It was dusk when they awoke. Sam stood in a deserted side street by King George's, sleeping between the shafts, totally exhausted, all energy drained from him.
When the Borribles came to move their limbs they found that it was almost impossible. Stiffness and fatigue seemed to have fixed them in one position for ever. Stonks had fallen sideways onto the driver's seat and lay curled up in Dewdrop's raincoat. It was Torreycanyon who was the first to stick his head out into the moist evening air.
It had stopped raining and the street lamps shimmered gold in the wet roadway and made it dark, shiny and deep. Torreycanyon looked at his watch, five o'clock. He glanced at the name of the road and ducked under the canvas to check it on his street map in the light of his torch.
"Longstaff," he said. "Good old Sam, we're right near to King George's."
The others sat up one by one, groaning as they realised how battered their bodies were. They huddled together for warmth and made a cold meal before continuing their journey. As they ate they argued amongst themselves about which route they should take for the return trip to Battersea. The easiest way of course was by boat through Wendle country to the Thames, the way they had come. But some of the Adventurers had their doubts.
"I think we should go back some other way," said Chalotte.
"What do you mean?" Napoleon looked up sharply.
"I didn't mean anything personal to you, Nap," she answered, a little embarrassed. "It's just that Flinthead gives me the creeps, a nasty feeling."
"Any other way must be safer," said Knocker, "must be."
Napoleon laughed a cool laugh. "It's too late, friends, you should have kept awake. Sam has brought us right up to King George's. We must have been sighted as soon as we crossed Merton Road. I should think there are Wendle lookouts all around us."
There was an uneasy silence under the canvas.
"Don't let's go bonkers," said Sydney at length. "The Wendles are Borribles, after all; they'll be pleased that our Expedition was a success."
"Anyway, we are in too bad a shape to go by any but the shortest and easiest way," said Napoleon. "Just think, you'll be home in two or three days."
"Remains to be seen," said Knocker.
Napoleon laughed again. "You're being ridiculous," he said.
It was decided, after a little more discussion, that all they could do was to walk on as far as the banks of the Wandle and then camp there. Napoleon would make contact with a lookout and ask for the Adventurers to be taken back to The Silver Belle Flower and guided down to the Thames. After that everything would depend on the Wendles.
When they were ready, they clambered down the cart-wheels to the gleaming pavements and struggled into the straps of their haversacks. They were a sorry sight, limping and shuffling as they got into marching order. They looked grotesque, with improvised bandages round their heads and limbs. Vulge and Stonks had made themselves crutches from Rumble-sticks and could manage to get along only with help from the others. All of them moved badly and every step they took was a torture.
Knocker, in spite of his serious wounds and the feelings of his companions, went to the rear of the cart and threw aside the coverings that hid the treasure box from view. He dragged it towards him and hoisted it on to his injured back and, though he stumbled and nearly fell under the weight, nothing in the world would have induced him to leave it behind.
"You are very persistent, Knocker," said Chalotte. "How can you take that box after what has happened?"
"You'd be persistent if it was your name, wouldn't you?" retorted Knocker, his temper short because of his feeling of guilt.
"Well, I don't like it much," said Torreycanyon, "but I'm sure Adolf would have understood about your second name." And he took one of the handles and helped Knocker lower the box from his shoulder so that they could carry it between them.
"So!" cried Napoleon Boot, shoving forward. "There it is, that's what you've been after all along, you scab. Selling us down the river, eh? You'd never have got it away without us. It's ours as well, you should share it out."
"Oh, let's throw it away before it stirs up more trouble," said Sydney.
"That's not very bright, now we've got it this far," butted in Torreycanyon. "I mean it's money, isn't it? A lot of it, too. Look at the way those Rumbles lived. They had everything up there, and a few things besides."
"We can't share it out between us yet," said Knocker, turning towards Napoleon and thrusting his face up against the Wendle's. "Spiff wanted to share it equally between all the tribes who had sent members on the Expedition. Each one of you will take a share back with him when he goes."
