‘Well, it better be good,’ said Knocker. ‘We haven’t got time to waste, and don’t mush me, faceache.’
‘Just wait till the park closes and it’s dark,’ said Napoleon scornfully, ‘then you’ll have your boat, and you’ll be able to row this lot of matelots up and down till their arms drop off.’
‘That’ll do me fine, Napoleon Boot,’ said Knocker, but his expression was grim and his dislike of the Wendle gleamed through his words.
Dusk crept through the trees and the flower beds. The park keeper closed his ledger, locked the door to his hut, mounted his bicycle and slowly pedalled away. A bell sounded and the paths emptied; now the park was deserted and the Borribles had it to themselves.
Napoleon left his companions and went towards the ticket office. He swaggered as he walked and the others peered through the twilight and wondered about the Wendle.
‘He’s as friendly as a frozen mitt,’ said Stonks.
‘Too right,’ agreed Orococco, ‘but there’s not a single fly or bluebottle on him.’
When he arrived at the door of the hut Napoleon put his hands on his hips and squinted at it.
‘What’s the little bleeder up to now?’ asked Dodger of no one in particular, and he got no answer.
After a second or two of staring Napoleon drew a piece of wire from his trouser pocket, bent it into the shape of the letter L and inserted one end of it into the lock. It didn’t take long; suddenly the door sprang open and Napoleon turned to face the bushes where the Borribles were concealed. He gave a shrill whistle and waved them down to the water’s edge.
‘You see,’ he said as soon as they got there, ‘picking locks, picking noses—all the same to a Wendle.’
In no time at all the Eight had taken the oars they needed and were crowded together in one of the small metal craft. Napoleon rowed them to the island in the centre of the lake and there they waited while he inspected the larger boats. They were fine comfortable things, possessing four wide seats with cushions, two pairs of rowlocks and lots of space for stowing gear fore and aft. But they were solid and heavy and would need scientific rowing.
Napoleon chose the best one: ‘Number Seventeen,’ he said. ‘Been well looked after … Climb aboard everyone.’ As the group moved to embark Napoleon pulled Knocker aside. ‘That boat’s bloody heavy,’ he said. ‘It won’t be a piece of cake, out on the river. I hope they can do it.’
But the Adventurers had no time to worry about the future, the task in hand was far too important, and Napoleon worked them hard, for they had only one night in which to learn the art of rowing. The Wendle sat in the stern and steered the boat by pulling on the lengths of rope which were attached to each side of the rudder behind him. And Dodger stood lookout in the bow to make sure they didn’t crash into anything, though by now the moon had risen and it was possible to see from one end of the lake to the other.
The crew sat two to an oar as Napoleon had suggested, for they would need a great deal of power when they were out on the River Thames. Not only would they have to contend with the tide but there would be waves washing outwards from passing barges and tugs, and there would
always be the danger of a collision. Napoleon gave them their positions in the boat and told them that they weren’t to be changed, except that he would take Knocker’s place on the journey because, as Knocker knew only too well, he wouldn’t be going.
‘When we’re on the river,’ Napoleon said, ‘there’ll be only eight of us so there’ll be no one on the rudder. That means we will have to steer by rowing; listen very carefully to my commands and act on them immediately. Anyone being a bit slow could get us run down, capsized. We could lose all our equipment and worse we could drown.’
And so the instructions went on, and Napoleon taught his companions the basic rowing commands: how to begin rowing, how to stop, how to feather the oars, and how to pull steadily and hard without wasting too much energy. Next time they got into the boat they would be on the wide and thronged waterway of the Thames itself.
All through the night they rowed and listened to Napoleon Boot, navigator. As the hours wore on they realized what a serious thing the river trip was and they looked at each other with concern. Their minds grew numb with the physical effort, blisters rose On their hands, but Napoleon kept them rowing till they could row as well as any Wendle and could change course at the slightest order from the stern. Only when the sky had paled and dawn climbed over the blocks of flats along Battersea Park Road did Napoleon direct them to the lake-side.
Once there the Borribles were happy to obey the command to ship oars, and they sighed with relief when they heard the prow of their boat grate on the gravel of the shore. They sat motionless for a while, their heads bowed, their muscles tight. Dodger, who had done little all this time, stood up, stretched, then jumped ashore.
‘Come on, you lot,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to hide this boat before it’s spotted by the keepers.’
