The Borribles - Larrabeiti Michael. Страница 11

Knocker need not have worried. By the time he awoke later the same day the problem had been solved.

It was not easy waking up; his body felt as stiff as a wire coat-hanger and he thought he'd never be able to move again. Even to open his eyelids and look at the ceiling took a concentration of all his effort into the necessary muscles. He turned his head and saw that Dodger was coming in through one of the windows with Napoleon. They were carrying steaming jugs and fruit and bread rolls. They had been up to the market for breakfast.

Knocker staggered to his feet, moving like a wooden doll with swollen joints. Napoleon landed gracefully on the floor and he laughed.

"You ought to be fitter than that, Knocker. Just as well you aren't coming on the trip, ain't it?"

Dodger laughed then and that got through to Knocker.

"All right, you two. If that's breakfast, hand it over and wake the others." Knocker sat down on a bench and poured himself a cup of tea and drank it. It was lovely. He poured another and tore at a roll with his teeth. Dodger came and sat next to him and helped himself to some food.

"Bingo's not here," he said conversationally. "He must have gone out."

"Of course he has, if he's not here," said Knocker irritably. "You're not very bright this morning."

"I mean out on a job," said Dodger and he stood up and looked down at Knocker unpleasantly. No Borrible likes to be told that he isn't bright. "Anyway, it's not the morning. It's the afternoon."

Knocker returned Dodger's gaze. "I'm sorry, Dodger, I didn't mean that. It's these aches and pains. Forget it."

"All right then." Dodger wasn't frightened of a quarrel, no Borrible is. "Chalotte and Sydney and Stonks and Torreycanyon are out, too," he said, looking straight in front of him.

Knocker jumped up, spilling his tea. "What?" he cried. "Gone off without permission, without saying where?"

"What's wrong, Knocker?" asked Dodger, genuinely surprised. "You can't expect Borribles to act like regular troops. They're not Rumbles. Borribles just can't do it, that's why we are Borribles, isn't it? I think you've been lucky to keep them together this far; most Borribles would have chucked it last night on the lake, but ours didn't, they stuck together. Miraculous really."

Knocker sat down again. "I'm worried," he said.

"I think," said Dodger wisely, "that you're jealous. You wish you were going on this adventure, you'd like to have a second name, even before others have got their first. That's not right, you know."

Knocker looked at his friend and sucked his cheeks in between his teeth to avoid showing emotion, but he showed it all the same. He didn't admit it to Dodger but he felt guilty for having overslept so badly and he was ashamed of having aches and pains when he should have been fitter than any of his companions.

"I'm worried about the Adventure," he insisted. "Will they manage it? Will the Wendles let them through Wandsworth without trouble? How will Napoleon behave? It's all a worry."

"They'll be fine," said Dodger. "Napoleon will turn out all right, even though he is a Wendle."

"He may be all right now, but what will he be like when he's back in Wandsworth?"

"Remember today and forget tomorrow," said Dodger, quoting from the Borrible proverbs. "I shall be glad to see Northcote Road again. Got some things I want to get on with."

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Chalotte who came in through one of the windows. She crossed the gym and stood in front of Knocker, breathless. Her cheeks bright with running, she shook her hair in that way that Knocker admired.

"Bingo said could we all meet him at St Mary's. He's had a plan," and she tossed her head again and laughed.

"What kind of a plan?" asked Knocker sternly.

"I couldn't tell you that, it would spoil the fun, it's not Borrible."

"I order you," said Knocker.

"You can order as much as you like. You said yourself yesterday that the Adventure had virtually begun. You're not going on the expedition, so you can hardly give orders any more." She turned and marched over to where the others were eating their breakfast, her cheeks no longer shining with exertion, but with anger.

"You ought to remember," said Dodger, "that they are feeling just as tense as you are. They know they are leaving tomorrow night, and they know that they may not be coming back."

"You're right, Dodger," said Knocker, forcing a smile. "I shall miss you when you go back to the Northcote, you know."

"Then you'll have to come down there sometime."

When Knocker had finished his breakfast and regained his temper a little he set off with Napoleon, Vulge and Orococco and they followed Chalotte and Dodger through the streets to Battersea churchyard. There, concealed in the long grass which grew between the big square tombs, they found Number Seventeen. Bingo and his fellow conspirators, dressed as members of the Battersea Sea Scouts, were loafing by the embankment wall.

"How did you manage it?" asked Knocker, unable to keep the admiration from his voice.

"Simple," said Bingo, with pride. "Rescued the uniforms from the Sea Scouts, shoved the boat onto a set of old pram wheels that I also liberated, and pushed the boat through the Park and down the street, as bold as brass. Got stopped by the Woollie on point duty in Parkgate Road but we told him that we were fund raising for the Sea Scouts and would be taking the boat back that very night; had the Head Keeper's permission, didn't we? Decent copper, held the traffic up for us to cross the road."

"That was a good 'un," said Torreycanyon. "I could hardly stop laughing."

