‘We’ve been rumbled,’ said Orococco.
‘This is no time for bad jokes,’ panted Knocker, sweating under the weight of his box and wishing he had his hands free.
‘The proverb says,’ hissed Orococco as he fired and reloaded his catapult, ‘“Bad times need jokes though never so bad.”’
A flight of lances whistled over from the Rumbles, but the catapult fire, rapid and sustained, detracted from their aim and the stickers missed their targets and fell harmlessly to the floor; all save one, which struck the box that Knocker carried and pierced the lid and stayed there quivering. The force of the blow staggered Knocker and he went down on one knee. Adolf helped him back to his feet.
The Rumbles searched round for more lances but the flying Borrible stones still hampered them and one by one they were hit and retreated to the safety of the tunnels. But there was one Rumble, braver and quicker than the rest, who exhorted his comrades to come out again and began to organize the non-combatants into a compact mass, ready to charge the tiny band of Borribles. If he could get his men to act together, all would be over with the retreating Adventurers, but Orococco had other ideas.
Snatching a lance from the floor, he ran forward, one Borrible charging a hundred of his foes. About twenty yards from the brave but offending Rumble, Orococco threw his lance like a javelin. It left his hand with the power of a bullet and the four-inch nail buried itself deep in the warrior’s thick fur. A groan went up from the enemy ranks and scores of stickers clattered about the head of Orococco, but he bobbed and ducked and returned to his friends unscathed, and together they gained the temporary safety of the Great Door tunnel.
Vulge fell to the floor in a dead faint. Knocker flung down his box, tugged the lance free of the lid and threw the weapon back into the hall.
Adolf knelt to inspect Vulge’s injury, lifting the jacket aside to reveal the blood-soaked bandage.
‘Our Vulge has lost lots of his strength,’ he said, ‘but the wound has
stopped bleeding. He may be all right, if he can rest.’ He refolded the cloth and replaced it.
Orococco, watching from the mouth of the corridor, called a warning: ‘There’s a lot of those warrior boys out there, and all coming our way.’
Knocker looked at the others and said, ‘Rest, just a minute or two. We’re not finished yet. I can hear fighting up ahead; we ain’t out of this holiday camp yet.’
‘It’s a lovely place,’ said Vulge, who was becoming delirious. ‘Lots and lots of Rumbles in it.’
Bingo ran like the wind along the corridor. As far as he could see it was empty of Rumbles ahead, but from behind came the noise of shouting as the warriors from the Central gave chase.
Bingo ran easily, keeping plenty of strength in reserve. Wherever the library was it seemed a long way. He ran on, outdistancing his pursuers until at length he could hear them no more. He slowed his pace to a jog, a sticker swinging loosely in his right hand, his catapult in his belt. He was in the furthest reaches of the bunker here; it was strangely quiet and the air was free of smoke and acrid steam.
After what seemed miles, Bingo came to a green baize-covered door hanging crazily on one hinge. Several stickers stood embedded in it and two Rumble warriors, with their throats slit, lay dead across the threshold.
‘Wendle work,’ said Bingo, and he went past the bodies and slipped into the room that lay beyond. It was indeed the library but it had been badly mauled. It was a long high chamber, with massively tall bookcases soaring up to an embossed ceiling that had been painted in bright colours with the coats of arms of the richest and most ancient Rumble families. Diminutive wooden balconies ran round the walls and cunningly carved spiral staircases led up to them.
Quiet alcoves with comfortable desks were situated between the bookshelves, and green-shaded lamps gave a friendly and academic glow. It was a place for rest and study, richly decorated, and it had obviously cost a great deal of money and labour to establish and build up over long years. Here was assembled all the knowledge, wisdom and power that the Rumbles had amassed over many centuries, and now it
was being dismantled by a very busy Borrible. Napoleon Boot was hard at work with the cool ferocity of a Wendle with a grudge.
Bingo glanced round the room to check that there was no enemy, and there wasn’t, alive. The bodies of a dozen or so vanquished Rumble warriors littered the dark green carpet, all but covered in mounds of heavy books. Napoleon carried on with his work, unperturbed by Bingo’s arrival, which he acknowledged with a curt nod.
The Wendle had already pushed or levered over two or three of the huge bookcases, and spilled their contents out across the floor. At the far end of the room one of the long library ladders was propped up to a grating of the ventilation system. Napoleon had prepared his retreat, but was not going to leave before he had caused the maximum amount of damage. The Wendle was nobody’s fool.
Bingo watched as Napoleon pushed over a few more bookcases and the volumes cascaded down, covering more of the Rumble dead. He advanced, climbing across the treacherous surface of jumbled books.
‘How are you getting on?’ he asked.
‘Nicely, thanks,’ said the Wendle, preoccupied, ‘and you?’
