Escape from the Palace

by Santa Montefiore

  Praise for THE ROYAL RABBITS OF LONDON

  “A quiet young bunny longing for adventure becomes involved with a band of elite rabbits dedicated to safeguarding the royal family of England. . . . An eccentric cast of secret operative and commando rabbits plus lively black-and-white illustrations add a comic flair. A humorous, fast-paced adventure with a surprisingly engaging and inspiring hero who discovers ‘anything in the world is possible.’ ”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Shylo, with his sensitive nose and quick wits, proves that ‘by will and by luck, with a moist carrot, a wet nose, and a slice of mad courage,’ anything is possible. Words to live by.”

  —Booklist

  “Shylo is a memorable character who overcomes bullying and gains self-confidence.”

  —School Library Journal

  “Shylo wends his way to London and, conquering fears and self-doubt, leads the delightfully eccentric Royal Rabbits on a labyrinthine search for a secret tunnel to foil the rats’ paparazzi-style scheme. Composed of whisker-thin lines, newcomer Hindley’s scratchy b&w illustrations echo the classic qualities of this polished animal fantasy driven, of all things, by a defense of one’s right to privacy in a digital world.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  To our darling daughter, Lily

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT WAS SIX WEEKS SINCE Shylo Tawny-Tail had left the small country farm he called home and set off on his mission to find the Royal Rabbits of London; six long weeks. Two rabbits in the countryside were missing him terribly. By some stroke of luck, they were about to find one another. . . .

  Horatio, the old, wise rabbit, was sitting in his shabby armchair, reading a newspaper he had “borrowed” from the garbage can outside Farmer Ploughman’s cottage. His burrow was warm because it was summer and the scent of sweet grass and pine wafted down the tunnel from the forest above. But Horatio was lonely.

  At times like these, he thought of Shylo. The small bunny used to visit Horatio to hear stories from Rabbit folklore. Here, in this burrow, Shylo had enjoyed learning about the Great Rabbit Empire of the past and the secret order of Royal Rabbits who still lived under Buckingham Palace and protected the Royal Family, and Horatio had loved teaching him. Then came the discovery of a plot to harm the Queen by a gang of super-rats called Ratzis, and Horatio had sent Shylo to London. His mission? To warn those Royal Rabbits and help them foil the plot.

  Horatio had long suspected that, although Shylo was a weak and feeble bunkin with a squint, he had a brave heart. And the small bunny had become a hero just as Horatio had known he would.

  The old buck sighed and tried to concentrate on the newspaper, but, without the prospect of a visit from Shylo, he felt heavy of heart and strangely restless.

  Just then, Horatio heard the light scamper of hesitant paws coming down the tunnel toward his burrow. He lowered his paper and narrowed his eyes.

  “Who twitches there?” Horatio growled. He rose from his chair and put his paw on his walking stick, drawing out the secret sword that was hidden inside it. Horatio had once been a Royal Rabbit and had only just escaped the Pack of snarling corgis—losing half an ear and earning many scars in the process. Now, on this quiet farm a long way from London, he was always ready and vigilant.

  He sniffed the air. It didn’t smell of dog, but rabbit.

  The scampering grew louder and then stopped in the mouth of Horatio’s burrow. There came a soft thumping noise, for rabbits thump their hind paw politely when they arrive somewhere. “Excuse me,” murred a gentle, female voice. “I’m looking for Horatio.” Then a small, anxious brown doe hopped into the light.

  Horatio slid the blade back into his walking stick and looked at her curiously. She had big tawny eyes; a long, elegant nose; and large ears. Horatio had seen those ears before. “You must be Shylo’s mother,” he said.

  As the doe took in Horatio, her big tawny eyes grew bigger still. He was an enormous buck—quite different from the country rabbits she was used to. One of his ears looked as if it had been bitten off, he was missing one hind paw, and his front left paw was wrapped in a bandage. The leaders of the Warren said that Horatio was crazy and dangerous, and Mrs. Tawny-Tail could see why they were afraid of him, but she wasn’t. If he was a friend of Shylo’s, she knew she had no reason to fear him.

