Escape from the Palace

by Santa Montefiore

  Shylo jumped and opened his eyes wide to see Belle de Paw, in her pink dressing gown, looking down at him. The beautiful amber-colored doe was gently stroking his brow and soothing him with her French accent. “Wake up, bunkin, you’re having a horrible dream.” Slowly, Shylo realized where he was: safe in his bed in The Grand Burrow that lay right underneath Buckingham Palace. “What was frightening you?” she asked.

  “The Ratzis were chasing me,” he told her, his breath catching in his throat because, although the dream had gone, the terror hadn’t.

  “But they didn’t catch you, did they?”

  “No. I was running as fast as I could.”

  “Nightmares are just your fears, Shylo. I dream about the Ratzis sneaking in to steal my jewelry.” She rubbed the diamond choker at her neck. “Before you go to sleep, you must think of all the things you love in the world.” She grinned and ran her paw down his damp cheek, where tears had wet his fur. “Celery?”

  He smiled back shyly. “Celery and my mother,” he murred.

  “You see, if you think of those things, there will be no room for your fears. Don’t forget that you defeated the Ratzis who were plotting against our beloved Queen.” She lifted his paw and showed him the special red sole that was the mark of a Royal Rabbit, reminding him of his adventure. “You are one of us now,” she said. “You are a brave and clever bunkin.”

  “I think I was just lucky,” Shylo said modestly.

  Belle de Paw shook her head. “You made your own luck, Shylo, and you can make it again, as often as you wish. If you believe in yourself, there is no limit to what you can do. Now, think of celery and your mother, and I will see you in the morning.”

  Shylo was about to speak, but Belle de Paw bent down and planted a kiss on his forehead, which silenced him because she was the most beautiful doe he had ever seen. “Don’t worry, bunkin, I’m not far away. If you cry out, I will be by your side in a second. We’re a family here. We always take care of one another.”

  Shylo watched Belle de Paw slip out the door and close it softly behind her. He could still smell the sweet scent of her fur, which was quite dizzying. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes. Even though he’d been here for several weeks now, he still wasn’t used to sleeping in this bed; he didn’t know if he would ever get used to being in the Royal Rabbits’ burrow.

  But he did as Belle de Paw had suggested and thought of his mother. He wondered what she had made of the medal he’d sent her. Although she wouldn’t know what it meant, she would at least be reassured that Shylo was alive and well. It had worried him greatly that she might think he was dead. Life in The Grand Burrow was so busy, he didn’t have time to think about the warren he used to call home, but at night, when he lay alone in his bed, his mind was drawn back to the kitchen where his mother cooked at the stove, and he could almost smell the familiar scent of carrot pie and feel her soft face press against his as she bent down to give him a kiss.

  He tried to be brave—after all, he was a Royal Rabbit now—but if he could have had a few minutes with his mother, he would have whispered in her ear that he was really quite homesick sometimes. Shylo didn’t, however, miss his siblings, least of all his older brother Maximilian, and he knew that, were he ever to go back, he would never allow them to bully him again.

  This certainty gave him a warm sense of pride. He might have been a little lucky in foiling the plot to embarrass the Queen, and he might not be quite as brave as the Royal Rabbits thought he was, but he knew that he was now strong enough to stand up to Maximilian. Simply being a member of the elite band of Royal Rabbits had given him the confidence to do so.

  Shylo thought of celery, he thought of the cozy Warren, and he thought of his friend Horatio and how proud he must be to know of Shylo’s success. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep, and in his dreams there were no Ratzis or corgis to terrorize him, only the roly-poly fields and soft green meadows of home.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, GENERALISSIMO NELSON, the leader of the Royal Rabbits, summoned Shylo to his war room for a meeting with Clooney, Belle de Paw, Laser, and Zeno, his four most important Hopster rabbits. (Hopsters are not like ordinary rabbits you see munching on grass in London parks; no, these highly intelligent and vigorous rabbits are bigger, more muscular, and very capable.)

