‘And how do you like Wandsworth, my friend Adolf?’ asked Halfabar, as he pulled the German to the bank.
Adolf spat down into the muddy stream. ‘Why, it is just as smelly as Hamburg; I feel quite at home.’ He grinned.
The column formed up once more, half the bodyguard in front with a torch or two to show the way, the Adventurers in the middle, and the rest of the bodyguard behind. Tron gave the word and they stepped out in
good order. The Wendles sang heartily as they marched, a stirring fighting song which was their favourite.
‘We are the Wendles of Wandsworth Town,
We’re always up and the others are down.
We’re rough and we’re tough and we don’t give a damn,
We are the elite of the Borrible clan.
Reach for your Rumble-sticks!
Try all your dirty tricks!
Nothing can beat us
And none shall defeat us.
Say a wrong word and we’ll hammer you down,
We are the Wendles of Wandsworth Town!
‘We are the geezers who live below
The shoppers and coppers and the traffic flow.
We revel in muck and we rollick in mud,
The slime of the sewers enriches our blood.
Call yourself Borribles!
We are the Horribles!
Cruel black-as-inkers,
Cut-throating stinkers!
Say a wrong word and we’ll hammer you down,
We are the Wendles of Wandsworth Town!’
Tron led the group along at a fast pace. The sky became lighter and the torches were extinguished. After a ten-minute march the green fields of King George’s Park came into view, and Tron raised his right hand and the column halted.
‘What’s going on?’ Bingo asked Napoleon, who was standing just in front of him.
‘Wait and see,’ said Napoleon. ‘They know what they’re doing.’
‘I’ll be glad when we’re away on our own,’ whispered Vulge. ‘Wendles is creepy.’
As if in answer to Vulge’s impatience, Tron came back down the line and spoke to them. ‘We have to cross the river here,’ he said, ‘but there
are some secret stepping stones, just under the surface of the water, so you shouldn’t even get wet. Halfabar will go over first and show you where they are. I must get back underground before it gets much lighter. We’re too conspicuous along here, not like the streets.’
Halfabar stepped down from the towpath and, prodding with a Rumble-stick to find his way, he indicated the exact position of the stepping stones. Once the Wendle was across, each Adventurer in turn was lent a spear by a member of the bodyguard, and they followed Halfabar through the wide quagmire of sucking mud until they came up against the railings of the park. Not one person slipped from the sunken stones and soon Tron joined them to give directions for the next stage of their journey. The bodyguard remained on the east bank, squatting on their haunches, obediently waiting for their leaders to return.
‘Right,’ said Tron. ‘Now we must leave you. The next part of the your trip will be easy. We have sent messages out during the night and our lookouts know of your passage. You won’t see them but they will see you, and as they know what you look like and how many you are, they won’t bother you as long as you keep to the route. If you stray from it, we won’t be responsible for the consequences.
‘Follow the river through the park until you come to the end of the fields. There the river goes under a bridge. Above you is a road, Mapleton Road. That will take you westward, across another bit of the park, past the bandstand, and at the end of Mapleton turn into Longstaff, right at the end, then left, then right. That’s Merton Road, where our influence and power to help you ends.
‘Head south along Merton until you reach Replingham Road. We have our last outpost in a school there. Take that road westward until you reach Southfields, which lies under the great hill you will have to climb to reach Rumbledom. Once you have left our last outpost the dangers that wait for you are many. Beyond Southfields there will be a Rumble scout in every tree. You will have to devise some way of passing their lines unnoticed, or you will never reach Rumbledom alive, let alone achieve your aim. I wish you success and the gaining of a good name and … don’t get caught.’
With this Tron and Halfabar left the Adventurers, taking the spare Rumble-sticks and waders with them. They bounded over the Wandle without hesitation, flitting across the mud of the river as if it had been as
solid as the pavement on Wandsworth High Street. On the other side they gathered their bodyguard together and with a wave they ran off at a trot, back to the safety of their underground citadel.
When they had gone, Vulge patted Napoleon on the back with a friendly hand. ‘Lost your playmates, now. Have to put up with us again, won’t yer?’
Napoleon knocked Vulge’s hand away. ‘He is a fine Borrible, that Tron,’ he said, ‘and he has given us good advice.’
Torreycanyon shouldered his haversack and looked out over the deserted park. ‘Well, me chinas, I think we’d better get a move on and get as far away from this park as we can. It’s cold and nasty.’ And without a further word the Adventurers set off into the green silence, bearing their burdens with them.
