Authors: Michael de Larrabeiti
The Borribles (14 page)
‘But that is not what we came for.’ Knocker looked at the ring of faces that surrounded him, searching for some support. The support came immediately, from an unexpected source.
‘No,’ said Napoleon Boot stepping forward, ‘that is not what we came for. I’m with Knocker.’
‘I think I have earned my English name,’ said Adolf. ‘I understand Chalotte, she is right, we have done enough, but I go with Knocker. That is because I am round the loop. I have a thing about adventures.’
‘We all want to go really,’ said Bingo, sitting on his haversack, ‘but … I mean, we’ve been so knocked about by Erbie, and we haven’t eaten properly for ages.’
‘We aren’t fit for the job now, are we?’ said Torreycanyon. ‘Perhaps we should rest up for a bit, eh?’
‘What are you on about?’ snapped Knocker. ‘We can’t go back now; what would we look like?’
Seven Borribles looked self-conscious and shifted their feet.
‘However rotten we feel,’ insisted Knocker, ‘we’ve got to go on. We’re free now, that’s a tonic in itself. Anyway, you lot can do what you like. The three of us are going. Get the horse, Adolf.’
Bingo shrugged his shoulders, threw his haversack into the cart and quoted a proverb at no one in particular: ‘If you’re my friend, follow me round the bend.’
Chalotte said, ‘If Knocker and Nap can agree for once then something very dodgy is happening. Perhaps we ought to go along, if only to see what they’re up to.’ And she gave Knocker and Napoleon a long and piercing look.
The others picked up their rucksacks and exchanged grim smiles with Knocker. The horse was brought from the stable and Sydney went over and spoke to him: ‘So we’re all going to Rumbledom, Sam, after all, and you will come with us. Rumbles don’t like horses, they say, but we do, so you will be our mascot and mate and we will protect you.’ With that sentiment everyone agreed; they stroked the horse and fed him lumps of sugar stolen from the house, then they put him between the shafts and made ready.
They also stole a long raincoat, a good one that Dewdrop had always worn on wet nights, and Bingo who was the lightest sat on Stonks’s shoulders, for he was the strongest, and Stonks sat on the driving seat of the cart and they put the raincoat round Bingo’s shoulders and it looked for all the world as if an adult was driving. The rest of the Adventurers hid under the tarpaulin, and with a crack of the whip and with a ‘Giddy-up, old Sam, me deario, ain’t it?’ Bingo drove them out of the yard and they began the last lap of their journey to the borders of Rumbledom.
‘There’s one thing,’ said Knocker, as they all sat warm and content under the canvas. ‘We were in Engadine Street so long that the Rumbles have probably given us up for dead. And if they don’t like horses, so much the better. Sam can take us right up to their front door and kick it down.
It was dark.
It was the darkest part of the night but Sam knew the way to Rumbledom and he pulled the cartload of Borribles joyfully, knowing in his heart that he would be beaten and cursed no more. He carried his friends away from the hateful memories of Engadine, and Bingo, secure on the shoulders of Stonks, sang a rousing Borrible song to himself, a song that told of the dangers past and the dangers to come.
‘Sound the fife and beat the drum,
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!
Dewdrop’s dead, and Erbie too,
We’re going to do what we must do.
Onwards we ride to glorious fame,
To rout the Rumbles and earn a name!
With a fee and a fo and a fie and a fum,
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!
Dewdrop’s dead, and Erbie too,
We’re going to do what we must do.
Onwards we ride to glorious fame,
To rout the Rumbles and earn a name!
With a fee and a fo and a fie and a fum,
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!
‘From Peckham, and Stepney, and Tooting we come!
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!
Wandsworth, Whitechapel and Neasden too,
We’re going to do what we must do.
Ahead lies battle and maybe death,
We’ll soldier on as long as we’ve breath
To rid the world of that snouted scum,
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!
Wandsworth, Whitechapel and Neasden too,
We’re going to do what we must do.
Ahead lies battle and maybe death,
We’ll soldier on as long as we’ve breath
To rid the world of that snouted scum,
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!
