The Borribles agreed to the plan and gathered by the door; Napoleon unlocked it and looked into the tunnel. After a moment he stepped out and motioned the others to follow, and in single file they crept towards the guardroom.
In no time at all they overpowered the two off-duty sentries and they were soon dressed as fierce Wendle bodyguards, wearing black rubber waders and orange jackets. They armed themselves with steel catapults and double bandoliers; there were Rumble-sticks in the room too and each Borrible took one.
‘All we have to do now,’ said Napoleon, ‘is march along in an orderly fashion, and all being well we’ll march straight on to the boat and no one will give us a second glance. It will just seem as if I am taking a fresh guard to one of the outlets.’
Knocker jammed his tin-can helmet on to his head and said, ‘I want the treasure,’ just like that, calm, toneless.
Napoleon looked at him in amazement. ‘Don’t be mad,’ he protested. ‘It’s kept right next to Flinthead’s apartments. There’s a squad of the bodyguard sitting on it all the time, day and night.’
‘That’s right,’ said Knocker, ‘and you’re the keeper of the box, and you’re in charge of the bodyguard. I’m sure you can order them to stand aside for five minutes.’
‘Straight up,’ said Stonks. ‘I never cared about the money from the word go—in fact I hate it—but I don’t like being shoved into prison, half starved, and then used like some stuffed hare at a greyhound track to be chased about in tunnels by a lot of tin-helmeted twits. It’s the principle of the thing.’
‘I agree, man,’ said Orococco. ‘If we leave the money behind, old Flintbonce will be sitting pretty and laughing away all over his flat face. We gotta put one over on him.’
‘Yes,’ said Sydney, ‘he ought to be shown that Borribles should treat Borribles fair and square, if nothing else.’
‘It’s so dangerous,’ said Napoleon.
Knocker said, ‘Anyone against the idea?’
‘Nobody takes my catapult away and tells me to piss off,’ said Bingo. ‘Nobody.’
‘Me neither,’ said Torreycanyon.
Vulge said, ‘Let’s just say this one’s for Adolf.’
It was this last remark that brooked no argument, only Chalotte had something to add. She shrugged her shoulders and her smile was wan. ‘I think you’re all mad,’ she said, ‘but how can I stay behind now?’
Napoleon sighed, shook his head, and gave in.
The Adventurers formed up in pairs and tramped out of the guardroom and through the long sloping tunnels. They hummed the Wendle marching song as they went, and any non-warriors they met hastily squeezed out of their way, or stepped into a side tunnel to let them pass.
‘This is the way to escape,’ said Bingo to Knocker, who marched beside him and behind Napoleon, ‘with verve and bravado. I shall compose a song about this when I get back to Battersea.’
They marched for a long while, Napoleon leading them with confidence this way and that in a maze of criss-crossing corridors. Not once were they questioned, not once were they given more than a brief uninterested glance. The power of the warrior class had been built up over a long period by Flinthead and now it was working against him. Warrior spoke only to warrior; ordinary Wendles kept their distance.
Eventually the tunnels became more spacious and were gracefully
arched and dry underfoot. This was the Victorian part of the sewers and no longer used except by Wendles. It was warm and comfortable, that was why Flinthead had established his quarters here, and the room where the treasure box was held was getting nearer at every step. So in a deserted part of the tunnel Napoleon halted his company to explain what he had in mind.
‘It is nearly time for the guard to be changed,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘You will pretend to be the new guard. You will march in, follow my orders exactly, and then I will march off with the old guard. I’ll get back as soon as I can, on some pretext. We’ll only have a few minutes before the real guard turns up, looking for me. They will discover the chest gone and will raise the alarm. We’ll have to run like a train to get to the boat. If anyone tries to interfere, hit him hard and run on. Remember these ain’t Rumbles you’ll be fighting, but Wendles, and the best of them.’
The Adventurers formed up again and marched another fifty yards, and then wheeled smartly into a spacious guardroom, very comfortably furnished. At the far end of the room was an iron door, rather like the one that had held them in prison, but this door was larger and heavier and studded with huge rivets.
