No one answered the Wendle; there was no need and no time. From some faraway part of the earth came a great rumbling sound. The vaulted roof of the cavern shook and bricks plummeted from it. The river boiled like hot pitch, faster and faster, releasing a vile gas which from its stench might have been nurtured for months in the reeking flesh of a corpse long dead.
‘I can’t breathe,’ cried Sydney. ‘I can’t breathe.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Vulge, wiping the smoky vapour from his eyes, ‘in a little while you won’t have to.’
The rumbling grew louder. A tidal wave of silt reared up and billowed along the river banks, and the Wendles standing there turned and ran into the tunnels, trampling each other underfoot in their eagerness to be gone; and gone they all were in a few turbulent minutes, leaving only the injured and unconscious behind them, some to crawl away and some to be pulled under by the raging waters.
Still the rushing and the roaring came nearer and the whole world shook and a great explosion hurtled up the mine shaft like a locomotive, and the Borribles crawled towards each other on the wheel and flung their bodies together for protection.
Then the explosion burst out in a mighty upheaval and the treadmill was cast aloft like a pebble, borne upwards on a twisting column of slush that spun and whirled and dipped and swayed like a huge tornado, and the Borribles fought for each breath in the gyrating mud and fought even harder not to be thrown from the wheel and off into the spinning darkness.
Upwards and upwards they went, soaring and gliding a hundred feet high until the wheel was resting lightly on the outermost upthrust of a great pillar of filth. It hovered there for an eternity, balanced between down and up. Then at last, dipping and skimming once more, it swooped away on the crest of a wide and indolent wave that carried it back to the surface of the Wandle flats, where it plunged deep into the river, only to leap into view a moment later with the slime-sodden Borribles still clinging to it; poor black scarecrows coated in muck.
One of the scarecrows weakly raised an arm and tried to shout above the din of the mud storm. It was Knocker and his voice could barely croak. ‘Look, look where we are!’
The others scraped the sticky mire from their eye sockets and saw that the wave had brought them more than two hundred yards downstream and near to the north bank. They struck out with their legs and found that their feet could touch the river bottom.
‘We’re safe,’ cried Chalotte, speaking at last, happiness in her tone now that she realized that she had not killed her friends after all.
Napoleon staggered away from the treadmill. ‘Don’t waste time,’ he shouted. ‘Get out before the explosion stops.’
He was right. Once the great geyser collapsed the mud would flow back into the mine with even greater power, and everything in the Wandle would flow with it until the shaft was full.
Stonks was still the strongest of the Borribles. One by one he grabbed the most feeble of the Adventurers and dragged them to the shore and shoved them up on to the bank. Napoleon first, then Torreycanyon and Orococco, Knocker last. While he did this the others waded to dry land as best they might, stumbling, floundering, leaning on each other until they all fell together in a heap.
‘Never mind resting,’ said Napoleon urgently, and finding the strength from somewhere he forced himself to his knees and laid hold of the lump of mud next to him. ‘This is Tron, get the other Wendle quick.’
Stonks knew immediately what Napoleon meant but it was impossible to tell one slimy shape from another. It was Norrarf himself who gave the game away, leaping to his feet in panic, and Stonks seized him roughly by the neck and squeezed hard.
‘Don’t let the Wendles get free,’ he yelled, ‘or we’ve had it.’
In spite of Napoleon’s efforts to hold him down Tron stood up easily. ‘Wait a minute, Napoleon,’ he said. ‘Flinthead is dead now, there will be no more war between Borrible and Borrible.’
‘I’ll believe that when I’m out of here, and not before,’ said Knocker.
‘Don’t be idiots,’ said Norrarf, struggling in Stonks’s grip. ‘I was helping Spiff all along wasn’t I? Why should I give you away?’
‘Everything’s changed now,’ said Tron. ‘Besides, you can be sure that the whole Wendle nation thinks we’re dead; nobody stayed to watch exactly, did they?’
Knocker and Napoleon looked at each other. The mud spattered around them and the tornado thundered.
Napoleon shook his head. ‘We’ve been through too much to take any chances … Hold ’em fast and keep yer eyes on ‘em.’
