"Take your name, any way," said Knocker flatly, and he held out his hat.

The Wendle narrowed his eyes and screwed up his mouth to prove that he didn't care a damn about Knocker or anyone else and he pulled out his name. He nodded, then he laughed loud, pleased and hostile.

"Out with it," said Knocker impatiently. "What is it?"

"What a name I have," he cried, "I shall cover it in glory."

"Or mud."

The Wendle ignored Knocker and looked up and down the line of adventurers. "Napoleon Boot," he said loudly. "Call me Napoleon Boot."

"And I suppose you know why you're going to Rumbledom?" asked Knocker.

"Why am I going?" The other was angry. "What's wrong with you? Because I hate them, that's why. I always have hated them, and if you always had 'em leering down at yer from Rumbledom, like I have, you'd hate 'em as much as I do. I don't need these other seven to come up the Burrow with me. I'll tear it apart on me tod."

Knocker shrugged. He was glad to move on to the last of the male Borribles. He looked at the face and liked it. It was square and flat, and the eyes were optimistic under the spiky brown hair. This Borrible looked like he could take a lot of knocks and still come up smiling.

"Well," he said, "as I'm last, I hardly have to take my name out, do I? I mean I've seen the books, too, like the others, even in Hoxton, so I know my name then, it's Torreycanyon."

Knocker gave the empty hat to Dodger and took the beret with the two names only in it. He stood in front of the two Borrible girls, and felt embarrassed. He was used to girls of course but not to be trained as lookouts. He didn't like the idea of girls on this adventure and wondered how it had happened. He looked from one to the other of them; he was forced to admit that they were tough-looking, and certainly their ears were amongst the most beautifully shaped he had ever seen, denoting strong character, unbendable wills and great slyness and cunning. He couldn't fault them there. But, he thought, they'll never be able to support the rigours of the trek, the dangers, the rough living out-of-doors, every night a different bivouac. And what effect would they have on the team as a whole? That really worried him. He knew Borribles, they would quarrel and fight just as well as they could steal.

Knocker glanced back down the line and found the others watching him closely. Orococco was smiling, his white teeth shining against his black skin; even the Wendle, Napoleon Boot, was smirking.

"Where are you girls from?" asked Knocker.

"Whitechapel," said the first.

"Neasden," said the second. Knocker held out the hat to the girl from Whitechapel. "Take one of these," he said. The girl took out a piece of paper and read her name simply, with no comment. "Chalotte," she said, her voice cool and relaxed. Her green eyes flickered over Knocker's face and she smiled. Knocker thought she was beautiful; her hair fell to her waist and was blond, her skin shone and her legs were well-shaped and long.

He gave the last piece of paper to the girl from Neasden. "Sydney," she said when she'd looked at it. Knocker looked at her. Her hair was dark and shiny and her eyes were grey and her face was kind.

"Why did Whitechapel and Neasden send you two?" he asked, disguising his shyness behind a sarcastic tone. "Haven't they got any male Borribles out there?"

Chalotte said, "The message that came to Whitechapel specified a female Borrible."

"And the Neasden message."

Chalotte nodded. "If you look at the Rumble books you'll see that two of the High Command are female. That's why we were asked, I should think."

"Hmm," said Knocker. He went to move away from them, and then turned suddenly, raising his voice. "There will be no favouritism, you will be treated just like the others, no difference at all. You will march like the others, you will train like the others and sleep on the ground like the others, and you will wear the same combat clothes. When you leave you must expect the same conditions—exactly. You will march as long, eat as little and fight as much as every other member of the expeditionary force. No favours, so ask for none. You will take the same risks as the others, and maybe perish with them. Do you understand?"

If Knocker had hoped to frighten Chalotte and Sydney with this outburst he had failed. They looked at each other and then looked at the chief lookout.

"That is why we came," said Chalotte and quoted a Borrible proverb. "No name earns itself."

"Yes," said Sydney, "we know the score. Any time you think we aren't up to scratch you send us back."