  “Please, take a seat,” he said, returning to his chair, his voice no longer a growl but a soft murr. “I now know where Shylo gets his bravery from. It is a very brave rabbit who ventures to my side of the forest.” He grinned, and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses.

  Mrs. Tawny-Tail felt a little less frightened. She bounded across the floor to the armchair opposite Horatio’s and sat down.

  “Shylo is not very brave,” she said, and smiled tenderly at the thought of her clumsy, awkward bunny. “I believed he’d been eaten by rats, but then I received a short note from him and this.” She put her paw into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a medal. The gold disk shone richly in the lamplight, and Horatio could see clearly the special symbol of the Royal Rabbits—a crown with a pair of rabbit ears sticking out of the middle. “I discovered Shylo’s diary hidden beneath the mattress. That’s how I found you.” She glanced at the old buck shyly. “It seems my son is especially fond of you.”

  Horatio reached out and took the medal. He studied it closely.

  “I was hoping you would tell me what it means,” she added.

  Horatio removed his glasses. He looked at Mrs. Tawny-Tail and saw the hope in her big, sad eyes. “My dear Mrs. Tawny-Tail,” he murred kindly, “this is the Order of the Royal Rabbits of London.”

  Mrs. Tawny-Tail gasped. She had heard of the legendary Royal Rabbits, but hadn’t believed they existed anymore. “But how is that possible?”

  “Because Shylo is a brave and clever bunny,” Horatio murred. “I sent him to London to warn the Royal Rabbits of a plot to harm the Queen, and he succeeded where many would have failed. Not only did he help foil the plot, but he was also invited to join their secret order. You have reason to be very proud of your son,” he said.

  “My Shylo? A Royal Rabbit?” she repeated in amazement.

  “Indeed.” Horatio handed back the medal. His face grew serious. “But you must keep this knowledge secret,” he warned.

  Mrs. Tawny-Tail nodded. “I’ll tell no one.” She gazed at the medal, and Horatio could see the pride gleaming in her eyes. “Shylo loved coming here and listening to stories of the Great Rabbit Empire,” she murred softly. “He’s always been curious about the world. While my other children like to run about, playing games, Shylo just wanted to read and learn.” Her gaze strayed to the bookshelves. “No wonder he liked to come here.”

  “Shylo has been a rewarding pupil,” Horatio mused.

  “I wonder, would it trouble you to tell me a little about the Great Rabbit Empire and the Royal Rabbits of London? That would help me understand what Shylo is doing in London, and,” she murred in a shy voice, “help me feel close to him.”

  “It would be a pleasure,” said Horatio, pushing himself up from his chair with energy he had not felt since Shylo had last come to visit. He hobbled to a bookshelf and took down a large book. “It’s all in here,” he said, his nose twitching with satisfaction at the smell of old paper and leather. “I’ll share it with you, just like I shared it with Shylo.”

  He sat and opened the book on his knee, then smiled at Mrs. Tawny-Tail, a smile that held within it the joy of reading, the love of history, and the delight at having company again.

  “Life is an adventure,” he said, opening the first page. “Anything in the world is possible—by will and by luck,
with a moist carrot, a wet nose, and a slice of mad courage! Let us begin.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  HIGH UP IN THE VERY tallest point of London’s famous skyscraper named the Shard, the Ratzis gathered. There were hundreds of them. A glistening swarm of rounded shiny backs, pink tails, black claws, and yellow fangs, and the smell was horrendous: moldy hamburgers, soured cream, rotten eggs, and the stinkiest of farts.

  You may think the top of the Shard is a very grand place for rats to have their offices. After all, the skyscraper rises high above all the other buildings like a gleaming glass dagger stabbing into the London sky. Indeed, it is so sharp and so tall that it should be called a skystabber, not a skyscraper! And you’d be right: It is much too special for ordinary rats. But Ratzis are not ordinary. They are cleverer and more cunning, and instead of wriggling through garbage and sewers like normal rats, they root through the Internet to weave webs of lies and hate. You could say they are digital rodents.

