"We could throw you into the river," said Bingo cheerfully, "tied to a convenient lump of cement."
Adolf hooted. "Anyone else, maybe, but not a friendly Borrible."
There was a silence then and as no one could think of what to say, or do, eventually all eyes turned to Knocker.
"We'd better have a chat about this," he said, "up the other end of the boat."
They made sure that Adolf was securely bound and then moved to the prow where they talked in whispers.
"It seems to me," began Knocker, "that his story is true. I mean he seems the type to want a fourth adventure—I mean mad enough—like. But however you look at it we can't let him go in case he does give us away. We have to take him along and we'll have to watch him all the time, see if he's a spy, if he leaves messages, things like that. If he isn't, then he's an extra catapult and a bloody good punch-up artist, I bet. We'll have to keep our eyes peeled, that's all."
"We've got to watch him like you're watching us," said Napoleon with a sneer.
"Leave it, then," said Knocker quickly. "I was only giving my advice. I'll shut up."
Bingo spoke up quickly to heal the breach. "Let's vote on it, all except Knocker. Shall we keep Adolf or throw him in the river? Who's for keeping him?"
Seven hands went up; only Napoleon abstained, so that if anything went wrong subsequently he would be able to claim that he had told them so.
"I hope you're not making a big mistake," he said sourly. "Make sure you take his catapult away, and keep his hands tied."
Bingo went down the boat to the prisoner and untied his feet. Adolf was searched and a catapult and knife were found in his pockets.
"You can stay for the time being," said Napoleon "but I'm not keen on it, see, and if you give any trouble on this boat I'll send you to the bottom of the river so fast the fish will think you're an anchor."
"English understatement, eh?" said Adolf and he laughed, and after smiling at everyone he curled up under a seat and was soon snoring.
"I think he'll be fine," said Knocker. "Time for second watch, I'm exhausted."
Torreycanyon and Stonks took second watch and the others followed Adolf's example, wriggling into sleeping-bags and falling sound asleep, and the boat rose and fell softly through the morning, afternoon and evening, helping their slumbers to remain unbroken.
The fog-ridden sun had long since fallen below the red horizon when the boat came alive again. Napoleon aroused everyone with a rough shove and told them to eat up. He wanted to be rowing again as soon as possible. The Wandle wasn't far away but there would be much to do before daylight.
The Borribles stretched and rubbed each other's backs and shared the food from their haversacks and poured the last of the tea from their thermos flasks. Knocker took his rations and sat by the German.
"There you go, Adolf, me old china," he said. "We might have thrown you in the river quite happily but seeing as you're still here, you'd better have some grub."
Adolf sat up and ate with an appetite. "Danke," he said between mouthfuls. "Excellent."
"How come you got three names, then?" asked Knocker enviously.
"Aha," said Adolf, "it's a question of knowing the rules. You must know a few, otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you?"
"Oh, that was really Spiff, my steward, not me," said Knocker.
"In Germany," continued the foreigner, "most Borribles are happy enough to stay at home to get their names in an ordinary way, a burst of stealing, something like that, but if you are willing to go abroad a bit, like me, and the others don't mind, well, you can get as many names as you like, and I wanted to get an English name—Winston, you see."
"Where'd you get the others? Wolfgang, Amadeus, and Adolf, of course."
"Adolf I got at home, Wolfgang I got in Denmark, Amadeus in Vienna, burgling."
"They are good names," said Knocker, "very good names, and I bet there are good stories behind them."
"Every name has a story," said Adolph philosophically, "but I am glad you like them, and Winston will add something special. Yours is a fine name, too. You will tell me the story sometime? But what are the names of all the others?"
"They haven't got them yet," said Knocker, "but I can tell you what they will be when this adventure is over." And he explained the reason for the Rumble names.
Adolph was very interested. "We have Rumbles at home, too," he said. "We call them Gormutliks. They wield great power, and are dangerous and sly."
They could have talked for much longer like this but they were interrupted by orders from Napoleon.
