Knocker sat on the driving seat wrapped in Dewdrop's old mac. To the adult eye he looked a little short to be driving a horse but it was raining heavily and those few people who were moving in the streets ran by with their heads down. The other Adventurers had strung the canvas over the cart like a tent and in its shelter they were tending to each others' wounds and eating their provisions.
It was wonderful to lie down and ease the pain in the limbs and allow a colleague to cleanse one's wounds. They all took a turn and eventually Knocker left his seat and was replaced by Stonks, and Knocker had something to eat and lay back while Chalotte bound the gashes in his arms and legs and bandaged the burns on his shoulders and hands.
"These are bad wounds," she said. "You are a fool, you worried about the money when you could have escaped—and worse—Adolf is lost because of it."
Knocker did not answer. It was warm and dry under the canvas and the movement of the cart lulled the Borribles into a deep sleep. Napoleon and Bingo and Vulge had been cleaned up and fed but had hardly opened their eyes during the process and were now unconscious again. Sydney was keeping watch out of the back of the cart, but she too was so tired that Knocker could see her head dropping forward, as if it were going to fall off at any moment.
Torreycanyon was recounting his adventure to Orococco, who closed his eyes every five seconds, and Torreycanyon, who felt "fresh as a Rumbledom daisy", stopped talking and allowed the Totter to doze.
Sydney turned and said, "Torrey, if you're so fresh, you come and keep watch and let me go to sleep, too."
Knocker waited. When it became silent inside the cart he turned his attention to the Rumble treasure box and touched it with an injured hand. It was sooty and still warm. Quietly, taking care not to awaken anyone, he shoved the box to the side of the cart behind him and disguised its appearance with a piece of old canvas and some discarded clothing. Then he leant his back against it so that no one could move it without his knowing.
He tried to keep awake, to guard the box and to relive the events of the past hours, but his head fell onto his chest and the horse plodded through the rain. Sam went calmly along the edge of the traffic, across by Augustus and over by the railway station of Southfields, down Replingham and past the opening to Engadine where they had been attacked and forced into the clutches of Dewdrop and Erbie. And all the Borribles slept, even Torreycanyon who should have been on watch, and even Stonks who should have been guiding Sam, but Sam paced on without need of command. He had heard talk of the Wandle and of King George's Park so that was where he went. He knew London as well as any horse, and he stepped out evenly for he realised the Borribles were exhausted. He halted gently by the traffic lights and paid particular attention when changing lanes and crossing roundabouts. He trudged on and on and Stonks snored in the driving seat and the others dreamed behind, at the mercy of chance. But luck stayed with them and the rain continued to fall in heavy drops and no adult had time to observe the horse and cart or think them out of place as they went slowly along the streets bearing the Borribles away from Rumbledom and towards the dubious safety of Wendle territory.
It was dusk when they awoke. Sam stood in a deserted side street by King George's, sleeping between the shafts, totally exhausted, all energy drained from him.
When the Borribles came to move their limbs they found that it was almost impossible. Stiffness and fatigue seemed to have fixed them in one position for ever. Stonks had fallen sideways onto the driver's seat and lay curled up in Dewdrop's raincoat. It was Torreycanyon who was the first to stick his head out into the moist evening air.
It had stopped raining and the street lamps shimmered gold in the wet roadway and made it dark, shiny and deep. Torreycanyon looked at his watch, five o'clock. He glanced at the name of the road and ducked under the canvas to check it on his street map in the light of his torch.
"Longstaff," he said. "Good old Sam, we're right near to King George's."
The others sat up one by one, groaning as they realised how battered their bodies were. They huddled together for warmth and made a cold meal before continuing their journey. As they ate they argued amongst themselves about which route they should take for the return trip to Battersea. The easiest way of course was by boat through Wendle country to the Thames, the way they had come. But some of the Adventurers had their doubts.
"I think we should go back some other way," said Chalotte.
"What do you mean?" Napoleon looked up sharply.
"I didn't mean anything personal to you, Nap," she answered, a little embarrassed. "It's just that Flinthead gives me the creeps, a nasty feeling."
"Any other way must be safer," said Knocker, "must be."
Napoleon laughed a cool laugh. "It's too late, friends, you should have kept awake. Sam has brought us right up to King George's. We must have been sighted as soon as we crossed Merton Road. I should think there are Wendle lookouts all around us."
There was an uneasy silence under the canvas.
"Don't let's go bonkers," said Sydney at length. "The Wendles are Borribles, after all; they'll be pleased that our Expedition was a success."
"Anyway, we are in too bad a shape to go by any but the shortest and easiest way," said Napoleon. "Just think, you'll be home in two or three days."
"Remains to be seen," said Knocker.
Napoleon laughed again. "You're being ridiculous," he said.
It was decided, after a little more discussion, that all they could do was to walk on as far as the banks of the Wandle and then camp there. Napoleon would make contact with a lookout and ask for the Adventurers to be taken back to The Silver Belle Flower and guided down to the Thames. After that everything would depend on the Wendles.
When they were ready, they clambered down the cart-wheels to the gleaming pavements and struggled into the straps of their haversacks. They were a sorry sight, limping and shuffling as they got into marching order. They looked grotesque, with improvised bandages round their heads and limbs. Vulge and Stonks had made themselves crutches from Rumble-sticks and could manage to get along only with help from the others. All of them moved badly and every step they took was a torture.
Knocker, in spite of his serious wounds and the feelings of his companions, went to the rear of the cart and threw aside the coverings that hid the treasure box from view. He dragged it towards him and hoisted it on to his injured back and, though he stumbled and nearly fell under the weight, nothing in the world would have induced him to leave it behind.
"You are very persistent, Knocker," said Chalotte. "How can you take that box after what has happened?"
"You'd be persistent if it was your name, wouldn't you?" retorted Knocker, his temper short because of his feeling of guilt.
