Read Online The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis by Michael de Larrabeiti - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael de Larrabeiti
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic
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then don’t fight ’em fair.’
Chalotte studied the acrobat carefully, searching his physical appearance for some clue to his personality. His hair was ginger and stuck out sideways like bristles on a chimney sweep’s brush. He had a round face, broad as a cabbage, with muscular cheeks and a big adult mouth; one of his eyes seemed wider than the other. His hands were broad and strong; fingers like coach bolts with hexagon nuts for knuckles. He wore a striped jersey of thick wool, cut off jaggedly at the elbows, and his fawn trousers were stained with oil. He made you think of a burglar who’d fallen on hard times. Chalotte shrugged; Borribles were burglars, after all was said and done.
She next turned her attention to Scooter. He was different. He was not so strongly built as Ninch, though he was still broad in the shoulder and beefy in the arm for a Borrible. He looked as tough as a bag of nails but somehow his face was more careless, more open. His black hair shone like tarmac in rain and touched his shoulders. His chin was
pointed, his eyes brown and although his expression, like Ninch’s, had a touch of the adult, it was not troubled or preoccupied but clear and spontaneous.
Chalotte wiped some stew off her plate with a piece of bread. Something wasn’t quite right, but whatever it was eluded her. She looked at all the acrobats in turn. They were all talking and smiling; telling the stories of their names in true Borrible fashion, asking questions about the Great Rumble Hunt and scratching their pointed ears. It must be all right.
And so the eating and talking went on and the acrobats and the Adventurers warmed to each other’s company and suspicious fell away. As with all Borribles the stories flew thick and fast. The acrobats told tale after tale of their travels and the strange people they had met in other circuses and fairgrounds. The Adventurers told stories too, of Rumbledom and Flinthead’s mine, but they did not reveal what they were doing crossing Clapham Common at night and why Sam the horse was one of their number.
At last, after every person there had taken his or her part in the story-telling, heads began to droop and the acrobats went to their caravan and the Adventurers crept under the stage, taking Sam with them. Safe and warm in their sleeping bags, their stomachs full, they soon fell asleep and the night was dark and silent all around save only for the sound of a car now and then as it zipped along the rainy road which crossed the common just a hundred yards from where the vagabonds slept.
Only Napoleon Boot was wakeful, his knife under his hand, his catapult by his side. He was puzzled. He and Knocker and Chalotte and all the others had taken a good look at the ears of the acrobats to check that they were what they said they were, but the circus people had not inspected the ears of the Adventurers, and that wasn’t Borrible, not a bit Borrible. This thought nagged at Napoleon’s mind all night, but then Napoleon Boot had always found it difficult to trust anyone, especially if they were being friendly.
Whatever Napoleon’s suspicions the night passed without incident. In the morning, at the moment of daybreak, Scooter and Ninch woke the
Adventurers with handfuls of fruit and fresh bread rolls and mugs of tea. When this meal was over Ninch went to the back of the tent and, making sure the coast was clear, he lifted the canvas over Sam’s head and the horse went out into the open, happy to find there the company of other horses and soft green grass to stand on under the trees. The Adventurers hesitated to follow.
‘Won’t it be dangerous?’ asked Chalotte.
‘Swipe me!’ answered Ninch. ‘No one will have time to notice you. Besides, there’s always loads of kids hanging round a circus, a few more won’t make any difference.’ And so, reassured, the Borribles followed the horse and saw what they had been unable to see the previous evening.
All round them were the trucks
Chalotte studied the acrobat carefully, searching his physical appearance for some clue to his personality. His hair was ginger and stuck out sideways like bristles on a chimney sweep’s brush. He had a round face, broad as a cabbage, with muscular cheeks and a big adult mouth; one of his eyes seemed wider than the other. His hands were broad and strong; fingers like coach bolts with hexagon nuts for knuckles. He wore a striped jersey of thick wool, cut off jaggedly at the elbows, and his fawn trousers were stained with oil. He made you think of a burglar who’d fallen on hard times. Chalotte shrugged; Borribles were burglars, after all was said and done.
She next turned her attention to Scooter. He was different. He was not so strongly built as Ninch, though he was still broad in the shoulder and beefy in the arm for a Borrible. He looked as tough as a bag of nails but somehow his face was more careless, more open. His black hair shone like tarmac in rain and touched his shoulders. His chin was
pointed, his eyes brown and although his expression, like Ninch’s, had a touch of the adult, it was not troubled or preoccupied but clear and spontaneous.
Chalotte wiped some stew off her plate with a piece of bread. Something wasn’t quite right, but whatever it was eluded her. She looked at all the acrobats in turn. They were all talking and smiling; telling the stories of their names in true Borrible fashion, asking questions about the Great Rumble Hunt and scratching their pointed ears. It must be all right.
And so the eating and talking went on and the acrobats and the Adventurers warmed to each other’s company and suspicious fell away. As with all Borribles the stories flew thick and fast. The acrobats told tale after tale of their travels and the strange people they had met in other circuses and fairgrounds. The Adventurers told stories too, of Rumbledom and Flinthead’s mine, but they did not reveal what they were doing crossing Clapham Common at night and why Sam the horse was one of their number.
At last, after every person there had taken his or her part in the story-telling, heads began to droop and the acrobats went to their caravan and the Adventurers crept under the stage, taking Sam with them. Safe and warm in their sleeping bags, their stomachs full, they soon fell asleep and the night was dark and silent all around save only for the sound of a car now and then as it zipped along the rainy road which crossed the common just a hundred yards from where the vagabonds slept.
Only Napoleon Boot was wakeful, his knife under his hand, his catapult by his side. He was puzzled. He and Knocker and Chalotte and all the others had taken a good look at the ears of the acrobats to check that they were what they said they were, but the circus people had not inspected the ears of the Adventurers, and that wasn’t Borrible, not a bit Borrible. This thought nagged at Napoleon’s mind all night, but then Napoleon Boot had always found it difficult to trust anyone, especially if they were being friendly.
Whatever Napoleon’s suspicions the night passed without incident. In the morning, at the moment of daybreak, Scooter and Ninch woke the
Adventurers with handfuls of fruit and fresh bread rolls and mugs of tea. When this meal was over Ninch went to the back of the tent and, making sure the coast was clear, he lifted the canvas over Sam’s head and the horse went out into the open, happy to find there the company of other horses and soft green grass to stand on under the trees. The Adventurers hesitated to follow.
‘Won’t it be dangerous?’ asked Chalotte.
‘Swipe me!’ answered Ninch. ‘No one will have time to notice you. Besides, there’s always loads of kids hanging round a circus, a few more won’t make any difference.’ And so, reassured, the Borribles followed the horse and saw what they had been unable to see the previous evening.
All round them were the trucks
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