The chieftain’s head moved at last and his eyes moved in the same axis, as if they had no independent life. He looked along the line of adventurers and at their belongings, then his head became immobile again. Napoleon continued to pour his story into Flinthead’s ear, pointing out his companions in turn, giving their names and telling what equipment they had brought. Flinthead nodded as the tale went on.
What power he has, thought Knocker, looking round the great hall. There must have been hundreds of Wandsworth Borribles in the cavern now, and although they talked among themselves there was none of that cheerful anarchy that Knocker associated with the meetings of any of the Borrible tribes he knew.
‘Is your lot like this?’ he asked. Chalotte was standing next to him.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘Creepy, I call it.’
It was amazing to Knocker how Flinthead had acquired this power. Normally a Borrible community has little organization above that of the Borrible house, or at the most and in emergencies only, the street.
At this point Knocker’s thoughts were interrupted; Flinthead slowly raised his left hand, and conversation in the great hall ceased immediately. Every Borrible there must have had at least one eye on the chieftain, every Borrible that is except Bingo and Adolf, who had been deeply engrossed in cheering each other with tales of what they were going to do to the Wendles when they got half a chance.
‘Ja,’
Adolf’s voice boomed over the silent hall. ‘Starting with Halfabar, I’ll obliterate them.’
‘And I’ll see to Flintbonce there, just for starters,’ yelled Bingo, and then stopped as he realized that maybe two hundred ears had heard him, that one hundred torches now beamed on him and two hundred eyes had seen him and would remember his face. Worst of all, the blank eyes of Flinthead himself now came to rest upon Bingo like the heavy hand of death.
Flinthead waited and the hall became quieter and quieter, every increase in the tension making the atmosphere more difficult to breathe. Then he spoke, and when his voice came it came as a shock. It was a friendly voice, warm and solicitous, like a kind uncle asking after a favourite nephew’s health. His mouth smiled, but no other part of his face shared in that smile. He addressed the line of Adventurers.
‘Welcome, my friends,’ he said, looking as if he wished Adolf and Bingo six feet deep in Wandle mud. ‘Welcome to Wandsworth. You must forgive us, fellow Borribles, if we seem so defensive. You live far from these rugged frontiers, whereas we exist under the constant threat of Rumbledom and its rapacious denizens. It would be so easy for them, you understand, to come pouring down the hillsides. across Southfields and into this Borough where we … pick up a poor living. Heaven knows why they covet what is ours, but then greed is a terrible thing, and although the Rumbles seem to us to be rich beyond the dreams of avarice, we find them everywhere, taking more and more. You captured only one Rumble on your frontier and yet you immediately
gathered an elite force from all over London to punish them. Think how much more we feel the need to protect ourselves when we have thousands of warrior Rumbles on our very doorstep. But let us forget your awkward welcome. Now that we know exactly who you are, and where you are going, we join in common cause with you. Your enemy is our enemy, your fight our fight.’
He coughed, thought for a moment and then went on. ‘Napoleon Boot, a warrior whom we trust, has told me of you and what you intend to do when once you reach Rumbledom. It is a good plan, though hazardous, and we hope you succeed. For the present our warriors will look after you. Sleep well and tomorrow Tron will set you on your way; we shall see that your every need is satisfied. We shall give of our best.’
Knocker stepped forward and looked straight into the cold eyes.
‘What,’ he asked, making his voice sound even and mature, ‘will happen to our boat? We shall need it for the return journey.’
A smile lived for a second on Flinthead’s face and then died for want of sustenance. ‘We shall guard your boat as carefully as if it were our own. After all, you will need it to carry your spoils.’
‘We do not go for spoils,’ replied Knocker. ‘But there is another thing: will you, on our return, guarantee us a passage down the Wandle, till we are safe on the Thames?’
‘My own personal bodyguard shall be with you as you leave here and shall be at your disposition when you return. That shows how important it is to us that your mission succeeds, and will be a measure of our gratitude if it does. Next time we shall know you and our welcome will be more … amiable. For the present Tron will take you all to a comfortable room that has been prepared.’
