The Borribles Go for Broke

by Michael de Larrabeiti

  No one answered Spiff and Chalotte felt her face flush in the gloom. Without another word the little band of Adventurers marched on.

  Spiff led the way with a cheerful confidence. Stonks, who was behind him, said later, when it was all over, that he was sure he’d heard Spiff quietly whistling between his teeth while he walked—as if he were daring the whole world to come and attack him.

  Chalotte of course could hear none of this and her thoughts were taken up with wondering what kind of person it was that could remember the tunnels of his early days with such ease. Had Spiff been back to Wandsworth since his escape all those years ago? Did he have a map in Battersea which he studied secretly in his room at night? She could find no satisfactory answer. Spiff was devious and cunning, even for a Wendle.

  All at once the marching stopped and Spiff whispered from the front of the column, ‘I can see a light, it might just be the first Wendle crossroads, it might be a guard. You lot stay here and I’ll creep up and have a look.’

  Spiff left them, and as the Borribles waited they heard only the persistent dripping of the slime all around them and the faraway rush of sludge in the main sewers. They stared at the distant light, watching Spiff’s silhouette moving between them and it. At last they saw the tiny figure clasp both arms above its head. That was the signal which meant it was safe to go on.

  They found Spiff standing in an open space where three corridors met. In the ceiling, in a recess protected by small metal bars, was a pale electric light.

  ‘This is the beginning,’ he said. ‘From here on you can expect electric lights at almost every junction, so follow me and be twice as careful.’ And he spun on his heel and plunged into another tunnel with no hesitation at all.

  On and on went the Borribles and as they marched their eyes became more and more accustomed to the gloom in which they moved. Tunnel after tunnel joined theirs and the sound of sluggish waters came from both right and left. The Adventurers were wending their way across a gigantic maze and those who had been on the Great Rumble Hunt recognized none of it. Spiff was taking them by a roundabout route, purposely avoiding the more populated centres of the underground citadel.

  Occasionally they heard the distant voices of Wendle patrols calling to one another, and sometimes Spiff halted, cupping his ear with a hand so that he could listen more intently. Once or twice he stopped by mysterious chalk marks that had been scribbled on the brick walls, studying them and moving his lips soundlessly as if he were reading secret messages left by a friend to guide him in the right direction.

  Eventually, after tramping for an hour or so, Spiff brought his companions to an open area where five or six large tunnels met. The arches of the ceiling were high and graceful, built in Victorian times. A main culvert passed here, deep and wide with a ledge on each side of it for the sewer men to walk on. In this channel flowed a solid stream of filth, an oily water that looked as thick as molten lava with strange shapes in it that writhed and struggled just below the surface. Grey chiffons of steam escaped from large and lazy bubbles and smell rose through smell. The air felt rotten and crawled over the skin.

  Spiff crouched by the bank and picked up half a brick that had fallen from the roof. ‘Care for a swim, Twilight,’ he said, and threw the bit of brick into the water. There was no splash, no noise. The brick simply disappeared, hypnotized into the mud like a mouse into a snake.

  Twilight did not answer but stared at the sewer and swallowed hard. He began to understand what it was to live in Wendle country.

  ‘Enough of jokes,’ said Vulge. ‘Why have we walked so far only to get here?’

  Before Spiff could answer there came the scrape of a foot scuffing over uneven ground. Spiff looked beyond his friends and smiled. Slowly the Borribles turned, their scalps prickling with fear. In the entrance to one of the tunnels stood two Wendles, one armed with a glinting spear or Rumble-stick, the other with a catapult, its elastic stretched, the stone aimed at Stonks’s head.

  ‘Don’t move anyone,’ said the Wendle with the spear. His voice was as friendly as a broken bottle.

  In spite of the warning Chalotte glanced at Spiff, still squatting by the bank of the sewer. He was chuckling, an expression of pleasure on his face. Slowly, very slowly, and showing his hands, he rose to his feet and the Wendles saw him.

  ‘Spiff,’ said one of them. ‘At last.’

  Spiff pushed a way through the group of motionless Borribles and stepped towards his Wandsworth brethren.

  ‘What about this lot?’ asked the Wendle with the spear. ‘Are they armed?’