"Well, I don't like it much," said Torreycanyon, "but I'm sure Adolf would have understood about your second name." And he took one of the handles and helped Knocker lower the box from his shoulder so that they could carry it between them.
"So!" cried Napoleon Boot, shoving forward. "There it is, that's what you've been after all along, you scab. Selling us down the river, eh? You'd never have got it away without us. It's ours as well, you should share it out."
"Oh, let's throw it away before it stirs up more trouble," said Sydney.
"That's not very bright, now we've got it this far," butted in Torreycanyon. "I mean it's money, isn't it? A lot of it, too. Look at the way those Rumbles lived. They had everything up there, and a few things besides."
"We can't share it out between us yet," said Knocker, turning towards Napoleon and thrusting his face up against the Wendle's. "Spiff wanted to share it equally between all the tribes who had sent members on the Expedition. Each one of you will take a share back with him when he goes."
"Ha! Do you expect me to believe that load of old cobblers?" asked Napoleon, his face green in the light of the street-lamp. "You may trust Spiff, but I don't."
There was a dreadful silence under that lamp-post and some hearts sickened to think they had been so far and had done so much together and could now quarrel over a rotten box of money. Stonks said as much and he was backed up by Chalotte and Sydney, Bingo, Vulge and Orococco.
"Sod the money," shouted Stonks. "Here we are, dying on our feet, and you two argue. Let's get into the Park before the damn bread kills us all. We need a good night's kip. We can talk about the money tomorrow."
His voice woke Sam who nearly fell off his four feet. He neighed and turned his head. Sydney ran to him and the others followed, the money forgotten for the moment. They shone their torches over the horse and saw that his hide was caked with blood and covered with scratches and stab wounds.
"Here you are yammering on about money," cried Sydney angrily, pointing her finger at Napoleon and Knocker, "and the horse that saved us all is neglected by the lot of you."
They freed Sam from the traces, patted him down and expressed their sorrow at having ignored him for so long. Then they led him towards the Park and as Sam stepped out they noticed that he had a very bad limp, caused by a deep wound in one of his back legs.
"Look at that," shouted Sydney at them all, as if they'd each and severally been responsible. "Wounded like he is and brought us all the way down here. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Sam ought to be retired on that money."
The gates to the Park had been closed at dusk but Napoleon soon picked the lock and the Borrible team, Sam first, went into King George's. The Park was black and silent and the grass was wet but they had brought the canvas with them and when they reached the banks of the Wandle, flowing quiet and murky, they spread the tarpaulin on the ground and sat on it to keep dry. Soon the sky cleared of clouds, the stars appeared and the night turned cold, but the Adventurers wrapped themselves in their combat jackets and sleeping-bags and sat round in a circle, except for Sydney who tended and spoke to Sam for a long while before she regained her temper and rejoined the group.
Then began the story-telling, the moment that Borribles love above all others. They wanted to know who had done what and how, and in what order, and to whom. Bingo wanted to know what had happened to Vulge, Vulge wanted to know what had happened to Torreycanyon, and Torreycanyon wanted to know how Chalotte and Sydney had fared. Napoleon told his story to Orococco, and Orococco told his story to Knocker, and Knocker's voice trembled as he recounted, almost as a penance, how Adolf had opened the safe. And there were tears in their eyes and lumps in their throats as they remembered the German and his mad, jolly voice and the way he had hooted at them. No one said anything to Knocker directly but there were looks and silences during the story of the safe and Knocker looked at the ground between his feet.
But the stories went on and past quarrels began to be forgotten because the Borribles looked at each other and realised how lucky they were to be alive. Never had Borribles had such an adventure and they even began to chuckle a little at their exaggerations, because exaggeration is an essential part of name-winning storytelling.
They were still talking when Napoleon suddenly stood up. "I can hear a Wendle scouting us from the other side of the river," he said.
Napoleon told them to switch off their torches and he went to the railings that bordered the river. He whistled softly, a slight variation on the normal Borrible whistle, and he was answered within two seconds. The others then heard him in conversation with a voice across the river.
"I'm going across," he announced when he returned. "Got to see Flinthead. You're to wait here; better get some sleep. You're quite safe, there's night patrols of Wendles all around. I'll be back before dawn. Be ready to leave. Don't try to go anywhere. You know they, we, don't like that." Then without a word of goodbye he turned his back and disappeared into the night.
"He's a funny bloke," said Bingo, "you never know where you are with him; nice and friendly one minute, saving your life and fighting with you, and then all of a sudden as cold and as straitlaced as the North Pole."
"I think," said Knocker with a worried expression, and looking at his box, "that he's just remembering he's a Wendle after all."
Napoleon came back as promised just before dawn and the others rolled over in their sleeping bags and, without getting up, looked at him. The tall shapes of the buildings on the far side of the Wandle were dark against the sky. Napoleon was just a darker shape. They couldn't see his eyes or his expression; only his voice told them that he was tense and tired.
"We're to stay here until it is nearly light," he began, "then I am to lead you across the Wandle, along the bank and then underground. We can rest, as we did before, for as long as we like, Flinthead said, and then they'll take us to where they've hidden the boat. Then we can go—you can go—as long as we tell our stories, all of them."
"What," said Knocker, asking the question that was in everybody's mind, "about the money?"
Napoleon hesitated, then he said, "Flinthead didn't mention it, nor did I," and he went over to his sleeping-bag, unrolled it and slipped inside.
There was quiet for a long while. The sky lightened. Knocker got up stiffly and went and sat by Napoleon. After a while he touched the Wendle gently on the shoulder. He could see Napoleon's eyes now, they were open and staring at the sky.
"Flinthead said nothing about the money, eh?" he said.
Napoleon blinked and said, "That's right. I didn't tell him about it, did I?" and he tried to roll over on his shoulder but Knocker stopped him.
