The Royal Rabbits of London

by Santa Montefiore

  Then his stomach began to churn with nerves. The Ratzis could be on their way already!

  ‘You’d better come with me,’ said the big rabbit quietly and Shylo nodded.

  ‘Stay close; don’t make a sound.’

  The red-pawed rabbit looked around, checking they weren’t being followed. Then he parted the branches of the Weeping Willow: ‘Get in!’ he ordered.

  It was dark in there and smelled of damp earth, and for a moment it reminded Shylo of the warren and he felt a stab of homesickness. But there was no time to think of that. The Hopster rabbit thumped the ground a few times with his hind paw and Shylo felt the vibrations course through his body, for this big buck was really very large and extremely strong.

  ‘Who twitches there?’ came a high-pitched voice out of a speaker hidden in the earth.

  ‘Clooney,’ the rabbit replied. ‘We have a visitor.’

  There was a brief pause. ‘A visitor?’

  ‘He used the old code.’

  ‘What do you mean, the old code?’ asked the voice. ‘We have passwords now and they’re changed every year . . .’

  ‘Rats and frogs.’

  ‘Rats and frogs! But that’s . . .’

  ‘The old code, when there were codes. Long before our time,’ said Clooney impatiently. ‘Now let us in at once!’

  ‘All right, all right, don’t raise your voice at me.’

  The turf fell away and revealed a manhole cover, which sprang open like a trapdoor. Under a spaghetti-like tangle of multicoloured wires hidden beneath the opening, Shylo saw an ordinary little rabbit hole. Oh, how that made him think of the Burrow and his mother’s home-nibbled carrots! But again he had no time to dwell on that because Clooney grabbed him and pushed him into the hole where Shylo found himself at once sliding swiftly down a chute like a slide at a swimming pool. He landed with a bump and came to an abrupt halt on a red gym mat, followed by Clooney, who landed nimbly on his shiny black shoes.

  The big rabbit lifted Shylo to his paws, brushed him down and murred: ‘Right. You’re in. Now we need answers.’

  For a moment, Shylo’s fear turned to awe and he gazed about in wonder. He was in a tunnel which opened out into an enormous hallway with a vaulted ceiling. Bright wall lights on either side lit up a line of train tracks and a cart. He had made it to The Grand Burrow and he couldn’t believe he’d done it!

  Just then, a plump female rabbit in a red-and-gold ceremonial uniform appeared before him, holding a long, bejewelled staff.

  ‘Welcome, whoever you are. My name is Frisby,’ she said in a very fluffily-buffily voice. ‘I am the Major-domo of the Palace, which means I run everything down here. Without me, the pencils don’t get sharpened, the dinner doesn’t get served and the Paws of the Household would do no work at all.’

  ‘Stop rabbiting on, Frisby,’ said Clooney. The handsome rabbit rubbed his chin, narrowed his eyes and gave the little bunkin a long, hard stare. ‘This is a job for the Marshal of the Thumpers. We need to find out who this little rabbit is and fast,’ he muttered to himself.

  Without further ado, he tossed Shylo into the cart and jumped in after him. Frisby climbed in behind them and pressed a well-worn red button on the dashboard and the cart set off down the track with a jerk.

  Clooney didn’t speak to Shylo. He seemed distracted, but then Shylo noticed that the beautifully groomed rabbit was admiring his own reflection in the glass and muttering with a satisfied smile: ‘I am sooo handsome.’ Frisby observed Shylo carefully, staring curiously at his eyepatch. Shylo looked ahead, waiting for the track to come to an end as the wind raked through his fur with cold fingers.

  At last, the cart stopped. Clooney hopped off on to a carpet, which was a rich, royal scarlet, but stained and covered with holes. He made for a round door built into the earth and punched a code into a large, clunky keypad beside it. The door shook and then opened with a breezy sound like an Oooh!

  Shylo followed Clooney into a massive hall, far bigger than the size of the entire Warren back home, and his jaw swung open in astonishment. Horatio’s stories hadn’t prepared him for this.

  There were many levels, built round a large, circular hall, adorned with a giant but very cobwebby chandelier. As he looked up, Shylo could see different floors connected by wooden stairways, all busy with the comings and goings of hard-working rabbits, walking on their hind legs.

