"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.
10
"We'll have to go. We'll be picked up if we wait any longer." Bingo spoke reluctantly.
The others twisted in their seats and looked over the bows of The Silver Belle Flower to the distant bank. The far side of the River Thames was clearly visible and the silhouettes of the factories and gasometers stood sharp against the morning sky. From time to time the rowers clipped the water with the blades of their oars so as to stay on station opposite the Wandle. Boats and barges were passing by in increasing numbers and at any moment a police launch might appear, checking that all was well on Wandsworth Reach. The city was awake; from high above, on the Wandsworth Bridge roadway, came the unbroken hum of traffic on its way to work.
The survivors shifted their attention and gazed dejectedly at the wasteland that spread out on either side of their companions, but they saw no movement. Even the Wendle patrols had returned underground, shaking their fists at the five Borribles who sat offshore waiting and hoping, their hearts heavy with a great sadness.
"They didn't stand a chance of getting away," sighed Vulge, "but I bet they gave a good scrap at the end."
"I hope Napoleon got back," said Bingo. "I hope they were all together when . . ." His voice trailed off and there were tears in his eyes. "Come on, we must go. There's no point in us getting caught as well."
Sydney, Chalotte, Stonks and Bingo leant forward to row. Vulge sat in the stern and navigated, searching for a group of two or three barges where they could hide through the daylight hours and clean themselves of the Wandle mud that covered them still. The tide, strong as a waterfall, bore the boat through the cathedral arches of Wandsworth Bridge and Vulge saw what he was looking for almost immediately. He directed The Silver Belle Flower into a tiny haven of motionless water and hardly bothering to scrape the caked slime from their clothing the Borribles huddled together in the bottom of the boat in an attempt to keep a spark of warmth glowing amongst them.
It was deep winter; they had neither food nor blankets and the damp river wind gnawed at their shrinking bodies. All day they tried to sleep but the pangs of hunger and the hateful cold kept them restless and their wounds throbbed without respite.
Night rescued them. They watched the sun go down, blurred crimson into black smoke, and they took up their oars once more and warmed themselves by rowing. Through they were but four to power the strokes now the swift current of the Thames carried them homewards and though they were clumsy and stupid with fatigue and hunger they brought The Silver Belle Flower safely down the river. Just before dawn the next day the boat slid between the high-masted sailing barges and the embankment wall and ended its journey on the solid wedge of floating rubbish that had been marooned from the main stream for so long. They had returned to Battersea Churchyard. They fell forward on the oars, spent, bedraggled, filthy.
"Battersea," said Bingo, almost weeping with pleasure. "I can hardly believe it, lovely Battersea."
They helped each other over the high river wall and stood in the quiet churchyard and looked up at the green steeple. "It's a good feeling," said Vulge, "being back where you belong, with a good Adventure behind you, and friends to remember."
"It must be one of the best feelings there is," agreed Chalotte.
They went from the churchyard and out into Church Road. There was not much traffic about and not many people, which was just as the Borribles wanted, for they could not have passed as ordinary children. They had lost their helmets in their many fights and their pointed ears were plainly visible. They were covered in the dried mud from the Wandle swamps and most strange-looking of all were the Wendle waders they wore, and the orange roadjackets.
"We'd better get off the streets," said Bingo, "before we're spotted."
Opposite to the Old Swan Pub, near the church, were a couple of Borrible houses, derelict and falling apart, their window spaces boarded up with rough planks and corrugated iron.
"They'll lend us some clothes and hats," said Bingo pointing over the road, "just to get as far as Spiff's."
Every London Borrible had heard of the Expedition against the Rumbles but every London Borrible had, long before this time, given the Adventurers up for dead. It took Bingo and the others half an hour to convince this Battersea household that they weren't attempting to perpetrate some Borrible subterfuge for stealing clothes. Once they had been convinced however they lent the clothes eagerly and were delighted to be the first to see the survivors of the Adventure to end all Adventures and proud to hear the first snippets of their stories.
The Adventurers waited until after eight o'clock before going back onto the streets. It was safer that way, for with the pavements crowded they could mingle with the kids on their way to school and remain inconspicuous . The traffic was building up, for many cars use Church Road as a short cut from York Road to Battersea Bridge, crossing the river to get to the centre of London. It was a very busy and dangerous road but to the Borribles it was friendly and welcoming. It was home.