Bingo came over and joined them. Since the Battersea Borrible had saved Napoleon's life and escaped with him from the Library he had got closer to the Wendle than any of the others, and he wanted to get between Knocker and Napoleon if trouble started. Knocker spoke again, low and even, and everyone listened. "I don't believe you. I think that we ought to go home some other way.
The silence deepened a notch or two. Napoleon sat up brusquely and grasped Knocker's arm.
"I've told you—you've got no bloody option," he said, between his teeth. "You're stuck, all of you, there's Wendles all round. There's only one way out, and that's down the Wandle, the way we came."
Knocker was not put off. The others waited for the outcome, holding their breath.
"When you say you," he said to Napoleon, "does that include you in or out?"
Napoleon did not answer. A great struggle was going on in his mind and he could not speak while it continued. Lights came on in the building opposite and the sky was grey now. Soon they would have to make a move, one way or the other.
"Tell us what really happened," insisted Knocker. "Come on, straight up."
"You owe us the truth," said Bingo.
Napoleon got up and stepped over to the railings and looked at the surface of the Wandle as it floated by under its quilt of rubbish. Bingo thought for a second that the Wendle was going to run away.
At last Napoleon turned and spoke to them all, in a low voice so he wouldn't be overheard beyond the group. His words came all in a rush.
"I am telling the truth. I know you do not trust Flinthead, Halfabar or Tron, or even me," he began. "I know you do not like the Wendles, even though they are Borribles like yourselves, but remember the threat we have always lived under. I swear that Flinthead will ask only to hear your stories, will see that you get rest and food. He will take nothing from you, he is proud of us. After all, he's out of danger from the Rumbles for years to come. He told me how . . . how grateful he was . . . really."
There was silence and the others watched as Bingo walked over to the box and said, "Wish we'd never set eyes on the thing. Been a good Adventure apart from that."
Knocker spat. "My job is to take the box back and I'll do it even if I die."
"Even if we all die," said Chalotte.
"The trick," said Torreycanyon, "is to get it back without dying."
"They won't take it from us," insisted Napoleon. "They will wait to get their share. I'll be coming back to Battersea with you so that I can bring the Wendle share back to Wandsworth."
"It's only fair to share it out amongst everybody," said Chalotte. "I'm sure they'll see that."
"Yes," agreed Vulge. "They won't attack us, Napoleon is right. It would be Borrible against Borrible."
"It's happened before," said Orococco. "I'm for fair shares, let's hope we get them."
Napoleon raised his head. The blood had gone from his face and there were mauve patches under his eyes. He shook his head sadly at them. "If they wanted to take it, they would have taken it already—but you won't listen. They don't want it. Everything will be all right."
Napoleon's companions recognised the force of his argument, but they had been made uneasy by the discussion and looked about cautiously. There was not a Wendle to be seen.
"Come on," said Chalotte, forcing a laugh, "have we journeyed so far and survived so much that we are now going to jump at shadows?"
The others agreed with her but Knocker shook his head and quoted a dark proverb. " 'The shadow cast by a Wendle is twice as long as his body'," and he stared hard at Napoleon and tried to read the truth in the Wendle's eyes, but Napoleon's eyes wandered and looked elsewhere.
"We shall have to move soon," said the Wendle. "I can hear the early buses in the streets and it is nearly daylight."
Within a few minutes they were ready and they filed past Sam to give him a last pat and a stroke. They were subdued by the uncertainty that lay before them, by the sadness that lay behind them, and they hated themselves for deserting the horse who had helped them through so many dangers. Sydney was the last to squeeze through the gap in the railings. She had lingered to gather a handful of fresh grass for Sam, she wanted to wish him farewell alone.
"Goodbye, old Sam," she said, and she felt very mournful. "We can't take you any further because of the river, but I tell you, Sam, if I ever get out alive on the other side I'll find out where you are and I'll come back, however far it is, and I'll steal you away one night and you'll come back with me and you won't work again, Sam, ever."
When she had gone Sam ambled over to the railings and stuck his head over to watch the tiny figures marching along the towpath towards the dark and semi-circular hole where the Wandle disappeared under the streets of Wandsworth.
Napoleon led the way but his step was not springy or light. He looked unhappy, not at all like a Borrible returning home covered in glory.
Knocker and Torreycanyon followed along with the box and the others came behind them. They were still in a bad condition despite their night's rest and their appearance would no doubt give the Wendles more cause for derision than sympathy.
The silence along the towpath was uncanny and they saw not a soul, at least to begin with. It was only when they glanced over their shoulders that they saw how the path had become crowded with heavily armed warriors who had materialized from the very bankside. Across the river they could see more Wendles rising mysteriously from the mud to stand watching as the Borribles marched by.
Bingo, who felt that his companions were allowing themselves to be over-awed by the Wendles, raised his voice in song and that London voice, bright and defiant, rang out over the river.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! The Battle's won!
The victors are marching from Rumbledom!
We smashed the evil furry crew,
We finished the job we went to do.
Let our great deeds and high renown
Spread to the ends of London Town.
Brave though bloody, here we come!
The victors returning from Rumbledom!
Rejoice! The foe is overcome!
The victors are marching from Rumbledom!
We trounced the enemy through and through,
We finished the job we went to do.
Nothing can frighten us again,
We fear no monsters, fear no men.
Brave though bloody, here we come!
The victors returning from Rumbledom!"
With Bingo's example before them, the Adventurers determined to show the Wendles that they were not downcast and each of them sang loudly of his London Borough: songs that told of fine abandoned houses and good days of thieving and food.
Knocker laughed at the songs. He felt happier now they had committed themselves to a course of action. There was no going back, so they might as well make the best of it.
All too soon they came up with Halfabar at the mouth of the sewer where the Wandle went underground. He was waiting for them and he smiled and inclined his head; the early morning sun of winter gleamed on his helmet.