  The does wore old-fashioned blue uniforms consisting of a jacket and skirt, and the bucks wore blue trousers and ties. They were full of activity: busy at their desks, talking around tables, hopping up and down the winding staircases, carrying papers, folders, document bags and cartons of carrot juice. Shylo didn’t know what they were all doing, but it looked very important.

  They worked on old-fashioned, clunky typewriters which went click-click-clickety-click; Shylo could hear the tring-tring of old telephones and, with his highly sensitive nose, he could detect the smell of ancient, dusty books and (less appealing) the musty smell of sweat. It reminded him of home, when the whole family had spent a winter’s day underground.

  Three rabbits in red tailcoats with ruffs and gold buttons stepped forward. ‘Good morning, sir,’ said one. ‘Welcome. I am the duty Master of the Paw and it’s my job to make sure that you’re comfortable. Do you have a suitcase or—’

  Clooney, ever suave, sleek and handsome, cut him off briskly. ‘Just get me the phone,’ he commanded. ‘I need the hotline.’

  A young doe in a blue coat with gold buttons rushed over, carrying a silver plate with an ancient black telephone balanced on top of it. Clooney lifted the telephone and dialled a long number. ‘It’s the Groom of the Tail here. Tell the Marshal of the Thumpers we have a visitor.’

  He looked down at Shylo and added: ‘He doesn’t look like much but I suggest the Marshal comes at once. Tell him the visitor knows the old code.’

  No sooner had Clooney put down the telephone than a very large black Hopster rabbit appeared at the bottom of the staircase, followed by a squad of fierce-looking Thumpers, whom Shylo imagined were the Special Forces unit of highly trained soldier rabbits. The leader was not as tall as Clooney, but he was the strongest-looking rabbit that Shylo had ever seen and the whole room seemed to step aside to let him pass.

  ‘Morning, Monsters! You called the Marshal?’’ said the black Hopster in a loud, deep voice with a strong Jamaican accent. It resounded off the chandelier and echoed up the stairway. ‘Well, here I am! We have a security problem? You need muscle? Sounds like a job for Zeno.’

  His fur was shaved so that you could see his huge muscles gleaming and bulging and rippling as he walked, and his thighs alone were wider than Shylo’s entire body. When he arrived, Clooney saluted with one ear.

  ‘So who’s the pirate?’ Zeno asked and Shylo shrank behind Clooney.

  ‘He said the old code,’ Clooney informed him. ‘I had no choice but to bring him in.’

  ‘Rats and frogs?’ said Zeno in surprise. He narrowed his eyes and peered at Shylo, who winced. ‘And you brought him into the heart of The Grand Burrow?’

  Clooney laughed. ‘You really think this poor excuse for a rabbit is going to be a threat to us?’

  ‘PERHAPS HE’S NOT ALONE!’ shouted Zeno with such a loud boom that it echoed twice round the chamber, which was so quiet you could have heard a dandelion drop. ‘Sounds like something Papa Ratzi might have cooked up. Are you working for Papa Ratzi? Have you brought the Ratzis into . . .’

  ‘Unless he’s a kangaroo in disguise with an army of rats in his pouch, he’s very much alone,’ said Clooney calmly.

  ‘OK, let’s take him into the library and hear what he has to say,’ thundered the muscly rabbit. Accompanied by two large Thumpers, Clooney and Zeno, Shylo was escorted into a circular room containing a round table, twelve chairs and countless shelves of dusty old books that made Shylo think of Horatio.

  ‘So what do you have to tell me?’ asked Zeno.

  ‘I . . . I . . . I overheard a plot against the Queen
,’ Shylo declared in a small voice, then he remembered that Horatio had told him not to discuss his mission with anyone but the rabbit with two red paws. Zeno only had one.

  They all bowed with their ears at the mention of the Queen.

  ‘Sure you did,’ said Zeno, sounding unconvinced.

  ‘I . . . I . . . did,’ Shylo squeaked.

  Zeno bared his teeth. ‘What are you really here for?’

  Shylo cowered in fear. He wanted to make himself so small as to disappear altogether.

  ‘What’s all the fuss about?’ said a female voice with a strong French accent. The Thumpers parted and in she came, as grand as a countess, in a flouncy scarlet dress.

  Shylo found himself looking into the coffee-coloured eyes of a sleek, pale-brown doe with a full, curvy body and he was momentarily mesmerized like a mouse before a snake. She was more beautiful than any rabbit he had ever seen.

  Suddenly, he was aware of how dirty he must look after his journey.

