The Royal Rabbits of London

by Santa Montefiore

  Grimbo was trying to study his tablet, turning it round and round in his thin paws, struggling to work out where they were. He looked up into the tunnel above. ‘But I’m sure that—’

  ‘Come on!’ Shylo interrupted. ‘It’s not far now. We’re nearly there.’

  The Ratzis followed him along the tunnel and Shylo tried to remember Zeno’s instructions. Right, second left . . . At last, they arrived at the round door that Zeno had told him would open into the palace. Shylo put his paw on the doorknob. ‘We’re here.’

  ‘We’re here, we’re here!’ sang Splodge. ‘We’re going to see the Queen!’

  They raised their phones and cameras ready to take a photo.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ screeched Baz.

  Shylo held his breath.

  ‘Lights!’ squealed Grimbo.

  ‘Cameras!’ squeaked Splodge.

  ‘Action!’ yelled Baz.

  Shylo opened the door.

  Shylo hopped through the door into the corridor. The three Ratzis followed, tumbling over each other in their eagerness to see the Queen.

  Baz was holding his camera in his paws, ready to take the wicked photographs, while Splodge had his selfie stick poised to snap himself in the palace with the Queen. Grimbo’s tongue was hanging out and he was panting with excitement, eager to send the photographs of the Queen in her nightie to the editor of Rat-on-a-celebrity.com.

  They were staring so hard, so keenly, at their phones and cameras that they didn’t smell the Pack or pick up the patter of little paws trotting over the carpet at the other end of the corridor. But Shylo did. For a moment, he panicked. To have the Ratzis and the Pack so close was terrifying. But, as we’ve learned by now, Shylo was a clever rabbit, and he was at once struck with an idea.

  ‘This ain’t the Queen’s bedroom!’ bellowed Baz, looking around him. ‘Where are we?’ and he leaned over Shylo, drawing back his gums, and enveloped him in a stinky cloud of rat-breath.

  ‘Come on!’ Shylo beckoned, trying to remain calm. He waved his paw and set off in the opposite direction to the Pack. ‘It’s this way. We’re nearly there.’

  Knowing that the dogs were heading towards them, he pulled his backpack off his shoulder and took out the cookies. ‘Ah, I’m so hungry!’ he said, pretending to stuff them into his mouth, but leaving a trail of crumbs on the carpet behind him.

  ‘If you’ve lied to us, we’ll have your skin!’ snarled Baz.

  Shylo found a strength he never knew he had and raced on as quickly as his legs could carry him, scattering more crumbs behind him.

  At that moment, a maid stepped into the corridor and saw the little rabbit. Her hand shot to her mouth and she let out a muffled squeak: ‘A rabbit in the palace!’ Then she saw the giant, ugly rats with their sloping backs and pink tails, and she let out a piercing scream before fainting.

  Shylo quickened his pace, jumping over the foot of another maid who dropped her tray in fright. Its contents clattered on to the carpet, almost hitting Splodge on the head as he scurried past. Then the dogs, led by Lady Araminta Fortescue, who had left the Queen to have her bath, picked up the scent of cookie. With their noses to the ground, they sped over the carpet, lapping up the crumbs with greedy tongues.

  Ahead of Shylo a pair of doors swung open and a group of servants hurried out of the kitchen to see what all the commotion was. Shylo seized the opportunity and dived through the gap, hoping that the three fat rats were close behind him. He only had to get them across the kitchen and into the Kennel and then, with luck, the corgis would be right behind to polish them off.

  Shylo jumped on to the sideboard, dodging pots and pans and chopping boards piled high with peeled parsnips and potatoes. The Ratzis were in hot pursuit; Shylo could almost feel their stinky breath on his back and he could certainly smell it, even over the aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling bacon.

  The chef, red-faced in his white hat, started to shout. He grabbed a rolling pin and began to whack the sideboard, but he missed the animals every time. Vegetables flew into the air: onions, parsnips, peppers and cabbage, carrots, potatoes and peas. It was raining delicious treats, but Shylo didn’t have time to enjoy the sight because he was running for his life.

  And now the corgis had picked up the scent of rabbit and rat, which was much more appealing than cookie, and were tearing into the kitchen in a flurry of paws, tails, ears and snouts: yelpyapyelpyapsnufflegrrrrrr . . .

  Shylo took a great leap from the sideboard and swung on the rack suspended above an island of cabinets in the middle of the room and then dived into an empty biscuit jar on the butcher’s table, which rolled down the marble, on to the floor and through the double doors at the other end of the kitchen. The doors to the Kennel!

