As far as he could see, across the foul morning, stood rank upon serried rank of Rumbles, the steel of their lances reflecting the cold light. They stood there, compact and unmoving, their fur plastered to their bodies by the rain, their snouts raised to a warlike angle. They neither shouted nor shook their weapons. They waited patiently for the Borribles to emerge and meet their end.

  The Rumble troops were formed into sections, and as the battering-ram detail was conquered, the first section detached itself from the mass of the army and moved forward to attack the Great Door. Beyond them every Rumble was ready to advance, determined to win this battle, however pluckily the Borribles fought, and however long it might take.

  Knocker swallowed hard, the biggest lump he'd ever swallowed. "Swipe me," he said to Stonks. "Rumbles for ever, and all armed."
<
br />   "Tonight's 'Goodnight,' all right," said Stonks. "They've brought all their aunts and uncles this time."

  The first Rumble section was within range now and it threw its missiles and retired. Another section ran forward immediately and threw their stickers. Knocker, Stonks and Chalotte pressed their bodies up against the side of the door and waited until the lances fell, then they ran out and cast two spears each at the departing warriors. Many of them perished, but the Rumbles could ignore these reverses, the next platoon was already speeding forward, their lances poised. With their advantage in numbers, the Rumbles could fight in this fashion for days, if need be; eventually the spears would take their toll and the defenders would be wounded and weakened. Then would the Rumbles sweep over them.

  The Borribles retreated and took cover. Behind him Knocker could hear Adolf and Orococco and Sydney fighting for their lives; he saw the injured Vulge hobbling backwards and forwards between the two groups, gathering up as many lances as he could. On and on the battle raged, and more and more exhausted the Borribles became and still the Rumbles attacked. Before long all the defenders had been wounded at least superficially and Stonks received a lance thrust full in his thigh, and could no longer run in and out of the door, but threw his spears from the shelter of the hallway.

  "Oh, for some stones," he kept muttering. "Oh, for a pile of stones as big as a house. I'd soon have my catapult twanging away like a banjo."

  The Rumbles were nearer now. Their Warriors did not even bother to charge section by section, but stood their ground, throwing lances until they were wounded. Then another Rumble would step forward to take his fallen comrade's place. They fought with a silent hatred, and they did not lack courage. Knocker's arm was weary; he knew at last that he could not lift another spear, let alone throw it with any force.