Royal Rabbits of London

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘What does the Prime Minister think?’ asked Shylo eagerly, because he wanted so very badly to get the diamond back for the Queen – and for himself, so that he could stop feeling guilty. ‘Does he think it’s the Russians?’

  Clooney cleared his throat. ‘What Shylo means to ask,’ he murred smoothly, looking a little irritated by Shylo’s sudden outburst, ‘is whether the Prime Minister has any idea who could have stolen the diamond.’

  ST-BT swished his brush. ‘Oh, he doesn’t know anything,’ he replied with a chuckle. ‘Without me, he’d be in a real mess. But, at the moment, Britain is good friends with Russia. We don’t want to spoil that—’

  ‘But the diamond means so much to the Queen. I saw her cry,’ murred Shylo, his heart slumping once again as he thought of Her Majesty’s sorrow, which was all his fault.

  ST-BT gave a chuckle that sounded like gold nuggets rattling in a pan, but he wasn’t smiling. In fact, he was looking rather scary. ‘Like I said, these are dangerous times and you need to hop carefully.’

  ‘If the Russians did steal the diamond,’ said Laser, ‘they’re insulting not just the Prime Minister but you, the Fox of Power!’

  ‘But my friends, you don’t have proof,’ ST-BT growled. ‘It’s much too easy to blame the Russians because the diamond once belonged to them. That doesn’t mean they stooped so low as to steal it.’

  ‘Perhaps we don’t have proof,’ agreed Clooney, ‘but you must know more than you’re letting on. Come on, ST-BT, you know everything. Surely you have more information!’

  How clever Clooney is, thought Shylo, using flattery to get answers from the fox.

  ‘True.’ ST-BT stretched lazily and swished his tail. ‘All right, Clooney. I do know something and it is a little concerning.’

  Shylo and the others leaned forward to catch ST-BT’s words.

  ‘Yesterday my agents spotted something worrying at the Russian Embassy in Kensington.’

  ‘What?’ asked Shylo, ears standing up with interest.

  ‘Minks.’

  This time even Clooney seemed shocked. ‘God help us!’ he groaned.

  ‘Jeez!’ muttered Laser. ‘Minks? How many?’

  ‘Ten or so. Enough to worry about,’ ST-BT replied. ‘And these aren’t just any minks. Our secret agents say they’re the Kremlin’s finest. Highly trained little killers with the softest fur and the sharpest teeth.’

  ‘It would be just like a mink to sneak into the palace and steal that diamond,’ said Clooney.

  Before Shylo could ask what minks were, a flash of red moved swiftly through the club, like a streak of fire. It stopped beside ST-BT’s chair and Shylo saw it was Red Velvet, one of ST-BT’s top agents. She was fit and elegant in a crimson tracksuit. ‘I have news,’ she announced and she gave her gloriously bushy tail a swish.

  ‘Ah, Red Velvet,’ said ST-BT. ‘Do share it! We’re among friends.’

  The vixen looked very serious. Whatever information she had it wasn’t going to be good. ‘A big Mink-Boss has arrived in town,’ she said.

  ST-BT’s top lip curled as he grimaced, revealing a long white and exceedingly sharp tooth. Shylo watched the fox’s eyes narrow so that they became slits which glinted like blades, and his body stiffened, as if he was preparing to pounce. This was not very encouraging. If ST-BT was concerned, they should all be worried.

  ‘A Mink-Boss,’ ST-BT repeated. ‘One of the Kremlin’s dreaded assassins-in-chief.’

  At the mention of the Kremlin, Shylo felt a stirring inside his belly, which told him that something wasn’t quite right. It was a little niggle, like he sometimes got when he was about to tuck into a big, juicy cabbage but sensed there might be a worm inside. The niggle was usually right (and had in the past saved him from eating many a worm), but he hoped very much that this time he was wrong. (It was quite hard to tell the difference between hunger and a niggle, and it had been a long time since lunch.)

  ST-BT looked at the Royal Rabbits and nodded slowly. ‘If a big Mink-Boss is in town, something’s up.’

  ‘Something big,’ said Laser.

  ‘To collect the Siberian Diamond perhaps?’ Clooney added.

  ‘Maybe,’ ST-BT agreed with a shrug, glancing at his agent. ‘Red Velvet, watch the minks’ every move – where they go, what they do, even what they eat. I want to know every detail, understood?’