  The jar shot into the Kennel, making Shylo feel dizzy as he was spun around inside it. When he felt the world stop spinning, he opened his eyes. As you might expect, the Kennel was not like any other kennel in the world. Most dog kennels are just ramshackle little wooden huts in people’s gardens, but the royal corgis had a kennel that was like a giant, wooden doll’s house for dogs.

  Shylo gazed in wonder at the sumptuous dog baskets full of crimson velvet cushions and enormous dog bones, lined up in a row against the right-hand wall, and at the silver dog bowls engraved with the corgis’ names. Then his gaze was drawn to the dark interior of a smaller room at the back and he was sure he could make out the shadowy forms of rabbit skins on hooks, rabbit tails in bowls and dishes full of rabbit paws. The smell was worse than Tobias’s rotting pigeon.

  Suddenly, with high-pitched squeaks and squeals, the three furious Ratzis burst through the doors and gathered round the jar, panting heavily, claws raised. Shylo jumped in alarm.

  ‘I’ll have my rump now,’ said Splodge and his sharp rat’s teeth glinted like knives as he grinned.

  At this point, Shylo realized the horrible truth. He had lured the Ratzis to the Kennel and fulfilled his part of the plan, but where was Zeno? This was the moment the Marshal of the Thumpers was meant to rescue Shylo and he was nowhere to be seen. Where was he?

  Then it came in a flash of clarity, like a bolt between the eyes: Zeno had betrayed him. Shylo could have kicked himself for being so utterly stupid. Why would Zeno, who hadn’t even tried to hide his dislike of him from the first moment they met, come to his rescue?

  Laser might have, but perhaps even she saw Shylo as a nuisance – a weak and feeble country bunny . . . Perhaps all of the Royal Rabbits wanted him out of the way, and how better than in the jaws of a Ratzi? No one would ever know the truth. And no one would be at all sorry.

  His mother back home in the Warren would never know how brave Shylo had been. That, in spite of all his feebleness and his eyepatch, he had come to London, found the Royal Rabbits and talked to the vicious Ratzis to save the Queen. Even Horatio, the one rabbit who had believed in him, would never know that Shylo had discovered that there really was more to him than he’d ever imagined.

  Shylo wanted to cry. But he knew that would get him nowhere. If these were his last moments, he wanted to be as brave as he could . . .

  And then he smelled it: the Pack!

  Baz, Splodge and Grimbo turned round to see the snarling faces of the corgis. Standing in the front, with her paws wide and her shoulders arched, was Messalina, the biggest and most ferocious of them all. Shylo stepped slowly out of the jar and stood with his knees trembling, staring into the salivating jaws of the dogs.

  ‘Rats and rabbits, rats and rabbits,’ sang Messalina over and over again, in a soft, silky voice – and the corgis all joined in: ‘Rats and rabbits, rats and rabbits,’ they chanted. Grrrrrr!

  ‘Rats or rabbits?’ barked Lady Macbeth with a high-pitched laugh that sounded more like a hyena than a dog.

  ‘Such a difficult decision,’ yelped Lucrezia.

  ‘Where do we start?’ yapped Livia.

  The Ratzis started to back away, terrified, their cameras and their phones clinking as their paws shook. S
hylo backed away with them, but he knew he was in the most danger for, as scrawny as he was, he was sure he’d be easier to catch than three giant rats.

  ‘Rats or rabbits?’ the nine corgis chanted until Livia growled: ‘Rats can be a little tough, but rabbit is soft and fresh. And this one looks like a tender little bunny from the country.’

  ‘R-r-r-r-rabbit!’ snarled the corgis together, fixing their sharp eyes on Shylo, and his heart leaped with panic. They bared their fangs, their eyes wild with the excitement of the chase, and Shylo realized that no amount of pleading would put them off rabbit pie.

  ‘Let ’em eat the rabbit,’ squealed Baz. ‘We’re going to be OK, after all.’

  ‘When they start eating that bunny, we leg it,’ suggested Grimbo.

  ‘They can have the rabbit’s rump for all I care. I’m out of here!’ squeaked Splodge.

  Then Shylo had another idea. Quick as a flash, he pulled out the scissors Zeno had given him. He slashed the Ratzis’ rucksacks – rucksacks filled with rotting hamburgers, soggy crisps and mouldy bacon butties – and out it all poured, covering the rats.

