The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis Read online

  ‘We could head away from the river,’ suggested Stonks, ‘just at first, because we know old Sussworth has got the bridges guarded; he always does that.’

  Twilight jumped to his feet and looked at the circle of faces. ‘It’s a challenge,’ he said. ‘It’ll be a trek right across London. A second name. I shall call myself Twilight Trekker when I get back from Neasden.’

  Knocker wagged a finger at the Bangladeshi. ‘We’ve all had enough adventure and glory to last a Borrible lifetime,’ he said. ‘You take it easy.’

  Chalotte lowered her face so that Knocker should not see her smile. How Knocker had changed since she had first met him. Then he had been nothing more than a brash, self-centred Borrible, wanting to win more names than anyone else in creation. Now he was changed out of all recognition; experience had altered him.

  ‘We’ll have to get organized,’ said Orococco, ‘quick too.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Vulge, ‘we’ll need lots of things for a long trek like this, especially in the cold of winter. Warm clothes, raincoats, boots.

  ‘Torches,’ said Twilight.

  ‘New catapults,’ added Napoleon, ‘and bandoliers; two each, carrying forty stones, times ten, that makes a firepower of four hundred rounds. Ace!’

  ‘And some food for Sam,’ said Sydney, looking worried. And with that everyone laughed, stopped, and then laughed again because the laughter was so good to hear.

  Knocker tilted his head to attract Napoleon’s attention. After the long months they had spent digging together in Flinthead’s mine a great friendship had grown up between these two, replacing the ancient hatred and rivalry they had once felt for each other. ‘I have an idea,’ he said, ‘a little scouting expedition to find a safe road out of here, for us and the horse. Will you come with me?’

  The Wendle nodded. ‘I’ll come,’ he said.

  ‘I will come too,’ said Stonks. ‘You might need a hand.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ said Vulge. ‘While you’re doing that we’ll get what we need from the shops.’

  ‘You know,’ said Orococco, ‘it won’t be easy, getting to Neasden. I’ve got a feeling that it will make those other adventures of ours look about as dangerous as a game of tiddlywinks.’

  2

  After three days and nights Knocker, Napoleon and Stonks returned from their scouting trip feeling dirty and tired but full of optimism.

  ‘We found a way,’ explained Knocker, ‘dangerous, but at least it’s in the opposite direction to where Sussworth will be waiting.’

  The others had been busy too. Disguised in stolen Sinjen School uniforms they had managed to avoid the SBG patrols in Falcon Road, and over the same three-day period had brought back to the factory most of the things they needed for the Great Neasden Expedition. There was even a coloured blanket for Sam and Sydney had made a point of stealing some boot polish to rub into the horse’s coat to make the brown patches disappear. Once more he was stained a deep glossy black all over.

  Orococco banged his thigh with a hand when he saw this. ‘I dunno, man,’ he said. ‘That’s the first time I ever saw shoes being polished before they was made.’ But he laughed out loud when he’d said it and patted Sam on the neck saying that he couldn’t resist a joke, however bad it might be.

  It was just as well for the Borribles that they had decided to undertake these preparations quite so soon and it was also fortunate that they were almost ready to leave, because before long events were taken out of their hands.

  Just before dawn, about a week after Knocker’s sortie to find an escape route, Chalotte and Vulge—they had both been on guard—came rushing down the ramp and ran from bed to bed to awaken their sleeping comrades.

  ‘Quick,’ said Chalotte, shaking Knocker on to the floor. ‘On your feet. There’s some workmen coming, they’ve pushed the fence over, there’s a bulldozer, they’re going to knock the place down.’

  In a few minutes everyone was dressed in their expedition gear, rucksacks of provisions on their backs and bandoliers of stones across their chests. They switched out the lights and gathered together with Sam under the archways of the ramp, waiting, hardly daring to breathe.

