With Bingo's example before them, the Adventurers determined to show the Wendles that they were not downcast and each of them sang loudly of his London Borough: songs that told of fine abandoned houses and good days of thieving and food.

Knocker laughed at the songs. He felt happier now they had committed themselves to a course of action. There was no going back, so they might as well make the best of it.

All too soon they came up with Halfabar at the mouth of the sewer where the Wandle went underground. He was waiting for them and he smiled and inclined his head; the early morning sun of winter gleamed on his helmet.

"Welcome, brother Borribles," he said. "Napoleon has told us a little of your great Adventure. Your names were well won. Flinthead is impatient to hear your stories from your own lips. A great feast awaits you."

"There," said Napoleon to Knocker, "what did I tell you?" Knocker did not reply.

They followed Halfabar and his men underground and found their way by the light of the torches as they had done on their previous visit. Again the Adventurers smelt the smell of the River Wandle, penned and confined in its narrow tunnels, and the sweat of the Wendles, who guarded them on all sides, rose and stung their nostrils. Even Napoleon wrinkled his nose, so many months had he spent away that he was no longer used to the stench.

They left the river and the passage they took led them directly to the Great Hall, and there, as before, sat Flinthead, his eyes opaque. The Hall was not crowded this time, only the bodyguard stood by, heavily armed and numerous, their faces unsmiling beneath their war-helmets. In a line before Flinthead's stage were nine armchairs, and in front of them was a long table loaded with all kinds of food from the Wendles' store.

The Adventurers filed across the Hall, with members of the bodyguard at their side. They were directed to the armchairs and their knapsacks were taken and stacked behind them. Torreycanyon and Knocker dropped the burnt and valuable box in front of their seats, and when, on a gesture from Flinthead, they sat, they each put a foot on the Rumble treasure. Flinthead saw the movement and smiled indulgently. When all was still in the Hall he spoke and his voice was just the same as ever, kind, warm and solicitous.

"Welcome back," he said, and smiled again. "Your Adventure has been successful and we are proud, and not a little envious of it, though we grieve at your loss. If you are not too weary, I would like to hear of your exploits, in detail, for all we Borribles love a story of the winning of a name, and I think that there have never been names won like yours. Napoleon Boot has told me something, but I wish to hear it all from your own lips. There is food before you. Tell me your stories one by one, the rest may eat until it is their turn to tell." He pointed a finger at the end of the line away from Knocker. "You," he ordered, "begin."

So, Stonks it was, began. He told how he and Torreycanyon took the Great Door, how he defended it and how later he took the Rumble-skin, and what a fright it caused. The others ate, or aided the story with comments, correcting and enlarging the thread of the tale as it went along. Then it was the turn of Vulge, and Flinthead leant forward in his chair with great interest as he heard how the Chief Rumble had met his end. Sydney and Chalotte told of the assault on the kitchens and the subsequent retreat; then came Orococco, followed by Bingo, who told how he met with Napoleon in the great Library and how he had fought in single combat with the greatest Warrior in Rumbledom. Napoleon took up the story and told how he had shaken his namesake from the ladder and how Bingo had saved his life, and how, sorely wounded, they had squirmed and crawled their way to safety, to find Torreycanyon, who then must tell of his lonely fight in the garage and how he caused the Great Explosion which had put paid to the whole Bunker. After that, Flinthead asked of Adolf and what he had done, so Knocker related how the German and he had found Vulge, surrounded by the bodies of his enemies, and how the safe had been opened and the box discovered. And the Wendles heard the stories and leant on their spears and everyone relaxed, except Knocker, and Torreycanyon whispered that everyone seemed friendly and happy and that things would turn out fine in the end. But Knocker scowled and whispered back that things that happened could only be judged after they had happened, and then not always correctly.

But Flinthead turned his bland face to Knocker again and said, "And now you must speak further and tell us your own story, one full of colour, I am sure, and one for which I have been waiting with great interest, for were you not the writer, the Historian, and you will have seen and known things that the others did not know."

Knocker felt very uncomfortable and looked along the line of his companions. They sprawled weakly in the comfortable armchairs, their faces flushed with food and drink. They were too relaxed, too easeful, unable to defend themselves if the need arose. Knocker himself sat nervously on the edge of his seat, his feet tucked under him, ready to leap at the slightest hint of danger.