  The smell was so delicious and so rank that the corgis forgot their decision to eat rabbit first and threw themselves on to the Ratzis. As the Pack pounced, their mouths wide open for the kill, the squeals were deafening.

  Shylo shut his eyes and held his breath . . .

  Suddenly, a circular hole in the Kennel ceiling appeared, throwing a shaft of light into the room. Two ropes were dropped through, falling into the air like snakes. Then, sliding down them, came a pair of strapping Thumpers. Shylo was grabbed under the arms by the two rabbits and hauled off the ground.

  As he dangled there, half a metre from the floor, he heard a great squeak as Splodge was set upon by the dogs. Grimbo managed to dodge out of the way, but there was nowhere to run. The dogs fell upon him too and soon his terrified squealing fell silent. The only Ratzi left was Baz. He stood in the middle of the Kennel with his paws in the air. The four dogs turned their attention to him, but they were in no hurry: they’d play with this rat first.

  Baz began to back away. ‘Please, come on now,’ he said. ‘I’m sure we can reach some sort of agreement . . .’ and the quivering in his voice and the trembling of his knees told Shylo that the leader of this small band of Ratzis was really terrified. The dogs snapped their bloodied jaws and wagged their stumpy tails, and ran after him. Shylo grimaced at the snarling and snapping of the dogs, followed by the crunching and cracking of bone. He tried to block out the noise; it was a bad sound for a rabbit – even when it was Ratzi meat between the dogs’ chops.

  At last, Shylo lifted his head and looked up.

  Above him, holding him tightly, were the two Thumpers. One of those was Zeno.

  ‘You didn’t think I’d forgotten you, did you, bunkin?’ he said with a wink and a grin. Then he added, his voice full of respect and affection: ‘You’re a Monster, Shylo.’

  Behind the door of the royal bedchamber the Queen, now in her mauve dressing gown, had got out of bed and was sitting at the little table by the window. She was sipping her tea and eating a digestive biscuit as she had done every morning for over sixty years, and discussing the weather with Lady Araminta who now handed her the schedule for the day:

  8 a.m.: breakfast

  9 a.m.: meeting with the Private Secretary, Sir Marmaduke Scantum

  10 a.m.: receive the clockmakers of Birmingham

  10.15 a.m.: receive the Chairman of the Institute of Bee-keeping

  10.30 a.m.: receive the Directors of the British Dog Federation

  ‘What an interesting day,’ said the Queen as the corgis pushed open the door with their snouts and burst into the bedroom. ‘Where have you girls been?’ she asked them.

  ‘I think they’ve just got rather lucky, Your Majesty,’ said Lady Araminta, watching them licking their chops.

  ‘Really?’ said the Queen, stroking their heads one by one. ‘What did you catch?’

  ‘Some rats in the skirting board, I suspect,’ said the lady-in-waiting.

  ‘Well, aren’t you clever?’ said the Queen. ‘Clever, clever girls.’

  Back at The Grand Burrow, the rabbits were partying. Shylo was welcomed as a hero. The great hall was full of rabbits, and smiling faces grinned at him from every balcony. The murring of voices and thumping of hind paws rose in a great crescendo as he was escorted through the crowd.

  Beside him Laser limped slightly, but she could still walk the walk, and Zeno strode tall with his chest out and his biceps bulging, but his paw rested gently on Shylo’s thin shoulder. At the end of the room, on a raised platform, was Nelson. Next to him stood Clooney in his dashing tuxedo and Belle de Paw in her ballgown.

  When Shylo reached them, Nelson saluted with his baton and the Major-domo banged her staff thrice. The rabbits fell silent.

  ‘Today is a very special day in the history of the Royal Rabbits,’ said Nelson. Then he rested his kind eyes on Shylo. ‘You have done something that no Outsider has ever done before. Therefore, I will do something that no leader of the Royal Rabbits has ever done before: invite a small bunkin to join our elite team of Knights.’

  A thunder of thumping resounded through the hall. Shylo felt his chest expand with happiness. Never in his life had he felt so proud. He wished his mother and Horatio could see him now.

  Nelson raised his paw and the hall went quiet again. ‘Shylo has taught us all a lesson today. He might not be the fastest, the strongest, the most agile or even the most fearless rabbit among us, but he has shown that those things don’t really matter. What matters is the courage to be the best a rabbit can be.’

  He turned to Shylo. ‘So what do you say, Shylo Tawny-Tail? Will you murr the vow to protect the Royal Family from the evils of this world?’

