"Well," said Knocker, "which one have you got?"
The Peckham Borrible did not even show pleasure as he said, "I've got the name I wanted, Stonks, the Keeper of the Great Door of Rumbledom. He's the strongest one, ain't he? He'll need to be when I hit him."
When Knocker came face to face with the next person he wrinkled his nose. There was an unmistakable smell about this one and Knocker guessed immediately where he came from.
"You're from Wandsworth, aren't you? A Wendle?"
"So what, some of the finest Borribles in the world have come from Wandsworth."
Knocker recognised at once the brittle voice that had spoken out of turn a little earlier. "And some of the worst," he retorted, smiling a smile that had no warmth in it.
In common with most other Borribles he wasn't over-fond of the aloof Wandsworth Brotherhood. They lived along the banks of the River Wandle in disused sewers and smelly holes they had scooped out below the streets of Wandsworth. But no one knew exactly how they lived, for they were the most suspicious and warlike of all Borribles and did not encourage visitors and rarely spoke to anyone outside their own tribe. Their skin always had a green tinge to it which came from living so much underground and being so often in and out of the filthy Wandle water. Once the Wandle had been a pleasant stream, but years of industrialisation had turned it into a treacherous ooze of green and muddy slime. The mud was a mixture of poison waste, decomposed rubbish and undigested lumps of plastic which rolled slowly along the surface skin of the river as it slid like a thick jelly down to the Thames. The Wandle mud would entrap any stranger who was foolhardy enough to wade across without guidance. No one but the Wendles knew the secret paths along the river and they would only take the traveller across for a price. Every Wendle carried the smell of the Wandsworth marshes with him—and that smell was the smell of treachery and decay. Knocker had seen few Wendles, none of them had been this close and he didn't like what he saw: the green tinge to the flesh, the dark eyes of an indeterminate colour, and the cold, proud bearing of the born scrapper. There seemed to be no spontaneous warmth in the Wendle and warmth was normally the first thing that was noticed in a Borrible.
"Take your name, any way," said Knocker flatly, and he held out his hat.
The Wendle narrowed his eyes and screwed up his mouth to prove that he didn't care a damn about Knocker or anyone else and he pulled out his name. He nodded, then he laughed loud, pleased and hostile.
"Out with it," said Knocker impatiently. "What is it?"
"What a name I have," he cried, "I shall cover it in glory."
"Or mud."
The Wendle ignored Knocker and looked up and down the line of adventurers. "Napoleon Boot," he said loudly. "Call me Napoleon Boot."
"And I suppose you know why you're going to Rumbledom?" asked Knocker.
"Why am I going?" The other was angry. "What's wrong with you? Because I hate them, that's why. I always have hated them, and if you always had 'em leering down at yer from Rumbledom, like I have, you'd hate 'em as much as I do. I don't need these other seven to come up the Burrow with me. I'll tear it apart on me tod."
Knocker shrugged. He was glad to move on to the last of the male Borribles. He looked at the face and liked it. It was square and flat, and the eyes were optimistic under the spiky brown hair. This Borrible looked like he could take a lot of knocks and still come up smiling.
"Well," he said, "as I'm last, I hardly have to take my name out, do I? I mean I've seen the books, too, like the others, even in Hoxton, so I know my name then, it's Torreycanyon."
Knocker gave the empty hat to Dodger and took the beret with the two names only in it. He stood in front of the two Borrible girls, and felt embarrassed. He was used to girls of course but not to be trained as lookouts. He didn't like the idea of girls on this adventure and wondered how it had happened. He looked from one to the other of them; he was forced to admit that they were tough-looking, and certainly their ears were amongst the most beautifully shaped he had ever seen, denoting strong character, unbendable wills and great slyness and cunning. He couldn't fault them there. But, he thought, they'll never be able to support the rigours of the trek, the dangers, the rough living out-of-doors, every night a different bivouac. And what effect would they have on the team as a whole? That really worried him. He knew Borribles, they would quarrel and fight just as well as they could steal.
Knocker glanced back down the line and found the others watching him closely. Orococco was smiling, his white teeth shining against his black skin; even the Wendle, Napoleon Boot, was smirking.
