Like other Borribles Knocker much preferred crowded streets, alive with markets and shops, but unlike the others he’d been obliged, because of his calling, to do an enormous amount of country work. Somehow he had made himself overcome the basic fear that Borribles have when faced with woods and fields. They hate such things.
‘Fields,’ they say, ‘are always windy and there is nowhere to hide, no crowds to get lost in, and there is nothing to pick up, no lorries for things to fall off … Fields are a pain and your Borrible is only really happy when he’s up to something in the street.’
But there was one thing that was more important than everything else put together. Knocker made the Eight train hour after hour with the Borribles’ traditional and preferred weapon. It had been used by them for generations, and had been chosen for its simplicity, its range, its power and its deadliness. It was an ancient weapon but was as efficient as any modern invention. It could be made anywhere and, back in the days of the nineteenth century when Borribles had endured great hardships and had been hounded from place to place, it had become their favourite
method of defence because of the cheapness of its manufacture. The weapon was a very dangerous one—the catapult.
Every Borrible was an expert with the catapult, but the Eight would have to surpass the usual standards and become boringly accurate, able to hit a Rumble on the snout each time they fired.
‘You must never miss,’ Knocker told them. ‘You will have a great deal of provisions to carry, but if you each have forty stones on you that will account for three hundred and twenty of the enemy between you. If you are besieged, always choose somewhere where you can find plenty of ammunition lying about, then you will be invincible.’ And so each of the Eight became a crack shot; every one of them could take a fly off a park keeper’s nose at a hundred yards and he’d never even notice.
That was how the days were filled. And every evening the Eight returned to the gym to find that the High Street Borribles had provided them with a supper of food stolen from the market. They ate with huge appetites and, after talking to each other for a little while, they rolled into their sleeping bags and slept on the floor of the long dusty room. The next day they would have to wake early and do the same things again—run a little faster, shoot a little straighter.
Knocker gave them no rest. He made them rehearse the expedition route on the street map of London until they knew it by heart; and he insisted they play war games that placed them in impossible situations, obliging them to think their way clear as quickly as they could, and if Knocker wasn’t satisfied with their efforts they would have to do their tasks again, and then again. The Eight were tired all the time.
About one o’clock on a grey afternoon towards the end of the fortnight, Spiff, with two of his cronies from the High Street, made an appearance in the storeroom of the Rowena Crescent Gym. It was the beginning of the rest period and Spiff walked around the room talking to the Borribles who were stretched out on their sleeping bags, dozing with their eyes only half open. When he’d had a short word with each, he came over to speak to Knocker and Dodger.
‘Knocker,’ said Spiff, nodding his head abruptly at the two Borribles by his side. ‘This is Rasher and this is Ziggy.’
Knocker stood and said, ‘Those are fine names, certainly, I would like to hear the stories one day.’
The two nodded but did not smile. They looked out of humour.
‘Yes,’ said Spiff, ‘that will have to wait of course. Now, Knocker, you’ve reached the end of the two weeks. How have you got on?’
Knocker reached for a large notebook on his desk. It contained a detailed description of each Borrible’s training, together with various comments.
Spiff waved it aside. ‘No, I can look at that later, just a verbal report will do.’
‘Keep it general, too,’ said Rasher.
‘Well,’ said Knocker, looking sideways at Dodger, ‘they are very good, all of them. Some are better at one thing than another, but they are all naturals with the catapult. They could knock a running cat over with their eyes closed, girls as well. In fact Chalotte is better than all of the others, except perhaps Orococco. Hand-to-hand fighting is good. climbing good, running very fast. With the Rumble-stick they vary, but Bingo is fantastic. They aren’t so good at scouting work in the countryside, but that takes years of practice and it’s unnatural, but they’re first-class in the streets and markets, you hardly see their hands come up from beneath a barrow when they takes their dinner. Marvellous. And all of them are dead keen.’
Knocker hesitated and lowered his voice. ‘I’m only worried about one of them, although he’s worked as hard as anyone, harder. But I dunno, there’s something that worries me about Napoleon Boot. He always seems to be thinking about something else, there’s a slimy feel to him, it’s … well, to tell the truth, Spiff, I dunno, it’s just a feeling.’
