Authors: Michael de Larrabeiti
The Borribles (23 page)
‘One of you Rumbles nip off and get a match, will you? I want to pick my teeth.’ He leant on his iron bar and shifted the grip on the dustbin lid. He laughed aloud at his own stupidity. He hoped the others were safe out of it by now and not wasting time joking with the enemy.
A sudden noise above his head made him spring into action. So that was why the Rumbles had been so quiet, they’d found a way to outflank him through the roof. If they came at him from two directions at once he wouldn’t last long. He clambered on to the car and looked closely at the ceiling. A square flap was being lifted away. Torreycanyon glanced at the Rumbles standing by the workshop entrance. They hadn’t moved. He swung the iron bar over his shoulder; if any Rumble put so much as a snout through that trapdoor, he would swipe it flatter than a dead cat on a motorway.
The trapdoor lifted and a hand appeared, took a grip on the underside and pulled it open to reveal a black hole from which thick smoke drifted. There was coughing and spitting from the shaft and somebody was taking in large gulps of air. Torreycanyon prepared to strike.
‘I’ll give you cough and spit, you myxomatosed rabbit,’ he said, ‘you snouty old stoat.’
The hand came out again and Torreycanyon lowered the bar. It was a small human hand, not a paw at all. On the other end of that hand must be a Borrible.
A begrimed and bloody face appeared. Its red-rimmed eyes blinked and the mouth was open, taking in as much air as it could. And then, very nearly suffocated and lifeless, the small body of Bingo flopped out like a filleted fish, and fell into Torreycanyon’s arms.
Torreycanyon placed his comrade on one of the seats of the car and looked again at the enemy. They were sliding nearer, so with a mighty and blood-curdling bellow he threw his iron bar and it skeetered and
bounced across the concrete, sweeping the Rumbles’ legs from underneath them. They retreated; they’d had enough of this mad Borrible, and they did not want to take him on again until he was dropping with fatigue.
bounced across the concrete, sweeping the Rumbles’ legs from underneath them. They retreated; they’d had enough of this mad Borrible, and they did not want to take him on again until he was dropping with fatigue.
Bingo opened his eyes. ‘Oh, Torrey,’ he groaned, ‘I’m so glad it’s you. I couldn’t go a step further. My knees are worn raw and my lungs feel like two smoked haddocks.’ And Bingo started coughing again.
At the same time there was another scrabbling noise above Torreycanyon’s head, and he drew his catapult and seized a stone from Bingo’s bandolier. But he saw another hand and the head of Napoleon Boot soon followed it. He was in no better state than Bingo. His eyes were streaming and cuts from a dozen lance wounds had covered him in blood which in turn was covered in grime and grease and soot. His clothes were torn and his scuffed knees stuck out through large holes in his trousers. Torreycanyon helped him down and rested him on a seat alongside Bingo.
‘Looks like you done all the fighting yourselves,’ said Torreycanyon, ‘and you’re going to have some more to do, soon as you get your breath back.’
Napoleon said nothing but lay gasping. Bingo, breathing a little more easily, raised himself to a sitting position and looked over the twenty yards of body-strewn no man’s land to where the Rumbles stood.
‘What are they waiting for, Torrey?’ he asked.
‘More ammo and more friends,’ answered Torreycanyon. ‘They’ve gone right off me.’
‘Have you any kind of a plan?’ asked Bingo, a little dazed.
‘Not half,’ said Torreycanyon. ‘Get out!’ And in answer to Bingo’s puzzled shake of the head he said, ‘There’s a garage door here, but the trouble is I don’t know what’s on the other side. More Rumbles most like. It must be daylight—very dodgy.’
‘It’s the only chance we’ve got,’ said Napoleon, coming to himself and standing up, although he staggered violently. ‘There’s no point in going back into the shaft, that would be certain death.’
‘Well, in that case,’ said Torreycanyon, ‘watch the bunnies while I get down and try the door. If they move, let them have it with your catapults. You’re lucky to have a stone or two left; I haven’t.’
He jumped down on to the floor of the garage near the huge sliding
door. He approached the red button, licked his lips and looked at it as if trying to cast a spell. As his hand hovered in the air he turned suddenly to look up at Bingo and Napoleon.
door. He approached the red button, licked his lips and looked at it as if trying to cast a spell. As his hand hovered in the air he turned suddenly to look up at Bingo and Napoleon.
