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

That was how every day was filled. After the daily sortie to the Park they returned to Rowena where they found that the High Street Borribles had provided them with a supper of food taken from the market. They ate with huge appetites and, after talking to each other for a little while, they rolled up in their sleeping-bags and snoozed on the floor of the long, dusty room. The next day they would have to wake early and do the same things again—run a little faster, shoot a little straighter. They would have to tackle difficult questions and find new answers to the problems that Knocker would devise. He would make them go over the expedition route on the street map of London and play war-games where he would imagine them in impossible situations and oblige them to think their way clear as quickly as they could and if Knocker wasn't satisfied they would have to do it again, and then again. They were tired all the time.

About one o'clock on a grey afternoon towards the end of the fortnight, Spiff, with two or three other stewards from the High Street, made an appearance in the store-room of the Rowena Crescent Gym. It was the beginning of the rest period and Spiff walked around the room talking to the Borribles who were stretched out on their sleeping-bags dozing with their eyes only half open. When he'd had a short word with each, he came over to speak to Knocker and Dodger.

"Afternoon, Knocker," said Spiff, nodding his head abruptly at the two stewards by his side. "This is Rasher and this is Ziggy."

Knocker stood up and said, "Those are fine names, certainly, I would like to hear the stories one day."

The two stewards nodded but did not smile. They looked out of humour.

"Yes," said Spiff, "that will have to wait of course. Now, Knocker, you've reached the end of the two weeks. How have you got on?"

Knocker reached for a large book on his desk. It contained a detailed description of each Borrible's training, together with various comments.

Spiff waved it aside. "No, I can look at that later, just a verbal report will do."

"Keep it general, too," said Rasher acidly. "Well," said Knocker, looking sideways at Dodger, "they are very good, all of them. Some are better at one thing than another, but they are all naturals with the catapult. They could knock off a running cat with their eyes closed, girls as well, in fact Chalotte is better than all of the others, except perhaps Orococco. Hand-to-hand fighting is good, climbing good, running very fast. With the Rumble-stick they vary, but Bingo is fantastic. They aren't so good at scouting work in the countryside, but that takes years of practice and it's unnatural, but they're first-class in the streets and markets, you hardly see their hands come up from beneath a barrow when they takes their dinner. Marvellous. And all of them are dead keen." Knocker hesitated and lowered his voice." I'm only worried about one of them, although he's worked as hard as anyone, harder. But I dunno, there's something that worries me about Napoleon Boot. He always seems to be thinking about something else, there's a slimy feel to him, it's . . . well, to tell the truth, Spiff, I dunno, it's just a feeling."

Dodger nodded at the three stewards to substantiate what Knocker had said.

Spiff looked back down the hall to where the Borribles were resting. Some were reading the Rumble books, others were just relaxing and looking at the ceiling. Napoleon Boot was scrutinising the road map of Greater London and memorising street names.

"He never stops," said Knocker. "They all know The Borrible Book of Proverbs by heart, but Napoleon knows it backwards and sideways as well. He's too good to be true."

Spiff creased his face. "Well, son, there's nothing we can do now. They have to have a Wendle with 'em because they've got to cross the Wandle. You know how suspicious they are of anybody who wants to cross their bloody river." He sniffed. "It ought to be all right, I mean the adventure is in their interest, ain't it? The Rumbles could easily burrow under Wandsworth Common and move from there down to the streets. The Wendles are in more danger than we are simply because they're nearer to Rumbledom, ain't they? It'll work out, you'll see."

There was silence as if nobody agreed with him, not even Spiff himself. He changed the subject.

"Well, your blokes must leave soon anyway, the longer they wait the more dangerous it is. There was a psychological advantage in letting the Rumbles know we were on to them, but the longer we take in getting up there, the more time they will have to prepare their defences. Our Eight might not be able to get into the Rumble Burrow. Imagine—all that way for nothing!"

Ziggy, who had been trying to interrupt Spiff's flow, at last got a word in. "I've never liked this idea, you know, Spiff. I think we should have gone up there in force, taken them on, given them a thumping, duffed 'em up."

"Out of your mind," said Spiff impatiently; he was always right and knew it. "We'd have been outnumbered ten to one and they'd have been fighting on their own ground. We stand a much better chance by sending eight professionals like this, and eliminating their leaders, mark my words."

"Oh, it sounds all right on paper," said Ziggy condescendingly, "but I don't think that those eight over there can manage it. They haven't done anything yet. Anyone can fire a catapult at a Woollie and run—but what if it's a Rumble with a Rumble-stick at your throat, eh?"

