“Only because I made you, Flintskin, you lazy slob!”
“He’s not as light as I thought he’d be.”
“Stop complaining and do your job. We have work to do.”
“Let’s take him to the Shard. The Doctor will make him talk, and then we’ll find out all the secrets of the Royal Rabbits of London.” Flintskin laughed. “No one survives the chest press!”
By the time Shylo was released from the sack, he was feeling so sick he could barely move. Gingerly, he crept out to find himself surrounded by Ratzis. Hundreds of Ratzis. The smell was so repulsive he could barely breathe. The rats peered at him. What was more alarming than their bulging, greedy eyes was the saliva dribbling from their open mouths. A couple were actually Driggling. Shylo was afraid that they might not interrogate him as he’d overheard, but gobble him up instead.
He trembled with fear. He had begun to believe himself brave, as brave as any of the Royal Rabbits, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t brave at all. After the triumph of his last adventure, he now felt such a fool because he couldn’t even muster a small slice of courage in the face of this many rats. He was terrified.
“Don’t be afraid, little bunny,” said one of the fattest Ratzis. “We’re not going to eat you . . . yet!” He guffawed, and his greasy belly wobbled. Shylo’s ears had fallen over his face, and his bottom lip was trembling as he tried to hold back his tears.
“What’s that he’s got on his eye?” asked a scrawny one.
“What happens if I pull it?” chuckled a scruffy one crawling with fleas. He put out a long claw and pulled the elastic like Maximilian, Shylo’s brother, used to do. When it snapped back, it gave Shylo a twang of pain. Suddenly, his fear turned to anger, and he clenched his paws.
“You do that again and I’ll set the corgis on you!” he shouted, surprising himself. “They made a hearty meal out of those rats I found in the tunnel!” Shylo didn’t even come up to the rat’s waist, but his outburst had been so furious, the rat stepped back in shock and Shylo felt empowered for a brief and blissful moment. But then it was over. Rough claws grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Enough!” Shylo recognized the voice. It was the female rat who had captured him, Mavis. She really was very ugly, Shylo thought, peering up at her misshapen jaw and drool-speckled lips.
Suddenly, the sound of “Rock-a-bye Baby” silenced the muttering rats. Words appeared in the air, and Shylo read them in astonishment, wondering how they got there.
Well done, Mavis. I am proud of my clever Ratzi. I have been busy too, and have discovered something very pleasing from an informer in The Grand Burrow itself.
At the shocking mention of a traitor at the heart of Royal Rabbit Headquarters, Shylo stopped feeling sorry for himself and stared at the words in horror. What rabbit would betray Nelson and why? he wondered.
The president’s greatest fear is rats! Isn’t that the best news ever! I command u to invade Buckingham Palace at dusk in ur seething hundreds and swarm into the State Dining Room. Now u know where the secret entrance to The Grand Burrow is, u shouldn’t have too much trouble fighting ur way in. My Ratzis r far superior to those rabbits! I want to see the president looking like a fool on live TV, broadcast all over the world. America will never recover from the humiliation, and the British will be blamed. The world will SHAKE!
The words stopped, and the rats looked from one to the other with excitement. They now had a plan, and it was a good one. It was the best plan Papa Ratzi had ever had.
“Come, little rabbit, you have an appointment with the Doctor,” said Mavis, anxious to get inside the palace so that she would be the one to film the Ratzi-swarm.
“Uh, the Doctor’s sick,” said Thigby, scratching his bottom where a flea was burrowing into his fur.
“Sick?” Mavis rounded on the flabby rat. “What do you mean he’s sick? He’s a doctor!”
“He ate a gigantic hamburger, and the lettuce in it made him ill,” Thigby explained. “Serves him right for eating greens. Yuk!”
“Then we’ll have to wait until he’s better. In the meantime, take this silly bunny to the Gym and guard him,” she commanded, and Thigby nodded obediently.
The Ratzis’ Gym was positioned at the very tip of the point of the Shard. Everything in it was brand-new. Shiny leather-and-chrome running machines gleamed like metallic statues, facing an entire wall of glass. But of course not one Ratzi had ever used this room for the purpose of exercise; instead, they treated it like a torture chamber.