"Welcome, brother Borribles," he said. "Napoleon has told us a little of your great Adventure. Your names were well won. Flinthead is impatient to hear your stories from your own lips. A great feast awaits you."
"There," said Napoleon to Knocker, "what did I tell you?" Knocker did not reply.
They followed Halfabar and his men underground and found their way by the light of the torches as they had done on their previous visit. Again the Adventurers smelt the smell of the River Wandle, penned and confined in its narrow tunnels, and the sweat of the Wendles, who guarded them on all sides, rose and stung their nostrils. Even Napoleon wrinkled his nose, so many months had he spent away that he was no longer used to the stench.
They left the river and the passage they took led them directly to the Great Hall, and there, as before, sat Flinthead, his eyes opaque. The Hall was not crowded this time, only the bodyguard stood by, heavily armed and numerous, their faces unsmiling beneath their war-helmets. In a line before Flinthead's stage were nine armchairs, and in front of them was a long table loaded with all kinds of food from the Wendles' store.
The Adventurers filed across the Hall, with members of the bodyguard at their side. They were directed to the armchairs and their knapsacks were taken and stacked behind them. Torreycanyon and Knocker dropped the burnt and valuable box in front of their seats, and when, on a gesture from Flinthead, they sat, they each put a foot on the Rumble treasure. Flinthead saw the movement and smiled indulgently. When all was still in the Hall he spoke and his voice was just the same as ever, kind, warm and solicitous.
"Welcome back," he said, and smiled again. "Your Adventure has been successful and we are proud, and not a little envious of it, though we grieve at your loss. If you are not too weary, I would like to hear of your exploits, in detail, for all we Borribles love a story of the winning of a name, and I think that there have never been names won like yours. Napoleon Boot has told me something, but I wish to hear it all from your own lips. There is food before you. Tell me your stories one by one, the rest may eat until it is their turn to tell." He pointed a finger at the end of the line away from Knocker. "You," he ordered, "begin."
So, Stonks it was, began. He told how he and Torreycanyon took the Great Door, how he defended it and how later he took the Rumble-skin, and what a fright it caused. The others ate, or aided the story with comments, correcting and enlarging the thread of the tale as it went along. Then it was the turn of Vulge, and Flinthead leant forward in his chair with great interest as he heard how the Chief Rumble had met his end. Sydney and Chalotte told of the assault on the kitchens and the subsequent retreat; then came Orococco, followed by Bingo, who told how he met with Napoleon in the great Library and how he had fought in single combat with the greatest Warrior in Rumbledom. Napoleon took up the story and told how he had shaken his namesake from the ladder and how Bingo had saved his life, and how, sorely wounded, they had squirmed and crawled their way to safety, to find Torreycanyon, who then must tell of his lonely fight in the garage and how he caused the Great Explosion which had put paid to the whole Bunker. After that, Flinthead asked of Adolf and what he had done, so Knocker related how the German and he had found Vulge, surrounded by the bodies of his enemies, and how the safe had been opened and the box discovered. And the Wendles heard the stories and leant on their spears and everyone relaxed, except Knocker, and Torreycanyon whispered that everyone seemed friendly and happy and that things would turn out fine in the end. But Knocker scowled and whispered back that things that happened could only be judged after they had happened, and then not always correctly.
But Flinthead turned his bland face to Knocker again and said, "And now you must speak further and tell us your own story, one full of colour, I am sure, and one for which I have been waiting with great interest, for were you not the writer, the Historian, and you will have seen and known things that the others did not know."
Knocker felt very uncomfortable and looked along the line of his companions. They sprawled weakly in the comfortable armchairs, their faces flushed with food and drink. They were too relaxed, too easeful, unable to defend themselves if the need arose. Knocker himself sat nervously on the edge of his seat, his feet tucked under him, ready to leap at the slightest hint of danger.
"My part was, in fact, small," he heard himself saying. "Adolf and I followed the others and discovered Vulge only after he had fought his great battle alone. Later it was a question of retreating slowly, grouping together and fighting our way along the tunnels to the Great Door where Adolf was killed, but if it hadn't been for Sam, the horse, none of us would be sitting here now." And Knocker went on to praise the horse and tell of the imprisonment under Dewdrop and his son, how they had escaped and taken Sam with them.
Flinthead cupped his chin in his right hand and rested the elbow on his knee. He swayed forward, listening with an attention that did not waver for a second. He was fixing every detail of the story in his own mind. When the tale was finished he leant back in his chair, clasped his hands in his lap and beamed a cold smile at everybody, a brittle smile that was simply a movement of facial muscle with no breath of warmth in it.
"I hope, Knocker," he said, "that you will write down all these adventures as soon as you have time. There are so few good stories left. I look forward to it." He paused and looked round the Hall at the bodyguard, then he looked down at Knocker and smiled again and flicked his finger against his thumb, just once. There was a clash of armour and soldiers moved behind the Adventurers to hold them fast, deep in the soft armchairs, knives at their throats. Held all that is save Knocker; he had been ready, perched on the edge of his chair. He jumped forward, butted a warrior in the stomach and snatched his lance.
But there was another Adventurer who had not been made captive, Napoleon Boot. He too sprang from his armchair as if expecting trouble but his lance he did not seize; one was thrust into his hands and he was joined by a band of Wendles who rushed from the side of Flinthead's stage.
Knocker crouched, his spear held low. He was convulsed with a bitter rage. To come so far, to do so much, and then to lose everything through the treachery of a fellow Adventurer.
Napoleon stood opposite him, haughty, confident. "Drop that spear, Knocker, you have no chance. If you resist we will kill you."