Tron shrugged. ‘I don’t blame you,’ he said, ‘but I can show you that I mean no harm. I’ll take you to a safe way out, a secret way out that only Flinthead and I knew.’
‘Where is it?’ asked Vulge, shouting through the storm.
Tron jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘That way, along that tunnel; it’s a manhole that comes out next to the cranes on Feather’s Wharf. It’s not far.’
‘We’ll have a look,’ said Stonks, and he began to help his friends to stand, but before they could set out the depths of the mine reverberated and a second air pocket was heard booming its way to the surface. The swirling geyser faltered and dipped for a moment as if about to break, but then it surged upwards with an even greater strength than before and the Borribles fell back, folding their arms over their heads for protection against the mud that pelted them with the force of hailstones.
Chalotte screamed. ‘Look,’ she gasped, ‘look there!’
Her companions peered through the steady barrage of slime and what they saw harrowed their blood and, after all they had endured, warped their sanity to breaking point.
Rising gracefully up the side of the great whirling tornado, turning slowly as if in some grotesque dance of death, the body of Spiff appeared and close by him came the headless trunk of Flinthead, his brother. Languidly they drifted upwards, changing positions unhurriedly, and just below them floated the box of Rumble treasure, so near that at times the two bodies seemed like effigies standing upon it. Spiralling round and round the tableau ascended, moving to the far side of the whirlwind only to reappear a few seconds later, travelling at the speed of the cyclone but seeming uncannily motionless to the eyes of those who watched.
Chalotte touched her face with shaking fingers. ‘It’s a nightmare,’ she said, ‘a horrible nightmare.’ No one answered her. They stood quite still, all of them, but the horror had not ended. As Flinthead and Spiff revolved in their deathly dance, the lid of the treasure box eased open and, one by one at first and soon in hundreds, bright gold and silver coins began to appear, spread themselves in spangled swathes across the surface of the cyclone and glittered there.
Then the lid of the box opened completely and a thousand banknotes detonated into gaudy streamers and fastened themselves on to this great spinning wall of sewage that turned and turned and drew everything irresistibly towards it. And the paper money shone in all bright colours: green and orange, violet and yellow, amber and pale blue; and the whole whirlwind was festooned with it and so were the bodies of Flinthead and Spiff. It was beautiful.
Chalotte shrieked and the noise shook the Adventurers from their trance.
‘It will suck us in if we stay here,’ she cried, ‘we’re too close; run away.’ In that instant the mine shaft expelled a long and tumultuous sigh. The last of the imprisoned air escaped from the bottom of the pit and the tornado at last stood still, all power gone. Then its outside skin of slush began to slip and slide until finally it fell with a loud crash back into the depths, burying the bodies and the treasure for ever in the Wandle under countless tons of mud, and huge cowpats came raining down and swamped the Borribles with such a persistent force that they were thrown violently to the ground. Wave after wave reared from the Wandle and threatened to bear them away but they dug their hands into the earth and clung to each other for dear life, and so tightly did they cling that although the river surged and tore and plucked at the Adventurers it could
not claim them for all their weakness.
Slowly the clatter ceased and the currents of the river calmed. The tide receded from the banks and the Borribles could raise their heads and look about them. Knocker pushed himself on to his hands and knees; water and slime poured from his limbs.
‘I’ve spent months in this Wandle mud,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get out of it before I go really and truly mad.’ He stumbled among the others, looking for Tron.
‘Tron, which one are you? Get up.’ Tron rose and Knocker went to him. ‘Get us out of here, just as quickly as you can.’
The remainder of the Borribles struggled upright and Norrarf went to stand by Tron. ‘You can trust us,’ he said. ‘Honest.’
‘Yes,’ said Tron. ‘Follow me, it is not far.’ He put his arm on Norrarf’s shoulder and the two Wendles, walking side by side, led the way into a narrow tunnel.
As Tron had said, the secret escape hole was at no great distance. In less than a quarter of an hour’s march Tron brought everyone to a halt and pointed at the roof. ‘There it is,’ he said.
‘I don’t see no manhole,’ said Bingo.
‘You won’t,’ said Tron. ‘It’s meant to be secret but it’s there and it hasn’t got an SBG man standing on it, neither.’
‘That’s as may be,’ said Stonks, ‘but I’d better go out and have a scout round. If I’m not back in ten minutes you’ll know there’s something wrong.’
