The Borribles - Larrabeiti Michael (книги онлайн без регистрации .txt) 📗

"Well, hello sailor," said Orococco. "What's a nice Borrible like you doing in a place like this?"

Knocker smiled with relief. He gestured towards Vulge and the box. "We're trying to get Vulge out. He's done for the Chief, but the bodyguard nearly did for him."

"He knocked them about beautifully," laughed Adolf. "He deserves twenty names."

"He doesn't look too good," said Bingo, "that's for sure."

"How have you got on?" asked Knocker, sitting down on the box of money.

Bingo knelt by Vulge and felt his pulse, saying, " 'Rococco's got his, at the door. He came along to keep me company. I've been running all over the place but I'm damned if I can find mine anywhere. I hope someone else hasn't done him. I'll be stuck without a name if they have."

The lights in the corridor flickered off and the Borribles grasped their lances and stood back to back. They heard the snuffling sound of Rumbles moving nearer but then the lights snapped on again and the Adventurers saw their foes scrambling to get beyond the range of the Borrible weapons.

Knocker came to a decision. "You could come along with us, then, give me a hand with this box and help carry Vulge."

"I don't mind that," agreed Bingo, "as long as I am free to take off after my bloke at any time."

The five Borribles moved on, pausing at every intersection. They were followed, sniffed and snuffled at but not attacked. The hazards would increase when they reached the open space of the Central. There hosts of angry Rumbles could trample them down, no matter how well they defended themselves.

At length Bingo, who was leading, stopped and held up a hand. "It's the Central," he whispered.

They gathered at the end of the corridor and looked out into the wide cavern from which radiated the main arteries of the Bunker. A fearful sight met their eyes. Hundreds of Rumbles ran backwards and forwards across the immense hallway. Blue lights flashed in the ceiling and the alarm bells rang. The roadway leading to the Great Door was crammed with Warrior Rumbles, struggling to enter the tunnel and do battle with whoever was at the other end; thick smoke issued from a corridor above which was written "Kitchens". Some Rumbles were disappearing into a tunnel marked "Infirmary", bearing wounded comrades on stretchers.

Bingo took in the scene and turned to the others. "I've got an idea," he said. "There's a tunnel over there with no one in it, or so it seems, the one that says 'Library'. I'll run across the hall, throw a few spears and some of those warriors will chase after me. You'll have to fight the rest. Not much of an idea but it's Hobson's, isn't it?"

Knocker spoke for them all. "It's the only way."

Bingo took extra stickers from his companions and with no goodbyes he ran light-footed into the hall. So sudden was his appearance that he got three-quarters of the way across before he was noticed by some non-combatant Rumbles, who shouted out to the Warriors who were crowded round the Great Door tunnel.

Bingo planted his feet firmly on the floor and threw sticker after sticker at the enemy. He threw well and he threw hard, each of his lances struck a mark and half a dozen Rumbles fell dead or sorely wounded. The others fell back and hesitated, so Bingo drew his catapult and two more Rumbles fell stunned before he turned and with a remarkable burst of speed vanished into the Library tunnel yelling defiantly, "A Borrible, a Borrible." Scores of Warrior Rumbles raced after Bingo, shouting fiercely in their turn, and in a few seconds the entrance to the Great Door corridor was left deserted.

"Vulge," said Knocker, kneeling, "can you make it across the Central? We'll need all hands to fight our way over."

"Get me to my feet," said Vulge, sitting up, "and give me a sticker to lean on. I'll waltz it over there."

They pulled him upright and thrust a lance into his hand. He tucked the butt of it under his good armpit and used it like a crutch. "There you go," he wheezed, "nice as ninepence."

Knocker got the box onto his back once more and Orococco and Adolf formed up on either side of him. They had few Rumble-sticks left but here there would be room for catapult work.

"You lead the way, Vulge," said Knocker. "We'll take your pace."

Because of the terrible confusion and panic that had followed Bingo's exit the retreating Borribles got a good way into the Central before being seen, and when they were, the Rumbles were at a loss, for they had no troops of their own present to deal with this unexpected situation. They knew that Borribles were loose in the tunnels but they had no idea how large the invading force was. Above all they had not expected a band of Borrible fighters to appear suddenly like that right in their midst. They shouted and squealed and their stomachs turned to water. They ran in every direction, except towards their enemies; they knocked each other down and exchanged blows, anything to get away from the deadly stones that flew so rapidly from the Borrible catapults. They screamed out for Warriors, but their Warriors were engaged deep in the tunnels, or were chasing phantoms or other Rumbles in the belief that they were Borribles. Smoke made pursuit and identification difficult and confusion was spreading into the very outposts of the Rumble Bunker.