  From upstairs there came a great deal of noise: the rumble of the bulldozer, the smashing of glass, the banging of sledgehammers and the shouts of men. Two of the workers came stamping down the cellar ramp in hobnail boots, talking loudly. Halfway down they stopped; it was too dark.

  ‘It’s as black as a Paki’s earhole,’ said a voice. ‘Wonder if there’s anything worthwhile down here?’

  ‘Nah,’ came an answer, ‘it’s just the basement; we’ll be filling it up with ’ardcore and then cementing it over a foot thick to make the footings. Won’t take us long. They said demolish everything and we’re going to.’

  The footsteps began to retreat upstairs. The second voice continued issuing instructions. ‘But that can wait,’ it said. ‘Cup of tea first. Get those tiles off and rattle ’em into the back of the lorry, then we’ll bash the walls to bits.’

  All day the Borribles stood crowded together with Sam beside them and the noise of destruction went on around and above their heads. Huge lumps of concrete and brick toppled to the cellar floor. The beds were smashed into the ground by huge rafters and steel girders. Window frames and door lintels fell thick and fast. Only the sturdiness of the brick ramp saved the Borribles from being crushed to death like the victims of an earthquake. Dust rose and clotted their nostrils and lungs; they coughed and spat; they felt sick in their stomachs with the dirt and some of them vomited on the earthen floor. And all through the day the tide of rubble rose higher and they began to fear that if the work continued much longer they would be buried alive, unable to shift the weight of the debris above them, perishing of thirst and hunger before the expedition had begun.

  It was not until the light filtering in from outside grew less that their spirits even dared to lift, and they allowed themselves to hope that the navvies would stop work at dusk and not pursue their activities into the night with the aid of floodlights. Their luck held. Towards the end of the day there was one enormous crash, like a bomb falling, and the cellar and its rubbish shook and the dust swirled up like a tornado. The whole length of the west wall of the factory had been demolished with one blow from a huge iron weight swinging on the arm of a crane. But that destruction was the last of the day; silence settled over the ruins and brought the choking dust down to rest with it.

  The Borribles waited for a good hour, until it was fully dark and they were sure that everyone had left the site. Then they moved. It was not easy to free themselves. Under the ramp they had only the little space that had saved their lives. Around them was rubble higher than their shoulders, lumps of it as heavy as a hundredweight or more. Their first task would be to pull bricks and mortar away with their bare hands, making a slope for Sam, enabling the horse to climb to the top of the debris and then on to what was left of the original ramp and so up to ground level.

  Stonks whistled through his teeth and rolled up his sleeves. ‘Well come on then,’ he said. ‘There’s only one way out of here, and if we don’t go tonight we’ll be foundations tomorrow.’

  It took three hours of hard labour before the Adventurers managed to clear a path for Sam. Once they had pulled and shoved him as far as the ground floor they collected their belongings and then gathered together in the factory yard, a yard which was now full of lorries and mechanical diggers. Light spilled in from Vicarage Crescent and down from the railway embankment. It showed them all that was left of the factory that had been their refuge.

  The roof had gone and the first and second floors had been smashed and thrown down to fill the cellar and litter the ground; tiles were scattered everywhere and cracked underfoot like ice on puddles. There was metal piping and electric wire, shattered glass gleaming like precious stones and ragged piles of broken bricks. Of the structure itself nothing remained but three gaunt walls, all punched through with shapeless gaps for windows and doors;
a murdered face where mouth and eyes had been.

  ‘Oh what a shame,’ said Chalotte. ‘Just look at what they’ve done.’

  The Borribles were indeed sad. The factory had only been their home for a couple of months but they had made the cellar comfortable and they had felt reasonably safe there. Now once again they were vagabonds. Who knew where they would sleep that night; who knew where they would sleep for the next hundred nights?

  Knocker broke the spell. ‘It’s no good standing like this,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to cover a lot of ground before morning.’

  ‘Which way then?’ asked Torreycanyon. ‘You haven’t told us yet.’