"You thing of no name," screamed Knocker at the top of his voice, "you liar, deceiver, traitor. May you be un-named and cursed and your story told with a curse," and Knocker drew back his arm and cast the spear at the Wendle with every ounce of strength at his command, for he hated Napoleon with every fibre of his being. But Napoleon was ready. He knew that Knocker would throw the lance and he stooped under it and it struck a Wendle behind him and such was the force of the blow that the lance pierced the warrior and the blade stood out a hands breadth behind his back.
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.
"Be dead quiet," said Napoleon whispering, "or you'll just be dead."
The captives rose to their feet, gazing at each other with puzzlement.
"Is this some new trick?" asked Sydney. She had liked Napoleon ever since the day he had stolen the boat in Battersea Park, and she had taken his deception very hard.
"I haven't got time to explain now," said Napoleon. "You'll have to trust me."
Knocker laughed quietly. "Trust the honest Wendle and end up in prison?"
"Kill him," said Torreycanyon, affecting to look at his fingernails.
Napoleon's face creased with anguish. "There isn't much time, don't be stupid."
"What are you going to do this time?" said Knocker. "Let us loose in the tunnels so the bodyguard can practise on us? Hunt us down one by one and shove us under the Wandle mud when they catch us? I've heard that's one of your favourite sports."
"Oh, listen," said Napoleon quickly, "and listen well, because every minute we waste is precious. Flinthead knew all the time about the Rumble money, even before the expedition started. He sent me on the Adventure in the first place to keep an eye on you all, and find the money—and watch it."
"I could see that," said Knocker with a sneer, "that much was obvious."
"On the way back," continued Napoleon, "my job was to lead you into the Wandle and see that you suspected nothing, so that Flinthead could capture you and the money."
"You did it very well, didn't you?" said Bingo. "You fooled me completely—but then I only fought side by side with you in the Library. I thought we were mates . . ."
"Shuddup," said Napoleon uncomfortably. "When we got back to King George's, I didn't know what to do. There was you lot on the one hand, my tribe on the other. I worried about it all the time. Anyway, we couldn't have got away at that stage, Flinthead had patrols everywhere. He doesn't mess about, you know. So there was only one thing I could do—go ahead with Flinthead's plan. It wasn't easy being hated by you all . . . and now, if I help you escape, I shall be hated by my own tribe. I'd like to see you in the same position. What would you make of it?"
"If all this is true," asked Torreycanyon, "why has it taken you so long to make up your mind?"
"I've been waiting for the right opportunity," said Napoleon. "It won't be easy getting out of here—and today's a good day."
"What's so special about today?" asked Chalotte.
"There was a big stealing expedition yesterday," said Napoleon, speaking more easily. "Most of us were out, hard at it. Now they're sleeping. There's to be a big celebration soon, and as Knocker said, it is likely that you will be released into the tunnels one by one for the bodyguard to hunt down. I . . . I . . . would be one of them; I couldn't stand that . . . so . . . well, there you are."
"Well," said Orococco, "I don't care whether he's telling the truth or a lie. I'm for getting out of here. Anything's better than staying in this hole, even a scrap with the bodyguard and a muddy grave in the Wandle."
"Would Flinthead really do that, just for the box of money?" asked Chalotte.
"Strange things have happened to these Borribles," said Stonks. "We don't know how far they'd go."
"You've got to believe me," pleaded Napoleon. "This is your only chance to get out. You know what they'll do with me if they catch me alive, don't you?"
They looked at him without speaking.
"They'll stake me out on the mud flats, at high water mark, and let me drown a little each day, until one day the water and muck will come a little higher, and then I will drown. You know, in the end I am being more loyal to the Adventure than anyone."
The eight captives looked at each other and pondered and at length Bingo sniffed, stepped forward and threw his arms round Napoleon and hugged him tight. One by one the others did the same, even Knocker, who came last, saying, "Well, whatever was in your mind when you betrayed us to Flinthead, let us hope that now you have come to a final decision. Tell us what to do, Napoleon. I for one am longing to see the sky again and walk through a market."
Napoleon relaxed when Knocker had finished speaking and he told them his plan. There were normally two sentries outside the door but he had sent them off to a guardroom, where they were resting. They would have to be dealt with first. In the guardroom would be found Wendle clothes and waders, arms and ammunition. They would steal what they needed and, as soon as they were disguised and armed, he would take them to The Silver Belle Flower. If they ran into Wendle warriors they would have to fight. Even if they got the boat under way, they still wouldn't be safe but they would have a good chance. Once they emerged onto the River Thames they would be out of danger, though still a long journey from Battersea Reach.
The Borribles agreed to the plan and gathered by the door, while Napoleon unlocked it and looked into the tunnel. He stepped out after a moment and motioned the others to follow him and they crept towards the guardroom, united again.
They overpowered the two off-duty guards and in a short time they were dressed as fierce Wendle bodyguards, wearing black rubber waders and orange jackets. They armed themselves with steel catapults and double bandoliers; there were Rumble-sticks in the room too and each Borrible took one.
"All we have to do now," said Napoleon, "is march along in an orderly fashion, and all being well we'll march straight onto the boat and no one will give us a second glance. It will just seem as if I am taking a fresh guard to one of the outlets."
Knocker jammed his tin-can helmet onto his head and said, "I want the money," just like that, calm, toneless.
Napoleon looked at him in amazement. "Don't be mad," he protested. "It's kept right next to Flinthead's apartments. There's a squad of the bodyguard sitting on it all the time, day and night."
"That's right," said Knocker, "and you're Keeper of the Box, aren't you? I'm sure you can order them to stand up for five minutes."
"Straight up," said Stonks. "I never cared about the money from the word go, in fact I hate it, but I don't like being shoved into prison, half-starved, and then used like some stuffed hare at a greyhound track to be chased about in tunnels by a lot of tin-helmeted twits. It's the principle of the thing."
"I agree, man," said Orococco, "if we leave the money behind, old Flintbonce will be sitting pretty and laughing away all over his flat face. I'd like to put one over on him."