Napoleon yelled his orders: ‘Guard, halt!’ The Eight brought their rubber-heeled waders together as one man. ‘Oh, yes, very smart,’ said Napoleon, his face giving nothing away, and he went over to the door that led to the strongroom.
He rapped on the door with the butt of his lance: a special knock. A flap in the iron door swung open immediately and a helmeted Wendle’s face could be seen through the opening.
‘I’ve brought the relief guard,’ said Napoleon, and before the other could ask the question forming in his mind, Napoleon added, ‘I know I’m early but I’m on special business for Flinthead.’
The Wendle guard nodded, closed the flap and the door swung open. He marched his men out and formed them up in a line opposite the new arrivals. He handed the keys to Napoleon and observed, ‘You’re one man short.’
‘Yes,’ said Napoleon casually, ‘he’ll be along in a minute. He wasn’t ready in time. I couldn’t wait.’
The sergeant of the guard stood to attention at the head of his men
and waited for orders, but first Napoleon led his command into the strongroom and gave Knocker the keys. ‘Lock the door immediately, Wendle,’ he said in his sternest voice. ‘Let no one through but me.’ Without another look at the Adventurers he did an about-turn and marched off with the sergeant and his eight men.
As soon as Napoleon had gone, Knocker closed and locked the door and leant against it, the sweat trickling in his armpits.
The strongroom was small and the box stood on a table in the centre of it. Round the walls were armchairs for the guards and a couple of tables with food and drink. Wendle warriors wanted for nothing.
‘Help yourselves to some grub,’ said Knocker. ‘It may be a while before we eat again.’
The Adventurers needed no second bidding to fill their stomachs, but all too quickly came the special knock at the door and Knocker opened the flap. His heart missed a beat; he saw not Napoleon but Halfabar. Luckily he was alone and did not recognize Knocker under the Wendle helmet.
‘Yes,’ said Knocker.
‘You mean, “Yes, sir”,’ said Halfabar.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Knocker.
‘Open up,’ sneered Halfabar. ‘I saw you marching up here and I want to know why there’s only eight of you instead of the normal nine. That cocky little Napoleon has slipped up on the job this time. Promoted over my head, he was. I’ll screw him for that.’
During this conversation Orococco had flattened himself against the wall and now he nodded to Knocker, who unlocked the door, opened it and stepped back respectfully to allow the Wendle to enter. As Halfabar came across the threshold Orococco seized him by the throat and shoved him tight against the wall.
‘My friend Adolf ain’t here,’ he said between his teeth, ‘but I know he’d want me to look after you before we leave.’
He shifted his grip and grabbed the Wendle by his scruff and seat, holding him like a limp bolster. ‘Remember, Halfabar,’ hissed Orococco, ‘you cannot live by bread alone.’ And he threw the Wendle into the room like a sack of spuds. ‘Leave him to me,’ he cried, his black face intoxicated with pleasure and his eyes rolling as they hadn’t done since
the Battle of Rumbledom. But Halfabar did not rise. Orococco had thrown him into the room with such gusto that the Wendle had broken his head against the box of money. His tin helmet had split open like a rotten orange. It was wedged over his face and his ginger hair sprouted through the crest like rusty springs from a ruined sofa. Blood dripped from the box to the floor.
‘There,’ said Orococco, breathing deeply. ‘Did you hear his brains rattle like dried lentils when I shook him?’
Five minutes later Napoleon arrived and Knocker let him into the room. When he saw Halfabar’s body he swore.
‘It’s all right,’ explained Knocker. ‘He was alone and we made no noise. He didn’t have time to cry out; Orococco got him.’
Napoleon nodded. ‘It’s time to go,’ he said. ‘Most of the warriors are still sleeping. It’s about one o’clock in the morning in the streets, but they’ll be waking soon for work. There’s patrols coming and going too. It’s all a question of luck now. As soon as they see that box they will know what we’re up to.’
