"Knives out, lads," he said, and he and Stonks and Chalotte retreated into the hallway and found themselves back to back with Adolf, Sydney and Orococco. Beyond them Knocker saw hundreds of Rumbles, pushed along the corridor from behind by their bloodthirsty mates.
Vulge wedged himself into a little corner and wiped the long blade of his knife across his sleeve. "I like close work," he said and winced as the pain surged through his shoulder.
Then the Rumbles were all amongst them and there was a dreadful scrimmage in the hallway, but the attackers were not used to the kind of frenzied resistance put up by the desperate Borribles and under the cut and thrust of the knives they fell back momentarily.
"Oh, ho," yelled Adolf at the top of his voice. "This is cold steel and too close for comfort, eh? Adolf Wolfgang Amadeus Winston will account for at least a hundred of you. Come on! Come on! And he shouted and hooted and the others shouted and hooted with him, although their muscles ached and their eyelids smarted and the blood ran down their arms and legs from a thousand cuts.
But the Rumbles did not come again. Outside, where there had been a calm and cool dedication, was now all panic and shouts for help. Simultaneously, from the corridors came a surging waft of heavy air, followed by the muffled crump of a great explosion deep in the Bunker. A sheet of flame licked out of the tunnel, killing all that stood in its way. It touched but did not burn the battle-weary Borribles, but the blast of a solid wave of gas raised them from their feet and tossed them violently to the floor. The Rumbles in the Bunker had been silenced and the smell of singed fur and flesh floated over everything.
Stonks recovered first and getting to his hands and knees he crawled to the door. The Rumbles were still outside but a mighty swathe had been cut right through their ranks and the thing that had cut that swathe was a horse and cart. Sam was charging right through the massed Rumbles, and their fear of horses, their loathing of being munched up like a succulent truss of hay, had overcome their hatred of the Borribles and they had fallen back in panic.
"It's Sam," shouted Stonks to the others. "It's good old Sam."
Who knows what goes through the mind of a horse when he is left alone and is not working? Sam had spent the night dozing between the shafts of his cart and, when he had woken in the morning, he had missed the company and affection of the Borribles who had befriended him. There had not been a great deal of love in his life, none at all with Dewdrop, and he did not want to lose his new friends. He had munched a little grass but had found it dull and boring after the delicate flavour of the Rumble he had eaten, so he had pulled his cart to the edge of the copse and there he had gazed wistfully over the dank fields and sniffed. He hadn't smelt Borrible or even adult human but he had smelt Rumble. Sam had been tempted and had set off over the grass, he couldn't resist it. The smell had been so strong that he had imagined a whole meadow full of Rumbles and his imagination had been right. He saw the Rumbles, thousands of them, and with a snort and a stamp he had charged; the cart behind him had felt as nothing and the Rumbles melted away on his right and left. Then he heard a voice he recognised calling his name, calling it with thankfulness and love. Then more voices called out, and looking before him he saw his friends, penned into some kind of a hole set in the hillside, and all that lay between him and those friends were a few hundred Rumbles, so he charged again.
Knocker and the others crawled and dragged themselves to the edge of the Great Door and they saw a great clear road leading to the horizon. Sam came galloping down the slope and swung the cart round so it skidded to a halt alongside the doorway in a cloud of rain-spray.
"Oh," cried Sydney, tears of relief standing in her eyes. She ran to the horse and kissed him. "Good old Sam, you've saved us, all of us. Oh, Sam."
As quickly as they could the Borribles clambered into the cart. Vulge was pushed from below and pulled from above because his wounds had stiffened so much that he could not climb the cart-wheels unaided. Everyone was eager to get Sam on the move and escape to the streets; everyone that was except Knocker, who, with unbelievable single-mindedness, returned through the Great Door to retrieve the Rumble treasure box.
It was a foolhardy move. Smoke poured from the opening and the huge door-jambs were wilting and twisting under the effect of the immense heat. Once inside, Knocker found that the hallway was an inferno of flaming and falling timber; scorched bricks expanded and exploded from the walls like cannon shot. The Bunker ceiling drooped more every second as the whole Rumble edifice began to collapse, but Knocker heeded none of that and ran on, risking his life to get at the money.