Nearby was a dense clump of bushes and the Borribles manhandled the heavy boat right into the middle of them. They stumbled and tripped over their own feet so tired were they, having been awake for twenty-four hours without a break. They tore foliage from the bushes and grass from the ground and camouflaged the boat so well that it couldn’t be seen, even from a distance of a yard or two. When he was quite satisfied, Knocker ordered the team of Borribles back to base.
It was full daylight by the time they reached the Prince’s Head, and
the early morning office cleaners were already chatting at the bus stops as the Borribles turned into Rowena Crescent. Wearily they climbed into the basement gym and crawled under the sleeping bags and blankets which were laid out on the exercise mats. There were loud groans as they closed their eyes and stretched their burning limbs but Knocker could not sleep; he kept asking himself the same question over and over again: ‘Now we’ve got a boat, how do we get it from Battersea Park to Battersea Reach?’
Knocker need not have worried. By the time he awoke later the same day the problem had been solved.
It was not easy waking up; his body felt as stiff as a wire coat hanger and he thought he’d never be able to move again. Even to open his eyelids and look at the ceiling took a concentration of all his effort into the necessary muscles. He turned his head and saw that Dodger was coming in through one of the windows with Napoleon. They were carrying steaming jugs and fruit and bread rolls. They had been to the market for breakfast.
Knocker staggered to his feet, moving like a wooden doll with swollen joints. Napoleon landed gracefully on the floor, his limbs supple, and he laughed.
‘Just as well you aren’t coming on the trip, ain’t it, Knocker? You ain’t fit enough.’
Dodger laughed then and that got through to Knocker.
‘Okay, okay, you two. If that’s breakfast, hand it over and wake the others.’ Knocker sat down on a bench and poured himself a cup of tea and drank it.
It hit the right spot. He poured another and tore at a roll with his teeth. Dodger came and sat next to him and helped himself to some food.
‘Bingo’s not here,’ he said conversationally. ‘He must have gone out.’
‘Of course he has,’ if he’s not here,‘said Knocker irritably. ‘You’re not very bright this morning.’
‘I mean out on a job,’ said Dodger, and he stood up and looked down at Knocker unpleasantly. No Borrible likes to be told that he isn’t bright.
‘Anyway, it’s not the morning. It’s the afternoon.’
Knocker returned Dodger’s gaze. ‘I’m sorry, Dodger, I didn’t mean that. Forget it.’
‘All right, then.’ Dodger wasn’t frightened of a quarrel, no Borrible is. ‘Chalotte and Sydney and Stonks and Torreycanyon are out, too,’ he said, looking straight in front of him.
Knocker jumped up, spilling his tea. ‘What?’ he cried. ‘Gone off without permission, without saying where?’
‘What’s wrong, Knocker?’ asked Dodger, genuinely surprised. ‘You can’t expect Borribles to act like regular troops. They’re not Rumbles ��� That’s why we’re Borribles. I think you’ve been lucky to keep them together this far; most Borribles would have chucked it last night on the lake, but ours didn’t, they stuck together.’
Knocker sat down again. ‘Damn it all,’ he said.
‘I think,’ said Dodger wisely, ‘that you’re jealous. You wish you were going on this adventure; you’d like to have a second name, even before others have got their first. That’s not right, you know.’
Knocker looked at his friend and sucked his cheeks in between his teeth to avoid showing emotion, but he showed it all the same. He didn’t admit it to Dodger but he felt guilty for having overslept so badly and he was ashamed of having aches and pains when he should have been fitter than any of his companions.
‘I’m worried about the adventure,’ he insisted. ‘Will the Wendles let them through Wandsworth without trouble? How will Napoleon behave? It’s all a worry.’
‘They’ll be fine,’ said Dodger, ‘and Napoleon will turn out all right, even though he is a Wendle.’
‘He may be all right now, but what will he be like when he’s back in Wandsworth?’
‘“Remember today and forget tomorrow,”’ said Dodger, quoting a Borrible proverb.
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Chalotte, who came in through one of the windows. She crossed the gym and stood in front of Knocker, breathless. Her cheeks bright with running, she shook the hair out of her eyes.
‘Bingo said could we all meet him at St Mary’s. He’s had a plan.’ She tossed her head again and laughed.
‘What kind of a plan?’ asked Knocker sternly.