  Shylo stood as tall as he could, which wasn’t very big. He lifted his chin and looked up at Laser, who was smiling down at him with a pleased expression on her face. She gave a little nod and Shylo knew that he was accepted.

  He turned to Nelson. ‘I will,’ he murred. Once again, the hall was filled with applause. Shylo’s heart swelled.

  ‘And next . . .’ rasped Nelson, nodding at an official-looking white rabbit in crimson livery who stepped forward with a tray of red paint and a medal: the Order of the Royal Rabbits of London.

  Zeno took Shylo’s paw and pressed it into the paint. He then held it up for everyone to see. Finally, Nelson presented Shylo with the shining medal, hanging it round his neck so that it lay on his chest above his heart, which was so full he thought it would burst.

  ‘Now,’ shouted the Major-domo, as the cheering subsided, ‘nothing makes a rabbit hungrier than adventure. The banquet is served! Let the celebration commence!’

  ‘Well, Shylo of the Red Badge,’ murred Nelson, putting his paw round him. ‘Tomorrow we must find out what happened to Horatio. For now, you must enjoy the feast.’

  ‘Will there be celery?’ asked Shylo.

  Nelson smiled. ‘As much as you can eat.’

  In a warren in deepest Northamptonshire, a mother doe was feeding her litter of noisy rabbits.

  ‘I want more carrots!’ said Maximilian, the greediest of her bunnies.

  ‘Mother, I want more cabbage,’ demanded Elvira.

  ‘Why can’t we have celery like rich rabbits in London?’ moaned Erica.

  Mother Rabbit turned round, threw down her pan and ripped off her apron. ‘That’s it! I’ve had enough of you spoilt, greedy children!’ she exclaimed.

  She thought then of her smallest, gentlest bunny, who had been eaten by giant rats a few days before, and stifled a sob. Maximilian had told her that even he, with all his strength, had been unable to save his little brother. How she missed Shylo.

  Just then there was a snuffling and rustling sound in the mouth of the Burrow above them. They all froze, eyes raised. Was it Tobias the farm cat? They barely dared breathe – until something was pushed through the hole. It rolled down the tunnel and landed with a l
ight plop at Mother Rabbit’s paws.

  ‘What could this be?’ she asked.

  She reached down and lifted the bundle off the floor. It was a bunch of celery sticks tied with a red ribbon and there was something hanging off it. She lifted it into the light and looked at it closely. It was a large, round medal depicting a crown with a pair of rabbit’s ears sticking out of the middle – and attached to it was a label that read, simply:

  From Shylo

  And not far away, on the other side of the forest, a letter was delivered to the old grey rabbit, Horatio. He recognized the handwriting at once and his heart momentarily stalled. He sank into his tatty armchair and put his cracked spectacles on his nose. Slowly, with a trembling paw, he tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter, which was folded and secured with the crimson wax seal of the Royal Rabbits of London.

  YOU WERE RIGHT TO SEND US SHYLO, BUT YOU WERE WRONG NOT TO COME YOURSELF.

  MUCH HAS CHANGED IN THE YEARS YOU HAVE BEEN AWAY, BUT THE IMPORTANT THINGS ALWAYS STAY THE SAME: YOU’RE MY BROTHER, HORATIO, AND A VALUABLE MEMBER OF THE ROYAL RABBITS OF LONDON. I’VE MISSED YOU. I CELEBRATE THE NEWS THAT YOU’RE ALIVE, BUT I’M CURIOUS TO KNOW HOW YOU MANAGED IT – AND WHY YOU CHOSE TO RUN AWAY.

  COME SOON, BECAUSE WE HAVE A NEW MEMBER WHO HAS SHOWN TREMENDOUS COURAGE AND INTELLIGENCE. I KNOW HE’LL WANT TO TELL YOU ABOUT HIS TRIUMPH HIMSELF. LIFE IS AN ADVENTURE, BROTHER. ANYTHING IN THE WORLD IS POSSIBLE – BY WILL AND BY LUCK, WITH A MOIST CARROT, A WET NOSE AND A SLICE OF MAD COURAGE!

  I AWAIT YOUR GLORIOUS RETURN.

  NELSON

  Horatio put his paw to his mouth and sighed. Was he ready to come out of hiding and return to his old life? Was he ready to tell his story, which wasn’t only about bravery but about cowardice too? Was he ready to face Messalina and her Pack who would have killed him in the Kennel had it not been for a lucky twist of fate?