‘Here,’ he said sharply, ‘either of you Borribles got a match?’
Knocker stumbled on down the Great Door corridor, the weight of the treasure boring deep into his back. His muscles ached, the sweat poured from underneath his Borrible hat and down into his eyes, and the pungent smoke chafed at his lungs. Orococco led the way, scouting round every bend and corner and beckoning the others on. Vulge limped and staggered behind, supported by Adolf when the German was not fighting a rearguard action against the Rumbles who followed along the tunnel.
When the lights flickered out they could feel their enemies come nearer and strike at them in the dark with the sharp points of their lances. Furry bodies brushed past and tried to separate them and bring them down, but they kept together and counter-attacked with such ferocity that the Rumbles suffered many casualties.
They pushed on as best they could until, without warning, Orococco stopped at a sharp bend in the tunnel and called to Knocker. What Knocker saw made him drop his precious box and bound forward. About twenty yards from him Sydney and Chalotte stood ringed by enemy warriors. They were backed into a kind of alcove and a circle of steel-pointed lances held them in check. Their bandoliers were empty, they were fighting with captured Rumble-sticks against ten of their enemies and were obviously on their last legs. Their hats were gone and their hair was grimy with soot, hanging in stiffened strands over their lined faces. Chalotte’s lance was broken and she used it like a dagger, wielding it with a desperate fury.
Orococco and Knocker arrived together on the scene and struck the Rumbles from behind with lances they had scooped from the floor. They yelled and they shouted and the Rumbles fled into a side tunnel, thinking that the whole Borrible nation was at their heels. Three of their number lay on the ground and would fight no more.
Chalotte and Sydney leant against the wall and wiped the sweat from their eyes.
‘One minute later would have been one minute too late,’ said Chalotte. Her body was shaking.
‘I thought I’d never see the sky again,’ said Sydney. ‘How many of us left?’
‘What you see,’ said Knocker, ‘and we aren’t in good shape. The others have probably had it.’
‘Let’s get on,’ said Adolf. ‘There’s a couple of hundred Rumbles behind me.’
It was decided that Sydney should join the German in the rearguard, while Chalotte marched up front with Orococco. Their progress was slow. They were obliged to fight every inch of the way towards the Great Door, and Rumbles came thick and fast from the side tunnels the moment the Borribles had gone by, crowding close, just waiting for a favourable moment to attack.
What lay ahead, the Borribles dared not imagine. Even if Stonks was still guarding the way out there would be hundreds of Rumbles, all well armed, lying in ambush for them in the cold green grass of Rumbledom.
At last they came to the remains of one of the brick barricades that Stonks had built just inside the Great Door when he had captured it. Not much of the barrier could be seen now, trampled down in some great fight, and what was visible was covered with the bodies of fallen Rumbles, piled one upon the other and reaching halfway to the roof of the tunnel. It was strangely quiet too and the Borribles halted. Nothing moved before them and they looked at each other, puzzled.
‘I wonder if Stonksie is under that lot?’ said Chalotte.
‘He couldn’t possibly have survived,’ said Knocker, dropping his box again. ‘He must have seen off hundreds of Rumbles, though. What an artist!’
‘I should cocoa,’ said Chalotte. ‘Perhaps there isn’t anyone between us and the way out.’
At that moment an enormous Rumble bounded over the broken barricade and scrambled towards them. He had a spear in each hand and hallooed and shouted in a muffled way.
‘Anyone got any stones?’ asked Knocker urgently, but there was no answer. For the time being their catapults were useless.
“Those with spears up front,’ said Knocker, throwing the lance he
held at the oncoming monster. He grabbed another spear from the floor and formed a line with Orococco and Chalotte. The great shambling figure advanced on them with a strange and lolloping gait. He was the largest Rumble they had ever seen and probably the strongest. Perhaps, thought Knocker, Stonks had been fighting the Rumbles that now littered the battlefield when this powerful creature had pitched into him from behind. But whatever had happened the mighty shape still bore down on them, fearlessly, gleefully.
held at the oncoming monster. He grabbed another spear from the floor and formed a line with Orococco and Chalotte. The great shambling figure advanced on them with a strange and lolloping gait. He was the largest Rumble they had ever seen and probably the strongest. Perhaps, thought Knocker, Stonks had been fighting the Rumbles that now littered the battlefield when this powerful creature had pitched into him from behind. But whatever had happened the mighty shape still bore down on them, fearlessly, gleefully.