‘I couldn’t tell you that; it’s not Borrible.’
‘I order you,’ said Knocker.
‘Oh yeah. You said yourself yesterday that the adventure had virtually begun. You’re not going on the expedition, so you can hardly gives orders any more.’ She turned and marched over to where Napoleon, Vulge and Orococco were eating their breakfast, her cheeks no longer shining with exertion but with anger.
‘You ought to remember,’ said Dodger, ‘that they are feeling just as tense as you are. They know they’re leaving tomorrow night, and they know that they may not be coming back.’
When Knocker had finished his breakfast and regained his temper a little he set off with Napoleon, Vulge and Orococco to follow Chalotte and Dodger through the streets to Battersea churchyard. There, concealed in the long grass which grew between the big square tombs, they found Number Seventeen. Bingo and his fellow conspirators, dressed as members of the Battersea Sea Scouts, were loafing by the embankment wall.
‘How did you manage it?’ asked Knocker, unable to keep the admiration from his voice.
‘Simple,’ said Bingo, with pride. ‘Rescued the uniforms from the Sea Scouts, shoved the boat on to a set of old pram wheels that I also liberated, and pushed the boat through the park and down the street as bold as brass. Got stopped by the Woollie on point duty in Parkgate Road but we told him that we were fund-raising for the Sea Scouts and would be taking the boat back this very night; had the head keeper’s permission, didn’t we? Decent copper, held the traffic up for us to cross the road.’
The church itself was locked and the churchyard deserted. It was the quiet, dusty part of the afternoon and the lunch time boozers were long gone from the Old Swan pub. The great factories and towering flats loomed around the tiny octagonal steeple of St Mary’s like idiots surprised by beauty, and no one watched from the lofty isolation of their smoky windows.
Two sailing barges were moored against the river wall which skirted the graveyard, sturdy boats constructed in polished wood. They had rigging climbing their solid masts and their gangplanks creaked and
shifted backwards and forwards when the waves from midstream reached the bank. Napoleon’s green face became greener with envy.
‘I’d love to live on a boat,’ he said. ‘Look at them names,
The Raven
from Chester,
The Ethel Ada,
Ipswich, marvellous.’
‘’Ere,’ said Bingo, ‘that’s a point, we ain’t got a name for our boat … I mean we can’t call it
Number Seventeen,
can we? Not on an adventure.’
Chalotte, who had been staring about her, suddenly pointed into the sky. ‘There’s your name,’ she cried. ‘Look up there!’
Right behind the church, and dominating it completely, was a huge factory built from the pallid bricks of a dead and unlovely clay. Written across the blank wall in huge white letters they read, ‘Silver Belle Flour, Mayhew.’
‘We could call it
The Silver Belle Flower,’
said Chalotte. ‘You know, it sounds just right.’
‘It don’t matter what we call it,’ said Knocker. ‘I name this boat
The Silver Belle Flower.’
And he kicked it by way of ceremony.
The Adventurers adopted the name, then leant against the embankment wall and looked across the broad sweep of the river to the gasometers and the Chelsea Flour Mills opposite. The surface of the Thames here was an alarming greeny-grey colour, and only the floating rainbow whorls of diesel oil and petrol brightened the dullness of it. Far away the horizon was cut out in dirty brown and black against a sky of diluted yellow ochre, and the sun had not shone all day.
They should have been disheartened by such a prospect but somehow it inspired them all with pride and determination. The shift of the waves nudging clumps of flotsam downstream; the hooting of tugs and barges as they passed; the unmoving blocks of black smoke from Lots Road Power Station; the smell, like varnish, of the Thames in London, all these things combined to make their hearts swell and they looked at each other and smiled modestly, knowing that whatever was before them, they would be equal to it.
But Knocker could not partake of this emotion. All he could think of was that he would soon be left behind, and he felt a great surge of self-pity, so he broke the spell, shouting harshly at his companions, ‘Well, stop this daydreaming, let’s get this boat launched.’
The task was none too easy, for the boat, out of its element, was cumbersome. It took all their strength to mandhandle one end of
The Silver Belle Flower
on to the river wall, and then they swung her round so that they could use ropes to lower her on to the scum-covered rectangle of water that lay imprisoned between
The Ethel Ada
and the embankment.
‘She’ll be safe there,’ said Knocker. ‘We’ll tie her up midway between the two boats.
