The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis (35 page)

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Authors: Michael de Larrabeiti

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic

BOOK: The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis
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Before the dwarfs could take cover or even throw themselves to the ground Vulge, Torreycanyon and Stonks emerged from under the trains and fired too, and more dwarfs staggered under the forceful blows of sharp-edged stones. At the same time Knocker, Chalotte and
Napoleon got to their feet and fired down on the enemy, striking the dwarfs from above, and yet more of their number fell, seriously stunned, clasping their heads.
‘Here’s for Scooter,’ shouted Chalotte, and she reloaded and fired her catapult as quickly as she could.
The dwarfs faltered and had it not been for Ninch they might have turned tail there and then, but whatever else he was Ninch was no coward. He rallied his troops even under the full fury of the Borrible attack.
‘Get to the trains,’ he yelled. ‘Get under the trains, that’s where they are. They can’t beat us close to. Remember the reward.’ Ninch crouched low and ran forward, diving to safety behind the big carriage wheels. His men followed him but Bingo, Twilight and Orococco fired after them and two more dwarfs stumbled and fell, their knees shattered.
Nor had the other Borribles been idle. Vulge, Torreycanyon and Stonks fired at the enemy as they went to earth and the dwarfs were badly cut and bruised. Knocker and his two companions let fly from above; another dwarf went down. Ninch’s troops, who had been told the Borribles would be easy, now knew they had a fight on their hands.
Knocker stood up. ‘We’ve got to keep them at long range,’ he said. ‘Remember they’re adults, stronger than we are.’
Napoleon grinned like the crafty Wendle of old. He closed one eye and the other blazed with the love of battle. ‘I dunno about that,’ he said. ‘I’m going to slip off here and try to get amongst them dwarfs, pretend to surrender maybe, get close to Ninch. With him gone the rest will run like rabbits.’ And Napoleon re-opened his eye and lowered himself over the side of the train. Then, catapult between his teeth, he dropped silently to the ground.
Knocker was alarmed. He went to the edge of the roof and looked down. ‘Come back, Nap,’ he whispered. ‘There’s too many of them.’
The Wendle did not answer but waved a hand, grinned once more and slipped out of sight under the carriages.
Knocker cursed. ‘Dammit,’ he said, ‘we can’t let him go on his own.’ He stood on the edge of the roof, perplexed, Chalotte by his side.
‘No,’ she said, ‘we can’t.’
Just then the Wendle reappeared from underneath the train, backing
slowly, his hands held above his head in a gesture of surrender; after him came two dwarfs, neither of whom was Ninch.
‘I surrender,’ Napoleon was saying, ‘honest. Look, here’s my cattie.’ He threw the weapon to the ground. ‘I’ve had enough, really. Take me to Sussworth. I want to live a normal life. Don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me.’
The dwarfs stepped forward, taking no chances, their truncheons held poised before them, eager to clout Napoleon across the head as soon as they got close enough to him. The Wendle clasped his hands together, dropped to his knees and raised his eyes to heaven, winking when he saw Knocker and Chalotte ready on the roof. ‘Oh, please don’t hurt me,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t stand it.’
‘Here we go,’ said Knocker, and seizing Chalotte’s arm he leapt into space, pulling the girl with him. As the two dwarfs raised their weapons over the kneeling Napoleon they were suddenly smashed to the ground by the flying weight of the two Borribles landing feet first on their necks. They collapsed completely, demolished like old buildings destroyed with dynamite.
Both Chalotte and Knocker rolled over in the dust and sprang to their feet immediately. Napoleon did likewise, ready for trouble, but the dwarfs lay sprawled across one another in the dirt, one face down, the other gazing blankly into the fluorescent lighting.
‘Backs broken,’ said Napoleon, and he bent down and retrieved the dwarfs’ truncheons, giving one to Knocker. ‘You use these for hitting people,’ he explained, then he spat. ‘I want that Ninch,’ he continued, ‘more than anything in the whole world.’ And with that he ran off alongside the train until he reached the end of the front carriage. Nor did he stop there but ran on into the middle of the open space that lay before the tunnel entrance. Knocker and Chalotte followed the Wendle as far as the front of the train but there they halted and crouched in the shadow of the last wheel.