‘Armoured in courage from bonce to bum,
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!
Though they are many and we are few,
We’re going to do what we must do.
So, giddy-up Sam, and spare no speed!
Forward to war, O noble steed!
To triumph, or hell, or kingdom come,
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!’
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!
Though they are many and we are few,
We’re going to do what we must do.
So, giddy-up Sam, and spare no speed!
Forward to war, O noble steed!
To triumph, or hell, or kingdom come,
We’re riding, we’re riding to Rumbledom!’
Bingo’s companions joined in the song, their hearts full of a divine excitement, a feeling which mingled strangely with the serene joy they felt at being Borribles, at being alive and together on an adventure of their own, an adventure that would be sung about again and again in the years to come.
Sam took them through many deserted roads and gardens and strange silent streets, hauling the old cart across the steep hills which guarded the borders of Rumbledom. The horse strode out purposefully, head high and legs thrusting hard, the colour of his coat alternating between deep purple and gold as he entered and left the quiet pools of light which fell gracefully from the tall white swan-necks of the concrete street lamps.
Sam trudged on, from Brookwood Road to Elsenham Street, and into Augustus where the slope began in earnest. Up Albert Drive and Albyn Road, through Thursley Gardens and along Seymour Road and Bathgate Road, up Somerset Road at last and the slope flattened and the sky lightened and turned blotchy, like yesterday’s porridge. And a cold dark wind came across a boundless space and numbed the intent of the Adventurers as they peered from beneath the warm canvas. The crisp air lined their lungs with ice, chilling their blood at the heart. Sam hesitated. One last road to cross—Parkside. He shook his head and neighed valiantly, and went out into the green and black stillness that was Rumbledom.
Bingo guided the horse and cart to a large clump of trees not far into the wilderness. The wintry light of morning glinted without friendliness on a sheet of water nearby. ‘Bluegate Gravel Pit, Disused’, said the map.
‘We’ll camp by the water’s edge,’ said Knocker to Bingo, ‘then at least we can’t be attacked from the rear, and we can post lookouts along the line of trees.’
‘It doesn’t look like we’ve been spotted,’ said Bingo. ‘If we make it to those trees, we’ll be safe.’
Sam pulled them towards a copse. The cart lurched and jolted and the Borribles, who were standing now, had to hang on with all their strength to avoid being thrown to the ground. They looked keenly about them to see if there was any sign of the Rumbles, but not a bird flew overhead and nary a dog hunted through the clumps of grass, not even on the horizon where the grey sky was brightening.
‘Come on, Sam, me old deario,’ cried Bingo in a tired voice. ‘Nearly there, ain’t it? Then we’ll rest and eat all day, my little darling.’
Sam came to a halt. His coat was steaming and his legs were trembling after the long uphill flight from Engadine. Bingo yanked on the brake lever and the Adventurers leapt to the ground. They spread out in all directions to search through the undergrowth, making certain that there were no Rumbles in hiding or, even more dangerous, that there was no entrance here to a burrow. one of those large underground warrens where Rumbles live in security and comfort.
They found no trace of the enemy and so Napoleon and Vulge prised Bingo up and away from the shoulders of Stonks and stood him on the ground. Bingo stretched and rubbed his legs. ‘What a gloomy old dump Rumbledom is,’ he said. ‘What’s on the other side?’
‘Not much,’ said Knocker. ‘There’s no more London, just countryside with separate houses, funny.’
‘And they lives down below,’ whispered Torreycanyon, pointing downwards, ‘right under our very feet, eh?’
‘That’s right,’ said Orococco. ‘They lives in burrows and we lives in boroughs. That’s the difference!’
‘Hey, you lot,’ called out Napoleon, ‘come over here and help me with Stonks. He’s gone all stiff-solid, carrying Bingo all this way: he’s got cramp in all his muscles. Poor sod can’t move.’
The Borribles gathered round the cart and stared up at their companion.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he said, hardly able to move his mouth. ‘I’m all right, honest. Keep your eyes open ‘stead of fussing about me; they might creep up on you.’