The journey to Merton Road was not difficult and Napoleon led them there at a steady pace. It was a busy and noisy road, with cars roaring by and adults waiting in long bus queues, shifting from foot to foot or staring helplessly into the middle distance, hating the idea of yet another day at work.
When the Borribles came to Replingham Road they gathered together and crossed in a bunch, avoiding the heavy traffic. On a corner they could see a large secondary school of five storeys, with groups of pupils waiting by the main gates for the whistle blast that would announce the start of lessons. Just to one side of the group stood two Wendles disguised in the uniform of the school.
‘Wendles?’ asked Napoleon.
They nodded and waited for the rest of the band to approach, moving away from the school children before they spoke.
‘We are the last outpost. When you leave us you’re on your own. You go straight up there. See the twist in the road? Follow it. It’s a long walk, they say, lonely, a kind of no-man’s land; no Borribles, no Rumbles … as far as we know. Things will change when you get to Southfields and cross into Augustus Road. It will start to climb rapidly; steep, very. Then more trees and lots of posh houses. Some Wendles have won their names up there. The stories say there are no shops, so you won’t be able to live off the land, and there will be Rumble patrols in every garden, I should think. I don’t know how you’ll get through without being sussed, but then that’s your problem, isn’t it?’
The two Wendle scouts looked at each other as if to say that nobody
would get them on such a foolhardly mission. They were being brave enough just guarding this place and likely to get caught at any minute.
The Adventurers strode on, realizing that their adventure was perhaps a lot more forlorn than they had at first imagined, and that many perils still lay between them and the achievement of their goal.
Now, thought Knocker, the adventure begins in earnest, with dangers everywhere, and it will be a long, long while before we return to the safety of Wandsworth and the comforts of Battersea.
As the two Wendle scouts had indicated, the journey up the rising slope of Replingham Road was long and tiring. The houses in that part of Wandsworth wore a desolate air and there was hardly any movement in the streets, but then it was past nine thirty in the morning; children were at their lessons, their parents at work.
The Borribles kept close together, eyes flickering to left and right. It was the first daytime trek of the expedition and they had to be ready to run, hide or give battle; their catapults were grasped in their hands, stones ready for firing.
They were trudging towards the lower slopes of Rumbledom, haversacks becoming heavier with every step. Occasionally a door opened in the dead front of a house and a woman shook a doormat or came out to sweep a step. A man hastened by, late for work, and he turned briefly to scrutinize this strange band of earnest children who carried catapults and wore woollen hats; but he was too preoccupied by his own problems to think much about the bizarre nature of the sight and he hurried on.
Then things began to happen. The steady progress of the Borribles’ advance was interrupted when a car passed them, close to the pavement, and screeched to a halt fifty yards further up the road. A policeman, burly in his blue uniform, leapt from the car and stood in the middle of the pavement with his arms and legs spread wide as if he owned the road, the front gardens, the houses and all the world. His face was red and glowing with pleasure.
‘Blimey! A Woollie in a nondescript,’ said Bingo. ‘There’ll be another one behind us.’
Bingo was only too right; glancing over their shoulders the Borribles
saw another car parked a hundred yards behind them. A second brawny policeman was getting out of it, a grin on his face.
‘Verdammt,’
swore Adolf. ‘We’d better get out of here.’
The Adventurers had stopped on the corner of a side road leading out of Replingham; it was called Engadine Street and the Borribles were never to forget that name. Slowly, having loaded their catapults, they backed into it, and then took to their heels, putting on a burst of speed for twenty or thirty yards before skidding to a standstill.
‘Bingo,’ shouted Knocker, ‘you know the Woollies. Take over.’
The two policemen appeared on the corner and stood together for a moment, looking along the street. They waved the first car back to them, the other flashed on up the hill.
Bingo said, ‘That second nondescript will have gone round the block to seal off the other end of the road. They know we’re Borribles. We’re going to have to fight this one, and even then there’s a good chance of getting caught.’
‘Oh, I’m glad this has happened.’ Stonks grinned, flexing the elastic on his catapult. ‘Walking gets boring on its own.’
‘Right,’ said Bingo, ‘here they come. Pretend to be scared … like we’re running away. Spread across the road. When I give the word, turn and fire. I’ll be in the middle. Those of you on my left take the copper on the left, those on the right the copper on the right. Aim for their knees.’