  ‘Got it, boss,’ replied Red Velvet, and with that she swished out of the club, leaving nothing but a flash of red and the taint of fox.

  ST-BT looked at each Royal Rabbit in turn. ‘Let’s not jump to any conclusions. I always like to see hard evidence before I leap into action. The minks might be here for an entirely different reason.’

  ‘All right, so we need to find proof that the minks have the diamond,’ said Laser, pushing up off her chair. ‘And we need to move fast, before they spirit it away to Russia!’

  Shylo got up too and put a paw on his belly. There it was again, that niggle. He wondered what it meant. But there was no time to think about it now. They had to get back to The Grand Burrow at once and inform Nelson about the minks.

  Shylo, Laser and Clooney climbed into the little underground railway cart which sped them back to The Grand Burrow along tunnels deep under the streets of London. As they rattled along the tracks, Laser and Clooney were quiet, alarmed that Russian minks were loose in their beloved, peaceful London. Shylo’s tummy was rumbling now and, although he tried hard to focus on the minks and the missing diamond, he couldn’t stop himself wondering what was for supper.

  HOW DO YOU SPOT A MINK OF THE KREMLIN?

  Minks of the Kremlin are a secret service of killers who live in luxury beneath the Grand Kremlin Palace and have worked for the rulers of Russia for a thousand years. If the rulers of Russia don’t like someone, these minks pay them a visit.

  Minks are cousins of the weasel. They have long, silky bodies, short legs, small heads, tiny ears and snub noses. They are very quick and have sharp little teeth.

  Minks of the Kremlin are mostly covered in rich brown fur which is so deliciously soft that sometimes you might even forget about their teeth. They can be black or, very occasionally, white.

  Minks of the Kremlin have white patches above their top lips: they look like they have white moustaches.

  Minks of the Kremlin are experts in all the martial arts and always wear white judo pyjamas.

  Minks of the Kremlin are very cunning and clever and can be vicious which is why they make perfect assassins.

  The greatest enemy of the mink is the fox. Minks are very nervous of foxes.

  Minks of the Kremlin speak Russian. They say nyet for no and da for yes.

  Minks of the Kremlin eat fish, fish eggs and meat, but they’ll tuck into just about anything as long as it’s not past its sell-by date. (They are incredibly fussy about sell-by dates.)

  Minks of the Kremlin are very clean and like to wash themselves a lot. They love water.

  And now a special operations group of minks was in London . . .

  At dawn the following day, Nelson and the Hopsters gathered in the war room, looking at a map of the Russian Embassy in Kensington Palace Gardens (which is also known as Millionaires’ Row because so many rich people live there).

  ‘How many minks?’ Nelson asked.

  ‘At least ten,’ Laser replied.

  ‘Ten minks are no match for my Thumpers!’ boomed Zeno, flexing his big muscles.

  ‘Ten minks are enough to secure the diamond and guard it on its way out of London,’ Clooney added.

  Just then, Shylo’s tummy groaned so loudly that they all turned and looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Haven’t you had breakfast?’ asked Nelson.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a hunger growl,’ said Shylo. ‘It’s a niggle.’

  ‘A niggle?’ Nelson repeated.

  ‘Yes, a niggle. It’s a feeling that something’s not right.’

  ‘Aha, an intuitive niggle,’ murred Nelson, understanding at once. ‘A sense of forebo
ding.’

  ‘He’s talking RUBBISH!’ boomed Zeno impatiently, turning back to the map. ‘Otherwise he would have got a niggle the day the diamond was stolen.’

  Shylo’s ears flopped over his face and he lowered his eyes regretfully. ‘Niggles don’t always come when you want them to,’ he murred in a quiet voice.

  ‘We’ve no time to listen to your niggles,’ exclaimed Zeno.

  ‘Not so fast,’ Nelson murred, raising a shaky paw. ‘Go on, Shylo.’

  Shylo managed to lift one ear, but the other remained drooped over his eyepatch because everyone in the room was now looking at him, which made him rather self-conscious. ‘I just keep thinking that it seems obvious that the Russians want the Siberian Diamond enough to steal it, but is it too obvious?’ he began. ‘I think my niggle is telling me that there’s something else going on.’ Shylo took a breath, shrinking slightly beneath the weight of so many eyes. ‘What if the person who really stole the diamond wants us to think it’s the Russians, but it isn’t them at all?’