  The most dashing of the four was Clooney. His official title was Groom of the Tail (and he certainly liked grooming himself), but really he was a secret agent. He was a very handsome rabbit—if a little vain (no one’s perfect!)—with long gray ears and an intelligent expression on his charming face. He wore a black dinner jacket with smart black trousers, a scarlet bow tie, and a cummerbund.

  As Shylo entered the room, Clooney was draped over the sofa in Nelson’s war room, admiring himself in a silver mirror and grooming his gray fur with a tortoiseshell comb he kept in his breast pocket for that very purpose. (It’s important to note that most of the time, when Clooney appeared to be gazing at himself in a mirror, he was actually spying on those behind him who didn’t know they were being watched. You could say that his vanity was a good disguise for a very dandyish spy!)

  Belle de Paw’s official position was the Doe of the Dressing Table. Her job was to look after the security of the Queen’s bedroom. Now she was at the periscopes in a sparkly blue dress with a feather boa, observing the comings and goings of everyone in Buckingham Palace above, from the Royal Family to the maids and footmen and Special Protection Officers. Belle de Paw also used the periscopes to look for anything that glinted. What she liked doing best was “borrowing” the odd diamond or ruby from the Queen’s boudoir, which she was certain Her Majesty would not miss.

  “When you have so many, what is one less?” she would say in her soft French accent, flashing her jewels.

  Laser was an American rabbit, and her job, besides being a secret agent, was linking the Royal Rabbits of London with the Rabbits of the White House. She was a very colorful, even garish, sight. The fur on her arms was dyed red, white, and blue stars and stripes, and she wore bright scarlet trousers with a blue stripe down each leg. She was all the colors of the American flag! On her back she carried a bow and a bag of arrows, and tucked into a belt at her hips was a whip. Laser was feisty and energetic and always ready for action. Right now she was studying the map table with her sharp eyes narrowed.

  The last, but by no means the least important, Hopster was the loud and muscly Marshal of the Thumpers, who was called Zeno. This big black buck was enormous, and his voice was so loud that the chandelier in the great hall would sometimes tinkle when he spoke. Zeno commanded the army of Thumpers, who were the Special Forces commando rabbits. He was very strong and brave, and everyone was a little afraid of him. They would be less afraid, however, if they knew his secret: that he was VERY frightened of thistles and rubber bands! (Shhh, please keep that information to yourselves. . . .)

  Every Royal Rabbit had taken an oath to protect the Royal Family from harm, and had the sole of one paw painted red, called the Badge, as a mark of great distinction. Nelson, the Generalissimo, had two red paws, which was known as the Double Badge.

  As Shylo hopped into the war room, Nelson looked over his glasses at the little bunny. “Ah, Shylo,” he said. “Now we can start.” The old gray buck hobbled to the map table, leaning on his baton with its silver rabbit’s head. “Royal Rabbits, gather around,” he commanded in his deep voice.

  Shylo gazed up at the heroic Hopsters collecting around that famous table. He was barely able to believe that he was here in The Grand Burrow, not as an Outsider but as a Royal Rabbit, a wearer of the Badge.

  As Shylo took his place, Zeno patted him on the back: “Hello, you little Monster,” he said, his Jamaican accent coming through clearly as he used his affectionate term for rabbits he liked. His pat almost knocked the life out of Shylo. The little bunkin hopped to the table to stand between Clooney and Laser. He lifted his chin and pulled back his shoulders, standing as tall as he could
, but he still looked tiny compared to the towering Hopsters.

  “POTUS is due to arrive in London in two days’ time to visit the King and Queen,” said Nelson.

  Shylo raised a paw shyly.

  “What is it, Shylo?” said Nelson, peering over his glasses.

  “What is POTUS?” the little bunny asked.

  “It means ‘President of the United States,’ ” Nelson replied.

  “Ah,” said Shylo.

  “ROTUS will arrive with their president on Air Force One, the president’s plane,” Nelson continued. “And ROTUS stands for?” He glanced at Shylo.

  “Rabbits of the United States?” Shylo suggested timidly.