Knocker turned again and walked to where he could address all of them. "Right," he began, "now you have your names, training will last a fortnight, all day and every day. I'll give the details tomorrow. First thing you must do is learn your enemy. We have the Rumble books here but we have something that is better, Spiff's notes and studies of the enemy and their way of life. We will start reading right away. In his notes you will find a detailed description of each of the Rumbles of the High Command. Now you know your names you know which one is yours and you must know exactly what he or she looks like. You will have to distinguish between him and a thousand others right in the middle of a punch-up. Another thing, we shall be training with the Rumble-stick or sticker, the enemy's weapon, a four-inch nail stuck into the end of a lance of wood. They use it like a spear, or as a quarter-staff and dagger combined. The Rumble is good with it, cuts his teeth on it—you've got to be better. From now on we work hard. Your survival will depend on this training."

The next two weeks were weeks of exhausting activity. The eight members of the expeditionary force never stopped working. Every morning at five Knocker had them on their feet for half an hour's physical jerks, just to get the blood circulating properly through their brains. After breakfast they had a morning training session inside the gym, the subject chosen by Dodger or Knocker. They did things like Rumble-stick combat, adult evasion and impromptu excuse making. They perfected their tactics for stealing in pairs and in fours and they practised racing starts and fast running, for all Borribles are rapid movers. Before lunch they slipped out for a quick run, just a mile or so to improve their wind. To keep them in trim Knocker made them responsible for stealing their own midday meal and they ate it all together in some uncomfortable spot along by the river on some windswept bomb-site, or in some draughty house with no windows. This was to get them used to the conditions they would meet when they set out on the adventure itself. Knocker watched the girls closely but they never complained and they did everything just as well as anyone else.

After the midday meal they went back to the gym for a short rest of half an hour or so and then Knocker would test them on Borrible knowledge and on Rumble studies. This was the kind of information that each expedition member was expected to have at his fingertips. He tested them a lot on this so that every one of them had a mind as sharp and as hard and as useful as a brand new tin-opener. They learned practical information too about how to avoid capture, how to escape when caught and how to aid other Borribles when in trouble. Knocker insisted that the eight of them should have all this knowledge ready in their minds so it could pop up automatically. There was no telling what they might come across on the long and dangerous journey to Rumbledom; they would have to be prepared for anything and everything.

After the session with the books there was always more physical training. Dodger taught them how to jump from a great height and fall without hurting themselves; how to take punches rolling with the blow, how to duck and weave. He taught them the vulnerable spots of the Rumble anatomy and again how to use the Rumblestick. Then, in the latter part of the afternoon, Knocker, who'd had a great deal of experience, more than any other known Borrible, taught them field tactics which was all about crossing commons and parks. He took them into the wildest terrain, like the middle of Clapham Common which was very open and deserted, just the place for Rumbles to burrow in secret and establish themselves unnoticed. Like other Borribles Knocker much preferred crowded streets with markets and shops, but unlike the others he'd been obliged, because of his calling, to do an enormous amount of country work. Somehow he had made himself overcome the basic fear that Borribles have when faced with woods and fields. They hate such things. "Fields", they say, "are always windy and there is nowhere to hide, no crowds to get lost in, and there is nothing to pick up, no lorries for things to fall off. It's not so bad when the sun is hot and a Borrible can lie under the shade of a tree looking at the sky moving between the branches, but even then a Borrible really likes to be up to something, in the street."

In spite of all this Knocker forced his team to undertake many a journey into Battersea Park and he taught them how to listen for the sound underneath the ground that told them that a Rumble or a mole or a rat was down there. They learned how to climb trees and how to jump from them and how to crawl through bushes. But, over and above all this, Knocker made them train hour after hour with the Borribles' traditional and preferred weapon. It had been used by them for generations, and had been chosen for its simplicity, its range, its power and its deadliness. It was a weapon that was very ancient but was as efficient as any modern invention. It could be made anywhere and, back in the days of the nineteenth century when Borribles had endured great hardships and had been hounded from place to place, it had become their favourite method of defense because of the cheapness of its manufacture. The weapon was of course that very dangerous one, the catapult.

Every Borrible was born an expert with the catapult, but the Eight would have to surpass the usual standards and become boringly accurate, able to hit a Rumble on the snout each time they fired.

"You must never miss," Knocker told them. "You will have a great deal of provisions to carry, but if you all keep ten stones in reserve you should be able to account for eighty of the enemy between you. If you are besieged, always choose somewhere where you can find plenty of ammunition lying about, then you will be invincible." And so each of the Eight became a crack shot; every one of them could take a fly off a park-keeper's nose at a hundred yards and he'd never even notice.