‘Suit yerself,’ said Tron, ‘but be careful, it might be daylight.’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ said Vulge. ‘Let me and Bingo make a step.’
When they were ready Stonks climbed on to their clasped hands and they lifted him into the roof of the tunnel. There was no noise while Stonks groped above his head, but soon his feet shifted and there came the sound of iron grating upon iron.
‘Got it,’ Stonks grunted, and as he spoke a cool draught carved its way into the stinking atmosphere of the underworld. Each of the Borribles took a long deep breath. It seemed like years since any of them had breathed untainted air.
‘Cripes,’ said Torreycanyon, ‘that’s beautiful, like drinking cold water; almost knocks yer unconscious, don’t it?’
Stonks’s feet disappeared and a second later they heard his voice. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ he whispered, ‘and if I ain’t, scarper.’
The Borribles waited and said nothing. Their minds were too full of what they had seen and suffered to allow them to think of talking for the sake of it, but eventually Chalotte did speak and she asked Tron something she thought she ought to know before they parted company, perhaps for ever.
‘Why are you letting us go like this, Tron?’ she asked. ‘Why aren’t you calling for your warriors?’
‘Well, look at us,’ answered the Wendle, ‘nearly dead, almost were dead, covered in slime, and for what? The proverb says that fruit of the barrow is enough for a Borrible, yet we seem to have forgotten all that. We’ve been through something really rotten and it should never have happened, but it did and we were to blame, I suppose, all of us.’
‘Funny really,’ said Knocker. ‘Once it all began it was too late to stop, but I don’t mind admitting … that mud has taught me a thing or two I won’t forget.’
Tron nodded. ‘Flinthead wanted power and money, that’s where it started, and he made a lot of Wendles think the same, me included … Spiff wanted revenge on Flinthead for things that happened long ago, things that we didn’t even know about; bloody ridiculous when you think of it.’
‘Still,’ said Chalotte, ‘the Rumble treasure’s gone now, and so much the better. That’s how it should be with us. It’s people like Flinthead who bring trouble, greedy sod, and Spiff was greedy too, in a different way. I don’t think it was only revenge he wanted; could have been lots of things, glory, another name. Maybe he did want to take what Flinthead had and keep it. For all we know he really might have wanted to take the money back and share it out equally, but even if he did it wasn’t a good idea; it wasn’t Borrible.’
‘There’s enough Rumbles to fight without fighting among ourselves,’ said Tron, ‘that’s plain madness. Anyway, with Flinthead gone I reckon there’ll be a lot of Wendles who’ll realize they can go back to being Borribles plain and simple, Norrarf here for one, and Skug, and there’ll be others.’
‘There’ll be lots all right,’ said Norrarf. ‘They didn’t dare do anything before because of Flinthead and the bodyguard. You know, just because of the way things were.’
‘That’s it, though,’ said Napoleon. ‘I’m a Wendle, remember, or was. I know the bodyguard, they won’t let you have everything your own way.’
‘We’ll have to see,’ said Tron, with a sigh. ‘We others outnumber them after all. I tell you one thing though, I won’t let anyone take over where Flinthead left off, that’s for certain.’
And that was the end of it. Stonks’s voice dropped down into the darkness and brought the discussion to a close. ‘It’s nearly dawn,’ he said, ‘but there doesn’t seem to be anyone about. There’s a light in Ben’s shed. Best thing is to come up quietly; you never know, Sussworth may have a Woollie hidden, waiting for us.’
Tron linked hands with Norrarf to make a step, and one by one the Adventurers said goodbye to the Wendles, friends now, and jumped upwards to grasp the rim of the manhole and haul themselves out into the cool of the summer dawn.
At the very end Knocker stood ready to go. He raised a weary foot and placed it in the Wendles’ hands. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘we shall meet again.’
‘Sometime,’ said Tron, ‘when things have gone one way or the other. If I’m still alive I’ll come and tell you the story of what I did.’
‘Do that,’ said Knocker. ‘I like a good story.’ He turned to Norrarf. ‘I didn’t get to know you Norrarf, but thanks. Remember, real friends will come when you call … and both of you, don’t get caught.’