  Spiff stood between the two Wendles and grinned. ‘They’re all right,’ he said, ‘and they are not armed.’ Then he explained a little: ‘These Wendles are old friends of mine. The one with the spear is called Norrarf, the one with the catapult is called Skug; when the time comes they will tell you how they won their names. They have come to help us.’

  Norrarf and Skug lowered their weapons but they didn’t take their eyes from the Borribles, weighing them in the balance, wondering, in spite of Spiff’s assurances, whether to welcome them.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ said Vulge. ‘What’s your game?’

  ‘No talking here,’ said Skug, his voice rough and mannerless, ‘we’ve got to get you lot out of sight.’ Skug had a square chin that was full of aggression and a right shoulder that jerked every few seconds as if he were dying to throw a punch at someone, or even anyone. His eyes looked into the corners of the world all the time and there wasn’t the slightest spark of trust within them.

  ‘That’s right,’ added Norrarf. ‘You won’t be safe until you’re in Wendle clothes. I don’t mind helping you, Spiff, but I ain’t going to get myself drowned in mud for no one. Your friends is nothing but trouble.’

  Norrarf was short and stocky with a face like a squashed lemon, wider than it was high. His mouth was crowded with teeth and he had a greenish tinge to his skin as did all members of his tribe. He was dressed, like Skug and indeed like all Wendle warriors, in thigh waders of rubber, a metal helmet made from an old six-pint beer can, and a chunky woollen jacket covered in orange plastic to keep out the water; the plastic was luminous like the coats worn by the men who work on motorways.

  ‘All right,’ said Spiff, ‘you lead, we’ll follow.’

  The two warriors nodded and backed slowly into a tunnel; Spiff went after them as if prepared to leave his companions on their own if they hesitated for one minute, which they did, looking at each other in doubt and puzzlement.

  Twilight, new to Wendles and eager for adventure, was not at all perturbed. ‘Well, come on you lot,’ he said. ‘Don’t hang about; we don’t stand a chance without their help, do we?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Chalotte, ‘and I’m not sure what chance we stand with their help, either.’ But she, like the rest, had no choice but to follow Spiff into the tunnel.

  This time they did not have far to go, only marching for another fifteen or twenty minutes, though they changed direction a great deal and switched from corridor to corridor until, at last, they were taken through a hole in the wall and came into a small guardroom, long since abandoned it seemed by the regular Wendle patrols.

  The walls of the room were built of an ancient brick from which the red dust flaked away at the merest touch, and it was furnished with rough chairs and a table. There was a pile of torn blankets too, but most important of all, thrown down in a corner, was a heap of Wendle clothes and weapons: spears, knives, catapults and a score of bandoliers filled with good round stones for use as ammunition. Chalotte drew in a sharp breath and the blood pounded in her temples; everything had been prepared for them.

  She sprang on Spiff and seized him by the front of his shirt. ‘Why don’t you tell us what you’re up to, you crafty little bleeder?’ she cried. ‘These Wendles knew we were coming, didn’t they? And that’s more than we did ourselves … But you knew, didn’t you? You twister.’ Chalotte was very angry and she raised her free hand to strike the Battersea Bor
rible across the head.

  Norrarf pushed himself away from the wall where he had been leaning and raised his spear but, quick as he was, Spiff was quicker. With a brutal upward movement of his left arm he freed himself from the grip on his shirt and at the same time shoved the flat of his other hand into Chalotte’s face so hard and so fast that the girl stumbled backwards and fell into Bingo’s arms. Stonks stepped in front of Spiff, disregarding Norrarf’s spear.

  ‘Steady on, sonny,’ he said. ‘You push me if you want to push someone; see if I fall over.’

  Vulge sat Chalotte down on a chair and she fingered her reddened nose and wiped the tears of pain from her eyes. There was quiet as her friends watched her, not knowing what to say, tense, ready to fight.

  ‘You’d better tell us what’s up,’ said Stonks to Spiff after a while. ‘We didn’t come here to get ourselves killed just to amuse you.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Vulge, ‘our adventuring days are over.’