Dodger nodded to substantiate what Knocker had said.
Spiff looked back down the hall to where the Borribles were resting. Some were reading the Rumble books, others were just relaxing and looking at the ceiling. Napoleon Boot was scrutinizing the road map of Greater London and memorizing street names.
‘He never stops,’ said Knocker. ‘They all know the
Borrible Book of Proverbs
by heart, but Napoleon knows it backwards and sideways as well. He’s too good to be true.’
Spiff creased his face. ‘Well, son, there’s nothing to be done now.
They have to have a Wendle with ’em because they’ve got to cross the Wandle. You know how suspicious Wendles are of anybody who wants to cross their bloody river.’ He sniffed. ‘Wendles are so crooked they find it hard to stand up straight … but it’ll work out, you’ll see.’
There was silence as if nobody agreed with him, not even Spiff himself. He changed the subject.
‘Well, your blokes must leave soon anyway; the longer they wait the more dangerous it is. There was a psychological advantage in letting the Rumbles know we were on to them, but the longer we take getting up there, the more time they will have to prepare their defences. Our Eight might not be able to get into the Rumble burrows. Imagine, all that way for nothing!’
Ziggy, who had been trying to interrupt Spiff’s flow, at last got a word in. ‘I’ve never liked this idea, you know, Spiff. I think we should have gone up there in force, taken them on, given them a thumping, duffed ‘em up ’
‘Out of your mind,’ said Spiff impatiently; he was always right and knew it. ‘We’d have been outnumbered ten to one and they’d have been fighting on their own ground. We stand a much better chance by sending in eight professionals like this, and eliminating their leaders, mark my words.’
‘Oh, it sounds all right,’ said Ziggy, ‘but I don’t think those Eight over there can manage it. They haven’t done anything yet. Anyone can fire a catapult at a Woollie and run, but what if it’s a Rumble with a Rumble-stick at your throat, eh?’
‘Look,’ said Knocker, ‘I’ve trained this lot. If anyone can get inside the Rumble burrows they can.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Rasher, joining in the argument, ‘they don’t stand a monkey’s.’
‘They do,’ said Knocker.
‘They don’t,’ said Ziggy.
Spiff sniffed once more. ‘I’ve been looking at the map, Knocker. I think the Eight ought to go up the Thames, from St Mary’s to Wandsworth Reach. I know it’s dangerous, but it will save days on the journey, and it means the Eight will be going in from a direction that the Rumbles won’t dream of. Even if they’ve got lookouts deployed as far
as Wandsworth Common station and Earlsfield, we’ll outflank them. What do you say?’
Knocker was angry all over again. ‘But, Spiff,’ he cried, grabbing his arm, ‘the river is a death trap, all those barges and tugs and police launches, they’d be run down or run in without a chance. They’ve had no training for water. I don’t even know if they can row. I thought they were going to march overland, and now you want to throw ‘em in the oggin. It’s not on, Spiff.’
‘How far do you think they’d get then if they went overland,’ asked Ziggy, ‘with a solid line of Rumbles from Merton to East Hill?’
Rasher shoved his face up to Knocker’s and tilted it sideways. ‘If your blokes are as good as you say they are, why are you making excuses? Can’t they do it?’
‘It’s a question of time, training,’ spluttered Knocker.
Spiff nodded. ‘Just so, you’ll get an extra day for boat training and rowing.’
‘But we haven’t got a boat,’ said Knocker, looking at Spiff as if he were mad.
‘Oh, you’ll need a boat,’ said Spiff, ‘to row up the river. You’ll need one before then to train in, won’t yer?’
‘Where can we get one?’ asked Dodger, looking distraught.
Spiff turned on him, venom in his voice. ‘You’re a Borrible, ain’t yer? Steal one, this afternoon, instead of kipping. Try Battersea Park.’
‘Yes,’ said Ziggy. ‘Let’s see how good this team is, or can’t they do it?’