"Where are you girls from?" asked Knocker.
"Whitechapel," said the first.
"Neasden," said the second. Knocker held out the hat to the girl from Whitechapel. "Take one of these," he said. The girl took out a piece of paper and read her name simply, with no comment. "Chalotte," she said, her voice cool and relaxed. Her green eyes flickered over Knocker's face and she smiled. Knocker thought she was beautiful; her hair fell to her waist and was blond, her skin shone and her legs were well-shaped and long.
He gave the last piece of paper to the girl from Neasden. "Sydney," she said when she'd looked at it. Knocker looked at her. Her hair was dark and shiny and her eyes were grey and her face was kind.
"Why did Whitechapel and Neasden send you two?" he asked, disguising his shyness behind a sarcastic tone. "Haven't they got any male Borribles out there?"
Chalotte said, "The message that came to Whitechapel specified a female Borrible."
"And the Neasden message."
Chalotte nodded. "If you look at the Rumble books you'll see that two of the High Command are female. That's why we were asked, I should think."
"Hmm," said Knocker. He went to move away from them, and then turned suddenly, raising his voice. "There will be no favouritism, you will be treated just like the others, no difference at all. You will march like the others, you will train like the others and sleep on the ground like the others, and you will wear the same combat clothes. When you leave you must expect the same conditions—exactly. You will march as long, eat as little and fight as much as every other member of the expeditionary force. No favours, so ask for none. You will take the same risks as the others, and maybe perish with them. Do you understand?"
If Knocker had hoped to frighten Chalotte and Sydney with this outburst he had failed. They looked at each other and then looked at the chief lookout.
"That is why we came," said Chalotte and quoted a Borrible proverb. "No name earns itself."
"Yes," said Sydney, "we know the score. Any time you think we aren't up to scratch you send us back."
Knocker turned again and walked to where he could address all of them. "Right," he began, "now you have your names, training will last a fortnight, all day and every day. I'll give the details tomorrow. First thing you must do is learn your enemy. We have the Rumble books here but we have something that is better, Spiff's notes and studies of the enemy and their way of life. We will start reading right away. In his notes you will find a detailed description of each of the Rumbles of the High Command. Now you know your names you know which one is yours and you must know exactly what he or she looks like. You will have to distinguish between him and a thousand others right in the middle of a punch-up. Another thing, we shall be training with the Rumble-stick or sticker, the enemy's weapon, a four-inch nail stuck into the end of a lance of wood. They use it like a spear, or as a quarter-staff and dagger combined. The Rumble is good with it, cuts his teeth on it—you've got to be better. From now on we work hard. Your survival will depend on this training."
The next two weeks were weeks of exhausting activity. The eight members of the expeditionary force never stopped working. Every morning at five Knocker had them on their feet for half an hour's physical jerks, just to get the blood circulating properly through their brains. After breakfast they had a morning training session inside the gym, the subject chosen by Dodger or Knocker. They did things like Rumble-stick combat, adult evasion and impromptu excuse making. They perfected their tactics for stealing in pairs and in fours and they practised racing starts and fast running, for all Borribles are rapid movers. Before lunch they slipped out for a quick run, just a mile or so to improve their wind. To keep them in trim Knocker made them responsible for stealing their own midday meal and they ate it all together in some uncomfortable spot along by the river on some windswept bomb-site, or in some draughty house with no windows. This was to get them used to the conditions they would meet when they set out on the adventure itself. Knocker watched the girls closely but they never complained and they did everything just as well as anyone else.
After the midday meal they went back to the gym for a short rest of half an hour or so and then Knocker would test them on Borrible knowledge and on Rumble studies. This was the kind of information that each expedition member was expected to have at his fingertips. He tested them a lot on this so that every one of them had a mind as sharp and as hard and as useful as a brand new tin-opener. They learned practical information too about how to avoid capture, how to escape when caught and how to aid other Borribles when in trouble. Knocker insisted that the eight of them should have all this knowledge ready in their minds so it could pop up automatically. There was no telling what they might come across on the long and dangerous journey to Rumbledom; they would have to be prepared for anything and everything.