The Adventurers left the strongroom at a trot, Stonks and Torreycanyon carrying the money. They followed Napoleon at a sustained and speedy run down a wide brick tunnel that led to the River Wandle, the boat and safety. They ran and they ran, making little noise on the rubber soles of their stolen waders. They brushed past one or two ordinary Wendles but moved so quickly that the box was not seen and no alarm raised. Indeed, they were halfway to the river before they ran into trouble. Rounding a bend at full tilt they came upon a small night patrol of warriors returning from the outside world.
‘Stay where you are,’ shouted Napoleon. So used were the warriors to obeying, they stopped at once and for a minute did nothing. That minute was enough and the Adventurers sprang upon them and brought them down. But the noise of the scuffle attracted the attention of another patrol in one of the side tunnels and they saw in a flash what was happening, and worse, they saw the box.
They fired their catapults and hit Stonks in the kidneys and Orococco in the arm, parlaysing both Borribles for a few moments. The Adventurers returned the fire and the Wendles ran off, but the clamour they raised made the very walls shake.
‘That’s it, now,’ shouted Napoleon. ‘They’ll be on us in less time that it takes to nick a spud. Run for your lives.’
Knocker and Bingo took up the box and the convoy raced on. The smell of the Wandle got stronger and the floor of the tunnel sloped more and more steeply.
‘We’re getting there,’ panted Napoleon. ‘Come on.’
The clash of weapons came from behind and all around them in the hundreds of side tunnels. Wendles slept all over the vast sewer complex and could be out of bed and dressed for an emergency faster than a crew of London firemen.
‘If we don’t get to the river first,’ said Napoleon, ‘we’ll be up to our necks in mud before the night’s out.’
They redoubled their efforts, and though their lungs were bursting, they ran faster. Now Chalotte and Orococco took the box, not even breaking their stride as they snatched up the burden.
At last, with a cry of relief, they burst out on to the underground bank of the river, as dark green as ever, the tenacious mud bubbling just below the surface of the water. The towpath was wide at this point and there rode their boat,
The Silver Belle Flower
, tied to a post. Napoleon drew his knife and slashed the painter.
‘In with the box. Stonks, round to the front, you’ve got to pull real fast till the river’s wide and deep enough to row; then we’ve got to go like Oxford and Cambridge gone bonkers.’
He glanced up the tunnel. The noise of pursuit was getting nearer; any minute now they would be overtaken. Napoleon took Knocker by the arm.
‘Knocker,’ he whispered urgently, not wasting a word, ‘see that tunnel over there? It goes straight to the Thames but the Wandle meanders. If we all get in the boat the Wendles will run straight down that tunnel and be at the outlet before us; we’ll have no chance. Two of us have got to stay here and stop them getting into that tunnel, give the others ten minutes’, quarter of an hour’s grace, then they’ll get away. Otherwise they won’t. You and me?’
Knocker glanced at the tunnel from which the pursuers would issue. ‘Not you,’ he said. ‘You are the Navigator, you know the Wandle and you know the Thames. I will stay.’
‘Not alone,’ Torreycanyon said, and pushed in between them. ‘Knocker is right; you must go. Two of us will be enough. Straight down that tunnel, you say? When we have dealt with the Wendles, we will catch up with you.’
‘But take care,’ said Napoleon. ‘There’s a guardroom halfway along. I’d better stay, all the same, three is better than two.’
‘Then I will do it,’ said Orococco, who had leapt back out of the boat, worried by the delay. ‘Just make sure that Tooting’s share of the money gets to Tooting.’
Napoleon took off his bandoliers and gave them to Knocker. The others, when they realized what was happening, each removed one of their bandoliers and threw it to the bank, their faces sad, staring at the three comrades who had elected to remain behind for their sakes.
‘Oh, go on, Stonks, go on,’ shouted Knocker, and the boat jolted away and Napoleon leapt aboard as it left the shore. Knocker watched the boat spurt out of sight round the first bend, pulled steadily by the never-tiring Stonks. There had been no time for farewells and no time for pity.
‘We’ll never see them again,’ said Knocker.
‘Well, we still got each other,’ said Orococco, and he picked up the bandoliers.