‘He’s going bonkers,’ said Chalotte.
It certainly looked like it. Napoleon began to run up and down, stooping every now and then to bang a railway line with his truncheon just as hard as he could, making a sound that resonated along the sprung and curving rails for miles and miles. And Napoleon shouted too, a defiant challenge to the arch-betrayer, Ninch.
‘Come on out, Ninch,’ bellowed the fearless Borrible. ‘I want yer, Ninch, don’t waste yerself … Come and fight with a Wendle.’
And so Ninch came at last. He did not run, nor did he shout, he simply appeared on the far side of the trains to Knocker and Chalotte and with him two of his cronies.
Napoleon stopped his cavorting immediately and twirled his truncheon in delight. ‘Hello, Ninch,’ he said, and he smiled and his face looked like a rock with a crack in it.
Chalotte whispered into Knocker’s ear, ‘He is mad; there’s three of them.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Knocker. ‘There’s three of us only they don’t know it yet.’ He loaded his catapult and Chalotte followed his example. ‘You take the one on the right; I’m aiming for Ninch.’
By this time the three dwarfs had approached within a few yards of Napoleon Boot, confident in the knowledge that they outnumbered him. They laughed—the Wendle looked so frail.
‘Look what we got here,’ said Ninch, leering at his companions. ‘A funny little green job.’
Napoleon spat on the floor. ‘I’d knock yer brains out,’ he said calmly, ‘if I knew where you kept ’em. You’re a waste of space, Ninch, that’s what you are.’
The dwarfs did not answer and moved nearer the Wendle, intending to attack him from three directions at once. They did not get far. Both Knocker and Chalotte stepped into the open and let fly with their catapults. Chalotte’s aim was perfect and her target was struck down. Knocker was not so lucky and cursed out loud as he fired. Ninch had crouched and moved forward at the last second and the stone destined for him missed his head by inches though fortunately, at least for the Borribles, the missile wasn’t wasted. Behind Ninch stood the third dwarf and Knocker’s stone smashed against his temple. With a howl of pain, he fell backwards across the railway lines, unconscious, just like Chalotte’s victim.
The chief dwarf half turned, dismayed to see his companions put out of action so effectively. He only took his eyes from Napoleon for a second but that was enough.
‘Queensberry rules,’ shouted the Wendle, and he lashed out with his captured truncheon and caught Ninch a swinging blow across the side
of the head. The dwarf staggered and slipped on the track and sank to one knee.
Napoleon struck again but Ninch was no weakling and he fended the blow away. His muscles had been circus-trained and his reactions were fast and sure. Ninch would never give in and Knocker and Chalotte, watching the struggle from the safety of their hiding place, realized this only too well. One to one in close combat, even Napoleon Boot was no match for the dwarf.
‘Over here,’ yelled Knocker. ‘We’ll cover yer. Come on.’
Napoleon, from reasons of pride or out of a simple desire to revenge Scooter’s death all on his own, took no heed of his friend’s invitation. He twirled his truncheon again, and as Ninch got to his feet he danced around him, making him dizzy, prodding hard into the dwarfs ribs and stomach.
Knocker looked about him. The sounds of battle were moving closer. He spoke to Chalotte. ‘We’re going to be killed or captured in this fight anyway, Chal, so there’s no point in fighting fair. I’m going to drop Ninch from behind before his two chums come round and you’ll have to cover me from here.’ Knocker started forward, crossing the railway lines to where Napoleon’s fight was continuing in the same way it had begun, with the Wendle dodging and fencing and the dwarf striding patiently after him, knowing that once he got his hands on the Borrible he would throttle him.
When Knocker was within twenty yards of the dwarf he came to a halt and drew his catapult rubber back as for as his ear and took very careful aim at the back of Ninch’s head. Just then Napoleon, ducking in under his opponent’s guard, caught the dwarf a firm blow across the stomach and the sound of that blow was rich and solid like an axe biting into wood.
Ninch dropped to his knees and his truncheon fell from his hand, but even then his tremendous strength stood him in good stead. As he fell he grabbed Napoleon’s truncheon from the Wendle’s grasp and threw it hard into his face. Napoleon tottered and stumbled, blinded by pain and the blood which spurted from his forehead down into his eyes. He raised a hand to wipe his face clear, tripped on a railway line and fell backwards.