Adolf and Orococco, against their better judgement, followed, not for the treasure, but to help Knocker if they could, for, in spite of his faults, they loved the chief lookout and were willing to risk their lives to save him.
Knocker came to the box all right, but he found it almost buried in fiery rafters and white-hot bricks. When he had kicked the box clear of debris, he discovered that it was incandescent, defiantly red and burning with a dangerous light. The handles were hot to the touch and the box itself would burn the skin of whoever tried to carry it, but Knocker grasped it and hauled the dreadful burden to his shoulders. The handle seared deep into the flesh of his palms and the brass-bound corners of the box smouldered through his clothing and down into his back. He staggered and slipped and Adolf caught him up and shoved him on towards the doorway that Knocker could not see in his pain.
Orococco yelled, "Over here, Knocker, damn you!" Then, "Watch out, Adolf!"
The warning came too late. A dying Rumble had risen to his knees unnoticed, and with a sticker in his grasp he fell against Adolf and brought him down. The German scrambled to his feet immediately, though the spear had snapped off in his right thigh. "Verdammt," he cried in agony and he pulled the broken shaft from his leg, kicked the Rumble in the head and killed him once and for all.
Orococco hurled Knocker from his path and ran towards the German who, blinded by the billowing smoke, was limping away from the heart of the fire.
"Adolf," he shouted, his heart breaking, "this way."
It was then that the ceiling of the hallway of the Great Door collapsed. With a roar like an avalanche the great red-hot timbers fell, bringing with them a lethal barrage of blazing stone. A molten, glowing wall reared up between Orococco and Adolf and the brave Totter was forced out of the smoking Rumble halls, his clothes aflame, his hair burning like a torch. Adolf was gone; lost in the heart of a volcano.
Once outside Orococco threw himself down and rolled over and over. Sydney jumped to the ground and beat him about the head to extinguish the flames that might have killed him. She helped him to his feet and he saw that Knocker, with the strength of a madman, was pushing the box up and into the cart. Chalotte leant over him, bashing at his smoking shoulders with the flat of her hand. An angry shout went up from the Rumbles. They had seen the box, and a shower of lances came over, some wounding the horse and making him lurch in the traces. Sydney and Orococco ran forward and, catching hold of the pain-crazed Knocker, they propelled him angrily aboard. Then Stonks stretched out a hand and helped them as they climbed up the spokes of the wheel.
"Where's Adolf?" screamed Chalotte. "Where's Adolf?"
"He's had it," said Orococco, his face tight with anguish. "The roof came down. I couldn't get to him. There's nothing we can do; we'll have to go. Nothing could live in there, nothing."
"You mean Adolf's been killed all because of a bloody box?" said Stonks. "What the hell's in it, anyway?"
Knocker jumped to his feet. "It's the Rumble treasure," he shouted, his eyes shining strangely with pain and something else. "It's money."
The others looked at him in horror and they knew then that Knocker had had a mission all along and hadn't told them; that Spiff had sent him to steal this treasure and take it home—and that for Knocker nothing else mattered.
"It is a bad thing, that box," cried Chalotte, "it has killed Adolf and will kill more of us. It's bad luck; throw it overboard
."
"Yes," said Orococco, "that is enough. The Rumbles might let us go easier if they see we leave the money. We've done what we came to do. Let's get off while we still have a chance."
"No," roared Knocker, his hand falling to the bloody knife at his belt. He looked wild, his hat was gone and his hair swung over his eyes. "You've all got your names, but I will get a second one if I can get the box back to Battersea. It's going with me, I tell you, and I'll kill anyone who tries to stop me." And to put an end to the argument he picked up a stone from the bottom of the cart and threw it hard at Sam's hind-quarters and, with no need for guidance, the brave horse bore the Adventurers away from the shattered remains of the Great Door.