  ‘May I present Belle de Paw,’ said Zeno. ‘Doe of the Dressing Table.’

  As you might imagine from the title, Belle de Paw was responsible for looking after the security of the Queen’s bedroom. However, what you might not imagine is how often her quick little paws pinched the odd diamond, crown jewel or trinket, like Queen Victoria’s thimbles that the present Queen liked to display on her dressing table. Indeed, Belle de Paw’s burrow truly twinkled and sparkled with the many gems she had most dishonestly acquired.

  Belle de Paw ran her bejewelled claws over the glittering diamond collar about her neck and smiled at the terrified rabbit. ‘So who are you, little bunny?’ she asked.

  ‘Shylo Tawny-Tail,’ he replied, straightening up.

  ‘He said the old code,’ Zeno informed her gravely.

  ‘That hasn’t been used for years,’ she gasped. ‘How do you know it, little rabbit? Who gave it to you?’ She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘How like the Ratzis to use a one-eyed bunkin to sneak inside.’

  ‘Hora— Hora—’ Shylo was desperate to convince them that he was telling the truth, but the word ‘Horatio’ formed a sticky ball on his tongue.

  Belle de Paw interrupted him and rounded on Clooney. ‘How irresponsible of you to bring a stranger into headquarters! What if he has endangered our organization? Zut alors! What if the Ratzis break in? We will have to flee. But we cannot leave. We have nowhere to go.’

  She threw her paws up at the Thumpers, flashing large, sparkling rings. ‘I couldn’t possibly pack all my jewels and my pretty clothes! I cannot exist without mes diamants!’ She stared at Zeno with desperate eyes. ‘Well, you muscle-bound idiot, DO something!’

  Zeno rolled his eyes because Belle de Paw always thought of herself first, but he was just as curious to hear the bunkin’s tale as she was. ‘Tell us about this plan to harm the Queen,’ he demanded.

  Shylo was so afraid that all he could muster was a weak murr: ‘I can’t say any more until I see the Royal Rabbit with Two Badges. Rabbit Rules of Secret Craft!’

  Zeno looked at Belle de Paw, who looked at Clooney, who in turn looked at Shylo. Zeno shrugged. ‘He’s right. Rabbit Rules. We must take him to meet the Generalissimo.’

  And in that moment, when those knowing, important and busy-looking Hopster rabbits did as he asked, Shylo felt as if he was the bravest country bunny that had ever hopped the Earth.

  But who was the Generalissimo and would he believe Shylo’s story?

  Zeno, Clooney and Belle de Paw led Shylo through a large door at the other end of the hall and up a winding staircase. Shylo wished Horatio had come with him. He would know what to do. Shylo shivered beneath his fur and felt very tired and hungry.

  They arrived at a pair of tall double doors, guarded on either side by a Hopster rabbit in a scarlet coat. The rabbits pushed open the doors and Shylo found himself in a small anteroom where groups of rabbits sat waiting on crimson chairs, whispering quietly.

  Frisby, the Major-domo whom Shylo had met when he first arrived, was standing in the middle of the room. She twitched her nose suspiciously at the sight of Shylo, but, on seeing that he was accompanied by Zeno, Clooney and Belle de Paw, she nodded at the big Thumpers standing guard outside another pair of double doors and hopped over to knock three times with her staff. The doors opened slowly.

  Shylo peered inside and saw an old grey rabbit, in a plain green uniform and military boots, bending over a long table, studying a map of London. Beside it was a model of Buckingham Palace made of matchsticks – Shylo thought it must have taken years to make! Rabbits with little rakes moved markers round the map while others sat at desks, talking on old-fashioned black telephones.

  A chocolate-coloured doe with short, spiky hair and gleaming blue eyes was giving instructions to the rabbits round the map. Shylo was transfixed by the flamboyant colours of the American flag dyed on her arms: one arm was red and white stripes, the other white stars on blue. The belt that hung around her hips was loaded with ropes, knives and a large black whip.

  When she saw them enter, she tapped the old grey rabbit on the shoulder. ‘We got company, Generalissimo,’ she said with an American accent.

  ‘Thank you, Laser.’ He looked at the group now standing before him. ‘Zeno? Belle de Paw, Clooney? Report!’ he ordered.