Spiff laughed. ‘Don’t take any notice of him, Knocker. I’m sure your blokes have more tricks up their sleeves than a conjuror’s overcoat.’ And with that, Spiff, Ziggy and Rasher climbed up the wall on the exercise bars and, one by one, disappeared through the narrow windows that led to Rowena Crescent.
Knocker was shaking with temper as he watched them go. He saw this criticism of his team as a personal insult.
‘Just like that, eh?’ he said to Dodger. ‘Steal a boat, launch it, learn to row, just like that!’
‘And only today and tomorrow to do it in,’ said Dodger. Knocker walked over to where the Eight were waiting, propped up on their elbows, their interest aroused by the discussion. ‘Get yer hats on,’ he said.
‘I’m taking you to the lake in Battersea Park. We’re going to steal a boat.’
Only one person among the Eight registered enthusiasm. Napoleon’s dark face became brilliant in anticipation. He stood up and said, ‘A boat, eh? That’s good, know about boats we do, up the Wandle.’
Knocker breathed a sigh of relief. Nasty as he was, Napoleon could make all the difference.
‘We’re going to have to steal a boat that can make the river trip along the Thames as far as the mouth of the Wandle. And you, Napoleon, can you teach this team to row in a day?’
‘Why, of course. Knocker,’ said Napoleon, a sneer in his voice. ‘It’ll be a pleasure.’
One by one the Borribles slipped from the gym and went their separate ways to the park. They reassembled by the huge iron gates, then walked along the roadway till they arrived at the boating lake. Each Borrible had his hat well down over his ears, a catapult under his jumper and a few stones ready in a pocket, just in case.
Napoleon led the way forward until the Adventurers came in sight of a jetty on which stood a small wooden hut where boat tickets were sold. The high summer season was nearly over, and most of the boats were chained to tree stumps on one of the islands in the middle of the lake, out of harm’s way; a dozen others were moored at the jetty itself.
Inside the ticket office sat a park keeper wearing a brown suit and a dark brown hat. He was licking a pencil then writing with it slowly in a ledger; beyond him nothing moved on the surface of the water. Napoleon took cover behind some bushes and the others did likewise. ‘Well, Napoleon,’ said Knocker after a while, ‘what do you think of the boats?’
‘We’re a bit too far away to judge,’ said the Wendle. ‘They’ve got some metal ones there, by the jetty—’ His voice changed when he talked about boats; its tone lightened and lost its menace. On the other hand his companions were terrified; Borribles dislike water even more than woods and fields. ‘—but they aren’t really any good for a river trip, too short and wide, unstable, and not big enough anyway to take eight of us. Those over there are the ones we want.’ He pointed out to the islands of the others could see that among the flotilla of metal dinghies were a few wooden pleasure boats—with
seats and cushions, and rudders that were worked by two pieces of rope—perfect for the Eight.
‘Lovely, graceful things they are,’ said Napoleon enthusiastically, ‘low in the water, they will float over any wave or wash cast up by barges and such. Four rowlocks, two to an oar … if the girls are up to it.’ He looked behind him at Chalotte and Sydney.
Chalotte said, ‘First get your boat, Wendle.’
‘Take it easy,’ said Knocker, stopping any quarrel before it started. ‘How do we get it?’
‘I ain’t swimming out there,’ said Vulgarian, whom they all called Vulge now.
‘And the keeper won’t hire us one because we’re not adults,’ said Sydney, ‘even if we had money, which we don’t.’
‘So we’ll have to pinch a metal boat to get out there,’ added Stonks.
‘Yeah,’ said Torreycanyon, ‘but they keep the oars separate, locked in the shed; they only hand ‘em out with the boats.’
Suddenly Napoleon Boot stood up. ‘Boats,’ he said, ‘is my business, I’ll do it.’
‘All right,’ said Knocker, ‘who do you want to take with you?’
‘I don’t need anyone. I do this on my own.’
‘Oh yeah!’ Knocker said. ‘I’d like to see it.’
‘You will, mush,’ answered Napoleon. ‘You will.’