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Authors: Michael de Larrabeiti

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic

The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis (4 page)

BOOK: The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis
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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 did 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.’
Knocker was right. Not long after he had spoken the ground beneath the Borribles’ feet began to shake and tremble. The stones lying between the sleepers began to rattle.
‘Man,’ said Orococco, ‘it’s an earthquake.’
‘Keep well back,’ yelled Stonks. ‘Hold the horse.’
The Adventurers threw themselves against the slope at the side of the track and pressed themselves into the grass. Sydney held Sam’s head and talked to him quickly with soothing words. Stonks stayed close also and stroked the animal’s flanks.
The Borribles’ actions had not been a moment too soon. There
came a terrifying blast on a train hooter; it echoed down the line and all the Adventurers jumped out of their skins, alarmed by the noise. A strong and solid wall of warm air came rushing along the track in front of the train, like an extra carriage, vigorous and invisible. It tore and plucked at the Borribles, tried to seize their bodies and drag them under the wheels, but the Borribles dug their hands into the wet earth and held on.
Then the train itself rose out of nowhere, perilously near, light from the windows pouring all over the fugitives. The ground rocked and the Borribles saw a long line of adult faces pass by in the sky above them, staring like statues into the dark. A regular rhythm beat quick and hard and insistent; and then suddenly the train was gone, wailing, its last carriage wagging helplessly and pathetic, dragging a vacuum behind it that tugged once at the Borribles and then whooshed away, snapping at trees and bushes as it went.
Knocker leant where he was, listening to the disappearing noise with relief. ‘This won’t do,’ he said after a moment. He pushed himself upright and waved an arm at his companions. ‘There’ll be hundreds of trains along here soon, hundreds, and they’ll see us, sure as beans is baked.’
Knocker was right again. The first trains of the morning rush hour began to pass with increasing frequency as the sky grew lighter. Between the passage of each train the Borribles ran forward and the lights of Wandsworth Common station were getting nearer now; so was the outline of the road bridge and when he got there Knocker halted the column.
‘Who’s got the wire cutters?’ he asked.
Napoleon reached into his back pocket. ‘I have,’ he said. ‘I always have wire cutters,’ and without waiting for instructions he climbed the embankment and began to cut a hole in the fence large enough for Sam to get through.
One by one the Borribles scrambled upwards and went on to the common. They spread out and took cover behind bushes and trees, sniffing for danger. Once sure that they were unobserved they gave the whistle and Sydney and Stonks appeared with the horse behind them. The Wandsworth fields were silent and empty, silver-green under the falling rain. The streets too were quiet and there were few cars passing.
The Borribles and Sam left the common together, running in one tight group across the main road and into a dead end that gave access to the back of the railway station. A tiny but modern trading estate was established here and had been the cause of some older buildings, mainly brick cottages, being abandoned. Stonks and Napoleon halted in front of one of these and Stonks said, ‘This was the place, wasn’t it?’
The building was long and low with rubbish dumped on three sides of it, rubbish that had been there so long that it had become solid and hard, just one substance. Its windows were all broken though some of them had been boarded up to keep out the weather. In better days the bricks had been painted a cream colour and above the door a sign, hanging from only one nail, bore the words, ‘The Wideawake Car Hire Service, “Pouncer” Bedsted, Prop.’
At the rear of the broken cottage was a door large enough to admit Sam. Though locked it was loose on its hinges and Stonks lifted it free with ease. In less than a minute the horse and all the Adventurers were under cover and the door was replaced from inside. Sydney immediately opened a bag of cattle cake for Sam and wiped the rain from his back as he ate.
‘There you are,’ she said. ‘You’ll be all right now. I bet that fresh air gave you an appetite, didn’t it?’ And, as if in answer to the question, the horse neighed quietly, nuzzled the girl in the shoulder and chewed its food with a new-found relish. Meanwhile Sydney’s companions removed their haversacks and most of them began to clear a space among the litter and rubble that covered the floor, making just enough room to sit and rest. For his part Stonks pulled some laths from the plaster wall and broke them into small pieces of kindling.
‘I’ll start a fire,’ he said, ‘and we’ll make some soup. We need it after a night like that.’
‘Then we’ll need to nick lots of soup as we go,’ said Chalotte mournfully, ‘because there’ll be lots of nights like that one before we’re done.’
This remark left the Borribles deeply depressed and it was only later, when they had eaten and rested, that their spirits rose again. Sometime during the middle of the day they awoke and made a saucepan of tea, the leaves bubbling on the boiling water. Then, as they sat there, warming their hands on the steaming enamel mugs,
they looked at one another and slowly, one by one, they smiled. They felt proud of what they had achieved that day and what they were setting out to do. They felt strong; felt they could do anything under the sun if only they were true to themselves and what they believed in. Their hearts swelled. It was only a tiny moment of time but, although they knew it would fade, there, in that miserable stinking hut with the rain dripping down its inside walls, they knew the moment was undeniably and irresistibly present; for them it was eternal.
And so, lying in their sleeping bags, eating, drinking, talking and snoozing, the Borribles passed the day away. Nor did they continue their journey as soon as it became dark, for the streets were still busy. They decided instead not to press on until eight or nine o’clock at night. By that time people would have returned from work and settled themselves into their armchairs. It was November now and once home commuters tended to stay home. As for the following morning it would still be dark at seven and the Borribles ought to be able to find a new hideout by then; nine hours’ marching every night would be enough for anyone.
But the time for their departure soon came round. The Adventurers rolled up their sleeping bags and packed away their provisions and struggled into their waterproofs. Just before they left Knocker switched on his torch and had one more look at the huge street map of London that he had brought with him.
‘This is tonight’s march,’ he explained, ‘just in case we get separated. Through these side streets towards Clapham Common; once on the other side of it we’ll go back into the streets and try to get to Brixton.’
‘There’s a market there,’ said Bingo, ‘a good one; bound to be Borribles in Brixton.’
‘It’s not on the way to Neasden,’ Sydney objected, looking over Knocker’s shoulder.
‘I know that,’ said Knocker, and he began to fold the map. ‘We’ll head towards the river after Brixton, up near the City, where Sussworth won’t be expecting us to cross. Then we’ll cut across the north of London. It’s a lot longer but I reckon it’s a lot safer too.’
‘“The Borrible who keeps his head down keeps his ears on,” ’ said Stonks, quoting from the
Borrible Book of Proverbs,
and, ending that
conversation, he lifted the back door off its hinges and went out into the dark to make sure that the way was clear.
 
