‘No,’ said Knocker, ‘it’s nothing like that. What we’ve got is worse. It’s a Rumble! There was a whole lot of them in a posh car and we caught this one tunnelling. Cheek, ain’t it, coming down here without a by-yer-leave and digging?’
Spiff had become more and more intent on what Knocker had been saying until finally he seemed quite beside himself.
‘A bloody Rumble, in the park? You get back downstairs, me lad, and I’ll come right away. I’ll put me hat on.’
He closed the door and Knocker darted back down the uncarpeted stairs. He understood Spiff’s caution; no Borrible ever left his room without putting on a woollen hat to cover the tops of his ears. It wasn’t that they were ashamed of them, quite the contrary, but they liked to be prepared for an emergency. Any unforeseen circumstance could force them into the streets and it wouldn’t do to be spotted as a Borrible.
‘He’s coming,’ said Knocker as soon as he re-entered the room. ‘He’s a good bloke, you know … short-tempered sometimes, but they don’t come any craftier than Spiff.’
‘You can’t get anything past him and that’s a fact,’ said Lightfinger. ‘They say he’s pulled more strokes than the Oxford and Cambridge boat race put together. And they say that he won dozens of names in fights with the Rumbles, and we’re only s’posed to have one. Nobody knows how many names, nobody … He’s a mystery, but one thing’s for sure, he hates Rumbles.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Knocker. ‘There’s millions of stories about his names and some of them not very Borrible either, but I’d rather have him for me than against me.’ He sat down and looked at Timbucktoo and thought about names and the gaining of them, something that occupied his every waking hour.
A Borrible name has to be earned because that is the only way a Borrible can get one. He has to have an adventure of some sort, and the name comes out of that adventure—stealing, burglary, a journey or a trick played on someone. That was the rule and Knocker was against it; it made it difficult, if not impossible, for a Borrible to join an adventure once he was in possession of a name. The first chance was always given to those who were nameless and this infuriated Knocker for he had a secret ambition to collect more names and have more adventures than any other Borrible alive.
A noise on the stairs disturbed Knocker’s reflections. He stood up and at the same moment Spiff flung open the door and strode theatrically into the room. His head was adorned with a magnificent hat of scarlet wool and he clutched the orange dressing gown tightly to his chest. Spiff had the clear face of a twelve-year-old child but his eyes were dark with wisdom: the wisdom, so it was rumoured, of a hundred years of existence. His nose was prominent; the kind of nose that smelt out trickery with ease.
He stopped short as soon as he saw the Rumble and he pushed his breath out over his teeth and made a whisper of a whistle.
‘At last,’ he said, like he was praying, ‘at last. It’s been a long while since I had my hands on one of these stinking rodents.’ He turned and beamed at Knocker and Lightfinger. ‘You lads have done marvellous, you’ve captured one alive and well, though he won’t be for long, the little basket. Found him in the park, eh? With hundreds of others, digging holes! That’s how it starts. Down here on our manor, taking it all for granted, think they’re the lords of creation, don’t they? Go anywhere, do what they like, we don’t count.’ He prodded and screwed the Rumble with a rigid index finger as he spoke. He turned to Knocker. ‘You know what this is?’
‘A Rumble.’
‘Yeah, a Rumble.’ Spiff was bitter. ‘No better than you or me for all their la-di-da manners. Years of them I’ve seen, sneerin’ at us down their
hoity-toity snouts … lords of creation, moving in on our space whenever they think they will.’
Knocker and Lightfinger looked at each other. They had never seen Spiff so angry.
‘Oh, come on, Spiff,’ said Lightfinger, ‘it can’t be that bad; the Rumbles have never done me any harm.’
Spiff jumped a foot from the floor. ‘You don’t know you’re born. You know nothing about the struggles and fights we had to win free. It weren’t easy to stay alive even.’
‘Oh, I know about it all right but that was your time, not mine.’ And Lightfinger leaned against the wall, crossed his ankles and shoved his hands into his pockets.
