Authors: Michael de Larrabeiti
The Borribles (16 page)
Chalotte didn’t pick up on the insult, in fact she smiled. ‘I told you at the start we’d be as good as anyone else. As for scared, well, we’re all scared of something. You’re scared that you won’t get another name, and another after that … All I’m scared of is getting in too deep, too deep into something that isn’t really Borrible. That’s all.’ And she placed her hand ever so lightly on Knocker’s and took it away again.
Knocker blushed and turned his head to look at her but she was gone through the bushes, back to her lookout post. Over the sunless fields of Rumbledom the mist lay in pools and there was not a soul to be seen. Soon it would be dark.
And as the dusk deepened in the trees the Borribles watched and slept by turns, but by midnight they could rest no longer, so they roused themselves for one last meal together. They crowded under the cart and held their feast by the light of torches tied to the spokes of the wheels. They were subdued, but Adolf cheered them with tales of his travels and the stories of his names, telling them how this was the best adventure he had ever known, and how happy he was to be with such a band. He slapped Napoleon on the back and said he ‘wasn’t bad for a Wendle’ and even Napoleon had to laugh at that, and he gave the German another can of Dewdrop’s Guinness.
In the blackest part of the night the Adventurers prepared themselves. They reloaded their double bandoliers with the choicest stones, and Adolf and Knocker even took with them the spare catapults they had used for their escape from Dewdrop’s house. They removed all shiny things from their jackets, and they tucked their trousers into their socks, tying the laces of their combat boots as tightly as they could. They put Sam hack between the shafts and loaded their haversacks on to the cart so they would be ready to run for it if they ever managed to get clear of the bunker.
When all was done they shovelled up a huge pile of stones from the gravelly shore of the lake and threw them into the cart as well. If they had to make a running retreat it would be an advantage to have a good supply of ammunition with them.
At the very last, Knocker took a tin from his pocket, opened it, and began smearing his face with the contents. It was black greasepaint, so that his white skin would not be spied by the enemy in the frosty starlight. Orococco laughed as the others followed suit.
‘Man, oh man, I knew my colour would come in useful one day. If we have a daylight attack, will you fellas get me some white paint so my face don’t stick out so much?’
Then the Adventurers were ready—tough and determined. One by one they went to the horse and patted him and asked him to be patient, standing in the traces like that, and Sam neighed like a charger and stamped a hoof. Then the Borribles synchronized their watches and took a compass bearing on the copse and finally, without a light to guide them, they moved off in single file. Orococco led them out, for as he said, not only did he know the way, but he was still the blackest of them all.
It was a clear night and a ground frost made the Adventurers’ footsteps crunch loudly as they advanced over the stiff white grass. They said nothing, each one nursing his or her own private thoughts, each one yearning for the crowded and friendly streets that they called home, but there was no turning back now.
They walked on for about a mile, then Orococco stopped and his companions gathered around him. Even then the Borrible from Tooting could not resist a joke: ‘Why, friends,’ he laughed, ‘we looks like a Black and White Minstrel Show.’
‘Get on with it,’ snapped Stonks, who like everybody else was very tense and eager to begin.
‘Okay, Mr Bones,’ said Orococco. ‘You see that mound beginning to rise a little, over there against the sky? That’s the bunker, only it looks like a hill. There’s a couple of saplings and a few bushes to the right; they screen the Great Door. If we climb the hill and walk over it in a straight line, we’ll come to the exit hole of the ventilation network, and going on from that, ‘bout half a mile, is the back door, smaller, not so well made. Don’t stamp your feet when you’re on the hill; you’ll wake up all the rats in Rumbledom if you do.’
‘Right then,’ said Stonks, ‘I’ll get off here. My target’s just the other side of that door.’
‘With a hundred thousand unfriendly friends,’ added Napoleon.
‘Kind of odds that keep a Borrible alert,’ answered Stonks, not to be put down by a Wendle.
‘Who do you want to go with you?’ asked Knocker. ‘We must get a move on, we’ve got to be out before dawn.’
‘Torreycanyon, if he’ll come,’ said Stonks, turning to his friend.
‘Course I will,’ said Torreycanyon. ‘We’ll give you guys ten minutes, then we’ll go in.’
The others went on, moving at a trot up the side of the hill, and sure enough, at the top, hidden by thick gorse bushes, was the main outlet for the air conditioning system of the whole bunker city. It was covered by a large iron grille, solid and heavy, painted green to camouflage its appearance. Orococco said, ‘There she is. Now, who’s coming with me to the other door? I can recommend it, very frail and only five hundred and fifty Rumbles guarding it. Any offers?’