"Come on," he called, "we've more rowing to do, otherwise we'll never get there. This ain't a holiday, you know."
They went to their seats and Napoleon slipped the moorings and the boat drifted from its hiding place. Once more they crossed the river quickly and getting on station they rowed expertly along the southern shore on the last leg of their river journey. At dawn, if Napoleon's navigation was correct, they would land at the mouth of the river Wandle, the muddy stream where only Napoleon Boot's own people knew a way through the treacherous swamps which stretched for miles under the very streets of Wandsworth.
5
The wide curve of the river was empty and still. The ripples of the heavy green water were frozen and dirty. On the Fulham shore squatted the oil depots, faceless places waiting on faceless roads that led nowhere and where nobody lived. Just before dawn Wandsworth Bridge passed over the Battersea boat, casting a darker shadow than the night, and all that the rowers saw were the powerful and unmoving waves that stood and gnawed at the stone piers on which the bridge was built.
They were now into Wandsworth Reach and along the southern side stretched a great wasteland, and although the Adventurers saw nothing they could sense the existence of a wild space from the shapeless whistling of the wind. On the northern bank stood the Cement Marketing Factory and the Trinidad Asphalt Company but the Borribles could not see where the buildings touched the sky because the sky was as black as roof-slate.
It was so murky that Napoleon was convinced he would never find the mouth of the Wandle and his companions began to despair. After several fruitless attempts he went to the front of the boat and knelt down to peer into the blackness. There were dozens of barges here, deeply laden with the old lumber of all Wandsworth, for the land around the estuary was a vast rubbish dump and somewhere amongst the hillocks of refuse meandered the slimy river.
An overpowering stench was brewing by the bank, a mixture compounded of rancid sewage, mouldering waste-paper and the rotting flesh of dead sea-birds. The water dripping from the raised and expectant oars of the rowers made no sound, so thick and oily was it. The Borribles coughed and retched, drooping on their benches, only just able to obey Napoleon's commands as he made the boat nose this way and that, his torch stabbing at the fearsome night.
At last he turned and in a whispered shout, sharp with tired excitement, said, "I've got it."
The boat drifted. The rowers twisted on their seats to look and their hearts shrank to the size of peanuts. In the flat wall of the Thames embankment, hidden behind a flotilla of barges, a gap appeared in the feeble light of Napoleon's torch.
"This must be Wandle Creek," said Napoleon. "Anyway, there's only one way to find out, and that's go up the thing." It was obvious to the others that he was tense, that he didn't really know.
The boat swung slowly round until it was knocking against the solid current of the Wandle and as soon as he was on course Napoleon ordered his crew to paddle upstream. He ran quickly down the middle of the boat, freed Adolf's hands and told him to lift out the rudder.
"If you try to escape, I'll catapult you right up the back of the bonce."
Adolf looked surprised. "Escape? This is what I came for, I'm not leaving you now."
Napoleon ran back to the bows to direct the progress of the boat in a low voice and the Borribles pulled steadily, only too glad they couldn't see where they were in the fetid gloom.
They had gone only a short distance when the creek forked and after a moment's hesitation and drifting Napoleon steered them to the left and they rowed on, levering their oars with difficulty out of water that seemed as tenacious as treacle. After ten minutes they heard Napoleon swear loudly and then call out urgently for them to stop. He struck the boat in anger. "Dammit, I forgot the weirs."
The boatload of Borribles was utterly dismayed. Across the quiet of the night came a sound from beyond their experience, a rushing and a roaring of the elements. Swivelling again in their seats they saw a foaming slope of water slanting towards them in the torchlight; racing yellow suds forced themselves up through a black and shiny surface which slid, unstoppable, towards them, like the most precipitous moving staircase in the London Underground. Polythene containers, empty paint-cans and plastic bottles surged and danced around the boat, buffeting against its sides, like evil spirits on the river to hell.
"W-what is it?" asked Bingo, trying to keep his lips steady.