Read The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis Online

Authors: Michael de Larrabeiti

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic

The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis (9 page)

BOOK: The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis
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Sydney drew her knife. ‘I’m going to run over and cut him free,’ she said. ‘You keep watch, Twilight, and if any of the coppers look round and there’s any danger of ’em seeing me, well, you’ll just have to attract their attention and make ’em chase you. When I get the horse into the trees, then you come over. Okay?’
The girl did not wait for the Bangladeshi to answer. As light as the wind she ran to the horse, her arms outstretched.
‘Oh Sam,’ she whispered as she slashed the rope, ‘we’ve got to scarper, like quick.’ She pulled at the horse’s rein but Sam did not stir. He shook his head like a wild thing, flared his nostrils and Sydney saw that the animal’s legs were closely hobbled with tough nylon ropes. He could not move.
‘The bullies,’ said Sydney, and she knelt to hack at the hobbles, obliged to move fast. She’d been in the open too long. Again the horse
shook its head and now it shuffled backwards. ‘Oh, Sam,’ said Sydney again, ‘what’s wrong, what have they done to you?’
Sydney had not seen what Sam had seen behind her, the slight form of Twilight dragged into the open, bound and gagged and made prisoner, or the ring of dark figures closing in on the girl from the tents and the trees. But with a glance she saw them and she moaned out loud, throwing her thin arms round the horse’s neck, clinging there for dear life.
‘Oh, Sam,’ she cried, ‘I’ve failed. They’ve got you again. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ And Sydney was downcast and she did not hear the triumphant voice on the megaphone announcing that all Borribles and their allies had been captured and that the battle was lost and won. She did not feel the big hands take the knife from her grasp or the catapult from her pocket, and she did not feel the cold handcuffs snapping on to her wrists like the bite of a dog. All Sydney could do was weep for the end of Sam, the horse she loved, gone for catsmeat.
Inspector Sussworth and Sergeant Hanks stood like presidential candidates on the rear balcony of the white SBG caravan. Below them, ankle-deep in mud, washed by a light rain, stood the Adventurers and the acrobats, handcuffed together in one long line, their pointed ears plainly visible. Behind them stood Sam the horse, behind him stood the circus clowns, also handcuffed, their faces bloody and their clothes torn. Surrounding them all stood a solid regiment of policemen, their black macs phosphorescent in the night like wet coal.
The SBG had at last restored order. The general public had been packed off home and the circus people had been locked in their caravans and commanded to remain there until further notice, on pain of arrest. A great quiet reigned where before there had been only riot and pandemonium. Nobody stirred except a few policemen who were wandering through the ruins of the great fight, making sure that no Borrible
still lurked under the debris of torn canvas and battered sideshows. The desolation was complete.
Inspector Sussworth beamed over the scene like a lighthouse, striving to contain his pleasure but unable, his smile bursting out intermittently. His hands were grasped tighter than ever behind his back, his right hand trying to dislocate his left shoulder by yanking fiercely on that arm. His heels rose and fell in a persistent tattoo. At last he raised his hand; he was about to speak.
‘Men,’ he began, ‘I offered you blood, sweat and tears but there was no time for weeping. We have won a famous battle, just as I said we would. Here stand the captives and their aiders and abetters, manacled together in shame and disgrace: malcontents and malefactors who would change the world because it doesn’t suit them; who would descend to physical violence when the rules of society become inconvenient. Now we have caught the ringleaders and our struggle is almost over. We have caught their mascot too, this moth-eaten, knock-kneed, spindle-shanked, spavin-legged erstwhile equus. This wretched animal has become the symbol and the centre of their revolt. Well, so far and no further. If this horse is their heart, then I shall grasp that heart with both hands and rend it asunder. I hereby order that the aforementioned animal be conveyed from this place to an abattoir or slaughterhouse and there it will be banged on the head until dead and then hung up by its hind legs, from a hook. It will be slit open with a carver and minced into nice neat little tins of food for small kittens. I tell you men, Operation Catsmeat has been a complete success. A campaign medal will be struck.’
Sydney screamd and dropped to her knees in the mud. Because they were handcuffed so tightly together, Chalotte and Twilight were dragged down with her.
‘No,’ cried the girl as loud as she could. ‘Leave Sam alone, it’s not his fault. Do our ears if you have to but leave Sam out of it. He’s only a horse; he’s never done any harm.’
Sussworth laughed and danced contentedly, his hands fluttering up and down his chest like magpies looking for somewhere to land. Hanks’s belly wobbled in merriment and he took a sweet from his pocket and shoved it into his mouth.
‘Don’t take on so,’ said Sussworth, tilting his head in a gesture of
ironic kindness. ‘Sam will be free of all earthly constraints soon, but you and your acrobat friends are the ones in trouble. You will be worked to death once we get them ears of yours clipped. You’ll be nice, normal wage-earners for the rest of your lives.’
Now the inspector gestured with his right hand and the regiment of policemen brought their heels together like soldiers.
‘Take these Borribles to the special place,’ ordered Sussworth, ‘and these didicois as well. Lock ’em up and teach them a lesson. In the morning they will be charged with as many offences as I can think of. Take them away.’
As the Borribles were pushed towards the Black Marias parked ready by the side of the SBG caravan, Knocker stepped out of line, the handcuffs forcing his companions to move with him. He got as close to Sussworth as he could, then he lifted his hands above his head and the chained hands of his friends were lifted too. Knocker shook his manacles till they jangled. There was blood on his cheek, his clothes were torn and his face was wild with anger.
‘I’ll kill you,’ he said, his lips white. ‘It’s you who’s done this violence, not us, Sussworth. I shan’t rest till you’re dead. I’ll—’
Knocker was not allowed to finish. A policeman struck him smartly on the side of the head and he was shoved away with the others, staggering and slipping in the mud. Even the circus clowns were forced into a van and treated no better than the Borribles, but cuffed and prodded and sworn at. At least ten of them were in custody and a sorry sight they were. Some of them had fought long and hard under the big top. The others had been arrested while trying to go to their colleagues’ aid. Not for one minute had they understood what had been going on. In the madness of the battle they had thought the circus under attack and had only meant to defend themselves. Now, if found guilty in court they would spend many months in prison, perhaps even a year or two.
Not only that but their circus was in ruins, their costumes had been ripped to shreds and all of them had black eyes, bloody noses and cracked heads. It was more than circus people could take and they too shouted threats at Sussworth and Hanks, but however much they raised their voices it made no difference. They were beaten into the Black
Marias and the heavy doors were double-locked behind them. At a sign from Sussworth the vans were driven across the grass to the main road and from there the column turned towards Clapham South, heavily escorted. The Borribles had been caught and Inspector Sussworth was taking no chances.
 