  ‘Shylo is right,’ murred Belle de Paw. ‘It could be a very clever plot to fool us into chasing the wrong creatures!’

  Clooney stroked a whisker. ‘I’m not so sure,’ he said. ‘If it’s not the Russians, who else could it be?’

  ‘ST-BT told us that Britain and Russia are friends now so maybe someone wants to ruin that?’ Shylo murred, trying to sound confident, when inside he felt very small and foolish.

  ‘The only creatures who’d want to create that sort of mayhem are the Ratzis and they’re not clever enough to sneak into Buckingham Palace and steal the diamond,’ argued Laser.

  ‘I agree,’ said Clooney. ‘But the minks are clever enough to get through the defences.’

  ‘Which is why it must be the Russians who stole the diamond!’ Zeno boomed. ‘And we need to find out where they are and send in the Thumpers to get it back. We have no time to lose!’

  Shylo could see that only Belle de Paw believed him and he began to doubt himself. What if he was wrong after all? Perhaps he wanted to get the diamond back too badly, because the robbery was all his fault and he felt so guilty about it. The little bunkin was about to give up when he felt another unmistakable niggle in his tummy. He remembered his old friend, the one who had told him that he was braver than he knew. The one who had believed in him from the very beginning. ‘Horatio once told me . . .’ he began, feeling a stab of longing in his heart.

  At the mention of that name, everyone stared at Shylo. Horatio was Nelson’s brother and a veteran Royal Rabbit who had nearly been killed by the corgis, but had miraculously escaped and vanished to the countryside to live in hiding. His bravery commanded respect. When Shylo was living in the Warren with his mother and siblings, he had become friends with Horatio and it was the elderly rabbit who had sent Shylo to find the Royal Rabbits when the Queen had been in danger.

  ‘Horatio once told me—’ Shylo repeated.

  At that moment, the big doors opened and a gruff voice interrupted. ‘Always listen to a niggle,’ it said.

  The eyes fixed on Shylo switched suddenly to the large buck now hopping stiffly into the room. He was huge, with coarse grey fur and a long scar down one side of his face. His left ear had been almost entirely bitten off and he was missing a hind paw. He leaned heavily on a walking stick. He looked as if he had once been in a terrible fight and had only just survived.

  The Hopsters stared at the buck in bewilderment. Where was Frisby, the Major-domo? She always announced visitors with three knocks on the big doors. How had this stranger got past security and into The Grand Burrow? He looked vaguely familiar, but who was he?

  However, Nelson knew and so did Shylo.

  ‘Horatio!’ cried the little bunny, so excited to see his old friend again that he forgot he was a Royal Rabbit and bounded over and threw his arms round the buck’s waist.

  ‘Brother!’ murred Nelson in surprise.

  Horatio laughed as Shylo’s grip tightened round him. ‘Yes, one must always listen to a niggle!’ he said, patting the bunkin tenderly.

  Laser, Clooney and Zeno looked at one another in amazement. They had heard about the Generalissimo’s brother, Horatio, the only rabbit to survive the Kennel, but never imagined he’d come back to The Grand Burrow.

  Nelson hopped over to his brother and embraced him. Shylo released Horatio and watched with large, shiny eyes as the two siblings were reunited after many years apart.

  ‘How marvellous to see you, brother! I hoped you’d respond to my letter and come back, but the weeks went by and I heard nothing from you,’ gravelled Nelson, patting Horatio’s back a little too hard in order to hide his emotion. ‘I’m glad you finally decided to return to The Grand Burrow. The Royal Rabbits need you. Times have never been more dangerous.’

  The other rabbits queued up to shake his paw, but the gruff Horatio would have none of this.

  ‘Enough. I didn’t come back to shake paws. I came back because—’ But he was interrupted.

  ‘Forgive my rudeness, but I’m Marshal of the Thumpers,’ bellowed Zeno, ‘and I’d like to know how you got past security and into The Grand Burrow!’

  ‘I know the old craft of the Secret Service,’ replied Horatio in a slow and deliberate voice. ‘I’m an ancient rabbit from the Old World. I know tunnels beneath the palace that you youngsters have never heard of. But let’s not waste time. I came back because I read about the stolen diamond in the newspapers and thought you might need my help.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Nelson as the other rabbits listened attentively.