  “Clever boy! You see, Shylo, America was once an English colony ruled by King George III and his Royal Rabbits. But the Americans rebelled and won their independence. The rabbits in America decided to stay to help the president run the new country, the United States. When the first president had the White House built, he didn’t even notice the rabbit tunnels running beneath it. Right under the Oval Office, where the president works, is the Oval Burrow. Just like here, the humans think they run things, but we all know that, without rabbits, nothing would ever get done. We’ll make ROTUS welcome here, and together we will ensure that the president’s visit runs smoothly.”

  The Generalissimo looked at Shylo, and his old face turned very serious. Shylo was reminded of Horatio, for he had had the same expression when he had taught Shylo about the Ratzis. “Britain and America have a very close friendship,” he continued. “Nothing can be allowed to ruin this Special Relationship. It’s part of the very foundation that helps us work together with other countries to keep the peace.”

  “The Ratzis would love to spoil everything,” said Belle de Paw. “If we are weaker, they are stronger.”

  “We can deal with them,” said Laser, baring one gold tooth and tapping her paw against the whip in her belt. “We won’t just talk the talk,” she said, “we’ll walk the walk.” And she did, strutting around the table in her leather boots.

  Laser is just amazing, Shylo thought, watching her with admiration.

  Just then there came three knocks on the door, and the Majordomo—a short, round doe in a red-and-gold ceremonial uniform, whose duty it was to run The Grand Burrow—hopped in. “Generalissimo,” announced Majordomo Frisby. “Rappaport has news. He awaits you in the Shack.”

  Nelson rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then said, “We will come at once.”

  Shylo followed the big Hopster rabbits down into the very deepest tunnels of The Grand Burrow. They descended a spiral staircase, cut into the earth like a giant corkscrew. The air around them grew cooler and a little damp until at last they reached a dimly lit room where a blotchy and almost hairless rabbit was on his knees at the back of a massive, old-fashioned computer, fiddling with wires. Suddenly, a spark flew out, just missing the rabbit’s ear, then the computer jumped to life and began to whir and rumble like a washing machine. Satisfied, the patchy rabbit stood up to greet the Generalissimo.

  Rappaport was not at all like the other Hopster rabbits. He was squat and flabby with a round belly and watery blue eyes as pale as mist, which were almost completely hidden behind a pair of thick glasses. He twitched nervously, putting his paws in and out of the pockets of his rather food-stained pinstriped suit. He looked pale, as if he had lived underground all his life, Shylo thought.

  “Ah, Rappaport,” said Nelson. “What news?”

  “Danger: We have learned that the Ratzis had a Driggle last night. Always a bad sign.” Rappaport pointed at his screen, where they could see the outline of the palace with red dots circling it. “You see, Ratzis are now staking out the palace,” he said.

  Nelson looked at those red dots and narrowed his eyes. “Are they indeed?”

  “They’ve never done that before,” said Laser.

  Rappaport shook his head. “No, they have not. But the president’s visit is the biggest chance they have ever had to create a world crisis.”

  “That is true,” growled Nelson.

  “But they’re chaotic. You can see from their movements that there’s no orderly plan. I suspect this is just a patrol to see what they can find,” Rappaport suggested sensibly.

  “I hope they find nothing,” said Belle de Paw, putting her paws on her hips.

  “We must all be careful coming and going beneath the Weeping Willow.” The pale rabbit twitched his nose and shuffled on his hind paws. Suddenly, the computer groaned and went dead. Rappaport banged it hard with his fist. It flickered erratically before lurching back to life.

  “Indeed,” murred Nelson. “Clooney—you, Laser, and Shylo go immediately to Number Ten and talk to ST-BT. See if he has more information.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Laser, winking at Shylo.

  “Yes, Generalissimo,” said Shylo, thrilled to be given an important task with Laser and Clooney.

  “Understood,” murred Clooney, straightening his bow tie in the reflection of the computer screen.

  “Good,” said Nelson, satisfied. “Nothing must destroy the Special Relationship.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  COME ON, SHYLO,” SAID LASER, setting off with Clooney by her side. “It’s time to introduce you to ST-BT.”

