To Tara
An alarm screamed and lights flashed! Footmen ran and maids squawked! Royal corgis barked and police in black hurried to the scene! Blue lights flickered . . .
Buckingham Palace was in uproar!
But Shylo Tawny-Tail, the smallest of the Royal Rabbits, who was meant to be protecting the palace, was asleep on duty. He heard the faint sound of alarms and shouts in his dream, but didn’t stir. Shylo had made himself a snuggly cocoon up in the velvety pelmet of one of the royal curtains which had made a perfect hammock, and was having a lovely dream about a weak and feeble country bunny who had helped save the Queen of England from a vicious plot by the fearsome Ratzis. As a reward, that small bunny had been invited to join the Royal Rabbits of London, a secret society devoted to protecting the Royal Family and fighting evil across the world.
Shylo had eaten far too much at lunch – how could he say no to a third helping when cabbage was one of his favourite foods? – and with a belly full of delicious cabbage he’d become very sleepy indeed. So, even though he had only meant to close his eyes for a moment, he had been napping for most of his guard duty . . .
Now, stirred by all the rumpus, the little rabbit slowly began to wake up. ‘Turn that horrible alarm off,’ he grumbled as the noise made his sensitive ears ache. Then he sat bolt upright and peered down from the curtain with his one good eye (the other, remember, was covered by a red eyepatch to correct his squint). Shylo’s stomach cramped with panic as he watched the manic activity going on through the double doors at the opposite end of the state room. He realized something big had happened.
From his hiding place in the pelmet, he could see the King and Queen being escorted by police officers into the Diamond Room on the other side of the corridor. Now you may already know that the Crown Jewels are kept under guard at the Tower of London – everyone does! What you may not know is that the Siberian Diamond, being so very valuable, is kept in a special room in the palace, near the Queen’s private apartments.
Shylo gasped in dismay. Oh no, he thought, ears flopping over his forehead. Not the diamond . . .
Realizing it was his duty to investigate, he jumped from one pelmet to the next. He paused a moment as more panicking footmen and Secret Service agents ran past, then he slid down the curtain to the floor and hopped across the crimson carpet to hide behind the door frame. He looked across the corridor into the Diamond Room where the full horror of the drama was unfolding.
The King was scowling; the Queen was frowning; police officers were gravely shaking their heads; the Private Secretary, Sir Marmaduke Scantum, was wringing his hands; Lady Araminta Fortescue, the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, was pointing . . . Shylo looked in the direction of her finger and finally saw what the commotion was all about. A display case stood surrounded by shattered glass; a small cushion in the centre lay empty . . . the Siberian Diamond was GONE!
Shylo blinked. Surely he was still dreaming. He hoped to the Great Rabbit in the sky that he was and he pinched himself just to make sure.
Ooooh! That hurt!
He wasn’t dreaming. Someone had crept in and stolen the famous Siberian Diamond and he had been asleep the whole time . . .
The Siberian Diamond, dear reader, was not just any diamond, it was the biggest, most beautiful one in the whole world, and the Queen’s favourite jewel. However, it wasn’t her favourite because of its size or value, but because of something far more extraordinary. You see, the gem was flawed, which meant it had many lines and waves and scratches inside, and when people stared into it they might see mountains, or rivers, or ships on the sea in the imperfections, the same way that you can make shapes out of clouds.
What no one knew, not even the Royal Rabbits, was that every time the Queen looked into the diamond, which she did whenever she felt a little weary, she would see a simple cottage, in the middle of a wood, and herself in the garden there, clipping the roses and enjoying the bees like an ordinary woman living an ordinary life. The sight soothed her and made her feel happy, momentarily taking her away from the often tiring life of duty and service (being Queen is not only about riding in a carriage and wearing a crown).
Once a year, on the first of May, the Queen allowed the Siberian Diamond to be taken to the Tower of London and put on display for one week only. Thousands of people queued up just to admire the beautiful jewel in its bullet-proof glass case, which, supposedly, made it impossible to steal. It was kept in a similar case at the palace, and was thought to be safe, but even unsinkable ships sometimes sink, and now Shylo realized that unstealable diamonds could be stolen too.