The Rumbles had been terrified by the precipitate arrival of Sam and his cart and had retreated in panic, but when they saw the treasure carried from the Bunker they were roused to action and advanced en masse to prevent, even now, the escape of the Borribles.
They were wary of approaching the horse from the front but they did not scruple to run at the cart from the side and throw their lances with all the strength they could muster. The bravest of them ran alongside and tried desperately to climb on board, and some threw lances at Sam, hoping to wound him, to injure a leg or a hoof. But things had changed in favour of the Borribles. Inside the cart were the hundreds of stones they had loaded earlier, and this godsend was nearly as important as the arrival of Sam himself. Now the Borribles took out their catapults to fire broadsides of stones with telling effect and the Rumbles, though attacking constantly, were forced back to a respectful distance.
Sam pulled the cart along by the side of the hill that covered the Bunker. The ground pitched and rolled beneath his hooves, as explosions and fires continued to devastate the Rumble stronghold. A hundred plumes of yellow smoke were hanging foul against the sky, misshapen and forlorn, like the clouds of burning dust above a hundred London crematoria. The heart of the Rumbledom empire had been consumed by a mysterious detonation and it would be many years before it could be repaired and rebuilt.
Sam headed into the dense mass of Warriors and they brandished their spears in fury. One slip from the horse under the onslaught of those flying lances and the escape would be over.
"Keep going, Sam," prayed Knocker, "as fast as you can."
But Sam veered suddenly, so violently as almost to tip the Borribles overboard.
"Hey, what's going on?" shouted Stonks.
"I don't know," cried Knocker, "it's Sam . . ." He broke off and stood up in the driver's seat. "Look, look," he yelled, "over there."
Over there was back towards the hill they had just left with such difficulty and danger and Sam, for good reasons of his own, had decided to turn in that direction.
"Now, we're really in the cart," said Orococco.
There was a shout from the Rumbles and they too looked back towards the Bunker and then they ran to intercept the Borribles for they had seen a chance of victory. On the edge of the hillside, in the centre of an embattled gateway, at the very core of the explosions, three figures had appeared, silhouetted against high flames that leapt and danced behind them. Unless they were rescued within a minute or two, Torreycanyon, Bingo and Napoleon would be forced to retreat into the fire or die on the spears of the enraged Rumbles.
Knocker urged Sam to a gallop. "Oh, come on, Sam," he pleaded. "Oh, Sam, run, run, or we'll be too late. No more to die, not now, not now!"
The horse galloped on and the Borribles crowded to the front of the lurching cart, firing forwards and sideways to keep their enemies beyond lance range of the horse. Sam neighed as loudly as he could and the Rumbles fell back in dismay under his second onslaught, robbed yet again of the Borrible blood they had hoped to spill.
When Sam skidded and slid to a halt before the burning garage only Torreycanyon was able to get into the cart without help. Bingo and Napoleon, weakened by the wounds they had sustained in the Library, and their insides demolished by the near-suffocation of their trip along the ventilation shaft, had to be manhandled aboard. They fell into senseless heaps over the unconscious form of Vulge, and they knew nothing more until several hours later.
Knocker wheeled the fearless horse about once more to face the enemy troops, but courage was deserting the Rumbles. They knew now that their High Command had gone and there was no real cohesion in their ranks. Their principal Bunker had been completely ruined and was in flames about their ears. The workshops, the armoured car, the laboratories, the Library, the kitchens, the dormitories—the whole structure had been dismantled and their best warriors killed, slain in single combat or vanquished by stealth and cunning. They had tried everything and they had fought well but they had perished beneath wheels and hooves or they had been struck down by the unerring aim of the Borrible catapults. Demoralized, they fell back, and though they kept pace with the cart they kept well out of range and their numbers thinned as Sam cantered to the very confines of Rumbledom and to the main road that bounded it.
Sam halted. It was rush hour on a cold, wintry morning. The cars and buses zipped along the wet road, sending up a fine spray over the Borribles. Not one adult could be seen walking anywhere and no one seemed to have noticed the great battle. The Borribles gathered at the end of the cart and held on to the tailboard; even Knocker left his seat and came back to look. There in the falling mist and swirling rain stood several hundred Rumbles, leaning despondently on their spears. They could come no further; in the streets they would be recognised and caught. The Borribles had eluded them, sorely wounded it was true, but still they had escaped. Now the Rumbles would have to return to their shattered Bunker and salvage what they could.