"Look," said Knocker getting annoyed, "I've trained this lot. If anyone can get inside the Rumble Burrow they can."

"Rubbish," said Rasher, joining in the argument, "they don't stand a monkey's."

"They do," said Knocker.

"They don't," said Ziggy.

The stewards frowned at their feet.

Spiff sniffed again. "I've been looking at the map, Knocker. I thought that the Eight ought to go up the Thames, from St Mary's to Wandsworth Reach. I know it's dangerous, but it will save days on the journey, and it means the Eight will be going in from a direction that the Rumbles won't dream of. Even if they've got lookouts deployed as far as Wandsworth Common Railway and Earlsfield, we'll outflank them. What do you say?"

Knocker was angry all over again. "But, Spiff," he cried, grabbing the steward's arm, "the river is a death trap, all those barges and tugs and police launches, they'd be run down or run in without a chance. They've had no training for water. I don't even know if they can row. I thought they were going to march overland, and now you want to throw 'em into the river. It's not on, Spiff."

"How far do you think they'd get then if they went overland," asked Ziggy, "with a solid line of Rumbles from Merton to the River Thames?"

Rasher shoved his face up to Knocker's and tilted it sideways. "If your blokes are so good, why are you making excuses? Can't they do it?"

"It's a question of time, training," spluttered Knocker.

Spiff nodded. "Just so, you'll get an extra day for boat training and rowing."

"But we haven't got a boat," said Knocker, looking at all three of the stewards as if they were mad.

"Oh, you'll need a boat," said Spiff, "to row up the river. You'll need one before then to train in, won't yer?"

"Where can we get one?" asked Dodger, looking distraught.

Spiff turned on him angrily. "You're a Borrible, ain't yer? Steal one—this afternoon—instead of kipping."

"Yes," said Ziggy. "Let's see how good this team is. But I tell you, if you can't get over this little problem I shall use all my influence to see that the adventure is cancelled. I've never liked it you know."

Spiff laughed. "Don't take any notice of him. I know you'll manage, Knocker. You just prove to us that your blokes are as good as you say they are, eh?" And with that the three stewards climbed up the wall on the exercise bars and one by one they disappeared through the narrow windows that led to Rowena Crescent.

Knocker was shaking with temper as he watched them go. He had a tendency to take things seriously at the best of times but this criticism of his team and his training of them was a personal insult.

"Just like that, eh?" he said to Dodger. "Get a boat, steal it, launch it, learn to row it, just like that!"

"And only today and tomorrow to do it in," said Dodger soberly.

Knocker walked over to where the Eight were waiting, propped up on their elbows, their interest aroused by the discussion. "Well," he said, "no rest for the wicked. Get your hats on, I'm taking you to the lake in Battersea Park. We're going to steal a boat."

Only one person amongst the Eight registered enthusiasm. Napoleon's dark face became brilliant. He stood up and said, "A boat, eh? That's good, know about boats we do, up the Wandle."

Knocker was relieved. Of course, the Wandsworth Borribles lived on or near water all the time. Napoleon could be a great help. "We're going to have to steal a boat that can make the river trip along the Thames as far as the mouth of the Wandle. Napoleon, can you teach this team how to row and steer?"

"Why, of course, Knocker," said Napoleon, with a slight sneer colouring his voice. "It'll be a pleasure."

One by one they slipped from the gym and went their separate ways to the Park. They reassembled by the huge iron gates and walked along the roadway till they arrived at the boating lake. Each Borrible had his hat well down over his ears, a catapult under his jumper and a few stones ready in a pocket, just in case.

Knocker felt sad, for soon the Eight would be gone. What an adventure it would be for them. What times they would have; but he, Knocker, would be left behind and forgotten. He had worried about it every day but think as he might he could see no way at all by which he could wangle his inclusion in the team that would set off on the perilous journey to Rumbledom. He shook the desire from his mind, it was no use thinking about it.

It was not long before he and the others came in sight of the small wooden hut where tickets were sold to those who wished to spend an hour boating. The high summer season was nearly over and most of the boats were chained to one of the islands in the middle of the lake out of harm's way. Only about a dozen or so were roped to the little jetty which stood near the ticket-office. Inside the wooden shed was a park-keeper with a brown suit and a dark brown hat. He was licking a pencil and writing with it slowly in a big book. Not one boat moved on the flat surface of the water. Knocker and the others sat down by the edge of a path to watch. After a while Knocker said, "What do you think of the boats, Napoleon?"