Flinthead gestured and Tron and Halfabar came forward and indicated that the Adventurers should follow them. After a last glance in the direction of the podium, they turned about and walked across the huge hall in the footsteps of their Wendle guides.
Knocker did not follow the others immediately. He moved closer to the platform and looked up at Flinthead once again.
‘Does Napoleon come with us, or does he stay here with you?’ he asked the chieftain.
The chief Wendle smiled like a tombstone. ‘He had best stay with you, I think, then you can leave together in the morning. He has told me
all I want to know, especially about you, Knocker. I think the adventure might succeed with you at its head.’
‘I am not its leader, Flinthead,’ protested Knocker, looking angrily at Napoleon.
‘I know,’ said Flinthead dismissively. ‘You are a … What is it? An Historian? We all know how to bend the rules, especially the one called Spiff. I know of him and he knows of me. Well, whatever you are, I hope you win through. I ask only one thing, and this I want you to promise: that you come back to us and recount in every detail the dangers of your expedition. One of the few pleasures I have is listening to the stories of those who make a journey to earn their names. I want to hear how you fare, including Napoleon here; a fine name he will have.’
‘It will be the least we can do by way of thanks for the hospitality we have received at your hands,’ said Knocker politely, though he was deeply troubled in his mind by Flinthead’s behaviour. But at that moment all Knocker could do was to pretend he believed everything he was told. Knocker looked at Napoleon. He was a Wendle too, and in a crisis would stand and fight with the Wendles, that was only natural. It wouldn’t do to trust him with any secrets; secrets would only get to the ear of Flinthead and if the secrets were valuable then Knocker’s life, and the lives of the others, wouldn’t be worth a handful of Wandle mud.
Flinthead stood, ready to leave. ‘You are too kind,’ he said, and then without another word he raised his hand and the Wendles in the hall began to leave. Flinthead’s bodyguard assembled at the rear of the platform and the chief went down the steps and was lost in the middle of his men. Knocker watched them march away, an elite corps of well armed and experienced fighting Wendles, about fifty of them. It would, he reflected, he almost impossible to harm the chieftain without their connivance. and they were, without doubt, loyal to a man.
As they disappeared, Napoleon came to the front of the platform and jumped down to stand beside Knocker.
‘I tell yer,’ he said scornfully, ‘that is a great Borrible; no little Spiff in a dressing gown, but a warrior who plans ahead and knows things. He sees what you are thinking even as it comes to your mind.’
‘Spiff is just as crafty and just as clever,’ answered Knocker.
Napoleon shrugged his shoulders and turned to lead the way across
the hall which was emptying now of Wendles. ‘They should have sent half a dozen of my tribe on this expedition,’ he said. ‘We’d have done it easy.’
Knocker did not bother to answer the jibe, and the two Borribles hastened to catch up with their companions. After marching for half a mile or so the Adventurers were led into a well furnished and comfortable room, which by Borrible standards was luxurious indeed, with carpets on the floor, a few armchairs and an abundance of cushions and blankets for relaxation and sleep. The haversacks were brought in and the Wendle escorts hurried away. When they’d gone, Tron and Halfabar stood at the door for a moment, then they too departed and there was the sound of a key turning and bolts being rammed home.
Orococco stood up quickly. ‘They’ve locked the door,’ he said angrily, looking at Napoleon.
‘Yeah,’ said Bingo. ‘What’s that about, eh? Answer me that.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Napoleon, ‘I … asked Flinthead to do it, so we could sleep and eat without being disturbed.’
‘We could get drowned in here if the tide rose,’ said Vulge. ‘I don’t like it. Us Borribles hate being locked in anywhere.’
‘You’ve got a cheek.’ Napoleon defended himself. ‘Why, this is part of Flinthead’s own apartments that he’s gone and let us use.’
“He don’t exactly trust us, do he?’ said Vulge, striding up and down the room. ‘Don’t let us go anywhere on our own, and locks us in for the night. I hates being locked up at all. It’s worse than the nick, underground, gives me the creeps.’