"Ha! Do you expect me to believe that load of old cobblers?" asked Napoleon, his face green in the light of the street-lamp. "You may trust Spiff, but I don't."
There was a dreadful silence under that lamp-post and some hearts sickened to think they had been so far and had done so much together and could now quarrel over a rotten box of money. Stonks said as much and he was backed up by Chalotte and Sydney, Bingo, Vulge and Orococco.
"Sod the money," shouted Stonks. "Here we are, dying on our feet, and you two argue. Let's get into the Park before the damn bread kills us all. We need a good night's kip. We can talk about the money tomorrow."
His voice woke Sam who nearly fell off his four feet. He neighed and turned his head. Sydney ran to him and the others followed, the money forgotten for the moment. They shone their torches over the horse and saw that his hide was caked with blood and covered with scratches and stab wounds.
"Here you are yammering on about money," cried Sydney angrily, pointing her finger at Napoleon and Knocker, "and the horse that saved us all is neglected by the lot of you."
They freed Sam from the traces, patted him down and expressed their sorrow at having ignored him for so long. Then they led him towards the Park and as Sam stepped out they noticed that he had a very bad limp, caused by a deep wound in one of his back legs.
"Look at that," shouted Sydney at them all, as if they'd each and severally been responsible. "Wounded like he is and brought us all the way down here. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Sam ought to be retired on that money."
The gates to the Park had been closed at dusk but Napoleon soon picked the lock and the Borrible team, Sam first, went into King George's. The Park was black and silent and the grass was wet but they had brought the canvas with them and when they reached the banks of the Wandle, flowing quiet and murky, they spread the tarpaulin on the ground and sat on it to keep dry. Soon the sky cleared of clouds, the stars appeared and the night turned cold, but the Adventurers wrapped themselves in their combat jackets and sleeping-bags and sat round in a circle, except for Sydney who tended and spoke to Sam for a long while before she regained her temper and rejoined the group.
Then began the story-telling, the moment that Borribles love above all others. They wanted to know who had done what and how, and in what order, and to whom. Bingo wanted to know what had happened to Vulge, Vulge wanted to know what had happened to Torreycanyon, and Torreycanyon wanted to know how Chalotte and Sydney had fared. Napoleon told his story to Orococco, and Orococco told his story to Knocker, and Knocker's voice trembled as he recounted, almost as a penance, how Adolf had opened the safe. And there were tears in their eyes and lumps in their throats as they remembered the German and his mad, jolly voice and the way he had hooted at them. No one said anything to Knocker directly but there were looks and silences during the story of the safe and Knocker looked at the ground between his feet.
But the stories went on and past quarrels began to be forgotten because the Borribles looked at each other and realised how lucky they were to be alive. Never had Borribles had such an adventure and they even began to chuckle a little at their exaggerations, because exaggeration is an essential part of name-winning storytelling.
They were still talking when Napoleon suddenly stood up. "I can hear a Wendle scouting us from the other side of the river," he said.
Napoleon
told them to switch off their torches and he went to the railings that bordered the river. He whistled softly, a slight variation on the normal Borrible whistle, and he was answered within two seconds. The others then heard him in conversation with a voice across the river.
"I'm going across," he announced when he returned. "Got to see Flinthead. You're to wait here; better get some sleep. You're quite safe, there's night patrols of Wendles all around. I'll be back before dawn. Be ready to leave. Don't try to go anywhere. You know they, we, don't like that." Then without a word of goodbye he turned his back and disappeared into the night.
"He's a funny bloke," said Bingo, "you never know where you are with him; nice and friendly one minute, saving your life and fighting with you, and then all of a sudden as cold and as straitlaced as the North Pole."
"I think," said Knocker with a worried expression, and looking at his box, "that he's just remembering he's a Wendle after all."
Napoleon came back as promised just before dawn and the others rolled over in their sleeping bags and, without getting up, looked at him. The tall shapes of the buildings on the far side of the Wandle were dark against the sky. Napoleon was just a darker shape. They couldn't see his eyes or his expression; only his voice told them that he was tense and tired.