The Borribles retreated, slowly at first, then more quickly until they were running as hard as they could. But the policemen could also run and were gaining on the fugitives when Bingo yelled at the top of his voice, ‘Now!’ and the Adventurers turned, springing into the air and landing with their catapults ready. They fired their volley together and both policemen fell as if their legs had been scythed from underneath them. Five stones arriving like bullets on a kneecap are as effective as amputation.
The police driver, at the near end of the street, had been watching the skirmish from the open window of his car, but when he saw his two colleagues rolling on the ground, clasping their knees in pain, he slipped his motor into gear and drove it down the middle of Engadine to come to their rescue.
Chalotte ran to the cover of a front garden. As the car came by, she let
it have a stone, glancing along the bonnet. It was beautifully done; the windscreen veined suddenly with a million lines of cold silver and the driver could see nothing. He was going too fast and swerved to be sure of avoiding his crippled colleagues who still lay in the road. The car went out of control, bounced across the pavement and sent Adolf spinning into the gutter. There was the sound of tearing metal and shattering glass as the car buried its nose in the brick coping that protected one of the house fronts. The driver, who had earlier unfastened his seat belt, went through the frail windscreen like a locomotive and concussed himself on what was left of the wall.
‘Yippee!’ yelled Bingo and ‘Yippee!’ yelled the others, but Vulge called a warning. ‘There’s one on his radio. There’ll be a squad of coppers up here in less time than it takes to wink an eye.’
Sure enough, one of the lamed policemen had pulled out his pocket transmitter and was about to speak into it.
Perhaps the quickest loader and firer of the team was Chalotte. A stone had flown from her catapult almost before Vulge had finished shouting. It smashed into the hand radio and knocked it to the ground, broken and useless.
‘We’ll have to get out of here quick,’ said Bingo, looking down to the far end of the street. ‘The other car will be coming round this way soon.’
‘I don’t mind staying here and taking them on,’ said Torreycannon. ‘I enjoyed that. I hope the Rumbles fall over as easily.’
‘We need somewhere to disappear,’ said Sydney. ‘The roads will be crawling with John Law in ten minutes’ time.’
The group went silent. What Sydney had said was true, but concealment would not be easy. There were no abandoned houses in Engadine and the police would soon be knocking at every door asking if the Borribles had been seen.
It was then that their luck changed.
They were standing on the pavement near the wrecked car, watching the injured policemen crawl away, when at their feet they heard a slight noise—a grating and a scratching. They half turned and looked at the metal coal-hole cover set into the pavement just behind them. They glanced along the street. Every house they could see had a similar cover in front of it, circular and made from heavy iron, put there so that coalmen could lift them out of the way and empty their hundredweight sacks
directly into the cellars, and so avoid tramping dirt and dust into people’s hallways. But this cover was special; it was revolving on its own.
‘Aye, aye,’ said Vulge. ‘What’s this then, undercover coppers?’
Suddenly the coal-hole cover floated up an inch, balanced on a human head. It hesitated, then up it came another inch, warily. A long moment went by and it tilted to one side and a nose appeared, a large nose and crooked, with coal dust on it as well as a heavy dewdrop which looked as if it might leave the nose at any moment, but which didn’t.
Vulge bent down quickly. ‘What’s your game, Sunshine, eh?’
A voice came out of the hole; it was cracked and petulant but the words it used were friendly enough. ‘Borribles, ain’t yer? He! He! Only Borribles could do that to the Woollies. I was watching from my front room. I’m a good friend to the Borribles, always have been. They help me and I help them. Was one myself once, ain’t it, till I got caught. Nasty business growing old. You don’t ever want to get caught, do you?’
Vulge looked at the others. ‘I don’t know what we’ve got here,’ he said, ‘but he might be able to get us out of this pickle.’
‘We’d better hurry,’ said Bingo. ‘I can see the other car at the far end of the road, getting ready.’
‘You come down here, mateys,’ said the voice from the coal-hole and the dewdrop quivered ecstatically, threatening to lose its passionate hold on the nose. ‘You come down here, ain’t it? I won’t tell where you are, and in a couple of days you can carry on to wherever you’re going.’
‘We haven’t got a lot of choice,’ said Torreycanyon. ‘None of us wants to get caught, at least not before we gets to Rumbledom and does what we came to do.’
‘Okay, down here,’ called Vulge. ‘Move over, we’re coming in.’ He pushed the coal-hole cover till it slid over to rest on the pavement and saw a narrow head, covered with a wisp of grey hair, duck back into the darkness.
‘Well,’ asked Vulge, ‘who’s first?’