  His voice was clipped, gravelly and commanded respect. The Generalissimo had once been tall like Zeno and Clooney, but age had caused his shoulders to hunch and his back to curve. His face was thin, his whiskers white, his grey fur short and prickly. He carried a baton topped with a carved silver rabbit’s head.

  ‘I captured this bunkin trying to break into our organization by using the old code,’ said Clooney. ‘He says he overheard a plot to harm the Queen.’

  ‘The Ratzis sent him. I’m sure of it,’ Belle de Paw added. ‘I’d bet a pair of Jimmy Choo stilettos on it. They want my jewels!’

  ‘Jewels stolen from the Queen and the princesses,’ said Laser with a crooked grin that revealed a shining gold tooth. Belle de Paw glared at Laser who chuckled; she had more important things to do than steal jewellery.

  The Generalissimo walked stiffly and slowly round the table. Shylo watched him closely. He looked wise and honest and that gave the little bunny confidence.

  When the Generalissimo reached him, he put his thin face very close to Shylo’s and sniffed. ‘Haystacks and forests and English soil,’ he said quietly. ‘What’s a little bunkin doing in the city, I wonder? My name is Nelson. Tell me all you know.’

  Shylo felt even shyer than usual before this grand old rabbit and said nothing until Belle de Paw kicked him with one of her stilettos.

  ‘Come on, speak up, bunkin,’ said Nelson, opening his paws.

  ‘I can only tell the rabbit with . . .’ Shylo stammered and then, suddenly, he noticed that Nelson’s two front paws had red soles. ‘Ah! The Rabbit with the Double Badge. It’s you!’

  ‘Yes, it’s me,’ said Nelson. ‘Now get a move on. See that map there? That’s how we follow all the wicked and sly plans of the Ratzis and other world enemies of the Royal Family above us. We’re fighting on many fronts, bunkin. So what do you have to tell me?’

  ‘My name is Shylo Tawny-Tail and I’ve come to inform you of a plot to harm the Queen,’ Shylo said, summoning his courage and speaking as clearly and bravely as he could. After all he’d been through, it was as if he suddenly had no fear left in him.

  ‘We have a lot of those, don’t we?’ said Nelson, and Laser folded her arms and nodded. ‘Details?’

  Belle de Paw laughed. ‘I can’t wait to hear this!’ she said, rubbing her diamond-covered paws together.

  Nelson lifted his chin and gave her a withering stare. ‘The day we ignore a plot, Belle de Paw, is the day we endanger the security of the family we serve.’

  ‘But of course, Generalissimo,’ she gushed. ‘I was just . . .’ Her voice trailed off as Nelson turned his attention back to Shylo.

  ‘Go on, little bunny. Let’s hear what you have to say.’<
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  Shylo told him what he had seen and heard in the forest. Nelson listened patiently and quietly, nodding every now and then and muttering to himself. When Shylo had finished, Nelson put his hand on the bunny’s shoulder.

  ‘Hundreds of years ago our ancestors made an oath to protect the Royal Family of England,’ he told him. ‘We have never failed them. We will not fail them now!’

  ‘We will not!’ repeated the entire room.

  ‘Every man, woman, child and animal in the world, high and low, has a right to their own private heart, even in this modern world of mobile phones, internet and spaceships. When the Ratzis invade a person’s privacy, they steal a fragment of their soul,’ he said gravely.

  Shylo’s ears, which had only a moment ago flopped with fear, now stood up straight and twitched with curiosity, for surely he had heard this speech before, from Horatio.

  ‘Soul-Stealers,’ murred Laser, narrowing her blue eyes angrily.

  ‘You did right, little bunny, to come all the way from the countryside to find the Royal Rabbits of London. We’ll foil those Ratzis!’ said Nelson.

  ‘Yes,’ said Shylo, feeling very weary yet safe with the old grey rabbit. ‘No one else can stop them but you.’

  ‘The Royal Rabbits of London is a very secretive organization,’ said Nelson. ‘Most rabbits don’t even believe we exist. So I’m impressed that you, a little bunkin, managed to find your way in. Tell me, how did you find us?’

  ‘I went down a tunnel to the farm, then I hid in the farmer’s van bound for London. Then I . . .’

  Nelson’s paw grew heavier on Shylo’s shoulder. ‘What I want to know is, who told you where to find us and who gave you that code?’

  ‘Horatio said you were the only rabbits who could help,’ Shylo mumbled, not sure if he should reveal how much his friend knew about this secret society.