"My part was, in fact, small," he heard himself saying. "Adolf and I followed the others and discovered Vulge only after he had fought his great battle alone. Later it was a question of retreating slowly, grouping together and fighting our way along the tunnels to the Great Door where Adolf was killed, but if it hadn't been for Sam, the horse, none of us would be sitting here now." And Knocker went on to praise the horse and tell of the imprisonment under Dewdrop and his son, how they had escaped and taken Sam with them.

Flinthead cupped his chin in his right hand and rested the elbow on his knee. He swayed forward, listening with an attention that did not waver for a second. He was fixing every detail of the story in his own mind. When the tale was finished he leant back in his chair, clasped his hands in his lap and beamed a cold smile at everybody, a brittle smile that was simply a movement of facial muscle with no breath of warmth in it.

"I hope, Knocker," he said, "that you will write down all these adventures as soon as you have time. There are so few good stories left. I look forward to it." He paused and looked round the Hall at the bodyguard, then he looked down at Knocker and smiled again and flicked his finger against his thumb, just once. There was a clash of armour and soldiers moved behind the Adventurers to hold them fast, deep in the soft armchairs, knives at their throats. Held all that is save Knocker; he had been ready, perched on the edge of his chair. He jumped forward, butted a warrior in the stomach and snatched his lance.

But there was another Adventurer who had not been made captive, Napoleon Boot. He too sprang from his armchair as if expecting trouble but his lance he did not seize; one was thrust into his hands and he was joined by a band of Wendles who rushed from the side of Flinthead's stage.

Knocker crouched, his spear held low. He was convulsed with a bitter rage. To come so far, to do so much, and then to lose everything through the treachery of a fellow Adventurer.

Napoleon stood opposite him, haughty, confident. "Drop that spear, Knocker, you have no chance. If you resist we will kill you."

"You thing of no name," screamed Knocker at the top of his voice, "you liar, deceiver, traitor. May you be un-named and cursed and your story told with a curse," and Knocker drew back his arm and cast the spear at the Wendle with every ounce of strength at his command, for he hated Napoleon with every fibre of his being. But Napoleon was ready. He knew that Knocker would throw the lance and he stooped under it and it struck a Wendle behind him and such was the force of the blow that the lance pierced the warrior and the blade stood out a hands breadth behind his back.

The Wendle shrieked and fell lifeless to the floor, but his fellows leapt upon Knocker and bore him to the ground and he was cuffed and beaten and his hands were tied and at last he was hoisted to his feet. Blood trickled down his face and a bruise rose, brown and purple, on his forehead. He swayed weakly, but he swore at Napoleon Boot.

"You'd better kill me, you no-name-bastard-Wendle," he said, hissing the words, "for if I live, I'll kill you. I'll train a race of Borribles who will seek you out and put you through a mincer."

Napoleon ignored him and gave a sign and the other Adventurers were hauled to their feet and their hands bound fast. Flinthead rose from his chair and came to the edge of the stage.

"Well, there we are, nice and tidy." Again he clicked his fingers and the box was prised open to reveal the banknotes. "Hmm," said Flinthead, "very handy! Napoleon, you have done well, you shall be promoted to the bodyguard, co-captain with Tron and . . . er . . . choose yourself a second name while you are at it. I want you to see that your . . . friends are safely locked up. As for the box, that must be guarded day and night by members of the bodyguard, but you will be responsible for it—with your life, of course. Take as many Wendles as you need." Flinthead looked down at the captives and smiled his smile of death once more but they did not watch his face. They stood looking at the ground, their shame too great to bear, tears of anger in their eyes. Only Knocker held his head up and shouted after the Wendle Chieftain as he left, "Guard yourself well, Flinthead. I'll ram that money down your throat before I'm finished. I'll skin you alive, you and your bodyguard of un-named, slow-witted, snot-gobblin' morons."

But Flinthead just waved a bored hand and without looking round he went from the Great Hall surrounded, as always, by the pick of his bodyguard.

When Flinthead had gone, Halfabar stepped up to Napoleon and gave him a warrior's helmet and a special jacket. Napoleon put them on and tugged the lance from the corpse on the floor and he rapped the bloody tip of it against Knocker's chest. "You shuddup, sonny," he said. "You're a nobody and nobody wants to hear you."

By way of reply Knocker spat directly into Napoleon's face and the saliva trickled down his nose. Angered, Napoleon twirled the lance expertly in one hand and caught Knocker a stinging blow across the head and Knocker fell to his knees.

Although bound and outnumbered by the bodyguard Knocker's companions stepped forward and stood fearlessly between Napoleon and his victim.

"Leave it alone," said Stonks, in an untroubled voice. "Leave it alone, you skinny fart, or I'll kill you."