‘I can’t find mine anywhere. Where’s yours?’
‘Under that pile of encyclopaedias. Polite little fellow, didn’t cause any trouble.’
‘How?’ asked Bingo, adopting the same terse speech as the Wendle.
‘He was at the top of a long ladder,’ explained Napoleon, pleased to tell the story of his name for the very first time. ‘I came to the bottom of it and said, well-mannered like, “Excuse me, are you Napoleon Boot Rumble?” and he said, “Yes, I am.” So I says, “Could you come down please, I have a word to say to you.” Bloke didn’t even look at me, toffee-nosed little twit. “Oh, no,” he said, “I’m too busy. You’ll have to wait. I’m looking for a book on Bowwible fighting methods for the High Command, of which I am a member, I’ll have you know. So be off.” So I says, “You’re coming down one way or the other, mate. Gravity is stronger than you are.” That was a remark that caught his fancy, must have, ‘cos he looked at me then. “Aaaaaagh,” he says, like they do, and drops his book, nearly hit me on the head, bloody dangerous, and he grabs hold of the top of the bookcase. At the same time I kicked the ladder away, so he’s got nothing to stand on, has he? Well, the sudden increase of weight at the top of the bookcase made it wobble violently, so
that gave me an idea. I runs round the back, up another ladder on the next bookcase and pushes with me sticker, and over went the whole lot, bookcase, books, Rumble and all. Goodnight, Napoleon Rumble. Splat!’
Bingo shook his head. ‘What a way to go.’
‘Overcome by the weight of his studies, you might say,’ said Napoleon, and he smirked like a cold draught. ‘Got any matches on you?’ he asked suddenly.
‘What for?’ asked Bingo.
‘Don’t be slow,’ said Napoleon, sighing. ‘Start a fire, of course, bit of mayhem, cover our retreat. Seen the others?’
Bingo told him what he knew.
‘Ah,’ crowed the Wendle, nodding his head. ‘I knew Knocker was up to something, and that Spiff as well, he’s as crooked as a mangle handle. Got a box, eh? That’s treasure, that is. Well, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?’
‘We haven’t got away yet,’ pointed out Bingo reasonably.
‘I’m getting out, mate,’ said Napoleon, indicating the ladder. ‘I’m getting into that ventilation shaft and no Rumble in the world is going to stop me leaving for home. Only two Rumbles can get at you at once up there, one in front, one behind, and any Borrible is a match for a score of Rumbles … and a Wendle can deal with twice that number.’
‘You do for these?’ asked Bingo, indicating the prone Rumble warriors.
‘Well, they didn’t commit suicide,’ said Napoleon. ‘Mind you, they only came into the place in fives and sixes. It was easy really, like falling off a … bookcase.’
Bingo took a box of matches from his pocket and handed them to Napoleon. ‘It’s a shame about the books. Are there any good adventure stories there?’
Napoleon gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘I haven’t had a lot of time for reading in the last half-hour,’ he said, and he went over to a pile of dusty tomes, put a match to them and stood back as they burst into flames on the instant.
‘What I mean,’ persisted Bingo, ‘is that it’s a shame; they’re good things, books.’
‘Good things! You sound like a bloody Rumble. Can’t have no half measures in an attack like this, Bingo. Got to go the whole hog or it
don’t work. What would happen if we left these books up here untouched? I’ll tell you what, there’d be another Rumble High Command on the go in five minutes. This is what it’s all about, Sonny—books is power! The whole world knows that.’ And Napoleon threw another volume into the blaze.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Bingo. ‘I never thought of it like that.’
‘Course I’m right,’ said Napoleon. ‘Now then, it’s time for me to go home. Can’t stand fires, water’s my element. Are you coming?’
‘Can’t,’ said Bingo miserably. ‘I told you, I haven’t found my bloke.’
‘Tough, but I’m off. I want to see that Knocker; that treasure’s got to be looked into.’ Napoleon winked mysteriously, made his way from the fire, which was now burning well, and began to climb his ladder. ‘You could come with me, Bingo, and drop down through the ventilation system somewhere else. It’s going to get very hot in this library very shortly.’
‘It’s going to be hotter than you think,’ said Bingo. ‘There were two million Rumble warriors chasing me down the corridor out there. They don’t run very fast. but they ought to be here at any moments.’
Napoleon stopped dead on about the eighth rung and looked down. ‘How many? You can’t have that lot to yourself, that’s greedy.’ He dropped back to the floor and threw more books on the fire.
They waited and the flames crept along the mounds of books and began to rise towards the high ceiling. Soon there was a noise of shouting from the tunnel beyond the green baize door and Bingo and Napoleon placed themselves within sticker-throwing range of the entrance.