The Ethel Ada
will think she belongs to
The Raven
and
The Raven
will think she belongs to
The Ethel Ada.’
And so
The Silver Belle Flower
was firmly tied to a mooring ring and, with one last look at the gloomy river, the Borribles turned and went back to the gym for a celebratory meal and an early night. Only twenty-four hours to go and the expedition would be under way.
��
The last day was a day of rest for the eight but not for Dodger and Knocker. They went first to tell Spiff about the boat, and they found him sitting at his desk in his orange dressing gown, flicking through a huge book of Borrible rules.
‘That Ziggy was always a pessimist,’ he said. ‘I knew you could do it. A piece of pudding stealing a boat.’
The visit to Spiff was brief in the extreme for there was still plenty for Knocker to do in the storeroom: eight rucksacks had to be packed with a selection of the gear that the High Street Borribles had collected from the shops of Battersea. Each Adventurer had a pair of sturdy boots, waterproof khaki trousers and a combat jacket to keep warm at night when most of the travelling would be done. There were Borrible hats—brown camouflage on one side and a luminous reddy-orange on the other; a life jacket each for the river trip and sharp long-bladed knives. There were catapults too, with spare rubbers and pouches.
Knocker and Dodger fingered the catapults lovingly. They were the best, as used by professional poachers, made out of polished steel, strong and springy. They had a long range and fired stones, marbles or ball bearings with great power. To carry a supply of ammunition Spiff had acquired some old army money belts which had little pockets stuck on them; each pocket would carry a rounded stone, and the belts could be slung across the shoulders like bandoliers. Every Adventurer would have two of them, giving forty shots per person.
Spiff had also seen to it that every Borrible on the expedition had a
waterproof watch on one wrist and a compass on the other, and in each rucksack was the
A to Z
map of the London streets. There were matches for lighting fires and a basic ration of food in case anyone got lost or separated from the others.
Knocker was pleased with the work that had been done.
‘Everything,’ he said, ‘except money.’
At dinner time Spiff came into the room with some food and he sat with the two trainers while they ate. He inspected the haversacks and asked what was in each one, making sure that nothing had been overlooked. He asked about the route, made suggestions, chuckled one moment, was grave the next. He stayed about an hour before he got up to leave.
‘Well, life is all a chance anyway,’ he said. ‘Our Eight have got a hard time in front of them but they couldn’t have been better prepared. I’d like to thank you. Dodger, for helping … so here’s a little memento.’ He pulled from his pocket one of the waterproof watches that the expedition had been equipped with. ‘The lads got a bit enthusiastic and got too many of them,’ he added by way of explanation. ‘It’s engraved on the back.’
Dodger turned the watch over and read out loud: ‘The Great Rumble Hunt. Dodger Borrible, Trainer. Good luck.’ He was delighted, Knocker could see that. The watch was one of those big army timepieces with an assortment of different faces and knobs on it. ‘It’s luminous, too,’ said Spiff. He looked at Knocker. ‘Don’t you worry, there’ll be something for you later on.’
Knocker nodded without enthusiasm. ‘Thanks, Spiff,’ he said.
Still Spiff didn’t pass through the door. There was something complicated going on behind that crafty face.
‘I want you to bring the Eight here on the way to the boat,’ he said at last. ‘I want to say a last word to them, good luck and all that.’
Knocker felt tired and empty. Everything was beginning for the others; for him all was ending. Why, oh why, he thought, do I have a name already!
Spiff continued to linger by the door. ‘Look, Dodger,’ he said, ‘I’m not trying to get rid of you, but if you’d like to start back home now, you can … You’d make it before dark. Drop into the gym on your way, say goodbye to the team and tell them to come here tonight, about elevenish.’
Dodger stood up and strapped on his watch. ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘That’s just what I’ll do.’
‘Right,’ said Spiff. ‘That’s settled.’ And he left the room whistling.
Knocker had a miserable afternoon and evening. He checked the haversacks over and over again just to give himself something to do. He meandered and mooched about the storeroom until at last he went upstairs and rested on his bed in the room which he shared with Lightfinger. He hadn’t seen Lightfinger for ages. How long ago it seemed, that night when they had found the Rumbles in Battersea Park and had captured one. How much had happened since then; now everything was ready for the attack. He gazed at the ceiling until he dozed and the noises of the street drifted further away, and his sleep became deeper and deeper.