"Yes," said Sydney, "he ought to be shown that Borribles should treat Borribles fair and square, if nothing else."
"It's so dangerous," said Napoleon.
Knocker said, "Anyone against the idea?"
"Nobody takes my catapult away and tells me to piss off," said Bingo. "Nobody."
"Me neither," said Torreycanyon.
Vulge said, "Let's just say that this one's for Adolf."
It was this last remark that brooked no argument, only Chalotte had something to add. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled exhaustedly. "I think you're all mad," she said, "but how can I stay behind now?"
Napoleon sighed, looked at their faces, and gave in.
They formed up in pairs and, looking every inch as military and as ferocious as Wendle bodyguards, they tramped out of the guardroom and through the long sloping tunnels. They hummed the Wendle marching song as they went and any non-warriors they met hastily squeezed out of their way, or stepped into a side-tunnel to let them pass.
"This is the way to escape," said Bingo to Knocker, who marched beside him and behind Napoleon, "with verve and bravado. I shall compose a song about this when I get back to Battersea."
They marched for a long while but Napoleon led them with confidence this way and that in a maze of criss-crossing corridors. Not once were they questioned, not once were they given more than a brief disinterested glance. The power of the warrior class had been built up over a long period by Flinthead and now it was working against him. Warrior spoke only to warrior, ordinary Wendles kept their distance.
Soon the tunnels became more spacious and were gracefully arched and dry under foot. This was the old Victorian part of the sewers and no longer used except by Wendles. It was a warm and comfortable section and that was why Flinthead had established his quarters here, and the room where the treasure-box was held was getting nearer at every step. In a deserted part of the tunnel Napoleon halted his company and explained what he had in mind.
"It is nearly time for the guard to be changed," he said, looking at his watch. "You will pretend to be the new guard. You will march in, follow my orders exactly, and then I will march off with the old guard. I'll get back as soon as I can, on some pretext. We'll only have a few minutes before the real guard turns up, looking for me. They will discover the box gone and will raise the alarm. We'll have to run like a train to get to the boat. If anyone tries to interfere, hit him hard and run on. Remember these ain't Rumbles you'll be fighting, but Wendles, and the best of them."
They formed up again and marched another fifty yards, and then wheeled smartly into a wide guardroom, very comfortably furnished. At the far end of the room was an iron door, rather like the one that had held them in prison, but this door was larger and heavier and studded with huge rivets.
Napoleon yelled. "Guard, halt!" and the eight of them brought their rubber-heeled waders together as one man. "Oh, yes, very smart," said Napoleon, his face giving nothing away, and he went over to the door that led to the strongroom.
He rapped on the door with the butt of his lance—a special knock it was, too—and the Borribles stood stiff to attention. A flap in the iron door swung open immediately and a helmeted Wendle's face could be seen through the opening.
"I've brought the relief guard, sergeant," said Napoleon, and before the other could ask the question forming in his mind, Napoleon added, "I know I'm early but I'm on special business for Flinthead."
The Wendle guard nodded, closed the flap and the door swung open and he marched his men out and formed them up in a line opposite the new arrivals. He handed the keys to Napoleon and observed, "There's one man short."
"Yes," said Napoleon casually, "he'll be along in a minute. He wasn't ready in time. I couldn't wait."
The sergeant of the guard fell in at the head of his men and waited for Napoleon's orders.
Napoleon led his command into the strongroom and gave Knocker the keys. "Lock the door immediately, Wendle," he said in his sternest voice. "Let no one through but me," and without another look at the Adventurers he did an about turn and marched off with the sergeant and his eight men.
As soon as Napoleon had gone, Knocker closed and locked the door and leant against it, the sweat trickling down under his armpits.
The strongroom was small and the box stood on a table in the centre of it. Round the walls were comfortable armchairs for the guards and a couple of tables carrying food and drink. Wendle warriors wanted for nothing.
"Help yourselves to some grub," said Knocker. "It may be a long while before we eat again."
The Adventurers needed no second bidding but used the time to fill their stomachs, and their pockets, with food.
All too quickly came the special knock at the door and Knocker opened the flap. His heart missed a beat. It was not Napoleon but Halfabar standing there. Luckily he was alone and did not recognise Knocker under the Wendle helmet.
"Yes," said Knocker.
"You mean, 'yes, sir'," said Halfabar.
"Yes, sir," said Knocker.
"Open up," sneered Halfabar. "I saw you marching up here and I want to know why there's only eight of you instead of the normal nine. That cocky little Napoleon has slipped up on the job this time. Promoted over my head, he was. I'll screw him for that."
During this conversation Orococco had flattened himself against the wall and now he nodded to Knocker. Knocker unlocked the door, opened it and stepped back respectfully to allow the Wendle to enter. As Halfabar came across the threshold Orococco seized him by the throat and shoved him tight against the wall.
"My friend Adolf ain't here," he said between his teeth, "but I know he'd want me to look after you before we leave."
He shifted his grip and grabbed the Wendle by his scruff and seat, holding him up like a limp bolster. "Remember, Halfabar," hissed Orococco, "you can't live by bread alone," and he threw the Wendle into the room like a sack of spuds.
"Leave him to me," he cried, his black face intoxicated with pleasure and his eyes rolling as they hadn't done since the Battle of Rumbledom. But Halfabar did not rise. Orococco had thrown him into the room with such gusto that the Wendle had broken his head against the box of money. His tin helmet had split open like a rotten orange. It was wedged over his face and his ginger hair sprouted through the crest like rusty springs from a discarded mattress. Blood dripped from the box to the floor.
"There," said Orococco, breathing deeply, "did you hear his brains rattle like dried lentils when I shook him?"
It was Napoleon who knocked next and Knocker let him into the room. He started when he saw the body of Halfabar.