"We're to stay here until it is nearly light," he began, "then I am to lead you across the Wandle, along the bank and then underground. We can rest, as we did before, for as long as we like, Flinthead said, and then they'll take us to where they've hidden the boat. Then we can go—you can go—as long as we tell our stories, all of them."
"What," said Knocker, asking the question that was in everybody's mind, "about the money?"
Napoleon hesitated, then he said, "Flinthead didn't mention it, nor did I," and he went over to his sleeping-bag, unrolled it and slipped inside.
There was quiet for a long while. The sky lightened. Knocker got up stiffly and went and sat by Napoleon. After a while he touched the Wendle gently on the shoulder. He could see Napoleon's eyes now, they were open and staring at the sky.
"Flinthead said nothing about the money, eh?" he said.
Napoleon blinked and said, "That's right. I didn't tell him about it, did I?" and he tried to roll over on his shoulder but Knocker stopped him.
Bingo came over and joined them. Since the Battersea Borrible had saved Napoleon's life and escaped with him from the Library he had got closer to the Wendle than any of the others, and he wanted to get between Knocker and Napoleon if trouble started. Knocker spoke again, low and even, and everyone listened. "I don't believe you. I think that we ought to go home some other way.
The silence deepened a notch or two. Napoleon sat up brusquely and grasped Knocker's arm.
"I've told you—you've got no bloody option," he said, between his teeth. "You're stuck, all of you, there's Wendles all round. There's only one way out, and that's down the Wandle, the way we came."
Knocker was not put off. The others waited for the outcome, holding their breath.
"When you say you," he said to Napoleon, "does that include you in or out?"
Napoleon did not answer. A great struggle was going on in his mind and he could not speak while it continued. Lights came on in the building opposite and the sky was grey now. Soon they would have to make a move, one way or the other.
"Tell us what really happened," insisted Knocker. "Come on, straight up."
"You owe us the truth," said Bingo.
Napoleon got up and stepped over to the railings and looked at the surface of the Wandle as it floated by under its quilt of rubbish. Bingo thought for a second that the Wendle was going to run away.
At last Napoleon turned and spoke to them all, in a low voice so he wouldn't be overheard beyond the group. His words came all in a rush.
"I am telling the truth. I know you do not trust Flinthead, Halfabar or Tron, or even me," he began. "I know you do not like the Wendles, even though they are Borribles like yourselves, but remember the threat we have always lived under. I swear that Flinthead will ask only to hear your stories, will see that you get rest and food. He will take nothing from you, he is proud of us. After all, he's out of danger from the Rumbles for years to come. He told me how . . . how grateful he was . . . really."
There was silence and the others watched as Bingo walked over to the box and said, "Wish we'd never set eyes on the thing. Been a good Adventure apart from that."
Knocker spat. "My job is to take the box back and I'll do it even if I die."
"Even if we all die," said Chalotte.
"The trick," said Torreycanyon, "is to get it back without dying."
"They won't take it from us," insisted Napoleon. "They will wait to get their share. I'll be coming back to Battersea with you so that I can bring the Wendle share back to Wandsworth."
"It's only fair to share it out amongst everybody," said Chalotte. "I'm sure they'll see that."
"Yes," agreed Vulge. "They won't attack us, Napoleon is right. It would be Borrible against Borrible."
"It's happened before," said Orococco. "I'm for fair shares, let's hope we get them."
Napoleon raised his head. The blood had gone from his face and there were mauve patches under his eyes. He shook his head sadly at them. "If they wanted to take it, they would have taken it already—but you won't listen. They don't want it. Everything will be all right."
Napoleon's companions recognised the force of his argument, but they had been made uneasy by the discussion and looked about cautiously. There was not a Wendle to be seen.
"Come on," said Chalotte, forcing a laugh, "have we journeyed so far and survived so much that we are now going to jump at shadows?"