  Shylo hurried behind the two Hopster rabbits, up the spiral staircase, across the great hall, and through the round door to the tunnel, where the cart that had brought Shylo to The Grand Burrow that first day now waited on the train tracks to carry them to Number Ten Downing Street, the Prime Minister’s house.

  “You may not realize this,” said Clooney to Shylo, “but London is a city of tunnels. To use them you just need to know where they are.”

  These tracks ran along the tunnel—like a small railway down a mine. The rabbits hopped into the cart, which set off with a jerk and a screeching of wheels. As the wind swept through Shylo’s fur, he wondered who ST-BT was. Maybe another rabbit, or perhaps a mouse or a hedgehog? But when he hopped out of the cart, which eventually came to a halt outside a pair of sliding doors, he smelled the unmistakable and alarming taint of fox.

  Shylo froze. Foxes ate rabbits where Shylo came from. In fact, being eaten by a fox was possibly just as bad as being eaten by a corgi, Shylo thought.

  “It’s okay,” said Laser, sensing Shylo’s panic. “You have nothing to worry about. Those of us who protect the realm have a special code. The foxes here won’t eat you.”

  Shylo gulped. He felt his courage flag. “Easy, Shylo,” Clooney said gently. “Didn’t Horatio teach you the most important Rabbit Rule of Secret Craft? Trust. When you took the Oath of Allegiance, you agreed to trust us. Come along and stop trembling. ST-BT has no patience for wimps.”

  Laser patted his thin shoulder. “Come on, Shylo,” she said kindly, grinning down at him. “I know just how brave you are.” He looked up at her and she winked. His flagging courage rallied a little.

  The double doors slid open, and Clooney and Laser hopped through the doorway into a dark tunnel. Shylo had no option but to follow. The smell of fox was stronger now. It came in thick clouds, pungent and spicy. It wasn’t unpleasant like Ratzi stench and corgi breath, but it put fear into Shylo’s heart; many a rabbit in the Warren had been devoured by foxes.

  Shylo followed the Hopster rabbits down the long tunnel. The dark didn’t bother him, for rabbits eat carrots so they can see in the dark, but the fox smell was getting stronger all the time, and in spite of Laser’s reassurance, Shylo’s heart began to beat very fast.

  After a while, the tunnel started to climb steeply, and the Hopster rabbits scampered up it until they reached a green-cloth-covered hatch at the end. Clooney pushed it open. Shylo watched them jump into a large white room. He hesitated; here the taint of fox was almost overpowering, and he had to gather all his courage to follow them. But follow them he did, because Clooney was right: He trusted his friends; they wouldn’t lead him into danger.

  Shylo could hear the beat of rock ’n’ roll music coming fro
m behind a big white door with a shiny brass knob.

  “We are now directly below the Prime Minister’s office at Number Ten Downing Street,” Clooney said to Shylo as he turned the brass knob and opened the door. “Welcome to the Fox Club.”

  Shylo hopped into the room.

  His heart contracted with fear: red fur; red, bushy tails; white teeth. FOXES EVERYWHERE.

  Sleek, smartly dressed foxes sat on high velvet chairs at a gleaming zinc bar. Some drank colorful cocktails with straws, and some sipped coffee from small espresso cups. Some leaned over a green felt pool table, wielding pool cues, while others lounged around card tables, playing poker or spinning roulette wheels as if this were a casino. Others were dancing to music from the jukebox. A fox threw darts at a board, always hitting the bull’s-eye. There was another group chatting in big leather chairs, talking in low voices. And everything in the Fox Club was shiny and glossy and bling.

  Shylo’s eye (the other, remember, was concealed behind his red eye patch) was drawn to an enormous oil painting hanging beside the bar. It was of the coolest-looking fox of all, riding a Harley Davidson motorcycle. His red-whiskered face was wide and good-looking, his fur rich and silky, his yellow eyes bright and shining with intelligence. On the gleaming oil tank of the Harley Davidson, in big gold letters, were the initials ST-BT.

  At that moment, a pair of double doors swung open. The room fell silent and still. Only the music continued to play. There, standing in the door frame, a giant fox was silhouetted against the light that shone behind him. He had one arm raised and one paw off the ground in a flamboyant pose.