‘Don’t care was made to care,’ said Spiff sententiously, ‘and history repeats itself; in fact it don’t repeat itself, it just goes on being the same.’
‘Well anyway, what are we going to do with this rabbit?’ asked Knocker.
‘Shove it in the cupboard,’ said Spiff, rubbing his chin. ‘I’ll call a meeting tomorrow. You two can run down the street with the message right now, before you go to bed. I know Borribles don’t like meetings but this is an emergency, and we will have to act and think together for once!’
Spiff took one last look at the Rumble, then he pulled his Borrible hat further on to his head, spun on his heels and left the room. Knocker got the prisoner to his feet and locked him in the store cupboard, then he and Lightfinger left by the basement door and spent the next few hours informing all High Street Borribles what was afoot. Finally the two exhausted lookouts got to their own room at the top of Spiff’s house and climbed into a bundle of old blankets and sacks that formed their bed.
‘Argaah,’ yawned Knocker, ‘what a day.’
‘Goo’ night,’ said Lightfinger, and was immediately asleep.
A Borrible’s main business is to stay alive. This is an occupation that takes up most of his time; getting food from wherever he can discover it, finding things before they are lost, stealing his provisions from barrows and out of superstore warehouses: stealing because the fundamental Borrible rule, the rule that is primordial to the way they
live, the mainspring and motivation of their very being—rule number one—is that they must never have dealings in money. They have been brought up without it, and they must never touch it. If they do, bad luck and loss of freedom will follow as sure as night the day. That is why Borribles steal, and why they prefer to live near shopping centres and street markets like Brixton and Petticoat Lane, where food is easy to come by.
So important is that aspect of their life that they have many sayings that deal with it and they are all gathered together in the
Borrible Book of Proverbs
. Some of these maxims are very ancient, like, ‘that which falls off a lorry belongs to him who follows the lorry,’ and ‘That which is found has never been lost.’ One of their favourites is, ‘It is impossible to lose that which does not belong to you,’ and Borribles use that one a lot to people who complain about their thieving.
By eight o’clock on the morning following the capture of Timbucktoo Rumble, Battersea High Street market was in full swing. There were barrows and stalls along each side of the road and so little space was left for traffic that not a car dared venture down there. The barrows had been shoved very close together and it was easy for a Borrible to crawl underneath them from one end of the street to the other, picking up fruit on the way. It was a good way to get breakfast.
The costermongers shouted at each other and at prospective customers, urging them to buy. There were barrows selling fruit, ironmongery, fish and large crabs; the shops had their doors wide open and people were drinking tea in Notarianni’s cafe, talking loudly, making wild gestures with their hands. Brown’s, the pie and eel shop, was doing a brisk business and the inhabitants of the buildings—Archer House, Eaton House and White House—were loafing on street corners and thinking about passing bets in Ernie Swash’s, the bookmaker’s. The noise was so great that it rose right up the side of the house where Knocker and Lightfinger were sleeping and woke them from a deep slumber.
Knocker rolled over and woke his companion. ‘Come on, breakfast.’
He stretched his arms above his head; he hadn’t slept enough. The two Borribles had been out so late the night before that the costermongers had been loading their barrows as they came home; finding breakfast had been no problem and it was there beside them: one grapefruit, an orange and two large doughnuts dripping with jam.
Lightfinger rubbed his eyes and the old sacks and blankets dropped from him. He reached for the orange, bit it open and sucked hard, making a lot of noise. The orange was wonderful, fresh-tasting, chilled to ice crystals by the lorry journeys to and from Covent Garden.
‘Ooaagh,’ he groaned with pleasure, ‘that’s lovely.’
‘We’d better hurry up,’ said Knocker, ‘or we’ll miss the meeting.’
Halfway down the High Street was a disused brick-built hall. It had last been occupied by a firm of photographers called Scots of London, but they had departed long since and now the shop fell within the province of the Borribles. It was here that Spiff had asked the members of the Battersea tribe to gather; decisions had to be made and everyone was allowed a say.