The others agreed with her but Knocker shook his head and quoted a dark proverb. " 'The shadow cast by a Wendle is twice as long as his body'," and he stared hard at Napoleon and tried to read the truth in the Wendle's eyes, but Napoleon's eyes wandered and looked elsewhere.
"We shall have to move soon," said the Wendle. "I can hear the early buses in the streets and it is nearly daylight."
Within a few minutes they were ready and they filed past Sam to give him a last pat and a stroke. They were subdued by the uncertainty that lay before them, by the sadness that lay behind them, and they hated themselves for deserting the horse who had helped them through so many dangers. Sydney was the last to squeeze through the gap in the railings. She had lingered to gather a handful of fresh grass for Sam, she wanted to wish him farewell alone.
"Goodbye, old Sam," she said, and she felt very mournful. "We can't take you any further because of the river, but I tell you, Sam, if I ever get out alive on the other side I'll find out where you are and I'll come back, however far it is, and I'll steal you away one night and you'll come back with me and you won't work again, Sam, ever."
When she had gone Sam ambled over to the railings and stuck his head over to watch the tiny figures marching along the towpath towards the dark and semi-circular hole where the Wandle disappeared under the streets of Wandsworth.
Napoleon led the way but his step was not springy or light. He looked unhappy, not at all like a Borrible returning home covered in glory.
Knocker and Torreycanyon followed along with the box and the others came behind them. They were still in a bad condition despite their night's rest and their appearance would no doubt give the Wendles more cause for derision than sympathy.
The silence along the towpath was uncanny and they saw not a soul, at least to begin with. It was only when they glanced over their shoulders that they saw how the path had become crowded with heavily armed warriors who had materialized from the very bankside. Across the river they could see more Wendles rising mysteriously from the mud to stand watching as the Borribles marched by.
Bingo, who felt that his companions were allowing themselves to be over-awed by the Wendles, raised his voice in song and that London voice, bright and defiant, rang out over the river.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! The Battle's won!
&nb
sp; The victors are marching from Rumbledom!
We smashed the evil furry crew,
We finished the job we went to do.
Let our great deeds and high renown
Spread to the ends of London Town.
Brave though bloody, here we come!
The victors returning from Rumbledom!
Rejoice! The foe is overcome!
The victors are marching from Rumbledom!
We trounced the enemy through and through,
We finished the job we went to do.
Nothing can frighten us again,
We fear no monsters, fear no men.
Brave though bloody, here we come!
The victors returning from Rumbledom!"
With Bingo's example before them, the Adventurers determined to show the Wendles that they were not downcast and each of them sang loudly of his London Borough: songs that told of fine abandoned houses and good days of thieving and food.
Knocker laughed at the songs. He felt happier now they had committed themselves to a course of action. There was no going back, so they might as well make the best of it.
All too soon they came up with Halfabar at the mouth of the sewer where the Wandle went underground. He was waiting for them and he smiled and inclined his head; the early morning sun of winter gleamed on his helmet.
"Welcome, brother Borribles," he said. "Napoleon has told us a little of your great Adventure. Your names were well won. Flinthead is impatient to hear your stories from your own lips. A great feast awaits you."
"There," said Napoleon to Knocker, "what did I tell you?" Knocker did not reply.
They followed Halfabar and his men underground and found their way by the light of the torches as they had done on their previous visit. Again the Adventurers smelt the smell of the River Wandle, penned and confined in its narrow tunnels, and the sweat of the Wendles, who guarded them on all sides, rose and stung their nostrils. Even Napoleon wrinkled his nose, so many months had he spent away that he was no longer used to the stench.
They left the river and the passage they took led them directly to the Great Hall, and there, as before, sat Flinthead, his eyes opaque. The Hall was not crowded this time, only the bodyguard stood by, heavily armed and numerous, their faces unsmiling beneath their war-helmets. In a line before Flinthead's stage were nine armchairs, and in front of them was a long table loaded with all kinds of food from the Wendles' store.
The Borribles Page 23