Clapham South Underground station is only a few hundred yards from that part of Clapham Common where Buffoni’s circus had made its pitch. By the time Sussworth’s caravan had been towed there the prisoners were standing on the pavement, herded together and guarded by more than twice their number of policemen. The Borribles waited for Sussworth with some apprehension; what had he meant, ‘Take them to the special place’? They did not have to wait long for the question to be answered. Near where they stood, on an odd corner of turf that seemed to be neither common nor wasteland, right next to a brick-built set of sour-smelling public lavatories, was a curious cement-covered building, half square, half circular. It was protected by a high wire fence and it was large and windowless, sinister and gloomy.
As soon as the caravan arrived, Sussworth and Hanks marched down its steps and, passing through a gate in the wire fence, went to a large iron door that stood in the square section of this bizarre building. There came the rattle of a key and the sound of a lock opening. The door was pulled outwards, a light was switched on and the prisoners saw a rectangular, unfriendly-looking hallway, quite large and made from concrete blocks.
‘Right men,’ said Sussworth. ‘Bring the prisoners inside; look snappy, we don’t want to be noticed.’
The inspector stood by the entrance and watched while his orders were obeyed. ‘I want twenty men to lead the way in here,’ he said. ‘The prisoners will walk in the middle, and twenty more men will bring up the rear with Sergeant Hanks. I also want a guard of six constables on the caravan, and I want two more to take the horse to Wandsworth Prison where it will be incarcerated until the knacker’s yard is ready for it. The rest of you will return to headquarters, but report here tomorrow, early. Is that perfectly clear?’
The men saluted and Hanks lost no time in deciding which of them
would stay and which would go. These arrangements made, Sussworth ordered the great iron door closed and as the noise of its closing died he locked it with a great key and then put the key in his overcoat pocket, patting it afterwards in self-satisfaction.
Next Sussworth crouched to the ground and took another, smaller key from a different pocket and unlocked a steel flap in a manhole which had been cemented into the floor at the far end of the hallway. He fiddled with a combination lock and when the tumblers had fallen into place he commanded six of his officers to lift the trap. It was not an easy task. The manhole was thick and heavy, but after a great deal of panting and puffing by the policemen it swung back on its hinges.
Sussworth then reached into the hole that had been revealed and pulled a switch. Hundreds of lights came on and an air-conditioning plant began to hum as if from many miles away. The men of the SBG crowded round the opening and stared down. They gasped. They could see a stairway and it seemed to spiral away for ever and ever, disappearing only when it was too small to be seen.
‘Yes,’ said Sussworth proudly, as if he’d built it all himself, ‘this is the eighth wonder of the world. What used to be, during the last war, a mere air raid shelter for the ordinary populace, has been excavated deeper and wider until it stretches halfway under Clapham Common. What we have here is a veritable city that contains all the things that our civilization needs to preserve in the event of a thermo-nuclear homocost: government offices, command posts, food, water, lavatories … and a jail, a very large one. If there is total destruction we have to ensure that our administrators survive, and that whatever happens law and order will continue beyond the day of doom. There is always a need for law and order, men, as you know. Sadly, even a thoroughgoing nuclear war won’t extinguish villainy.’
‘Is it a good strong jail, sir?’ asked Sergeant Hanks.
‘The best,’ answered the inspector, ‘that is why we are here tonight. No Borrible, however bright a burglar, can wangle his way out of this one. No clown, however comical, can laugh this off. Now, men,’ said Sussworth, bringing his little speech to a close by jumping on to the first step below the trap, ‘follow me. It’s a long, long way to go, so best foot forward.’
With a flick of his moustache the inspector went out of sight and
was followed immediately by the first contingent of his men and then the prisoners. They were followed in turn by Sergeant Hanks and his twenty officers, the very last one of them closing the manhole and locking it from the inside. As Sussworth had said: there was to be no escape.
 