‘It’s not natural,’ continued Bingo, ‘all this bowing and scraping to Flinthead. Shouldn’t bow an’ scrape to anyone, a Borrible. I don’t think your lot are very Borrible, come to that.’
‘Are you saying I’m not a Borrible?’ cried Napoleon, livid, and he pulled off his hat and pointed to his ears.
‘We don’t know about you, yet,’ put in Knocker, quietly.
‘And we don’t know about you, yet,’ retorted Napoleon.
‘How does a bloke like Flinthead get all that power, eh?’ asked Chalotte. ‘That’s what I should like to know.’
‘Because he saw what needed doing and he did it, because he’s tougher and brighter than anyone else.’ answered Napoleon furiously.
‘Look. We came on this trip to get the Rumbles, not for a holiday. Why don’t you all just have a good meal and a good night’s sleep? That’s what I’m going to do.’ And with that the Wendle began to help himself to the food that had been provided, and refused to be drawn into any further conversation that night.
The others grumbled for a while among themselves, but then, being just as hungry and as tired as Napoleon, they ate their fill, stretched their limbs, chose a few cushions, spread the blankets and were all soon fast asleep.
They slept long and deep and woke late. Fresh food and drink was brought to them, and when they were ready to march there was a loud knocking at the door and it was thrown open. In the doorway and in the high corridor beyond, stood a crowd of about thirty Wendles, part of the elite guard, armed and dressed for a foray beyond the limits of the underground caverns. Each one carried a Rumble-stick as well as a catapult, and bandoliers were slung over their shoulders. The detachment was again led by Tron and Halfabar.
‘Come,’ called Tron into the room. ‘We are to take you to King George’s Park, then you have only a little way to go before you cross Merton Road and so leave our territory.’
The Adventurers checked their catapults and stones, stepped out into the corridor and stood together. The Wendles formed up tightly, and the whole group made off down the tunnel, guiding their steps with circles of light from their torches.
After a brisk march they entered the huge hall where they had met Flinthead. The small stage was still there but now no one sat on it nor was there one Wendle, apart from their escort, to be seen. They crossed the hall and entered a tunnel which dropped down to the Wandle and once there they followed the towpath along its edge.
‘The tunnels look deserted,’ explained Tron, ‘but don’t forget that it is four in the morning. The night-stealers have not returned from their work and the day-stealers are still sleeping. Then we have permanent lookouts everywhere along Merton Road; that is the beginning of no-man’s land.’
The Adventurers had to admit that the Wendles were more friendly
than they had been the previous day. Even Halfabar seemed to regret the misunderstanding that had occurred between him and Adolf on their first meeting.
‘Come back safely so that you can tell me the story of your adventures,’ he admonished the German in warm tones.
‘So I will, Halfabar,’ hooted Adolf, ‘so I will.’
Suddenly, on a command from Tron, the column halted. They had come to the end of the underground section of the River Wandle. All torches were extinguished and the warriors stood motionless in the obscurity, waiting patiently until their eyes had become completely accustomed to the darkness of the night. Only then did Tron make a sign and one of his scouts slipped soundlessly from the tunnel, wading slowly through the mud and water.
After a second or two the scout gave a low whistle which was answered immediately by a guard stationed on the river bank. Tron lifted his hand again and two more Wendles disappeared outside, and so he continued until half his command had gone. Then the first Wendle reappeared. All was well; the guards had advanced along the Wandle and had seen no suspicious activity. It was not quite dawn and they could get the Adventurers to King George’s Park and be back underground before it was full daylight.
Tron waved the Adventurers forward and one by one they slithered down from the towpath until they were waist deep in clinging sludge. They strode away stiffly, well protected in borrowed waders, but they could not escape the terrible stench of the mud where it bubbled up in steamy clouds as they pushed their legs and feet forward. Fortunately they did not have far to go. As soon as they were clear of the tunnel entrance the guards hauled them on to a small path lying on the east side of the river and there the escort awaited them.