He watched with sadness as the Queen started to weep and the King went to comfort her. Shylo’s ears drooped with guilt, his heart filling with shame that he had been sleeping while this outrageous robbery had taken place. It was all his fault. How he wished he could turn back the clock! He was so overcome that he didn’t hear the growling of the Pack, the Queen’s corgis, who had spotted the little rabbit and were slowly sneaking up on him. The Pack liked nothing more than fat, juicy rabbits, but even a scrawny, bony rabbit like Shylo was worth chasing.
Suddenly, Shylo got a whiff of dog – not only did he have sensitive ears, but (luckily) a highly sensitive nose as well. He looked down the corridor and spotted the fearsome corgis advancing.
He glanced around quickly, trying to work out an escape route. The hidden entrance to the secret network of tunnels beneath the palace was on the other side of the corridor, which was both wide and exposed. But what choice did he have? He could scamper back up into the pelmet because the dogs wouldn’t be able to climb the curtain after him, but this was no time to hide: he had to return to The Grand Burrow at once and inform the Royal Rabbits of the robbery.
Shylo glanced back at the weeping Queen. The sorry sight gave him a rapid surge of courage, like a fire in his belly (where the cabbages had been). He held his breath and dashed into the corridor. The Pack were now very close indeed and he froze in terror for a moment at the sight of the ferocious dogs. Messalina, their yellowed-fanged leader, curled her lip and growled. Then she quickened her pace. With his heart in his mouth, Shylo darted across the carpet towards the potted plant that concealed the secret tunnel entrance.
The dogs were almost upon him. He could feel their breath on his fur. With a shaky paw, he reached behind the plant and pushed a hidden panel in the skirting board. The door opened and Shylo fell into the tunnel with relief. He shut the panel behind him just as Messalina’s wet nose thrust itself into the gap, then withdrew with a yelp.
Shylo jumped on to a chute and slid all the way down into The Grand Burrow, which was the home of the Royal Rabbits of London, and his home now. He was safe, albeit a little bit shaken.
‘Where have you been?’ asked Generalissimo Nelson calmly as Shylo burst into the war room, out of breath and in a terrible panic. The little bunkin looked down the big table at the four large Hopster rabbits staring grimly back at him, and one ear flopped over his eyepatch because he felt so ashamed that he had fallen asleep on his watch and therefore been unaware of the terrible crime that had been committed.
‘While you’ve been gone, the Siberian Diamond has been stolen,’ said Laser, the American Jack Rabbit, slapping her whip on to her leather boots in agitation. ‘How do we know that? Not because the Royal Rabbit on duty informed us, but because we heard the alarm bells all the way down here in The Grand Burrow and looked through the periscopes to see police all over the place, and everyone gathered in the Diamond Room!’ She looked at him and narrowed her blue eyes. ‘So, where were you, Shylo, when you should have been watching the palace?’
Shylo didn’t know what to say. He shuffled and the other ear flopped over his good eye. He made a great eff
ort to lift it, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to see at all.
‘Well? Answer the question!’ boomed Zeno in his Jamaican accent as he flexed his huge muscles. Shylo began to tremble. Zeno was the Marshal of the Thumpers, the elite fighting force of the Royal Rabbits, and the huge Hopster was five times the size of little Shylo and extremely fierce.
Shylo’s bottom lip began to tremble.
‘That diamond is so large I often used it as a mirror,’ said the elegant, grey-haired Clooney who was lounging in a chair, stroking his whiskers and looking dashing in his tuxedo. ‘With its many surfaces, I was reflected a dozen times!’ He turned to the little rabbit. ‘So, where were you, Shylo? It was stolen on your watch.’
‘Well?’ asked the Generalissimo, arching an eyebrow.
Shylo gulped. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been asleep on duty. He couldn’t admit that. He’d only just been invited to join the Royal Rabbits – how could he tell them that he had failed, that the stolen jewel was all his fault? Luckily, his fur hid his blushes as he looked from one Royal Rabbit to another.
Just then, a soft voice broke the silence. ‘Oh là là! The most beautiful diamond in the world is LOST?’