Inside the hall, a kind of podium, stood Spiff in conversation with a score of his cronies. Other Borribles, ragged, dirty and inquisitive, slipped in through broken doorways, and, talking furiously, waited in groups to see what might happen.
The moment he thought enough people were present Spiff stepped to the front of the stage and held up both arms like a politician. He shouted several times and gradually the hubbub of voices became less and less until eventually a kind of excited silence hung on the air, then Spiff began to speak, relishing the occasion, for he took a delight in speechifying.
‘Brother and sister Borribles, I am pleased to see so many of you here, for today is a day of decision. Our way of life is in jeopardy and we must either act together or perish.’
The hall became quieter and the tension rose.
‘Not to beat about the bush, I’ll give you the facts, then anyone who wants a say can have a say. Right. the facts. Last night, our chief lookout and his assistant … ’
All heads turned to Knocker and Lightfinger.
‘ … while on a routine inspection of the Battersea area, discovered that we had been invaded by the Rumbles.’
The crowd drew in a deep breath and then let it out again in a long explosion and Spiff looked round for effect and more silence.
‘It seems that a large force came down here, all the way from Rumbledom, and occupied the park for several hours. They were digging! Now, in my opinion, this can only be a preparation for a takeover of
Battersea, an attack on our freedom, a new and subtle kind of slavery and a clipping of ears. Things have been bearable as long as the Rumbles have stayed in Rumbledom, where they belong, but this is something else.’
Murmurs of assent came from the assembly but Spiff held up his hand and went on.
‘In my opinion there is only one answer, my friends, pre-emptive defence. We must attack before we are attacked. We must destroy the Rumbles at the heart of their organization. However—’
Spiff broke off for a second and admonished the ceiling with a grubby finger.
‘—to carry out this plan we shall need to search carefully among the ranks of the nameless. From those who have not yet had their first adventure we must select the bravest, the slyest, the craftiest and the most resourceful. It is not only the enemy we have to fear, but the enormous distance between us and him, dangerous terrain. The Rumble is confident in his stronghold, blinded by his own conceit, safe, so he thinks, in the security of his own riches and comfort, but that is where we shall strike, with a handful of chosen Borribles. We shall need dedicated volunteers, but remember, those who go may never return. Blood will be spilt.’
At this there was a terrific hush in the hall and the Borribles looked at each other with trepidation. An adventure was one thing, death another.
‘We feel,’ went on Spiff, ‘that Battersea should not bear this brunt alone. All London Borribles are threatened. To this end messages will be sent out over the city and certain tribes will be asked to send their likeliest un-named champions to us for training and instruction. Likewise, from among the ranks of the Battersea nameless, we shall choose one who shows the greatest promise. We intend to approach the following groups: the Totters of Tooting, the Wendles of Wandsworth, the Stumpers of Stepney, the Whitechapel Wallopers, the Peckham Punch-uppers, the Neasden Nudgers and the Hoxton Hurnpers. Details of the raid will be worked out when all the candidates have arrived.’
Spiff stopped for breath and the hall became alive and words buzzed like bees. Who, people wondered, would be chosen as the Battersea representative on the expedition? An honour, yes, but a danger too.
Knocker swore to himself. ‘Why do I have my name already? What an adventure it’s going to be.’
Spiff called for quiet again. Now he prepared for his moment of high drama. He made a sign to the side of the stage and the prisoner was brought on for all to see. There was silence. The Rumble was still taped round the snout but its beady eyes glowed a fearful red and it stood upright and unmoved.
‘This,’ shouted Spiff, ‘is the enemy, no braver than us, no more dangerous; but they are difficult of access, living underground as they do, well-protected in their burrows. They are rich and they are powerful, and think themselves superior to all Borribles by divine right. This is the enemy who wants to take Battersea into its grasp. Even now they may be digging under the streets to emerge in your very backyard, even now they may be undermining your way of life, silently; dirty and evil, moles of the underground.’