Michael Larrabeiti - The Borribles

The only people likely to get close to Borribles are ordinary children because Borribles mix in with them to escape detection by "the authorities" who are always trying to catch them. Any child may have sat next to a Borrible or even talked to one and never noticed the ears because Borribles wear hats, woollen ones, pulled down over their heads, and they sometimes grow their hair long, hanging to their shoulders.

Normal kids are turned into Borribles very slowly, almost without being aware of it; but one day they wake up and there it is. It doesn't matter where they come from as long as they have what is called a "bad start". A child disappears from a school and the word goes round that he was "unmanageable"; the chances are he's off managing by himself. Sometimes it's given out that a kid down the street has been "put into care" because whenever he got home from school the house was empty; no doubt he's been Borribled and is caring for himself someplace. One day a shout might be heard in a supermarket and a kid with the goods on him is hoisted out by a store-detective. If that kid gets away he'll become a Borrible and make sure he isn't caught again. Being caught is the end for a Borrible.

So Borribles are outcasts but unlike most outcasts they enjoy themselves and wouldn't be anything else. They delight in feeling independent and free and it is this feeling that is most important to them. Consequently they have no real leaders, though someone may pop into prominence from time to time, perhaps because he has had a good idea and wants to carry it through. They manage without authority and they get on well enough together, though like everybody, they quarrel.

They don't get on with adults at all, or anybody else for that matter, and they say why should they? Nobody has ever tried to get on with them, quite the contrary. They are ignored and that suits them down to the ground because that way they can do what they want to do in their own quiet and crafty way.

Knocker and Lightfinger had been on night patrol in Battersea Park when they'd stumbled across the Rumbles and the discovery had annoyed and scared them. Borribles like to make sure that no other Borrible tribe is encroaching on their territory, that's bad enough. They are always frightened that they might be driven away from their markets and houses and have their little bit of independence destroyed, so scouting round the frontiers is a regular duty.

Unearthing a Rumble was something very upsetting. They are the real enemies of the Borribles and the Borribles hate them for their riches, their power, their haughtiness and their possessions. If the Rumbles were coming all the way down from Rumbledom to colonise the Park, what price Battersea High Street?

Knocker and Lightfinger harried Timbucktoo along in front of them. They went past Morgan's Crucible Factory, along Battersea Church Road and by St Mary's down by the river, and then into the High Street. They saw no one and no one saw them, it being well into the early hours of the morning. They made for an empty house standing opposite the end of Trott Street. It was tall and wide and the bottom windows were boarded up and a sheet of corrugated iron covered the main doorway. The facade of the building was painted over in grey, and in black letters was written, "Bunham's Patent Locks Ltd. Western 4828."

It was a typical Borrible hideaway, derelict and decaying, and Knocker and Lightfinger lived there. Borribles live where they can in the streets of the big cities, but they like these abandoned houses best of all. When a house is already occupied they will often use the cellar and they camp in schools at night too because they are left empty and unused, like the schools in Battersea High Street.

The two Borribles halted on the pavement and looked up and down the street. Nobody. They opened a gate in the railings and Knocker pushed Timbucktoo down some stone steps leading to a basement. The captive rolled over and over like some hairy cushion until he landed on his snout at the foot of the stairs. The area was covered in rubbish that had been dropped from the street above the passers-by and luckily it broke the fall of the furry Rumble. He sat up and rubbed his head, then spying the litter he began patting bits of paper with feverish movements of his paws.

Knocker stopped halfway down the steps and turned to speak to Lightfinger. "Look at him, he must be suffering from shock."

"Perhaps you hit him too hard," suggested Lightfinger.

"Nonsense," answered Knocker and he went down and lifted the Rumble to his feet.

The chief lookout opened a door that led from the area into the basement part of the house and dragged the Rumble in by the neck, with Lightfinger pushing from behind. The door was closed and Knocker switched on the electric light. Borribles always have electric light even in deserted houses; there are good technicians amongst them and they simply tap into the nearest power supply.

The Borribles had entered a large cellar which had a few orange boxes for use as chairs and tables. Two doors opened from the room, one into an underground larder, which served the Borribles as a store-room, the other to some stairs which led to the rest of the house. At the bay window were hanging scraps of old blankets with not too many holes in them. They prevented the light shining into the street and alerting the police that someone was residing in a house that was supposed to be empty.

Knocker pushed Timbucktoo down onto an orange box and he and Lightfinger looked at the expressionless snout.

"What we gonna do with him, now we've got him here?" wondered Lightfinger.

"Yes," said the Rumble, looking up, his eyes glinting crimson, "you won't get away with this you know, it's iwwesponsible. You Bowwibles must be insane. I'll see you get your ears clipped."

Lightfinger and Knocker winced. Borribles are very sensitive about their ears, for if a Borrible is caught by the police the first thing that happens is that his ears are clipped and he starts to grow like any ordinary child. Left alone, Borribles don't grow physically and their small size is a great advantage.

"Clip me ears, will yer?" said Knocker tight-lipped and he went into the store cupboard. A second later he was out again, carrying a roll of sticky tape. He went over to the Rumble, grasped its head and wound the tape round and round the animal's snout so that it could no longer speak.

He stood back to admire his work. Lightfinger relaxed and cupped his face in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees.

"There," said Knocker, "that's the way to deal with a talking mattress."

"I'm glad all animals can't speak," said Lightfinger, "we'd have meningitis within the week, or run out of sticky tape."

"I'll go and get Spiff," said Knocker. He ran up to the ground floor of the house and tapped on the door of the large room that overlooked the back garden. It was dark and dingy that garden and Knocker knew it was a wilderness of weeds growing through the old fragile rust of oil drums and the twisted frames of broken bicycles. While he waited Knocker pulled a damp strip of patterned paper from the wall; plaster came with it. The door opened a crack and another Borrible appeared. He was perhaps an inch taller than Knocker and his ears were very pointed. He was dressed in a bright orange dressing-gown made from new warm towelling. His carpet slippers were comfortable.

"Who are you? Ah, Knocker, what do you want then?"

"Sorry to wake you there, Spiff," said Knocker, "but me and Lightfinger found something in the Park and think you ought to have a look at it. It's down in the basement."

"Oh Lor'," groaned Spiff, "can't it wait till morning? You haven't got the law on your trail, have you?"

"No," said Knocker tensely, "it's nothing like that. What we've got is worse. It's a Rumble! There was a whole lot of them in a posh car and we caught this one coming out of the ground. Cheek, isn't it, coming down here without a by-yer-leave and digging?"