No unnecessary word was spoken as the band of Borribles crossed a corner of Wandsworth Common and slunk into the gloomy streets. A cold mist of winter lay along the pavements holding the rain at bay, and only the cracks of light showing from behind thick curtains told the Adventurers that anyone at all was still alive in London.
The Borribles went in pairs now, well separated with at least twenty yards between each pair. Sydney walked with Sam and Stonks somewhere in the middle of the order of march. The leaders and the rearguard were out to spot trouble before it happened. At the slightest hint of danger a whistle was given or a stone thrown, and the Adventurers, and the horse, would disappear into the darkness of a householder’s front garden, lowering themselves behind a privet hedge or concealing themselves at the side of a garage.
First down Thurleigh Road they marched, then up the opposite slope, left into Wroughton and right into Chatto, across Alfriston and into Culmstock and finally they crept on to the edge of the windy space called Clapham Common. Advancing into it they gathered together by a stand of trees, merging with the dark.
They were nervous; Borribles always are in open spaces. They miss the protection of the streets, the warmth of crowds. Every now and then a car flashed by on the South Circular Road. Knocker stared. The road was well lit and wide; tricky enough to cross alone without being seen, but with the horse they would be visible from miles away. They would have to choose their moment with great cunning.
As the Borribles took stock of their surroundings they became aware of a low grinding noise coming from far off and sounding like an unoiled machine labouring under a heavy load. The noise came nearer and grew louder.
Suddenly Bingo spoke. ‘Duck,’ he called. ‘Woollies, in a car.’
The next moment there was not a Borrible to be seen. Each one had hidden. Only their voices were to be heard, low whispered voices as they sized up the situation.
‘He’s going very slow.’
‘Too damn slow, he must be looking for us.’
‘Bugger! He’s stopped.’
‘He’s started again.’
‘Look. Look. He’s leading a load of lorries. It must be one of them wide convoys or some’ at.’
‘Them big convoys have to crawl at night. It’s nothing to do with us.’
‘It’s caravans and lorries.’
‘Can anyone see what it is?’
The Borribles watched as the police car crawled along the South Circular, passing only a few yards from their hiding place; but the policemen looked only before and behind, interested in nothing except the passage of the convoy. Behind the police car came several huge lorries riding on monstrous black tyres and, as the first great pantechnicon came level with Bingo, he read out what was painted on the side: ‘Buffoni’s Circus, Menagerie and Fairground’.
‘It’s a circus then,’ said Chalotte, ‘a travelling circus. Blimey! You don’t see many of them nowadays.’
‘It’s quite big,’ said Vulge. ‘I can already see about seven or eight lorries.’
‘Lots of Borribles hang about circuses,’ said Orococco. ‘I had a cousin who ran away to join a circus.’
The slow procession continued and the police car drove out of sight. The huge circus trucks churned on as if climbing a steep hill and the smoke of their exhausts drifted up into the dark trees above the street lamps. More trailers appeared and there were cages too, though their sides were covered in tarpaulins and no lions or tigers were visible. Between the trailers and cages walked about a dozen figures, their features indistinct. They carried hurricane lamps and had little groups of animals with them. Some camels there were, an elephant and several horses and ponies. A whole village was on the move.
BOOK: The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis
3.94Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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