Michael Larrabeiti - The Borribles

The Wendle shrieked and fell lifeless to the floor, but his fellows leapt upon Knocker and bore him to the ground and he was cuffed and beaten and his hands were tied and at last he was hoisted to his feet. Blood trickled down his face and a bruise rose, brown and purple, on his forehead. He swayed weakly, but he swore at Napoleon Boot.

"You'd better kill me, you no-name-bastard-Wendle," he said, hissing the words, "for if I live, I'll kill you. I'll train a race of Borribles who will seek you out and put you through a mincer."

Napoleon ignored him and gave a sign and the other Adventurers were hauled to their feet and their hands bound fast. Flinthead rose from his chair and came to the edge of the stage.

"Well, there we are, nice and tidy." Again he clicked his fingers and the box was prised open to reveal the banknotes. "Hmm," said Flinthead, "very handy! Napoleon, you have done well, you shall be promoted to the bodyguard, co-captain with Tron and . . . er . . . choose yourself a second name while you are at it. I want you to see that your . . . friends are safely locked up. As for the box, that must be guarded day and night by members of the bodyguard, but you will be responsible for it—with your life, of course. Take as many Wendles as you need." Flinthead looked down at the captives and smiled his smile of death once more but they did not watch his face. They stood looking at the ground, their shame too great to bear, tears of anger in their eyes. Only Knocker held his head up and shouted after the Wendle Chieftain as he left, "Guard yourself well, Flinthead. I'll ram that money down your throat before I'm finished. I'll skin you alive, you and your bodyguard of un-named, slow-witted, snot-gobblin' morons."

But Flinthead just waved a bored hand and without looking round he went from the Great Hall surrounded, as always, by the pick of his bodyguard.

When Flinthead had gone, Halfabar stepped up to Napoleon and gave him a warrior's helmet and a special jacket. Napoleon put them on and tugged the lance from the corpse on the floor and he rapped the bloody tip of it against Knocker's chest. "You shuddup, sonny," he said. "You're a nobody and nobody wants to hear you."

By way of reply Knocker spat directly into Napoleon's face and the saliva trickled down his nose. Angered, Napoleon twirled the lance expertly in one hand and caught Knocker a stinging blow across the head and Knocker fell to his knees.

Although bound and outnumbered by the bodyguard Knocker's companions stepped forward and stood fearlessly between Napoleon and his victim.

"Leave it alone," said Stonks, in an untroubled voice. "Leave it alone, you skinny fart, or I'll kill you."

"Yes," said Sydney, "aren't you satisfied with your day's work, yet, Wendle?"

Napoleon's face clouded over for an instant, then he shook himself and said to Halfabar, "Right, let's get them out of here."

The Adventurers were taken only a short way into one of the corridors before Napoleon halted them and opened a heavy iron door. With blows raining over their heads they were forced to enter a small and damp dungeon, where green slime dripped and oozed from the walls. It was lit by one weak electric bulb and there were no seats or beds, only some dirty and mildewed sacks piled in one corner.

Once they were in the cell Halfabar entered and, protected by others of the bodyguard, he cut the bonds from the Borribles' hands.

"Ain't that cosy," he said when he'd finished, and leering into Orococco's face he added, "safe and sound the lot of you."

Orococco bared his teeth at the Wendle, making him jump backwards.

"I'm going to hold you under the water next time, friend, but I will not let you up until you have stopped breathing that stinking breath of yours. Couldn't you sprinkle a little deodorant on your cornflakes and make a few friends?"

Halfabar raised his hand to strike Orococco but he remembered in time that the Totter now had his hands free and so he contented himself with a sneer. He backed to the door and pulled it to; the noise of its closing and locking echoed up and down the tunnels and was still echoing long after the last Wendle footsteps had faded into the distance.

The Borribles stood disconsolate in their prison. They could not even look at one another and it was some time before they could talk. A mixture of shame, rage and hatred, despair and disbelief, held them tongue-tied. Speech was impossible. Quarter-of-an-hour went by, then half-an-hour, and the silence became hard and solid. At last Knocker broke into a stream of swearing that he kept rushing along for minutes on end. He thought of every Borrible curse he could remember and enlarged and embroidered on it. He went backwards and forwards through The Borrible Book of Proverbs and turned them into maledictions on the head of Napoleon Boot. He wove garlands of evil words around that Wendle's name and when he had finished and was breathless and his memory and mind were empty he felt better, and so did those who had listened to him and had joined in his song of hate with imprecations of their own.

"I still can't believe it," said Chalotte. "What made him do it?"

"Once a Wendle always a Wendle," said Knocker bitterly and that was enough explanation for him and he said no more.

"I don't think we ought to be too downhearted," said Stonks in his flat, straightforward manner. "After all, we got there and back again and did what we said we'd do."

"I'm not blaming anyone," said Chalotte, looking at Knocker, "but if it hadn't been for that money, we'd have been on our way home by now."

There was silence but Knocker didn't look up, nor did he speak.

"Well, it's happened," said Vulge. "It's no one's fault; it's happened. After all, we're still alive."

Orococco laughed harshly. "Not for long, we ain't."

"It was such a dirty trick, coming from an Adventurer, after all he said, too," said Torreycanyon, and again they lapsed into a long and moody silence.

They were kept incommunicado for many days and nights. Food was brought to them but it was the meanest of cold scraps and it was flung at them through a barely opened door. They became weak through lack of food and more and more depressed as the days went by. Even if they managed to open the heavy iron door of their dungeon, they were certain to become lost in the tangle of culverts and corridors that was Wendle country, and on their heels would be warriors from the toughest of all the London tribes. Hard and dedicated they were, the Wendles, and they knew every inch of their own territory. They knew every tunnel, every fathom of the river and every yard of underground sewer within a radius of miles. The idea of escape receded further and further from the captives' minds, and their hatred of Napoleon Boot dulled to a slow burning ache.

One day, or night, some weeks later, the door to the cell opened quietly and, after a moment's pause, clicked shut. The Borribles did not look up, it would only be some inedible meal in a bucket.

When Vulge rolled over in his blanket, which was green with damp mould, like all the others, he saw, to his surprise, the slight figure of Napoleon Boot. Napoleon looked splendid. His helmet of tin was burnished and his orange jacket gleamed in the light of the electric bulb. His waders were new and shone blackly and they fitted tightly to his calves and thighs. He had two steel catapults in his belt and a double bandolier of the choicest stones. He looked proud and well-fed, though his face had once more taken on the green tinge that touched the complexion of all Wendles.

Napoleon raised a finger to his lips. The Stepney Borrible couldn't believe his eyes.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"We're getting out," said Napoleon, his voice quiet but tense with excitement.

Hearing this strange conversation, the others looked up and rolled out of their damp couches.