  Spiff smiled a smile of contempt to himself and began to sort over the Wendle clothing, looking for garments that would fit him. When he had found what he needed he put them on: the tin hat, the waders, the orange jacket. The costume transformed him utterly and the Borribles stared, forgetting their anger, hardly able to believe their eyes. Now Spiff looked every inch the Wendle warrior: violent, cunning and heartless. He smirked as he chose a catapult and swung a bandolier of stones across his shoulder; he was ready for anything and he looked like he didn’t have a scruple in the world.

  ‘You wanted us down here,’ said Chalotte, ‘and now you’ve got us. I’ve known that all along. You’ve got these friends down here, too. You must have had messages in and messages out for months. You know a lot that we don’t, like you always do. What I want to know is what is it that you know?’

  Spiff shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ he said, ‘and anyway you wouldn’t believe me whatever I said. If you don’t like it here why don’t you go up the nearest exit and walk right into the hands of Sussworth an’ Co?’

  ‘You will, too,’ said Norrarf. ‘Our patrols have reported that there’s a copper standing on every manhole in Wandsworth.’

  ‘Look,’ said Spiff, ‘all I want to do is get home, but since we’re stuck here for a while we’d better make the most of it. Me and the other two will go and look for some food. While we’re gone you’d better change into Wendle gear … and keep someone on watch.’

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ said Skug. ‘Hardly anyone comes this far out any more.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Spiff, and his voice had a commanding ring to it. He ducked through the hole in the wall and was gone. The two Wendles obeyed him without question, as if he’d always been their leader and had never been away.

  Chalotte shivered and remembered Flinthead, the Wendle chieftain. Suddenly Spiff reminded her of him; he had changed from the sly and lazy rogue she had known in Battersea. Now his eyes were cold and hard in his face, like pale blue marbles stuck in a big blob of raw pastry.

  Bingo sighed, fitted a helmet on to his head and pulled a Wendle face. ‘That Spiff,’ he said, ‘never does nothing for nothing. This whole thing smells dodgy.’

  Chalotte nodded. ‘Do you know what I think … I think he’s come down here to sniff about after the Rumble treasure box. That’s why he’s been in contact with Norrarf and Skug, that’s why he wanted to come with us in the first place.’

  Stonks looked up in surprise. ‘He couldn’t be that stupid,’ he said. ‘The treasure box got sunk in the deepest part of the River Wandle. You remember, you were there. It must be covered by miles and miles of mud by now.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Vulge, ‘the Wendle legends say that the mud goes right down to the centre of the earth just there.’

  ‘I know what the legends say,’ cried Chalotte, ‘but Spiff has a way of making his own legends.’

  ‘Oh come on,’ interrupted Twilight. ‘He can’t make us do anything we don’t want to, can he?’

  Chalotte laughed. ‘Spiff can make things happen and then make them look as if they just happened,’ she said. ‘He’s very good at it.’

  The Borribles waited three hours for Spiff’s return and while they waited changed into Wendle uniforms and chose a catapult and a bandolier each. The touch of the weapons reassured them mightily; they felt more confident, more in charge of their own destinies.

  It was Bingo who was on guard at the first bend in the tunnel when he heard the noise of footsteps echoing along the brick walls; then there was the trill of the Battersea whistle and a moment later Spiff edged himself into view. He looked tired now and his waders were covered in mud. Over his shoulder was a heavy sack.

  ‘Hello, young feller,’ he said. ‘Glad someone’s on watch.’ He went past Bingo and into the guardroom where he dropped his burden on the table. ‘Here’s some grub,’ he said, ‘so tuck in.’ He upended his bag and stolen food cascaded out loaves, rolls, bacon, pots of jam, beer and boiled sweets.

  ‘Were you seen?’ asked Vulge.

  Spiff chuckled. ‘Course I was, but with a bit of mud across the face and travelling with Skug and Norrarf no one gave me a second look.’

  ‘And are the SBG still on the manholes?’

  ‘According to Norrarf they are. The Wendles have one or two holes that the coppers don’t know about but they’re guarded by picked warriors and no one goes in or out except on Flinthead’s say-so. We’ll have to wait till the coppers have gone.’

  ‘I don’t care what Spiff wants us to believe,’ said Chalotte, ‘I think we ought to go and have a look for ourselves.’