  The office where they now gathered was white and glass and marble, and had a magnificent view of London. They could see the dome of St. Paul’s, the clockface of Big Ben, the perfect circle of the London Eye, and the stands of Wembley Stadium. And yes, somewhere in the haze, they could see Buckingham Palace. In the floors below their lair were the luxurious offices of the mega-media corporation BubbleNet, which was also owned by the Internet kingpin Papa Ratzi. As the people went about their business in the city below, they had no idea that above them lived a menacing colony of super-rats, plotting to wreak chaos on their world.

  Now the Ratzis sat watching the giant screens, which were playing all the channels Papa owned. They waited. Cameras with long telescopic lenses were slung over their shoulders, earpieces were clipped on to their ears, and each one of them had the very latest smartphone or tablet; it was the Ratzis’ job to record images and facts to feed the Internet’s endless hunger for the hearts and souls of people. Some famous, some not famous, and some the most famous of all: the Royal Family. Every time the Ratzis succeeded in stealing something private, they stole a little of that person’s soul, and in so doing boosted their own power. You see, Ratzis were greedy for happiness—other people’s happiness. The more misery they created in the world, the more powerful they felt, and the happier Papa Ratzi was with them (Papa’s happiness was the only happiness they would accept).

  The Ratzis tried to look respectable as they waited nervously to hear the orders of their mighty and frightening master, but looking respectable was an impossible task for a Ratzi. They scratched and farted and ground their jutting jaws that were powerful enough to crunch the hardest bone to powder.

  None of them had ever even seen Papa Ratzi. He was a terrifying mystery. Some imagined him to be a grizzled old rat with prickly fur; others a ruthless young kingpin. Either way, he ruled an empire that controlled smartphones and search engines, satellites and screens, all over the world.

  One thing they did know for sure was that he was brutal. If you were to look closer at the assembled rodents, you would see why. Each rat was missing something. Some had lost one eye, the tips of their tails, the odd claw. Others had only half an ear. The very unfortunate had just three paws. None of them were complete.

  The smallest, scraggiest, and weakest-looking rat among them, dressed in a pristine white coat, was responsible for carrying out Papa Ratzi’s terrifying “tonic.” No one knew his name; they just called him “the Doctor.” If Papa was displeased, the Doctor clipped off an ear or a paw. . . . The rats were especially anxious today because a little country rabbit called Shylo had made a fool of them all.

  For centuries, the Royal Rabbits of London had fought enemies and threats to the Royal Family and kept them safe. But then arose this twentieth-century empire of the Internet, laptops, and smartphones, and Papa Ratzi, with his army of super-digital mega-rats, had decided to use the new technology to defeat the Royal Rabbits once and for all. But, just at the moment of their first big attack on the Royal Family, Shylo arrived at The Grand Burrow and foiled their plan to embarrass the Queen. Plus three of Papa’s best Ratzis had been eaten by corgis!

  The Royal Rabbits’ success had infuriated Papa Ratzi. You can call it chance or fate or luck, but our unlikely hero, that squinting little rabbit, weak of stomach and floppy of ear, who had never even seen a smartphone and thought 4G was a sort of horse, had somehow saved the day.

  Suddenly, a sickly sweet tune broke the silence. It was the lullaby “Rock-a-bye Baby.” The scratching and farting stopped. The Ratzis shivered and looked around. Was Papa here? Or was he in Mumbai or LA? How would he appear to them?

  Then vast words came into view on the wall, like a rolling hologram, as Papa started to type. There was silence except for Papa’s fingers on some faraway, invisible keyboard and a whispering as the Ratzis read his words aloud:

  U call urselves Ratzis? Ratzis don’t allow a little bunny from the countryside to outwit them. Ratzis don’t allow a weak and feeble bunny to foil their plot and lead them to their deaths in the Kennel. I care about my Ratzis and would hate any of u to have to make an appointment with the Doctor. . . .

  A gasp rippled through the crowd as the Ratzis glanced at the rat in the white coat, whose scissors glinted in his breast pocket.

  Now u must prove to me that u are worthy of the name Ratzi. This is what I want u to do.

  One of the fattest and greasiest Ratzis let off a loud fart. The other Ratzis stared at him in alarm. “Oh, it just slipped out! Mercy, Papa!” cried Thigby, putting a trembling paw on the stump where one of his ears had been. The Doctor approached Thigby, twirling the scissors in his claws, and Thigby shrank back, but then Papa began to type again.