  Knocker raised an arm above his head. ‘Up there,’ he said, ‘along the railway. It’s the branch line that does Olympia to Clapham Junction. I don’t think the SBG are watching it.’

  ‘What about trains, though?’ asked Orococco. ‘I don’t want to be squashed into redcurrant jam.’ He threw two tied-together sacks of cow cake across Sam’s back.

  ‘There’s only four trains a day,’ said Napoleon, ‘we checked the timetable in the station.’ He also threw two bags on to the horse’s back.

  ‘Hey,’ said Sydney, ‘why has he got to carry that? Is it something for him to eat?’

  Napoleon smiled in a way that meant he wasn’t going to change his mined. ‘Sydney,’ he said, ‘we are about to leave on the greatest trek ever undertaken by Borribles. With or without the horse the odds are nasty. I’m a Wendle, I don’t like nasty odds. In those bags are a few hundred more stones for the catapults, I’m sure Sam won’t mind.’

  There was no more discussion. The Adventurers picked their way across the debris of the factory yard, passed through a gap in a fence and faced the steep slope of the railway embankment. It was not an easy climb and the trip began badly. The sides of the embankment were covered in sharp, slippery shale; stones that cut into the hands and knees of the Borribles as they struggled under their burdens to gain the summit. For Sam it was even worse. He did his best to reach the top with his friends but it was too difficult for his hard shiny hooves and he fell several times and scraped his legs badly as the Borribles tried to push and pull him upwards with their injured hands.

  ‘If we make much more noise,’ said Torreycanyon, ‘we’ll have Sussworth here to help us on our way.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Chalotte and she took a thick coil of nylon rope from her shoulder. ‘I’ll tie one end of this round Sam’s chest; the rest of you get on the other end, go to the top and walk down the other side, pull like the dickens, and Sam will walk up this side.’

  There was no argument; they tried it and it worked. Five minutes later Sam was standing on the railway line and Chalotte was coiling her rope with hand and elbow, listening as Knocker explained in whispered tones how the first leg of the journey should go.

  His plan was simple. The march to Clapham Junction would not take long but once there they would have to wait and hide until the middle of the night. Clapham Junction was a vast railway station where the main lines from both Victoria and Waterloo came together and ran side by side. Hundreds of trains passed through it in a single hour and it would be certain death to cross before the live rails had been switched off and all traffic had ceased; it was the only way to get the horse over without it being killed or injured.

  On the far side of the junction they would follow the track that went to Wandsworth Common station. There they would leave the railway line and take cover during the daylight hours. Knocker, Napoleon and Stonks had found just the place while on their three-day reconnaisance run. The next night they would move on, heading eastwards, hoping that they could find a hideout at the dawn of each day; hoping too that they would always find a helpful Borrible tribe to shelter them and one that could, eventually, tell them which, if any, of the bridges across the Thames was not guarded by the SBG.

  When Knocker had explained all this the order of march was established. Stonks and Napoleon took the lead, scouting ahead for trouble because they knew the way. Knocker and Bingo brought up the rearguard. Sydney, as always, led the horse, and the other Adventurers were grouped around her for protection should there be an attack. So, with heartfelt wishes of ‘Don’t get caught,’ they took up their positions and set off, catapults at the ready. The Great Neasden Expedition was under way.

  The railway line curved off into the blustery darkness. The steel lines gleamed only every now and then as a few weak stars shone between low clouds, chivvied along by a hooligan wind. It was a silent march. Few words were spoken for there was no need for them. Everyone knew that the journey they were undertaking was the most dangerous thing they had ever done. It was probably the most dangerous thing any Borrible had ever done in the whole long history of Borribles.

  But whatever the dangers they were not going to allow themselves to be disheartened. Lightly they tiptoed over the high-sided iron bridge that crossed Battersea Park Road; below them buses and cars swished along the tarmac. The branch line led them on, sweeping first away from Clapham Junction but then bending back towards it.