"It's all right," said Knocker, "he was alone and we made no noise. He did not have time to cry out, Orococco got him."
Napoleon nodded. "It's time to go," he said. "Most of the warriors are still sleeping. It's about one o'clock in the morning in the streets above, but they'll be waking soon for work. There are patrols coming and going too. It is all a question of luck now. As soon as they see that box they will know what we are up to."
The Adventurers left the strongroom at a trot, Stonks and Torreycanyon carrying the money. They followed Napoleon at a sustained and speedy run down the wide bricked tunnel that led to the River Wandle, the boat, and safety. They ran and they ran, making little noise on the rubber feet of their stolen waders. They brushed past one or two ordinary Wendles but they moved so quickly that the box was not seen and no alarm raised. They were halfway to the river before they ran into trouble. Rounding a bend at full tilt they came upon a small night patrol of warriors returning from the outside world.
"Stay where you are," shouted Napoleon. So used were the warriors to obeying, they stopped at once and for a minute did nothing. That minute was enough and the Adventurers sprang upon them and brought them down. But the noise of the scuffle attracted the attention of another patrol in one of the side tunnels and they saw in a flash what was happening, and worse, they saw the box.
They fired their catapults and hit Stonks in the kidneys and Orococco in the arm, paralysing both Borribles for a few moments. The Adventurers returned the fire and the Wendles ran off, but the clamour they raised made the very walls shake.
"That's it, now," shouted Napoleon, "they'll be on us in less time than it takes to steal a spud in Covent Garden. Run for your lives."
Knocker and Bingo took up the box and the convoy raced on. The smell of the Wandle got stronger and the floor of the tunnel sloped more and more steeply.
"We're getting there," panted Napoleon, "come on."
The clashing of weapons came from behind and all around them in the hundreds of side tunnels. Wendles slept all over the vast sewer complex and could be out of bed and dressed for an emergency faster than a crew of London firemen.
"If we don't get to the river first," said Napoleon, "we'll be up to our necks in mud before the night's out."
They redoubled their efforts and, though their lungs were bursting, they ran faster. Now Chalotte and Orococco took the box, not even breaking their stride as they snatched up the burden.
At last, with a cry of relief, they burst out onto the underground bank of the river, as dark green as ever, the tenacious mud bubbling just below the surface of the water. The tow-path was wide at this point and there rode their boat, The Silver Belle Flower , tied to the bank. Napoleon drew his knife and slashed the painter.
"In with the box. Stonks, round to the front, you've got to pull real fast till it's wide and deep enough to row; then we've got to go like Oxford and Cambridge gone bonkers."
He glanced up the tunnel. The noise of pursuit was getting nearer; any minute now they would be overtaken. Napoleon took Knocker by the arm.
"Knocker," he whispered urgently, not wasting a word, "see that tunnel just behind us? It goes straight to the Thames; the river meanders. If we all get in the boat the Wendles will run straight down that tunnel and be at the outlet before us, cut us off and do for us. Two of us have got to stay here and stop them getting into that tunnel, give the others ten minutes', quarter-of-an-hour's grace, then they'll get away. Otherwise they won't. You and me?"
Knocker looked behind him and back up the tunnel from which the pursuers would issue. "Not you," he said. "You are the navigator, you know the Wandle and you know the Thames. I will stay."
"Not alone," Torreycanyon said, and pushed in between them. "Knocker is right; you must go. Two of us will be enough. Straight down that tunnel, you say? When we have dealt with the Wendles, we will catch you up."
"Wait a quarter-of-an-hour," said Napoleon, "but be careful when you go down the tunnel, there's a guardroom down there, too. I'd better stay, all the same, three is better than two."
"Then I will stay," said Orococco, who had leapt back out of the boat to see what they were doing. "Just make sure that Tooting's share of the money gets to Tooting."
Napoleon took off his bandoliers and gave them to Knocker, and the others in the boat, when they realised what was happening, each removed one of their bandoliers and threw it to the bank. Then they stood sadly, just looking at their three comrades.
"Oh, go on, Stonks, go on, run," shouted Knocker, and the boat jolted away and Napoleon leapt aboard as it left the shore. Knocker watched the boat spurt out of sight round the first bend, pulled steadily by the never-tiring Stonks. There had been no time for farewells and no time for pity.
"We'll never see them again," said Knocker.
"Well, we still got each other," said Orococco and he picked up the bandoliers.
"Let us go out with a fight," cried Torreycanyon excitedly.
"Yes," said Knocker, "whatever happens we've won and Flinthead and his pointed skull and his petrified grin will not laugh like we will laugh tonight."
"We'd better get into the mouth of the short-cut," said Orococco. "We can't possibly hold them here."
They crossed the Wandle, up to their waists in the foul slime of the riverbed, and adopted defensive positions. As they took cover, an advance party of Wendles came careering out of the main corridor and a shower of well-directed high-velocity stones rattled around the Borribles' hiding-place.
"Man," said Orococco, "I'll go white with the shock."
"This is no time . . ." began Knocker, and then stopped and laughed instead, and they knelt in the gloom and laid their bandoliers and lances beside them.
Within a few seconds the open area by the landing stage had become crowded with Wendle warriors and Tron appeared in the midst of them, his face flushed with anger.
He instantly ordered a large detachment of his men to follow the course of the Wandle in pursuit of the boat. Into the branch tunnels he dispatched smaller patrols to make sure that the fugitives were not lurking there, but the main body of his troops he directed into the short-cut so that he could block the mouth of the Wandle with a considerable force before The Silver Belle Flower could ever get there.
"They can't get away," he shouted. "We'll have them yet, suffocating in Wandle mud."
"Let us hold our fire till they get halfway across," whispered Knocker, "and we'll soon see who is in the mud first."
Already the Wendles, ardent and fanatical, had plunged into the filthy water and were wading across. Tron himself was carried shoulder high by two of his personal guard.