‘We’ll let the first ones have it with these stickers,’ said Napoleon, ‘then we’ll get behind that pile of books, there beyond the fire, and let them have it with the catapults as they try to get in. When we’re out of ammo, we’ll scarper up the ladder, okay?’
‘Right,’ said Bingo. He picked up a couple of lances from the floor and hefted one in his right hand; it was then that two breathless warriors burst into the room, and Bingo and Napoleon threw their weapons as one man and the two Rumbles fell.
Other Rumbles crowded into the room in a compact mass, pushed on from behind by their impetuous companions. The two Borribles continued to throw spears until they had exhausted their meagre supply. Several Rumbles had been accounted for, but so great were their numbers it
was impossible to prevent them from spilling into the library and taking cover behind desks and bookcases.
Napoleon and Bingo fell back and crouched behind an enormous pile of books, their catapult rubbers stretched.
‘I’ve hardly fired a stone yet,’ said Bingo. ‘It’s all been lance work.’
Napoleon peered through the fumes that were beginning to fill the room. ‘This smoke is going to help them to creep up on us,’ he said to Bingo. ‘That’s not good.’ He broke off and fired a shot towards the door. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s scores of them coming.’
Bingo could see for himself that many more of the enemy were rushing into the room. They were led by a slim but powerful Rumble covered in sleek brown fur and with a hard expression on his dangerous snout. He carried three or four lances and wore a sash of gold, green and white to denote his position as commander of the warriors. He looked proud and impatient, and Bingo knew that at last he had found his target.
The commander ran this way and that at the far end of the library, gathering his forces and making them emerge from their hiding places between the fallen bookshelves. He shouted and waved his arms and slowly the Rumbles came forward, throwing lances at the two Borribles who, crouched behind their barricade, stood up every now and then to loose off a stone.
In this manner the battle continued and things would have gone very badly for Napoleon and Bingo if the Rumbles had been in possession of any reasonable number of lances. Fortunately most of their missiles had been thrown in a panicky fashion at the beginning of the skirmish. Now there was a great pile of spears on the Borribles’ side of the room and there soon came a moment when the two of them could stand up in full view of the Rumbles because the Rumbles had no stickers left to fight with.
With a sign, the commander sent some of his troops off into the corridor to bring more weapons; the rest of his warriors took up defensive positions among the bookcases and the piles of burning books. It was hard to breathe in the room now as the conflagration gradually gained a firmer hold and the smoke grew thicker. Some Rumbles tried to stamp or beat out the flames, but more often than not their fur was singed or caught fire and their friends had to come to their rescue and save them from being scorched to death.
Napoleon checked his bandoliers. ‘Not many stones left,’ he said. ‘How about you?’
‘I’ve got a lot still, but they won’t last for ever,’ said Bingo, and he fired a stone at a Rumble who was trying to creep along the side of the room to get at a stray lance. ‘But I can’t leave now, I’ve got to have a crack at my target, and I’d better do it before his mates get back with a new load of stickers.’
Bingo reached behind and picked up two sharp Rumble lances. He put his catapult carefully into his back pocket and went slowly down the long slope of books. The commander was standing by the library door, waiting for his men to return with more lances, for even he was weaponless.
Bingo leant backwards, arcing his body, and threw one of his spears with all his might. His name would have been won there and then had the High Rumble not chosen that moment to step into the corridor to see if his men were returning.
The sticker plunged deep into the green baize of the library door and hung there, humming. Bingo swore and grasped his second lance securely, but did not throw it, for there are two ways of fighting with the Rumble-stick. The first is simply to throw it from a distance; the second is to wield it like a quarterstaff, until the fighter finds a moment to use the point and slay his stunned or unconscious foe.
Bingo moved nearer to the door and the Rumbles fell back. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Napoleon had followed him, his catapult eager to dissuade anyone who thought they could intervene in the light between Bingo the Borrible and Bingo the Rumble.
The High Rumble leapt back into the room, saw the advance of the two Borribles and saw the sticker still singing in the door. He pulled it free with both hands and moved towards Bingo. Neither of them said a word, and no Rumble attempted to interfere; they watched from the safety of their hiding places, their snouts and eyes only just visible through the red smoke.
Bingo held his lance with a hand at each end, using the long haft to ward off blows from his adversary who began the contest by working his weapon like a two-handed sword, hoping to stun the Borrible and then spear him. But Bingo had learned his Rumble-stick fighting well all that time ago in the Rowena Crescent Gym, and he protected his head
and shoulders, and was content to defend himself while he measured the style of his enemy, conserving his strength.
It was treacherous underfoot; the books slipped and tripped and burnt the feet. Whoever fell first during this fight would be hard put to it to rise again. Suddenly the Rumble changed his tactics and began jabbing consistently and forcefully, making Bingo avoid the blows like a fencer. The Rumble was an expert, perhaps the best lancer of his tribe.