Slowly the Borribles moved over the dangerous open area. Vulge hobbled and stumbled manfully, gritting his teeth to keep back his pain, willing himself not to fall and ruin the escape. The Rumbles held back still and made no attempt to attack until, suddenly, a party of their Warriors burst from a tunnel on the Borrible flank.

"We've been rumbled," said Orococco.

"This is no time for bad jokes," panted Knocker, sweating under the weight of his box and wishing he had his hands free.

"The proverb says," hissed Orococco as he fired and reloaded his catapult, " 'Bad times need jokes though never so bad'."

A flight of lances whistled over from the Rumbles but the catapult fire, rapid and sustained, detracted from their aim and the stickers missed their targets and fell harmlessly to the floor: all save one, which struck the box that Knocker carried and pierced the lid and stayed there quivering. The force of the blow staggered Knocker and he went down to one knee and had to be helped back to his feet.

The Rumbles searched round for more lances but the flying Borrible stones still hampered them and one by one they were hit and retreated to the safety of the tunnels. But there was one Rumble, braver and quicker than the rest, who exhorted his comrades to come out again and he began to organise the non-Warriors into a compact mass, ready to charge the little band of Borribles. If he could get them to act together, all would be over with the retreating Adventurers—but Orococco had other ideas.

Snatching a lance from the floor, he ran forward, one Borrible charging a hundred Rumbles. About twenty yards away from the brave but offending Rumble, Orococco threw his lance like a javelin. It left his hand with the power of a bullet and the four-inch nail buried itself deep in the thick fur of the Warrior. A groan went up from the enemy ranks and scores of stickers clattered about the head of Orococco, but he bobbed and ducked and returned to his friends unscathed and they gained the temporary safety of the Great Door tunnel.

Vulge fell to the floor in a dead faint. Knocker flung down his box, tugged the lance free of the lid and threw the weapon back into the Great Hall.

"And work it," he shouted, trembling with anger.

Adolf knelt to inspect Vulge's injury, lifting the jacket aside to reveal the blood-soaked bandage.

"Our Vulge has lost lots of his strength," he said, "but the wound has stopped bleeding. He may be all right, if he can rest." He refolded the cloth and replaced it.

Orococco, watching from the mouth of the corridor, called a warning. "There's a lot of those Warrior boys getting together out there. They're coming our way."

Knocker looked at the others and said, "Rest, just a minute or two. We've not finished. I can hear fighting up ahead; we ain't out of this holiday camp yet."

"It's a lovely place," said Vulge, who was becoming delirious. "Lots and lots of Rumbles in it."

Bingo ran like the wind along the corridor. As far as he could see it was empty of Rumbles ahead, but from behind came the noise of shouting as the Warriors from the Central gave chase.

Bingo ran easily, keeping plenty of strength in reserve. Wherever it was this Library it seemed a long way. He ran on, outdistancing his pursurers until at length he could hear them no more. He slowed his pace and jogged along, a sticker swinging loosely in his right hand, his catapult in his belt. He was in the furthest reaches of the Bunker here and it was strangely quiet; there was no smoke or acrid steam on the air, either.

After what seemed miles Bingo came to a green baize-covered door that was hanging crazily on one hinge. Several stickers stood embedded in it and two Rumble Warriors, with their throats slit, lay dead across the threshold.

"Wendle work," said Bingo, and he went past the bodies and slipped into the room that lay beyond. It was indeed the Library but it had been badly mauled. It was a high room with massively tall bookcases soaring up to an embossed oaken ceiling, which was painted in bright colours with the coats-of-arms of the richest and most ancient Rumble families. Little wooden balconies ran round the walls and beautifully carved staircases led down from ceiling height at each corner. Quiet alcoves with comfortable desks were situated between the bookshelves and little green shaded lamps gave friendly and academic glow. It was a place for rest and study, richly decorated in the Rumble colours, and it had obviously cost a great deal of money and labour to establish and build up over long years. Here was assembled all the knowledge and wisdom and power that the Rumbles had amassed over many centuries, and now it was being dismantled by a very busy Borrible. Napoleon Boot was hard at work with the cool ferocity of a Wendle with a grudge.

Bingo glanced round the room to see that there was no enemy, and there wasn't, alive. The bodies of a dozen or so vanquished Rumble Warriors littered the dark green carpet, all but covered in mounds of heavy books. Napoleon carried on with his work, unperturbed by Bingo's arrival, which he acknowledged with a curt nod. The Wendle had already pushed or levered over two or three of the huge bookcases and spilled the enormous volumes out across the floor. At the far end of the room one of the long library ladders was propped up to a grating of the ventilation system. Napoleon had prepared his retreat, but was not going to leave before he had caused the maximum amount of damage. The Wendle was nobody's fool.