They all turned to see Belle de Paw sashay into the room. Her fur was rich and amber-coloured and she wore a flouncy lilac dress accessorized with little jewels pilfered from the Queen’s bedroom. (‘She has so many, what is one less!’ Belle de Paw always sang in her musical French accent.) She strode up to the table in glittery high heels and waved a paw in the air. ‘Why do you think Shylo is here? To inform us of the robbery, of course! Let us focus our minds on important things, like finding the missing diamond!’
Shylo gave her a grateful smile and her brown eyes twinkled at him warmly.
The Royal Rabbits turned away from the little bunkin and looked at Nelson. Shylo was very relieved.
‘This is no ordinary diamond,’ Nelson murred gravely. ‘It’s the legendary Siberian Diamond. Tell us about it, Clooney.’
Clooney got up from his chair and hopped across the room, admiring his reflection as he passed a mirror. ‘Gosh, I am so handsome,’ he whispered as he straightened his bow tie. He positioned himself behind a tripod where a projector had been set up to beam pictures on to a white screen. The other Royal Rabbits gathered round and Shylo followed sheepishly behind them, struggling with his guilt – he wished there was a hole in the ground which he could dive into.
Clooney clicked a button on a remote and a photograph of the Siberian Diamond appeared on the screen. Even though they had seen it many times, everyone gasped in awe: it was the biggest, brightest, shiniest diamond they had ever seen. No one gasped louder or with more longing than Belle de Paw, however. She loved diamonds more than anything.
Belle put a paw to her mouth and sighed. ‘Oh là là! It is truly magnifique!’ Suddenly, all the diamonds she had stashed away in her burrow seemed small and dull by comparison.
Clooney cleared his throat. ‘The Siberian Diamond was found one hundred and thirty-two years ago by a Russian peasant on the snowy tundra of Siberia. He was grooming his old horse when he noticed a strange lump in the nag’s dung. Thinking his horse had digested a potato and desperate for a good meal, the man delved enthusiastically into the pile of poo and pulled the object out. He was very disappointed when he discovered that it wasn’t a potato, but something hard, sharp and inedible. Once cleaned, it became clear that it was an enormous diamond and most likely very valuable. Hoping for a reward, the peasant gave it to the governor, who was very patriotic.
‘ “This diamond belongs to the Empress,” the governor announced, and, after wrapping it in a velvet cloth, he sent it on a sleigh all the way to Catherine the Great in her palace in St Petersburg. Catherine said it was so bright that she could read by its light.
‘It remained in the Winter Palace, the official residence of the Russian Tsars, until just over one hundred years later, when legend has it that the Tsar lost it in a bet to his cousin, the King of England. But no one knows for sure. Somehow the diamond ended up in Britain and the Russians have wanted it back ever since. The British say it’s unsporting not to honour a bet and have always insisted it belongs here. The Russians, of course, disagree.’
‘So who took it?’ asked Laser.
Shylo hopped closer to the screen, dazzled by the picture of the mesmerizing diamond.
‘Well, that’s easy,’ replied Zeno confidently. ‘The Russians of course!’
‘Oui,’ murred Belle de Paw, staring at its brilliance. ‘If I had lost a diamond of that size, I would most certainly want it back.’
‘But why would they wait a hundred years to steal it?’ asked Laser.
‘They’ve repeatedly asked for it back, but their request has always been denied,’ Clooney told her. ‘Perhaps they just got fed up with asking and decided to take matters into their own hands.’
‘It’s probably on its way to the Kremlin right now!’ said Belle de Paw.
‘The Kremlin?’ asked Shylo.
‘It’s where the President of Russia lives in a fortress with red walls and pointed towers,’ Clooney informed him.
Shylo prayed to the Great Rabbit in the sky that the diamond hadn’t already been taken to Russia. He’d never forgive himself if the Queen’s favourite jewel was gone forever, all because he had fallen asleep on duty.
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Nelson, banging his stick with its silver rabbit head on the floor. ‘The Russians are certainly likely suspects, on the grounds that it belonged to them in the first place and they feel it should be returned to them. But I hesitate to throw blame without having any hard evidence to go on.’
