The eight captives looked at each other and pondered and at length Bingo sniffed, stepped forward and threw his arms round Napoleon and hugged him tight. One by one the others did the same, even Knocker, who came last, saying, "Well, whatever was in your mind when you betrayed us to Flinthead, let us hope that now you have come to a final decision. Tell us what to do, Napoleon. I for one am longing to see the sky again and walk through a market."
Napoleon relaxed when Knocker had finished speaking and he told them his plan. There were normally two sentries outside the door but he had sent them off to a guardroom, where they were resting. They would have to be dealt with first. In the guardroom would be found Wendle clothes and waders, arms and ammunition. They would steal what they needed and, as soon as they were disguised and armed, he would take them to The Silver Belle Flower. If they ran into Wendle warriors they would have to fight. Even if they got the boat under way, they still wouldn't be safe but they would have a good chance. Once they emerged onto the River Thames they would be out of danger, though still a long journey from Battersea Reach.
The Borribles agreed to the plan and gathered by the door, while Napoleon unlocked it and looked into the tunnel. He stepped out after a moment and motioned the others to follow him and they crept towards the guardroom, united again.
They overpowered the two off-duty guards and in a short time they were dressed as fierce Wendle bodyguards, wearing black rubber waders and orange jackets. They armed themselves with steel catapults and double bandoliers; there were Rumble-sticks in the room too and each Borrible took one.
"All we have to do now," said Napoleon, "is march along in an orderly fashion, and all being well we'll march straight onto the boat and no one will give us a second glance. It will just seem as if I am taking a fresh guard to one of the outlets."
Knocker jammed his tin-can helmet onto his head and said, "I want the money," just like that, calm, toneless.
Napoleon looked at him in amazement. "Don't be mad," he protested. "It's kept right next to Flinthead's apartments. There's a squad of the bodyguard sitting on it all the time, day and night."
"That's right," said Knocker, "and you're Keeper of the Box, aren't you? I'm sure you can order them to stand up for five minutes."
"Straight up," said Stonks. "I never cared about the money from the word go, in fact I hate it, but I don't like being shoved into prison, half-starved, and then used like some stuffed hare at a greyhound track to be chased about in tunnels by a lot of tin-helmeted twits. It's the principle of the thing."
"I agree, man," said Orococco, "if we leave the money behind, old Flintbonce will be sitting pretty and laughing away all over his flat face. I'd like to put one over on him."
"Yes," said Sydney, "he ought to be shown that Borribles should treat Borribles fair and square, if nothing else."
"It's so dangerous," said Napoleon.
Knocker said, "Anyone against the idea?"
"Nobody takes my catapult away and tells me to piss off," said Bingo. "Nobody."
"Me neither," said Torreycanyon.
Vulge said, "Let's just say that this one's for Adolf."
It was this last remark that brooked no argument, only Chalotte had something to add. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled exhaustedly. "I think you're all mad," she said, "but how can I stay behind now?"
Napoleon sighed, looked at their faces, and gave in.
They formed up in pairs and, looking every inch as military and as ferocious as Wendle bodyguards, they tramped out of the guardroom and through the long sloping tunnels. They hummed the Wendle marching song as they went and any non-warriors they met hastily squeezed out of their way, or stepped into a side-tunnel to let them pass.
"This is the way to escape," said Bingo to Knocker, who marched beside him and behind Napoleon, "with verve and bravado. I shall compose a song about this when I get back to Battersea."
They marched for a long while but Napoleon led them with confidence this way and that in a maze of criss-crossing corridors. Not once were they questioned, not once were they given more than a brief disinterested glance. The power of the warrior class had been built up over a long period by Flinthead and now it was working against him. Warrior spoke only to warrior, ordinary Wendles kept their distance.
Soon the tunnels became more spacious and were gracefully arched and dry under foot. This was the old Victorian part of the sewers and no longer used except by Wendles. It was a warm and comfortable section and that was why Flinthead had established his quarters here, and the room where the treasure-box was held was getting nearer at every step. In a deserted part of the tunnel Napoleon halted his company and explained what he had in mind.