‘Chalotte and me will go on guard,’ said Sydney, and the two girls went to the edge of the copse. The others lifted Stonks gently from his
seat and laid him on the grass, though his body remained in a sitting position, quite rigid.
seat and laid him on the grass, though his body remained in a sitting position, quite rigid.
‘He looks like a bloody armchair,’ said Bingo.
‘Just give me a rub-down.’ Stonks tried to laugh. ‘I’ll soon be as good as new.’
They took turns in rubbing Stonks hard on his legs, and when his muscles had loosened a little they covered him with sleeping bags to keep him warm. Then they settled down for a council of war.
No noise came across the open spaces of Rumbledom but traffic whined along Parkside now as people began to make their way to work. Only one thing was moving near them in the dreary landscape, the cool black steam that rose from the surface of the gravel pit.
It was easy to decide what they needed at that moment—food and rest. They opened their haversacks and made a feast of the food they had brought from Dewdrop’s house. There were tins of beans, loaves of sliced bread, packets of biscuits, tins of steak-and-kidney pie, rice pudding, slabs of chocolate both milk and plain, nuts and raisins. There was cheese and liver sausage and bottles of Guinness and cans of ale. It was a complete banquet, coming as it did after the weeks of privation in the cellars of Engadine.
Then, with two of their number constantly on watch, they slept all morning. In the afternoon they just dozed or chatted lazily to one another, firing their catapults at the water as they talked. Some fell asleep again, to wake up later and join in the conversation. They discussed the Rumbles, their adventures so far and the training that Knocker and Dodger had given them, and if they would ever, all of them, get home safe and sound.
‘They like staying in the warm,’ said Knocker of the Rumbles. ‘It is well into winter now, so they’ll spend most of their time in the burrows. We’ve been so long in coming that they’ve probably forgotten all about us and won’t have many lookout patrols on the go. On the other hand they are no fools. They may have seen us already; they may be on the other side of the horizon gathering their forces.’
‘Has anyone, apart from a Rumble that is, ever seen the inside of a burrow?’ asked Chalotte.
‘No,’ said Knocker, ‘but according to Spiff, who knows more about them than any other Borrible, you want to forget the idea of it being a
cosy little burrow; it’s really a defensive bunker, very luxurious though—carpeted, pictures on the wall, beds, blankets and bathrooms, centrally heated of course, workshops. They want for nothing and they eat well. The bunker is complicated, designed like a spider’s web, strong, lots of cement. Rumbles, they know every inch of it. Some of you will get lost, be set on in a cul-de-sac. But remember the place in the middle to which all the tunnels lead, it’s called the Central. Once you get in the bunker you’ll be on your own, each one of you has got to do for your namesake and then hop it. You know what they look like, you did that in training.’
cosy little burrow; it’s really a defensive bunker, very luxurious though—carpeted, pictures on the wall, beds, blankets and bathrooms, centrally heated of course, workshops. They want for nothing and they eat well. The bunker is complicated, designed like a spider’s web, strong, lots of cement. Rumbles, they know every inch of it. Some of you will get lost, be set on in a cul-de-sac. But remember the place in the middle to which all the tunnels lead, it’s called the Central. Once you get in the bunker you’ll be on your own, each one of you has got to do for your namesake and then hop it. You know what they look like, you did that in training.’
‘We get in, get our target, and then get out,’ said Sydney.
‘That’s it,’ answered Knocker. ‘We’ll rendezvous back here. If anyone is captured or wounded or killed, the others do not wait. The survivors take the horse and cart and they go, night or day. There’ll be thousands of Rumbles after us and they can fight too, overrun us by sheer weight of numbers.’
‘I wish I knew what they were up to,’ said Vulge, standing up and firing his catapult at a plastic ice cream cup floating on the gravel pit and sinking it with his first stone. ‘It’s too damn quiet!’
Just then Orococco pushed his head through the trees. ‘There’s a Rumble comin’ this way, sniffin’ with his snout and pokin’ about in the grass with a nail on the end of a long stick! I could exterminate him from about fifty yards.’