  Spiff shrugged. ‘Suit yerself,’ he said, ‘but there’s one thing you certainly ought to see … over the other side of the citadel, over where you lost the treasure … You’ll never guess what it is.’ He ripped a chunk of white bacon fat with his teeth, rolling it into his mouth and chewing it confidently, like he had all the answers to all the questions.

  There was silence. Nobody wanted to ask Spiff anything, except perhaps Twilight, and he kept quiet because he realized there was something going on that he didn’t understand, that he wasn’t part of. Spiff waited and smiled and smiled in the most provoking manner until at last he said, ‘Well, all right then. I ain’t proud, I’ll tell yer. You’ve got to hand it to that Flinthead, he never gives up. Right out there, in the middle of all that mud and water he’s dug a mine shaft, and above it is a contraption like a North Sea oil rigs a platform made of planks, a treadmill, and a chain of buckets to bring up the mud … and down below, slaves to do the digging. Fantastic engineering, real Borrible. I tell yer … that Flinthead.’

  Stonks snorted. ‘He’s mad, he can’t dig up the treasure box, it’s too far gone.’

  ‘He’s not mad,’ argued Spiff, ‘persistent he is, he just never gives up.’

  Chalotte rose to her feet and stretched out an arm to point at Spiff. ‘And nor do you, you rat,’ she said, her voice trembling with rage. ‘Now we know why you were so happy to get us down here, it was that treasure all along.’

  Spiff’s face flushed. ‘Don’t be idiotic,’ he said. ‘How could I have known for sure that Sam was a trap, how could I have known that Sussworth was waiting on Eel Brook Commen, or that Ben would rescue us? I’m not a magician.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Chalotte went on, looking at her friends for support ‘but you didn’t care what you did as long as you got us nearer to Wandsworth. You were too scared to come down here on your own so you made damn sure you got us involved.’ She jerked her head at Twilight. ‘I told you he had a way of making things happen.’

  Stonks rolled a rasher of bacon in his fingers and tucked it into his mouth. ‘It don’t matter a monkey’s, that money has caused enough death and treachery. We came to get a horse, that’s all; money’s out.’

  ‘Right,’ said Vulge. ‘That money killed Knocker, Napoleon, Orc-cocco, Torreycanyon and Adolf; it very nearly killed me. It smells of death, always has done.’

  Spiff gazed slowly round
the room, superior and amused, like an adult watching quarrelling children. He snatched a bottle of beer from the table, opened it and took a long swig. ‘Ah, lovely,’ was all he said.

  ‘A couple of us ought to go and have a look ourselves,’ said Chalotte. ‘That way we can make sure Spiff’s telling us the truth about the manholes. We’ve got to get out of here before he gets us mixed up in something.’

  Spiff raised his bottle in the air. ‘Of course, girl,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you to the Wandle mudflats right away, and I’ll show you the exits the Wendles are using; I’ll even show you the shaft where Flinthead’s digging for treasure. And one day, if you outlive me that is, you’ll look back and say, “Old Spiff weren’t so bad, he knew a thing or two.”’ He laughed once more and waved his beer bottle in a circle, embracing everyone in a toast. ‘Here’s to us,’ he said, ‘Borribles all.’

  As soon as they had eaten it was decided that Chalotte, Stonks and Bingo would go with Spiff to check on some of the exits and entrances of Wendle country. They were to inspect as many as possible and weigh the chances of getting out on to the streets again, the chances of getting home.

  Spiff led the three towards the centre of the citadel, warning them to keep close at all times if they didn’t want to get lost. Again Chalotte wondered how he remembered his way in such an underground labyrinth. Only years and years as a Wendle could have given Spiff his detailed knowledge of the place. Left here, right there, over this sewer, along that one, now in complete darkness, now in the half-light; it was truly amazing and Chalotte came to realize that the more she knew Spiff the more there was to know.

  She also saw that in spite of the summer drought and the heat in the city above, the channels and culverts were deep in filth-laden water. Very often, when there were no pathways, the four Borribles were forced to wade along the middle of the sewers themselves, up to their waists in muck and with green slime dripping heavily on to their helmets from high in the vaulted roofs, while all about them they heard whispering voices and the slosh and slurp of Wendles in waders.