  ‘Many years ago, when I was working for the SRS – the Secret Rabbit Service – I was assigned a covert mission and travelled to Russia. I spent enough time there to learn their language and their ways. No one knows more about Russia and its people than me. No one knows more about the Minks of the Kremlin than me either. No one has ever got as close. So I decided it was time to come back.’

  He settled his wise old eyes on Shylo and smiled affectionately. ‘This little bunkin taught me a valuable lesson about bravery. I never thought I’d return to The Grand Burrow. After being caught by the Pack and nearly eaten in the Kennel, I didn’t think I’d find the courage.’

  He lifted his right paw, which was wrapped in a bandage, and slowly unwound the fabric. The rabbits watched in fascination, wondering what he was going to reveal. At last, the bandage fell away and there, in bright scarlet, was the Badge of the Royal Rabbits of London, which he had concealed during his years in hiding. He was hiding no more.

  ‘Thanks to Shylo,’ he said, ‘I found my courage. Here I am, at your service.’

  ‘And we’re happy to have you,’ murred Nelson. ‘You have arrived when you are most needed. Perhaps you felt a niggle too?’

  ‘Well, I suppose I had a niggle of sorts. You see, when I learned that the diamond had been stolen, my thoughts immediately turned to the Russians . . .’

  ‘As did ours,’ agreed Zeno triumphantly. He always liked to be right.

  ‘My thoughts also turned to the most fearsome mink in the whole of Russia. I believe I am the only Royal Rabbit to have ever met him.’

  The Royal Rabbits glanced at each other uneasily.

  ‘Who is he?’ Nelson asked.

  Horatio looked at them in turn. Then he lifted his chin and said, in a deep, gravelly voice, ‘Minsky-the-Terrible.’

  Shylo’s fur stood on end. The name sounded . . . TERRIBLE.

  ‘Now, what time is it?’ Horatio asked.

  Nelson looked at the clock on the wall. ‘Seven thirty a.m.’

  ‘Perfect. Get me to Kensington Gardens at once!’ said Horatio. ‘If I’m right, I know just where to find those minks.

  ‘And, if Minsky-the-Terrible is with them, I’m the only one who can identify him!’

  Not long afterwards, an old lady in a wheelchair was being pushed by her nurses down the Broad Walk of Kensington Gardens. If one looked closely, one might have noticed that, under her hat, the old lady had whiskers and a p
ink nose (but then old ladies can sometimes have whiskers and a pink nose, can’t they?) and that the two nurses pushing the chair were ill-matched: one was enormous with bulging muscles under her nurse’s uniform and the other was tiny with a red eyepatch – and both had ears tucked under headscarves. Yes, the trio were of course Horatio in a cunning disguise being cared for by Zeno the Thumper and Shylo the bunkin.

  Luckily, because it was so early, there were only a few humans in the park and they were far too busy hurrying through it on their way to work to pay any attention to the strange old lady and her companions.

  ‘Quick! Wheel me towards Kensington Palace,’ Horatio demanded. ‘Chop-chop.’

  Zeno and Shylo pushed him so fast they were soon speeding down the hill, past the golden gates of Kensington Palace. Suddenly, Horatio shouted, ‘Slow down! There! Look!’

  A short distance away, on the grass, just beside the little gate which led to Millionaires’ Row and the Russian Embassy, they saw what looked like a group of children in white judo pyjamas doing t’ai-chi exercises in perfect unison beneath the trees. At first, Shylo thought they were children, but then, as he narrowed his eyes and focused harder, he realized that they weren’t humans at all, but a group of minks.

  ‘I knew it,’ muttered Horatio. ‘They always used to practise here in the park, beneath the trees. After all these years, their habits haven’t changed. Push me along. Slowly. I want to get a little closer.’

  ‘They look like ninnies,’ commented Zeno, unimpressed.

  ‘They might look like that to you, but they’re extremely dangerous! Each one is a highly trained killer,’ Horatio told him sternly.

  Shylo couldn’t help but agree with Zeno: the minks didn’t look as scary as he’d thought they would. They were performing their exercises with the grace of dancers.

  ‘Now, let me see . . .’ murmured Horatio.

  Slowly, they wheeled the old buck’s chair towards the minks and, as they did so, the Russian animals divided into pairs and started judo fighting, slicing at each other with a chopping action and throwing one another on to the grass.