‘Oh, boy,’ said Vulge, slipping his bandolier over his shoulder. ‘If he’s alone let’s nobble him and ask him a few questions, see what his mates are up to.’
Napoleon, who had been catnapping, rolled over and said lazily, ‘Yeah, someone go and bring the bastard in.’
‘Don’t harm him,’ said Knocker to Orococco. ‘We want him alive. If he doesn’t suss you as a Borrible, tell him you’ve got something you want him to see, right here.’
‘That might make him run a mile,’ joked Orococco, flashing his teeth.
‘Well, in that case, clout him across the head and drag him in by his snout,’ said Napoleon, and went back to sleep.
Those who were awake sprang to their feet and slipped through the bushes till they reached the perimeter of the copse. Across the windswept grass, picking his way slowly through the gorse bushes, they
saw the Rumble. He was sniffing the air cautiously and peering to right and left as if fearing attack or discovery.
saw the Rumble. He was sniffing the air cautiously and peering to right and left as if fearing attack or discovery.
Orococco kept the gorse bushes between himself and the Rumble for as long as he could but eventually he was noticed. The Rumble sank behind a small bush till only his snout protruded. Orococco pretended he’d seen nothing and made as if to pass by, but then he stopped and the watchers saw him wave at the Rumble, who came out into the open and stepped hesitantly towards the black Borrible.
For a while Orococco engaged the enemy in conversation; he pointed towards the copse where his companions were hidden, then he waved again at the Rumble and moved on.
‘Wonder if it’ll work,’ said Vulge.
‘Depends what he told him,’ said Chalotte.
The Rumble remained where he was for several minutes waiting for Orococco to disappear, but the second he thought he was alone he turned and began to run towards the Borribles.
‘Verdammt
, it has worked,’ cried Adolf, rubbing his hands.
, it has worked,’ cried Adolf, rubbing his hands.
‘Spread out,’ said Knocker. ‘Get behind a tree and when the little bleeder comes by, jump him.’
From their hiding places the Borribles watched the approach of the solitary Rumble. The animal’s snout pulsated with suspicion, the small red eyes probed everywhere, trying to see through the undergrowth, beyond the bushes. His padded feet brought him nearer and nearer. At the edge of the trees he halted and turned to look over the wild downs. Nothing moved on the surface of the countryside. The Rumble took a deep breath through his snout and plunged into the copse. He did not plunge very far. As he passed between two trees Vulge and Torreycanyon rose from the matted undergrowth like two fast-growing man-eating plants, one before and one behind the surprised Rumble.
‘Aaaaagh,’ he squealed, the sound beginning loudly but fading away to a weak and disjointed whimper.
‘Aaaaagh,’ imitated Vulge. Then he grabbed the Rumble by the scruff of its neck and shook him. as if trying to dislocate every bone in his body. ‘You mouldy old eiderdown, we’ve come a long way to have a chat with you. Gone through endless dangers to engage you in fruitful converse, and all you can do is go “Aaaaagh”.’
‘Yeah,’ joined in Torreycanyon, slapping the animal gently across the
snout, ‘you’re a rat.’ He did not have the same inventive vocabulary that Vulge was blessed with.
snout, ‘you’re a rat.’ He did not have the same inventive vocabulary that Vulge was blessed with.
The animal drew himself up. ‘I’m not a wat,’ he said, ‘I’m a Wumble.’
‘And I’m Towweycanyon, a howwible Bowwible,’ said Torreycanyon and he seized the Rumble-stick. ‘Look at this.’ he said to Vulge, ‘a very nasty tool.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed the Stepney Borrible. ‘And there’s thousands of Rumbles out there and they’ve all got one. Come on, let’s get back to the clearing.’
They held the prisoner by his arms and dragged him back to the middle of the trees where the others soon gathered. They sat the Rumble down by the cart and tied him to one of the wheels.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ said the Rumble, looking nervously around. ‘I weally can smell a horse. You can’t wealize how dweadful they are.’
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