  The high embankment on which the Borribles marched had now climbed above the topmost level of the rows and rows of terraced houses, soaring over the coal-black slate of the roofs. In the back kitchens of a thousand homes the curtains were not drawn and in the thin electric light the Borribles could see whole families sitting to eat at plastic-covered tables or lounging back in armchairs. But soon the embankment flattened out and the line joined another line and there was a signal box behind some tall hoardings at the entrance to Clapham Junction itself. It was here they must wait until the rattling trains grew silent.

  The signal box was a lofty building with a wide wooden staircase climbing one of its walls and, because no traffic used the Olympia line after midday, it was dark and deserted. Its windows were all on the top floor and covered with a plaster of dirt; a nameplate said, ‘Clapham Junction, North’.

  Sydney led Sam straight into the shelter offered by the staircase. She threw the coloured blanket over his back and she and the rest of the Adventurers crowded round the horse for warmth, keeping themselves out of the wind. While they waited for the long hours to pass they ate and drank from their provisions, squatting against the wall, resting and swapping stories.

  Little by little the number of trains passing through the great station diminished and the noise of lorries in the streets grew less and less. The rain came on, gentle and persistent. The Borribles huddled closer together and pulled their waterproofs over their heads. They grew silent and dozed; their heads dropped on to their knees; they slept.

  When his luminous watch showed that it was three in the morning, Torreycanyon, whose turn it was to be sentry, shook his sleeping companions awake and once more they got ready to march. This time Knocker took the lead, and in single file, never too close but always in sight of one another, the Adventurers began to cross the dangerous tangle of railway lines that formed the labyrinth of Clapham Junction.

  At last, after a passage of painstaking slowness, they arrived on the southern side. They had crossed a stretch of twenty or thirty railway lines without accident and now found themselves on the edge of a steep embankment which gave them a view down on to the crossroads where Falcon Road meets Lavender Hill.

  It was eerie to see the place empty like that; not a cat or a dog moved there. Only the light from the towering clock on top of the Arding and Hobbs department store gave life to the scene. It picked out the wrought iron of the public lavatories on the traffic island and shone in the black tarmac of the rainswept road surfaces.

  Knocker marched on. He felt the ground rise beneath his feet, smooth and hard. He had reached the sloping concrete of the southernmost platform, platform seventeen. He gestured to the person behind him, then crouched and ran quickly forward, not stopping until he was hidden well away from the slightest scrap of light, under the stairs that took passengers up and over to the other platforms. There he waited for his friends to come up with him and when they di
d he urged them onward again; for although the station was meant to be deserted at night-time, who could guess at how many policemen or security guards might lurk in the shadows?

  The route out of Clapham Junction, by way of the railway, lies at the bottom of a deep canyon, the track being carved through a high hill on top of which stands the Granada cinema and bingo hall. Both sides of that canyon are as high as castle walls and held in place with a million bricks which, over the years, have been covered in a grime so thick that even the beating of the harshest rain could not penetrate it nor wash those million bricks clean. There are no roads on the topside of the canyon and no high buildings save the cinema; not one glimmer of light drops down into the chasm of that cutting.

  As the Borribles left the western end of platform seventeen they entered this dense blackness. They could not see where to place their feet even. They stumbled and fell, aware only of a curtain of rain an inch from their eyes. They might have been tramping to the centre of the earth but they did not grumble; after all the darkness was their friend, their protector. The longer it lasted the safer they would be.

  Because of this darkness the Borribles were forced to keep closer together than was normally considered prudent. None of them wished to go astray and be found, alone and vulnerable, on the main line in the morning with slate-faced commuters staring down at them from halted trains. So each Borrible blindly followed the person in front, and it was only as the sky lightened a little that they noticed the great walls of the embankment were sinking and that the more they advanced the lower became the precipice on either side, until at last, passing below a metal footbridge, they could look to their right and left through wire fences and see the length and breadth of Wandsworth Common.

  ‘Not much further.’ Knocker’s voice came back through the wind. ‘But watch out for the trains, they’ll be starting soon.’