Belle de Paw narrowed her brown eyes. ‘Imagine how popular the President would be with his people if he returned the Siberian Diamond to Russia. After all, it is the greatest diamond in the world,’ she murred.
‘Whoever stole it won’t have left the country yet, unless they acted very quickly. I suspect the diamond is still in London,’ said Nelson calmly. ‘And, if it is, we’re going to get it back. Clooney, Laser, Shylo, go to Number Ten Downing Street at once,’ he commanded. ‘See what intelligence ST-BT has for us. Belle de Paw, to the periscopes. I want to know everything that’s going on in the palace. Zeno, prepare your Thumpers for a fight. If we discover the Russians are behind this, well, you know what that means . . .’ And he looked grimly at the Hopsters who looked grimly back at him.
Shylo frowned. The other Royal Rabbits knew something about the Russians that he didn’t. Something terrible. What could it be? The little bunkin felt a shudder run down his body. It started at the tip of his left ear and rippled all the way down to his right hind paw. He had been on many adventures since leaving his country home: outwitting the Pack of snarling corgis, escaping from the clutches of the evil Ratzis and even overcoming his fear of foxes in the Fox Club beneath Number Ten Downing Street. He hadn’t imagined there was much else to be afraid of. But he sensed that another adventure was about to begin and he was going to need to summon his bravery once again . . .
A little later, Shylo sat in a big leather armchair next to Clooney and Laser. All around, bushy-tailed, sleek foxes played poker at green velvet tables, snookered balls on the billiard table, danced to jazz music blaring out of the jukebox and sat at the bar, drinking Butterscotch on the Rocks.
The taint of fox was overpowering, but Shylo was used to it now, because this buzzing place was the Fox Club, right underneath Ten Downing Street, and home to the foxes who worked alongside the Royal Rabbits and looked after the Prime Minister. Once Shylo had been afraid of these fearsome predators, but now the bushiest and glossiest of all the foxes was sitting opposite him and Shylo wasn’t at all frightened.
His name was ST-BT, which was short for Sharp-Tooth-Bushy-Tail, and, in all of London, there was no more splendid example of a fox. He had rings on his paws, dazzling white teeth, a gold chain around his neck with letters that spelled out STBT just in case anyone forgot who he was (which th
ey never did) and, as usual, he was utterly calm.
Clooney had started to tell ST-BT about the robbery, but, of course, the fox already knew about the missing diamond. He made it his business to know everything that went on at Number Ten Downing Street – as the Prime Minister had learned about the unfortunate incident, so had ST-BT.
‘We live in dangerous times, rabbits,’ he said in his rich voice. ‘But, before we get down to business, join me in a little drink. Three Butterscotches on the Rocks?’
‘Yes, please!’ replied Shylo eagerly. (One of the best things about visiting Downing Street was the yummy drink that gave him a warm feeling in his belly!) Clooney and Laser enjoyed butterscotch too and nodded at the fox.
‘Coming up,’ said ST-BT, waving his brush at the bar-vixen in a silver tuxedo and matching shorts. She began to mix the cocktails in a shiny silver shaker, engraved, of course, with the initials ST-BT, like everything else in the Fox Club.
Once the drinks were served, the three Royal Rabbits listened eagerly to what the fox had to say.
‘The palace informed the Prime Minister of the robbery a short while ago,’ said ST-BT, sipping his butterscotch through a silver straw, without making the slightest noise. Shylo tried to copy the fox, but made a loud slurping sound, which was very embarrassing. Ignoring the little rabbit, ST-BT steepled his paws and knitted his eyebrows. ‘A missing diamond is a very delicate matter, to be sure.’
His voice was so deep and rich it was foxifluous. It would have struck fear in a small rabbit’s heart had Shylo not known any better. The little bunkin’s hind paws dangled off the edge of the armchair because he was so small, but ST-BT looked at him in the same way that he looked at Clooney and Laser, as if he, too, was a Hopster rabbit, not a bunkin from the countryside, recently made a Royal Rabbit.
‘You need to hop carefully, my friends,’ ST-BT added darkly.
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