The Borribles did not cheer, did not wave their catapults aloft, they simply watched as the Rumbles turned slowly and melted away between gorse bushes and trees, or went down into the hollows or up over the hillsides, until there was nothing to be seen but the blue-grey rain blurring the outlines of the black and green of Rumbledom. There might never have been a Rumble on the face of the earth and sadness filled the hearts of the victorious Borribles.
"Oh," sighed Chalotte, blinking, "I wish there'd been some other way."
"Maybe there was, maybe there wasn't," said Torreycanyon. "One thing is sure, once we got in there, we had to fight like the clappers to get out. They ain't so soft."
The moment of reflection was ended by Sam who saw a gap in the traffic and set off across Parkside and passed into Queensmere. The Borribles were heading into the broad calm of the residential area where Dewdrop had taken them stealing. They were safe from Rumbles now, but if the bodies of Dewdrop and his son had been found, the police would be looking hard for them, and of course, Sam.
9
Knocker sat on the driving seat wrapped in Dewdrop's old mac. To the adult eye he looked a little short to be driving a horse but it was raining heavily and those few people who were moving in the streets ran by with their heads down. The other Adventurers had strung the canvas over the cart like a tent and in its shelter they were tending to each others' wounds and eating their provisions.
It was wonderful to lie down and ease the pain in the limbs and allow a colleague to cleanse one's wounds. They all took a turn and eventually Knocker left his seat and was replaced by Stonks, and Knocker had something to eat and lay back while Chalotte bound the gashes in his arms and legs and bandaged the burns on his shoulders and hands.
"These are bad wounds," she said. "You are a fool, you worried about the money when you could have escaped—and worse—Adolf is lost because of it."
Knocker did not answer. It was warm and dry under the canvas and the movement of the cart lulled the Borribles into a deep sleep. Napoleon and Bingo and Vulge had been cleaned up and fed but had hardly opened their eyes during the process and were now unconscious again. Sydney was keeping watch out of the back of the cart, but she too was so tired that Knocker could see her head dropping forward, as if it were going to fall off at any moment.
Torreycanyon was recounting his adven
ture to Orococco, who closed his eyes every five seconds, and Torreycanyon, who felt "fresh as a Rumbledom daisy", stopped talking and allowed the Totter to doze.
Sydney turned and said, "Torrey, if you're so fresh, you come and keep watch and let me go to sleep, too."
Knocker waited. When it became silent inside the cart he turned his attention to the Rumble treasure box and touched it with an injured hand. It was sooty and still warm. Quietly, taking care not to awaken anyone, he shoved the box to the side of the cart behind him and disguised its appearance with a piece of old canvas and some discarded clothing. Then he leant his back against it so that no one could move it without his knowing.
He tried to keep awake, to guard the box and to relive the events of the past hours, but his head fell onto his chest and the horse plodded through the rain. Sam went calmly along the edge of the traffic, across by Augustus and over by the railway station of Southfields, down Replingham and past the opening to Engadine where they had been attacked and forced into the clutches of Dewdrop and Erbie. And all the Borribles slept, even Torreycanyon who should have been on watch, and even Stonks who should have been guiding Sam, but Sam paced on without need of command. He had heard talk of the Wandle and of King George's Park so that was where he went. He knew London as well as any horse, and he stepped out evenly for he realised the Borribles were exhausted. He halted gently by the traffic lights and paid particular attention when changing lanes and crossing roundabouts. He trudged on and on and Stonks snored in the driving seat and the others dreamed behind, at the mercy of chance. But luck stayed with them and the rain continued to fall in heavy drops and no adult had time to observe the horse and cart or think them out of place as they went slowly along the streets bearing the Borribles away from Rumbledom and towards the dubious safety of Wendle territory.
The Borribles Page 22