The three Adventurers loaded their catapults in the darkness and they waited until Knocker hissed, "All right, now!"
Three well-aimed stones each struck their targets and three Wendles disappeared under the mud. The Adventurers fired again and again and the rate of their fire was phenomenal, but the Wendles came on in spite of their losses, for they did not lack bravery.
"Aim for Tron," cried Orococco, "or his guards."
Knocker shifted his aim to one of Tron's porters, and his stone struck the bodyguard solidly on his helmet and he lost his footing on the river bottom and Tron was pitched face foremost into the Wandle.
"Swallow that! " said Knocker with relish.
Tron was pulled to the bank by his followers and the mud was wiped from him. This victory gave the three defenders a short breathing space but Tron was not a Wendle to allow his enemy to relax for long. Wave after wave of warriors he sent into the river, and although the Adventurers fired till their arms were aching, they could not stop the warriors crossing in force and spreading out to right and left of their tunnel.
When satisfied with his bridgehead Tron ordered his Wendles to attack. Fortunately only three warriors at a time could enter the short-cut and deadly work was done with knife and lance in the darkness, as Torreycanyon and Knocker and Orococco fought side by side for their lives and the lives of their companions.
Suddenly Tron's voice was heard calling on his soldiers to cease fighting for a moment and the attackers fell back. The three Borribles leant against the wall at the tunnel entrance, exhausted and nearly done for.
"How long has it been now?" asked Knocker. "My watch is smashed."
"Quarter-of-an-hour," said Orococco triumphantly. "We've done it."
Tron called again. "You Borribles in there, you might as well come out, you're surrounded. The boat has been captured, we've got the box again. You are fighting for nothing, I tell you. Save your lives."
"Don't believe him," said Knocker. "It must be a trick, they've got clean away."
"Keep them talking, anyway," said Orococco, "it's not so dangerous as fighting."
"Show us the box," shouted Knocker hoarsely, "then we might believe you, Tron."
Tron laughed. "Your friends will be here soon, in chains, then you will see the box. Surrender, cause no more trouble and we might be lenient with you. You have fought well, that is enough."
"We would rather fight here than go back to your dungeons," shouted Knocker.
"There'll be no dungeons for you, friend," called Tron, his voice hardening.
"I can believe that all right," said Orococco quietly.
At that moment a runner bounded up and spoke to Tron. The crowd of warriors fell back and the onlookers saw Flinthead himself arrive, surrounded by his guard. His face was stern and cruel and he was dressed for war.
Flinthead took in the situation at a glance. He gave orders and his guards looked at the roof of the cavern where they stood, then they ran forward and climbed one upon the shoulders of another until the last man reached the ceiling and disappeared. A rope-ladder was thrown down to the ground and half a hundred Warriors scrambled up it and went out of sight.
"What does that mean?" asked Knocker.
"It means trouble," said a voice behind him and the Adventurers spun round, weapons at the ready.
There stood Napoleon Boot, covered in mud and gashed in the head, his helmet gone and his jacket torn.
"What's happened?" cried Knocker aghast.
"It's all right," said Napoleon breathing heavily. "They got away, I saw to it. They'll be out on the Thames by now, I shouldn't wonder."
He sank to the floor and leant his back against the wall.
"How did you get back here, man?" asked Orococco, kneeling beside the Wendle and inspecting his head wound. "My, that sure is a beauty!"
"When the boat was safely away," explained Napoleon, "I made for the short-cut. The guard had been alerted but they didn't know I was part of the getaway. As we were talking, some Warriors appeared along the Wandle and shouted to the guard to hold me. I had to fight my way out. They can't be far behind; not a lot of them, but enough."
"What's Flinthead playing at?" asked Knocker.
"He's sending Warriors up to the surface. They'll come down through a manhole behind us. When he's got us surrounded, he'll come and talk to us, or just starve us out. He can wait. He can't know yet that the boat is clean away."
"Well, it's nice to hear such things," said Orococco, "but why risk your life to come back to tell us?"
Napoleon hesitated and then went on. "I haven't told you all the story, yet. There is bad news. Halfway down to the mouth of the Wandle we were jumped by a large night patrol coming back from outside. They saw the box, and guessed something was up and didn't wait to ask questions. Stonks went under the water with five of them on him, but he came back up again—alone. There was about twenty of them around the boat. They dragged the box out and we dragged it back in. We fought like double our number. Honest, Knocker, we fought like tigers."
"They got the box," said Knocker, in anguish.
"No, they didn't," said Napoleon, emphatically. I'd have died, rather . . . after everything."
"Then you got it away?"
"Not that, either. We were fighting across the mud flats, they had it halfway to the shore, we came back at them, we did for every last one of them, and when we looked for the box, to get it back into the boat, there it was, sinking in the mud. We couldn't even get hold of a handle, it went down so quick. You know what that mud is like, like a live thing with the grip of a python. The mud is deep there, deeper than anywhere else along the Wandle. The old stories say it goes down to the centre of the earth."
There was a long silence. Then Napoleon spoke again. "I had to come back to tell you. I wanted you to know before anything happened that I'd done my best. The money's gone for ever, and even Flinthead can't get it where it's gone. But the others got away, Knocker, don't forget that. We done the Rumbles—and our Adventure was surely the best ever. That's what counts, isn't it?"
Knocker knelt by the wounded and mud-splattered Wendle and took his hand gently in his own. "You are right, sod the money! We have done great things and it has been a great Adventure. They will sing songs about all of us."
"Flinthead's going to sing one to us right now," said Orococco who had been watching the enemy. "Here he comes, to tell us no doubt what lovely treats he has in store."
"He'll go raving lunatic when he finds out about the money," said Napoleon, and the four of them inched over to the tunnel opening, knowing, but not saying, that they were doomed to an early and unpleasant death.