  Enough. No more interruptions. Now, I have news. The president of the United States of America is due to arrive for a state visit in two days’ time. He thinks he is the most important creature in the world. But who is really?

  “You, Papa!” squeaked the swarm of rats.

  I have plans for the president and no one, especially not Shylo, will stand in my way. I want u to seize this Shylo and interrogate him. I want to know the Royal Rabbits’ every secret, and I want him out of the way so he doesn’t ruin my plan.

  The Ratzis quivered with excitement at the thought of seeking revenge on the rabbit who had humiliated them.

  Mavis!

  Slippery Mavis slunk forward. Out of all the Ratzis, she was possibly the ugliest, which is quite an achievement because Ratzis are, by nature, very ugly indeed. Her fur was a dull gray color and balding in patches where she had scratched too much, and her belly was bloated from guzzling fizzy drinks. Her breath was so bad that she was known as the Fly-killer, as flies that buzzed past her often dropped dead from a mere sniff of her breath. When Mavis smiled, she did so with only one side of her mouth, while the other side hung loosely over her jutting jaw from a fight she’d had with a badger. (The badger had lost.)

  “I will catch this Shylo rabbit if it’s the last thing I do,” she said. She plucked a flea, which had been happily snoozing, from her fur and popped it into her mouth.

  U will not work alone.

  Flintskin.

  Now Flintskin stepped forward. His fur was black and moist, his nose and ears clammy and pink, but it was his two front teeth that set him apart from the other Ratzis. They were much too big for his mouth and stuck out like a pair of tusks. They could rip the skin off even the toughest snake.

  “I will not let you down, Papa,” said Flintskin, and his eyes gleamed.

  Of course u won’t let me down. Because, if u do, I will send u to the Doctor. Phase two of the plan is as follows: My Ratzi army will embarrass the King and Queen and humiliate the president. I don’t have to remind u that for the last hundred years a friendship has blossomed between America and England; after all, their people speak the same language. This Special Relationship is a powerful alliance that helps to keep peace in the world. But peace is our enemy. Bad news sells! So the more bad news there is, the richer and more powerful we beco
me. U must find a way to ruin this Special Relationship. I’m counting on u.

  Then the words disappeared. The Ratzis stared at the space where they had been, too afraid to speak in case Papa was still listening. When the lullaby came no more, they began to murmur and mumble.

  Mavis stuck out her pink tongue and licked her lips, dreaming of fame. Ratzis are greedy and cruel, but they also have a particular weakness: They want to be FAMOUS! To get a show on one of Papa’s many TV channels; to have a million followers on Ratagram. If the Ratzis ruined the Special Relationship, they would become very famous indeed.

  “We’ll put Shylo in the Gym!” Mavis shrieked. Every rat in the Shard knew what “the Gym” meant, and they shuddered. For humans, a gym is a place of health and fitness, but for lazy, fat rats it is a place to be feared. Thus, the gleaming ranks of machines and weights in the Ratzi gym were instruments of torture. “We’ll put him on the running machine!” She rubbed her sticky paws together gleefully.

  “Or the chest press,” said Flintskin. “He’ll never survive the chest press. That little bunny will wish he’d never left his burrow.”

  Mavis laughed. “Can’t wait to see him on the rowing machine. That’s broken even the toughest of our enemies. This should be a very easy job. That bunkin is no match for us.” She held up her claws and moved them in the light so that they glinted like knives. “And, since Papa chose me first, once Shylo has spilled every secret, I will be the one to eat him.”

  The other rats wriggled their bottoms together, doing the fearsome “Driggle”: jiggling their claws, rotating their bottoms, and whirling their pink tails around their heads like lassos. If you ever see a Driggle—RUN! It’s the war dance of the Ratzis.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SHYLO WAS RUNNING SO HARD he could barely breathe. His heart was pounding against his rib cage, and his blood was throbbing between his ears. The Ratzis were after him. They were close, very close. Close enough that he could smell their stinky breath and hear their shrill squeaking. He gasped for air and cried out. The little rabbit didn’t dare look around. He wouldn’t let them catch him. He couldn’t. Not after everything he had achieved. Then he felt a claw scratching his back. . . .