They were wary of approaching the horse from the front but they did not scruple to run at the cart from the side and throw their lances with all the strength they could muster. The bravest of them ran alongside and tried desperately to climb on board, and some threw lances at Sam, hoping to wound him, to injure a leg or a hoof. But things had changed in favour of the Borribles. Inside the cart were the hundreds of stones they had loaded earlier, and this godsend was nearly as important as the arrival of Sam himself. Now the Borribles took out their catapults to fire broadsides of stones with telling effect and the Rumbles, though attacking constantly, were forced back to a respectful distance.

Sam pulled the cart along by the side of the hill that covered the Bunker. The ground pitched and rolled beneath his hooves, as explosions and fires continued to devastate the Rumble stronghold. A hundred plumes of yellow smoke were hanging foul against the sky, misshapen and forlorn, like the clouds of burning dust above a hundred London crematoria. The heart of the Rumbledom empire had been consumed by a mysterious detonation and it would be many years before it could be repaired and rebuilt.

Sam headed into the dense mass of Warriors and they brandished their spears in fury. One slip from the horse under the onslaught of those flying lances and the escape would be over.

"Keep going, Sam," prayed Knocker, "as fast as you can."

But Sam veered suddenly, so violently as almost to tip the Borribles overboard.

"Hey, what's going on?" shouted Stonks.

"I don't know," cried Knocker, "it's Sam . . ." He broke off and stood up in the driver's seat. "Look, look," he yelled, "over there."

Over there was back towards the hill they had just left with such difficulty and danger and Sam, for good reasons of his own, had decided to turn in that direction.

"Now, we're really in the cart," said Orococco.

There was a shout from the Rumbles and they too looked back towards the Bunker and then they ran to intercept the Borribles for they had seen a chance of victory. On the edge of the hillside, in the centre of an embattled gateway, at the very core of the explosions, three figures had appeared, silhouetted against high flames that leapt and danced behind them. Unless they were rescued within a minute or two, Torreycanyon, Bingo and Napoleon would be forced to retreat into the fire or die on the spears of the enraged Rumbles.

Knocker urged Sam to a gallop. "Oh, come on, Sam," he pleaded. "Oh, Sam, run, run, or we'll be too late. No more to die, not now, not now!"

The horse galloped on and the Borribles crowded to the front of the lurching cart, firing forwards and sideways to keep their enemies beyond lance range of the horse. Sam neighed as loudly as he could and the Rumbles fell back in dismay under his second onslaught, robbed yet again of the Borrible blood they had hoped to spill.

When Sam skidded and slid to a halt before the burning garage only Torreycanyon was able to get into the cart without help. Bingo and Napoleon, weakened by the wounds they had sustained in the Library, and their insides demolished by the near-suffocation of their trip along the ventilation shaft, had to be manhandled aboard. They fell into senseless heaps over the unconscious form of Vulge, and they knew nothing more until several hours later.

Knocker wheeled the fearless horse about once more to face the enemy troops, but courage was deserting the Rumbles. They knew now that their High Command had gone and there was no real cohesion in their ranks. Their principal Bunker had been completely ruined and was in flames about their ears. The workshops, the armoured car, the laboratories, the Library, the kitchens, the dormitories—the whole structure had been dismantled and their best warriors killed, slain in single combat or vanquished by stealth and cunning. They had tried everything and they had fought well but they had perished beneath wheels and hooves or they had been struck down by the unerring aim of the Borrible catapults. Demoralized, they fell back, and though they kept pace with the cart they kept well out of range and their numbers thinned as Sam cantered to the very confines of Rumbledom and to the main road that bounded it.

Sam halted. It was rush hour on a cold, wintry morning. The cars and buses zipped along the wet road, sending up a fine spray over the Borribles. Not one adult could be seen walking anywhere and no one seemed to have noticed the great battle. The Borribles gathered at the end of the cart and held on to the tailboard; even Knocker left his seat and came back to look. There in the falling mist and swirling rain stood several hundred Rumbles, leaning despondently on their spears. They could come no further; in the streets they would be recognised and caught. The Borribles had eluded them, sorely wounded it was true, but still they had escaped. Now the Rumbles would have to return to their shattered Bunker and salvage what they could.

The Borribles did not cheer, did not wave their catapults aloft, they simply watched as the Rumbles turned slowly and melted away between gorse bushes and trees, or went down into the hollows or up over the hillsides, until there was nothing to be seen but the blue-grey rain blurring the outlines of the black and green of Rumbledom. There might never have been a Rumble on the face of the earth and sadness filled the hearts of the victorious Borribles.

"Oh," sighed Chalotte, blinking, "I wish there'd been some other way."

"Maybe there was, maybe there wasn't," said Torreycanyon. "One thing is sure, once we got in there, we had to fight like the clappers to get out. They ain't so soft."

The moment of reflection was ended by Sam who saw a gap in the traffic and set off across Parkside and passed into Queensmere. The Borribles were heading into the broad calm of the residential area where Dewdrop had taken them stealing. They were safe from Rumbles now, but if the bodies of Dewdrop and his son had been found, the police would be looking hard for them, and of course, Sam.