Every step the Borribles took increased their despair. Worse than no escape there was not even the slightest hope of any. There was only one way out and that carefully guarded, and the corridors and passages formed a labyrinth where Sussworth deliberately took the prisoners back and forth, just to confuse them.
On every landing were tunnels leading off in all directions and from those tunnels they saw other tunnels and polished doors without number, each with a notice on it which they could read as they passed: CIGS, M15, M16, Admiralty, Home Office, Foreign Affairs Committee, Cabinet Room, Squash Court, Security, PM, Swimming Pool, Ministry of Defence. Some of the doors were open and the prisoners caught glimpses of carpeted suites with tables covered in green baize surrounded by comfortable chairs. Many of the rooms had been laid out for relaxation with large sofas, cocktail cabinets and bookcases; and there were some with beds and divans too, all made up with freshly ironed pillowslips in readiness for the great day of Armageddon.
But at last the prisoners, stumbling now from weariness as well as dejection, were brought out into a wide and bare corridor that seemed to form the very base of the underground citadel, and here were more doors, solid steel this time with bolts top and bottom and peepholes for jailers to look through. Sussworth gave his orders and three of the cells with thrown open.
‘You’ll like this,’ said the inspector, ‘freezing cold they are.’
‘What about some food?’ said one of the clowns. ‘We must eat.’
‘I’m not so sure you must,’ said Sussworth, ‘certainly not until tomorrow. You’ll be a lot more helpful after a couple of days without sustenance. Most people are.’ He waved his hand and his policemen shoved the clowns into a couple of the cells and the doors were bolted behind them.
‘Ah, Hanks,’ said Sussworth, addressing his sergeant who was just
bringing up the rearguard, ‘I want you to bring those Borrible acrobats along for interrogation; just uncuff them from the others.’
Sergeant Hanks took a key from his pocket and did as he was ordered. ‘Wonderful, sir,’ he gloated. ‘Nothing like a bit of interrogation to sharpen the appetite. I’m quite looking forward to it.’
The acrobats did their best to fight against the power of the policemen but they could not escape their fate. Ninch swore and punched and kicked like a savage, Scooter and Matzo did very much the same, but the rest completely lost their nerve and rolled on the ground, screaming in terror. None of it helped; laughing and jeering the huge, ham-handed policemen dragged the captives away by the feet, bumping their heads along the hard corridors until their cries grew fainter and fainter and were heard no more.
‘There,’ said Hanks as he prodded the Adventurers into their cell. ‘When you see your little chums tomorrow with their ears all bloody and jagged you’ll turn as good as gold, you will; tell us all we want to know, you’ll see.’ The sergeant slammed the metal door and the clang of it echoed along the corridors. Then he shot the bolts and pressed an eye against the peephole. ‘There you are,’ he said, ‘all nice and safely off the streets. We’ll have some fun tomorrow, I promise you. A bit of slap and tickle, you won’t get bored for a second.’ Hanks chuckled loudly to himself and then went away, his flat feet stamping into the distance.
‘We’re in it now,’ said Twilight, ‘right in it.’
BOOK: The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis
9.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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