‘Man, if we stands round here nattering all day, we’ll spend tonight in the nick with our ears clipped,’ said Orococco, and he struggled out of his haversack, threw it into the hole and then wriggled through the narrow opening.
The others followed quickly one by one until Knocker was left alone. He looked about him. The driver was still unconscious and the two injured
policemen had crawled into Replingham out of sight. The street was empty and no one had seen the disappearance of the Borrible Adventurers. The whole battle had taken no longer than two or three minutes and the crash had not yet attracted attention. However, at the far end of Engadine, Knocker could see the other police car in position. Its occupants were still too far away to see what had happened, but shortly those policemen would be driving towards him. He must get underground.
Knocker lowered himself through the pavement until his feet touched a shifting pile of coal. The light from above got smaller as he pulled the iron lid into its grooves. Finally it dropped into place and there was a clang like the top half of a sarcophagus shutting a corpse off from the living world, and a suffocating darkness enfolded Knocker and his nine companions in its close and clammy embrace, safe below the long stretches of Engadine Street, Southfields.
Knocker slipped and slithered on the knobs of coal. He stumbled, regained his balance for a moment, then fell forward. He was caught and the breath was crushed out of him by two wiry adult arms. He struggled but the arms were strong. He kicked and squirmed but he couldn’t free himself. Hot breath scalded his face as his assailant carried him along; the breath was foul and Knocker twisted away from it.
The breath became words. ‘Don’t you struggle, my little beauty. We’re on your side, ain’t it? Oh, me little deario, you are in safe hands now, ain’t you thought?’
Knocker stopped kicking and waited. The voice he heard close to his ear was the voice that had invited the Adventurers into the coal-hole; it was a sickly whining voice with a creaking edge to it. Knocker was carried into another part of the cellar and not for one second did the strong and stringy hands that clutched him relax their hold. Knocker didn’t like this at all. He slid his hand behind him to reach for his catapult but his hand encountered a large adult one in the act of pulling the weapon away, yet he was still held firmly by two other hands. Was there then another adult in the dark cellar, or did the beast that was carrying him have three hands? Knocker shivered; where on earth were the others?
Suddenly his captor shifted his grip and Knocker was grasped by the scruff of the neck and thrown roughly into space. He landed against another body and he heard Torreycanyon shout, ‘Swipe me, what’s occurring?’
At that moment there was a clashing sound as someone slammed a steel door; then a moment’s silence and a light was switched on, revealing the most dismal of scenes.
Knocker on his hands and knees blinked his eyes, the brightness coming after the dark almost blinding him. He shook his head. He could not believe what he saw. He and the others were imprisoned in a large cage such as one might see at a circus, only this cage had its bars placed very close together, so close that even a Borrible could not get through. In fact, the cage might well have been made especially for Borribles.
Outside the cage, in a large cellar room, stood two men, one middle-aged, the other old. The old man, a bony creature, was rubbing his hands, grinning and sniffing with glee at his dewdrop. The younger man, Dewdrop’s son, stood nodding his head stupidly and smiling an uneasy smile, as if he had made a mess in his trousers and was not quite sure what to do about it. He was an idiot, squarely built, a monster of great strength.
Knocker got to his feet and looked at his companions. They were motionless, staring at the evil old man. Their faces were white and hard with fear.
‘Shit a brick,’ cried Napoleon, his expression bitter with anger. ‘A Borrible-snatcher.’
Stonks grabbed at the bars and tried to shake them with all his power. ‘You dirty old sod,’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Let us out of here. I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you.’
The old man only rubbed his hands harder and sniffed more happily. He elbowed his son and nodded his head so vigorously that it seemed that the dewdrop must leave his nose for ever, but it stuck like gum, swinging backwards and forwards clanging against his nostrils.
‘Look at the dearios,’ he chortled. ‘Ten lovely little Borribles. I’ve never had such a haul in me own whole life. We’ll be rich, Erbie, so rich that the horse and cart won’t be able to carry all our goodies. Strike me pink, ain’t it beautiful? A little bit of persuasion and they’ll be workin’ day and night, ain’t it? Best little deario burglars in the whole wide world, ain’t it, Erbie?’
On Erbie’s vegetable visage there was not the slightest glimmer of thought, but he nodded slowly and said, ‘Yeah, Dad, yeah,’ and dead ideas
sunk sightless through his muddy brain, like poisoned fish in the Wandle.
‘Blimey, we’re in serious trouble now,’ said Bingo. ‘Dewdrop and Son. We’ll be lucky to get out of this alive, sure as eggs is fried.’