‘Nor you,’ said Norrarf, and he thrust with his hands and Knocker found himself shoved up through the manhole and pulled over and on to the ground by the strong arms of Stonks. Then he heard a clang and the iron cover slid into its grooves behind him.
10
For a long time the Borribles lay on the uneven and rubbish-strewn dirt. They listened and they heard the sound of the Wandle where it met the River Thames. A tug hooted out on Wandsworth Reach and an early car swished along on Armoury Way. It was warm. The London heatwave had not relented but the outside air felt deliciously cool after the triple-baked temperatures of the underground mine.
Knocker relaxed flat on his back and gazed into the sky; the sky that he had thought never to see again. He smiled and the drying mud cracked on his cheeks. It made him glad to see the pale yellow stars and the deep blue of the night fading into grey on the horizon as the dawn came. His breast swelled with a pleasure he felt he could not endure: the simple pleasure of being alive, of being thankful for it and knowing he was. The tears trickled down the side of his face and into his hair, but nobody could see them, lost as they were in dirt.
He sat up. The mingled odours of river and rubbish were wholesome after the smell of the sewers. He turned his head and saw that he and the others were right by the two steam cranes that guarded Feather’s Wharf.
Napoleon sat up too. ‘Well, what do you know?’ he asked of no one in particular.
‘Man,’ said Orococco, ‘it’s like breathing for the very first time.’
The Borribles looked above their heads. In the moments that had elapsed since the closing of the manhole the stars had gone from the sky, a quiet traffic noise was growing and bright squares of electric light were appearing in tall and distant buildings; holes cut from the black sides of Wandsworth. A breeze was riding in on the back of the river and a loose flap of corrugated iron banged on the side of a shed somewhere. In a few minutes the rubbish men would be arriving to work on the dump, digging and delving into the loose mountains of trash and loading the river barges until they almost sank, while the tipper trucks
roared in from all over London. It was a new day.
‘Let’s go to Ben’s,’ said Sydney. ‘I’d like to find out what happened to Sam.’
‘Ben?’ said Knocker.
‘Sam?’ said Torreycanyon, who had forgotten all about the horse.
Chalotte pulled Knocker to his feet. ‘There’s new stuff to tell you—there’s Twilight here, and Ben and Sam. There’s Sussworth too, and Hanks and the SBG.’
‘Sussworth,’ Napoleon spat out the word. ‘Straight away I don’t like the sound of him.’
Stonks swore. ‘You won’t like the look of ‘im either,’ he said, ’especially if he catches us out here. Let’s get out of sight.’ He set off into the mile of space that lay between the Wandle and Wandsworth Bridge, followed by the others along a path that wound between the piles of discarded washing machines and broken refrigerators. They walked quietly in file until they came within sight of Ben’s hut, and there they saw a light flickering behind a threadbare sack which hung for a curtain at a lopsided window. They took cover and waited while Stonks went to the door. Carefully he lifted the latch and poked his head inside, then after a moment, he beckoned to his companions, indicating that all was safe.
‘This is Ben,’ he explained to those who had not been to the shack before, ‘and Ben is the only grown-up Borrible in the world.’
The interior of the hut was gloomy, lit only by one oil lamp. Ben was discovered sprawled asleep in a low broken-backed armchair and he looked just the same as he had always looked: covered in many overcoats, his beard spreading over his chest, his long black hair tumbling to his shoulders and his skin pitted and filthy. He smelt just the same too: awful.
‘Blimey,’ said Orococco, ‘he’s blacker than I am.’
Sydney closed the door and the slight noise made Ben stir in his sleep. He belched and opened one eye, then the other. Slowly he came awake and shifted in his chair, rubbing his hairy face with a soiled hand.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘strike me purple.’ The old tramp shook his head, surprised, but then a broad smile began to grow behind his beard. ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he went on. ‘I thought Sussworth had got you for sure. Not my business of course, but I didn’t like it, didn’t like it one bit.’ He reached for the beer bottle on the table and took a long swig to reassure himself that the world was still in the same place. ‘There’s more of you, though,’ he said. ‘Found some friends ain’t yer? What you kids get up to is nobody’s business, but whose business is it if it ain’t nobody’s?’
Borribles Go For Broke, The Page 22