Bingo gave a nod. ‘Battersea and Tooting together,’ he cried. ‘What a team! I’ll pick you up by the legs, you old Totter, and bash them to smithereens with your head bone.’
Orococco turned to Knocker. ‘Give us five minutes.’ he said, ‘and by the time you’ve got the kettle boiled for tea we’ll be in there with you.’ And he and Bingo began the descent that led to the Small Door of Rumbledom.
There were six of them left standing at the vent now: Chalotte, Sydney, Adolf, Napoleon, Vulge and Knocker himself. They squatted and waited.
‘Friends,’ said Vulge after a while, ‘those five minutes have gone into eternity. Shall we begin the dance?’
Napoleon forced his knife under the edge of the ventilation grille and pushed it in as far as it would go, Then he exerted all his strength and levered and twisted; the grille shifted, just a little.
‘It’s coming,’ said Sydney, and shoved a stone into the gap so that the grille could not fall back into its grooves. Adolf and Knocker seized the edge of it and pulled together to upend the square of heavy iron before lowering it to the ground. Chalotte bent over the dark aperture and peered in. ‘It looks a long way down,’ she said.
Napoleon risked a quick beam of light from his torch. The ventilation shaft dropped vertically for about ten feet then turned a right-angled corner.
‘There’s only one way to find out where it goes,’ said Vulge, ‘and that’s to go.’
They had all brought a length of strong rope with them, tied around their waists, and Vulge took his and attached it to the foot of a nearby growth of gorse.
‘I’ll go first,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you the whistle if it looks all right.’ He
looked closely at the faces of his fellow Adventurers. ‘This is it, then, so ‘ere we go.’ And he slipped over the edge of the air vent 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.
looked closely at the faces of his fellow Adventurers. ‘This is it, then, so ‘ere we go.’ And he slipped over the edge of the air vent 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,’ whispered 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, ‘no mug that girl.’
said Adolf, nudging Knocker, ‘no mug 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 after, and remember it’s our adventure, not yours. I don’t want you interfering, ‘specially not you, Knocker. I wouldn’t trust you further than I could throw Nelson’s Column.’
Adolf watched the Wendle slither down the rope.
‘He doesn’t like you very much, you know,’ he said to Knocker. ‘He thinks you are up to something.’
Knocker grinned. ‘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 us 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 Rumble defences and make the difficult task of the Borribles into an impossible one. The grass and bushes were damp with the threat of the coming dew and soon the two attackers 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; but when we’ve eliminated them, 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. The story’s the thing; have you thought of that?’
story. If it’s never written down, then it’s gone for ever. The story’s the thing; 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 … You know, I hadn’t realized Historians were so important.’
Torreycanyon held Stonks by the arm for a moment.
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘but if he hadn’t come this far he would have had no story to tell. Historians have to go where the history is, I s’pose.’
They crept on until they were about ten yards from the door; there they stopped 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, so it’ll bend under your weight. Here’s the rope, tie the middle of it round the top of the trunk and drop both ends down to me. Got it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Torreycanyon. ‘Course I got it.’ And he scrambled up the tree making it droop more and more as he climbed higher, and making it sway from side to side as he secured the rope and threw the loose ends of it to Stonks. 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 sapling 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 fasten 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 spoke someone stirred behind the 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, Stonks, but I’ve found something mighty suspicious here. You’d better check it over. Open up.’
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, cut that rope.’
Torreycanyon crouched and Stonks stood behind the door as it swung slowly open.
‘I wealize you’re vewy stwong,’ said the Borrible, ‘but I don’t think that even you can keep hold of this.’ He put the rope’s end around the door and thrust it into the hand of the Rumble. ‘Hang on tight, he insisted. ‘Wemember we Wumbles never let go.’ And he made the sign to Torreycanyon, who, with one slash of his knife, severed the cord that held the tree top to the ground. The sapling was immediately released from constraint and it sprang upright with an irresistible power, dragging the short end of rope with it. The Rumble doorkeeper at the end of the rope, true to his 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 clear of it.
The Rumble whizzed over the Borrible’s head at escape velocity and was swung away in a wide arc. Still he held on, and could he 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 on to 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,’ ventured Torreycanyon.
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 door to the bunker now stood open and undefended. The two Borribles tiptoed towards it and peered in. An electric light showed an entrance hall furnished with a comfortable armchair for the duty guard to rest in; there were some blankets and nearby a little table with food and books on it. On the other side of the hall a lighted tunnel led off to the heart of the bunker. Both the hallway and the tunnel were built in brick and there was carpet on the floor and pictures on the walls. It looked warm and comfortable.
‘Nobody about,’ said Stonks, and they entered the hall 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 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.’
‘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, me 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.
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