The church itself was locked and the churchyard deserted, just the place for the Borribles and their boat. It was the quiet, dusty part of the afternoon and the lunch-time boozers were long gone from the Old Swan pub. The great factories and towering flats loomed around the tiny octagonal steeple of St Mary's like idiots surprised by beauty, and no one watched from the lofty isolation of their smoky windows.

Two high-masted sailing-barges were moored up against the river wall which skirted the graveyard; sturdy boats they were, constructed in polished wood. They had rigging climbing their solid masts and their gangplanks creaked and shifted backwards and forwards on the ground when the waves from mid-stream reached the bank. Napoleon looked at the boats, his greenish face greener with envy.

"I'd love to live on a boat," he said. "Look at them names, The Raven from Chester, The Ethel Ada, Ipswich, marvellous."

"We ain't got a name for our boat," said Bingo. "I mean we can't call it Number Seventeen all the time, can we? Not on an Adventure."

"Yeah," agreed Torreycanyon," Number Seventeen ain't near posh enough."

"What shall we call it?" asked Bingo, looking at the others.

Chalotte, who had been staring about her, suddenly pointed into the sky. "There's your name," she cried delightedly. "Look up there!"

Right behind the church, and dominating it completely, was a huge factory built from the pallid bricks of a dead and unlovely clay. Written across the blank wall in huge white letters they read: "Silver Belle Flour, Mayhew."

"We could call it The Silver Belle Flower, " said Chalotte. "You know, it sounds just wrong."

"It don't matter what we call it," said Knocker. "I name this boat The Silver Belle Flower, " and he kicked it by way of ceremony.

The others knew he was upset about not going on the expedition so they ignored him, but they adopted the name because it was the only one they could think of.

They leaned against the embankment wall and looked across the broad sweep of the river to the gasometers and the Chelsea Flour Mills opposite. The surface of the Thames was an alarming greeny-grey colour and only the floating rainbow whorls of diesel oil and petrol brightened the dull water. The horizon was cut out in dirty brown and black against a sky of diluted yellow ochre, and the sun had not shone all day.

They should have been depressed and frightened but somehow the very extent of the sight inspired them all with pride and determination. The shift of the waves nudging clumps of rubbish downstream; the hooting of tugs and barges as they passed; the unmoving blocks of black smoke from Lot's Road Power Station; the smell, like varnish, of the Thames in London, all these things combined to make their hearts swell and they looked at each other and smiled modestly, knowing that whatever was before them, they would be equal to it.

But Knocker could not partake of this sensation. All he could think of was that he would not be going, so he broke the spell, shouting harshly at them. "Well, stop this daydreaming, let's get this boat in the water."

They got one end of The Silver Belle Flower onto the river wall, then the other. They lowered her gently down into a scum-covered rectangle of water between The Ethel Ada and the embankment. The garbage had become cornered here and looked firm enough to walk over, but the boat pushed its keel through and found enough water to float on.

"She'll be safe there," said Knocker. "We'll tie her up midway between the two boats. The Ethel Ada will think she belongs to The Raven and The Raven will think she belongs to The Ethel Ada. "

The Silver Belle Flower was firmly tied to a ring in the wall and, with one last look at the dark river, the Borribles turned and went back to the gym for a good meal and an early night. Just over twenty-four hours to wait and the expedition would be under way.

The last day was a day of rest for the Eight but not for Dodger and Knocker. They went first to report to Spiff about the boat and he was delighted. He sat at his desk in his orange dressing-gown, flicking through a huge book of Borrible Rules.

"That Ziggy was always a pessimist," he said. "I knew you would do it. A piece of pudding stealing a boat. He can't stop us now."

He gave them a cup of tea and told them to take it off with them and drink it downstairs in the store-room.

There was plenty to do down there. Knocker had to make the final selection of gear from the huge piles that the Borribles had collected from various shops. When the choice had been made he and Dodger would pack the items into the eight rucksacks but first they put the gear into eight separate piles and, so they would make no mistakes, they checked and double checked every heap. Each Borrible had a spare pair of boots and there were waterproof khaki trousers and fur-lined combat jackets to keep them warm at night when they would do most of their travelling. There were special woollen Borrible hats which were reversible, camouflage on one side and luminous reddy-orange on the other, so they could make themselves easy to spot if they wanted to. They would have a life-jacket each for the river trip and sharp long-bladed knives to wear at their belts. There were eight catapults too, with spare rubbers and pouches. Knocker and Dodger fingered the catapults lovingly. They were the best, as used by professional poachers, made out of polished steel and strong and springy. They had a long range and fired stones, marbles or ball-bearings with great power. To carry a supply of ammunition Spiff had acquired some old army money belts which had little pockets stuck on them; each pocket would carry a round and well-balanced stone. These belts could be slung across the shoulders like bandoliers and each of the adventurers was to carry two of them, giving them twenty shots per person. This meant that between them they had a fire power of a hundred and sixty rounds and the bandoliers were to be worn outside the combat jackets so that they would be easy to get at and the rate of fire would be very fast.