At some distance from the line of Borribles, the giant Rumble stopped and waved the spears in his hands and danced from one foot to the other, then turned in a circle and shouted happily. The muffled voice became a little clearer.
‘A Borrible, a Borrible,’ shouted the Rumble. ‘Don’t worry, it’s me, Stonks. Stonks, you fools. I’ve kept the Great Door safe for you, oh, come on.’
‘Careful,’ said Knocker. ‘It must be a trick.’
‘It’s no trick, Knocker,’ said the shaggy animal. ‘Look.’ The great Rumble threw down his spears and, lifting two hands—and they were hands—reached behind his neck and fiddled with something. Then the hands got hold of the snout and pulled hard and the whole furry cloak fell away to reveal none other than Stonks, the Borrible. ‘There,’ he cried, dancing some more, ‘it’s only me.’
Astonished, the Borribles lowered their weapons and crowded up to their friend, all of them asking questions at once.
‘Take it easy,’ said Stonks, delighted by their amazement. ‘I’ll explain.’
And he told them how he had captured the door with the sapling trick, and how Torreycanyon had gone off into the tunnels alone while he, Stonks, thought it a good idea to stay and guard the door to secure a line of retreat. But before building the barricades he’d gone to find the Rumble doorkeeper, to make sure that he didn’t recover and return to the fray. And Stonks had not been obliged to search for long; he had indeed found the doorkeeper, though all that remained of him was his skin.
‘Just a big coat with nothing inside,’ he said. ‘Can’t imagine what happened to his guts and innards … All splatted out of him on impact, I suppose.’
In any event it had seemed to Stonks that it might help his defence of
the Great Door, at least for a while, if he pretended to be a Rumble, and so he had donned the skin and it had worked very well, as they could see by the number of dead Rumbles lying everywhere.
the Great Door, at least for a while, if he pretended to be a Rumble, and so he had donned the skin and it had worked very well, as they could see by the number of dead Rumbles lying everywhere.
‘I got so used to wearing the skin,’ continued Stonks, ‘that I forgot I had it on when you lot appeared. It was only when Knocker threw a sticker at me that I remembered. Anyway, the door’s in our possession now, but I should think there’s twenty Rumble brigades on the other side of it.’
Weary as they were, the Borribles congratulated Stonks and patted him on the back and laughed again and again at his tale. Though their position was hopeless, it certainly helped to be told a cheerful story. Even Vulge limped forward, leant against the wall and wagged his head till it nearly fell off.
‘Take the skin home and use it as a mat,’ he said. ‘It will look like one of those tiger rugs they have in posh houses sometimes.’
They marched on then, over the barricades that Stonks had defended so valiantly and with so much cunning, and came at last to the Great Door. Here they rested for a while and took stock of their situation. Behind them were gathering the hordes of Rumbles who had followed them through the tunnels. They did not attack for they did not have to. Sooner or later the Borribles would have to leave the bunker, they would have to open the door, and the Rumbles knew that waiting on the other side of it were hundreds more of their warriors, brought in from other bunkers, fresh and eager to fight. The Borribles would be caught between two fires and one by one they would perish. Then would the Rumbles take their revenge.
Knocker looked at his sorry and exhausted band. All of them were wounded to some degree, and all of them had dried blood mixed into the dirt of their faces. There was no ammunition left for their catapults, so there was no chance of them carving their way through the Rumble ranks with well-aimed stones. They had as many lances as they could carry, for lances lay discarded all around the Great Door where Stonks had fought. But a lance could be thrown but once, and at close quarters they would be swamped by sheer weight of numbers and taken alive. Knocker shuddered to think of it. Furthermore, they had no food and nothing to drink. The longer they stayed where they were the weaker they would become. Their plight was grim.
The red eyes of the Rumbles watched from the nearest of the barricades, glowing, burning into the Borribles, hating them and yearning for their deaths. They began a low chant which rose louder and louder and was taken up by hundreds more beyond them, pouring down the tunnels, united and organized now for the final battle.
‘Bite up the Bowwibles,’ they chorused. ‘Bite up the Bowwibles.’ And there came a beating on the door and it trembled in its frame and the same chant was taken up outside and the door was smashed regularly now with some kind of battering ram, probably an old tree trunk rolled in from the fields of Rumbledom.
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