Before Knocker could fire Ninch uttered a roar of triumph and
dived forward, throwing his square and chunky body on to Napoleon’s. The dwarf landed heavily, pinning the Wendle to the ground. Then, with swift and certain movements, he drew a long-bladed knife from his belt, lifted it high into the air and plunged it down.
Knocker could not believe it. ‘No,’ he cried. ‘No.’ He loosed his stone but Ninch and Napoleon were wrestling ferociously and he missed the target. He went to move forward. He must pull Ninch away. Suddenly he heard a noise to his right; he looked. One of Ninch’s companions had recovered and he was only a few yards distant, charging at full pelt, intent on Knocker’s death. Knocker dared not tear his gaze away from this enemy, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Ninch’s knife glint like a long silver tooth as he raised it again. But there was no more time; Knocker dropped his catapult and drew his truncheon.
The charging dwarf was almost upon the Borrible. His mouth was open and his eyes glowed with hatred. Knocker tried to remember all he had ever learnt about close fighting with the Rumble-stick all that time ago; he knew he would need every ounce of cunning he possessed if he were to survive.
Then things happened fast; a stone flew by his face like a bullet, so close that he thought it had grazed his skin. In a second the dwarf was at him. Big and strong and stocky he was not circus-trained, but flat-footed and overconfident.
At the last possible moment Knocker threw himself to one side, stuck out a leg and tripped his enemy as he went past. Quickly Knocker regained his balance and crouched low, ready to fight. There was no need. The dwarf’s own momentum had carried him, flying parallel to the ground, across the railway track, and Knocker saw and heard his head clang down on to the solid steel of a rusty rail. The dwarf did not move again. He lay motionless, his head split open like a rotten turnip.
Knocker was next aware of Ninch’s second companion climbing slowly to his feet and he turned to face a possible attack, but the dwarf made no attempt to advance. Instead he hesitated, staring stupidly beyond Knocker, then he shouted and ran away towards the train, calling to his friends for help. Knocker looked to where the dwarf had looked
though he did not understand what he saw. Ninch still lay across Napoleon, but neither dwarf nor Borrible was moving.
Now Chalotte burst from cover and began leaping across the railway lines to go to Napoleon’s aid, her hair streaming behind her, her legs stretched, a catapult in her hand, her face heroic. Knocker never forgot that sight of her and that particular image of the girl remained unchanged in his mind for the rest of his life, like some beautiful sculpture of war and revenge.
But his future memories did not matter then. Chalotte had reached Napoleon, and seizing Ninch by the shoulders she pulled him away from the Wendle, her movements rough and brutal. Ninch rolled on to his back, his right arm flopped out across a railway line and his own knife protruded from his chest. The green jacket he wore was daubed with bright blood and his lifeless eyes stared into the empty vaulting of the Underground. He was as dead as any nail in any door.
Chalotte knelt by Napoleon and Knocker kept watch. No noise came from the Swiss Cottage tunnel, the policemen were still biding their time, but away on the roofs of the two trains Knocker could see dwarfs and Borribles fighting, and from in among the carriages came the sounds of shouting and feet running on the stony tracks.
Chalotte spoke. ‘Nap’s badly wounded. There’s lots of blood coming out of his chest. It’s awful, he’ll need proper attention.’
‘Stabbed twice,’ said Knocker. He still kept watch. They were very vulnerable out in the open. The dwarf who had run away would not be long in fetching reinforcements.
Chalotte shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘only once. When you were jumped by the other one I let fly with my catapult and caught Ninch on the back of the head before he could stab Napoleon again. I only just missed you because you were in the way. That allowed Nap to get the knife off him I suppose.’
Knocker bit his lip. ‘We can’t stay here,’ he said, ‘out in the open.’ He knelt and pulled Ninch’s green jacket from the body and put it on, blood and all. The beginnings of a distant idea were stirring in his brain.
‘We’ll have to carry Nap back to the control cabin,’ said Chalotte. ‘There’s a table there and we can stretch him out on it. Take his legs.’

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