"It is nearly time for the guard to be changed," he said, looking at his watch. "You will pretend to be the new guard. You will march in, follow my orders exactly, and then I will march off with the old guard. I'll get back as soon as I can, on some pretext. We'll only have a few minutes before the real guard turns up, looking for me. They will discover the box gone and will raise the alarm. We'll have to run like a train to get to the boat. If anyone tries to interfere, hit him hard and run on. Remember these ain't Rumbles you'll be fighting, but Wendles, and the best of them."
They formed up again and marched another fifty yards, and then wheeled smartly into a wide guardroom, very comfortably furnished. At the far end of the room was an iron door, rather like the one that had held them in prison, but this door was larger and heavier and studded with huge rivets.
Napoleon yelled. "Guard, halt!" and the eight of them brought their rubber-heeled waders together as one man. "Oh, yes, very smart," said Napoleon, his face giving nothing away, and he went over to the door that led to the strongroom.
He rapped on the door with the butt of his lance—a special knock it was, too—and the Borribles stood stiff to attention. A flap in the iron door swung open immediately and a helmeted Wendle's face could be seen through the opening.
"I've brought the relief guard, sergeant," said Napoleon, and before the other could ask the question forming in his mind, Napoleon added, "I know I'm early but I'm on special business for Flinthead."
The Wendle guard nodded, closed the flap and the door swung open and he marched his men out and formed them up in a line opposite the new arrivals. He handed the keys to Napoleon and observed, "There's one man short."
"Yes," said Napoleon casually, "he'll be along in a minute. He wasn't ready in time. I couldn't wait."
The sergeant of the guard fell in at the head of his men and waited for Napoleon's orders.
Napoleon led his command into the strongroom and gave Knocker the keys. "Lock the door immediately, Wendle," he said in his sternest voice. "Let no one through but me," and without another look at the Adventurers he did an about turn and marched off with the sergeant and his eight men.
As soon as Napoleon had gone, Knocker closed and locked the door and leant against it, the sweat trickling down under his armpits.
The strongroom was small and the box stood on a table in the centre of it. Round the walls were comfortable armchairs for the guards and a couple of tables carrying food and drink. Wendle warriors wanted for nothing.
"Help yourselves to some grub," said Knocker. "It may be a long while before we eat again."
The Adventurers needed no second bidding but used the time to fill their stomachs, and their pockets, with food.
All too quickly came the special knock at the door and Knocker opened the flap. His heart missed a beat. It was not Napoleon but Halfabar standing there. Luckily he was alone and did not recognise Knocker under the Wendle helmet.
"Yes," said Knocker.
"You mean, 'yes, sir'," said Halfabar.
"Yes, sir," said Knocker.
"Open up," sneered Halfabar. "I saw you marching up here and I want to know why there's only eight of you instead of the normal nine. That cocky little Napoleon has slipped up on the job this time. Promoted over my head, he was. I'll screw him for that."
During this conversation Orococco had flattened himself against the wall and now he nodded to Knocker. Knocker unlocked the door, opened it and stepped back respectfully to allow the Wendle to enter. As Halfabar came across the threshold Orococco seized him by the throat and shoved him tight against the wall.
"My friend Adolf ain't here," he said between his teeth, "but I know he'd want me to look after you before we leave."
He shifted his grip and grabbed the Wendle by his scruff and seat, holding him up like a limp bolster. "Remember, Halfabar," hissed Orococco, "you can't live by bread alone," and he threw the Wendle into the room like a sack of spuds.
"Leave him to me," he cried, his black face intoxicated with pleasure and his eyes rolling as they hadn't done since the Battle of Rumbledom. But Halfabar did not rise. Orococco had thrown him into the room with such gusto that the Wendle had broken his head against the box of money. His tin helmet had split open like a rotten orange. It was wedged over his face and his ginger hair sprouted through the crest like rusty springs from a discarded mattress. Blood dripped from the box to the floor.