Thigby dragged Shylo to the Gym by the scruff of his neck, and as they entered the room, Shylo shivered. The Gym didn’t have the same ratty scent as downstairs; instead, the air was thick with the smell of fear. Thigby, who had only one ear, a short nose, swollen cheeks, and round, bulging eyes, leered at his prisoner. He was a very sweaty rat—so sweaty that it ran like a stream over his flibbery belly, leaving a trail.
“It’s just you and me, bunkin. I could eat you now. I could have you all to myself,” he said, stepping closer and covering Shylo in his stinky, ratty breath.
“But you wouldn’t want to upset Mavis,” said Shylo, thinking quickly. “And what would Papa Ratzi do to you?” Thigby sneered, but backed away, leaving Shylo alone in the room.
The rabbit hopped to the glass wall and gazed out over London. If anyone had looked up at that moment, they would have seen a very small, very frightened rabbit staring out of the enormous window. But Shylo didn’t imagine anyone knew where he was. He didn’t imagine anyone even knew he’d been kidnapped. He was all alone, waiting to face the Doctor, whoever he was, and he longed to cuddle his mother with all his heart.
Shylo started to cry. He’d let everyone down: Nelson, who had believed in him; and Laser, Clooney, Zeno, and Belle de Paw, who had so readily embraced him into their fold. He didn’t deserve their affection. He didn’t deserve to be a Royal Rabbit. He didn’t deserve his Red Badge or his medal. He now felt foolish for having sent it to his mother. Real Royal Rabbits didn’t get kidnapped by Ratzis! He had been stupid to celebrate his success after one triumphant adventure. One lucky escape didn’t make him brave or clever. He was a small country bunny with an eye patch to cure a squint: That was the truth. How could he ever have believed he was a Royal Rabbit?
ST-BT was in the Fox Club, sitting at a roulette table, spinning the wheel, when the doors opened and a slight, wiry vixen walked into the room dressed in a scarlet tracksuit. ST-BT raised his eyes and watched her approach. Red Velvet was one of his most valuable spies. She could stalk along drainpipes, dance on rooftops, sashay through railings, and at night she padded empty streets as if she ruled the city. She was as swift as the wind and as nimble as an acrobat, and there was no creature in the whole of the city to touch her.
ST-BT nodded, inviting her to approach. “You have news?” he asked.
“The Ratzis have kidnapped Shylo and taken him to the Shard,” she replied.
At this, ST-BT’s face darkened. He liked the little rabbit. He might be a feeble-looking creature, but he had shown wit and intelligence, and if Horatio had seen qualities in him worthy of sending him into the heart of the Royal Rabbits, then he must be a very special rabbit indeed. “Shylo’s in mortal danger,” he said. “He won’t survive the Doctor. No one does. We must inform Nelson at once.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHYLO STOOD FOR A LONG while, staring out over the city, wondering what the Royal Rabbits were doing and whether they knew of his capture. He hoped that, if they did, they would not risk their lives trying to rescue him. He wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Papa Ratzi had written, that there was an informant in the very heart of The Grand Burrow. It was unbearable to think that someone had betrayed Nelson and all the noble rabbits who worked so tirelessly to protect the Royal Family.
The time the banquet at Buckingham Palace was due to begin kept drawing ever closer, and there was no way for Shylo to warn his friends of the terrible Ratzi plan to humiliate the president on live television. I
t was dreadful, and he felt thoroughly useless. If only he could think of a way to escape.
Shylo hopped helplessly about the Gym, trying to find an exit, but there wasn’t even a tiny hole for him to crawl through, and even if he was strong enough to break the glass wall, the only way out was falling hundreds of feet to the ground.
The hours went by, and he watched the sun climb over the Thames and hover above the Houses of Parliament. Then he watched it slowly sink in the western sky, and he began to be afraid. He had been locked in the Gym all day, but it felt like a week.
Just then, the entire building seemed to vibrate with a whirring, turning sound. Shylo pricked his ears and listened. The door opened and Thigby slunk in.
“It’s dusk. My comrades are setting off for the Weeping Willow,” he said gleefully. “They’re going to storm The Grand Burrow!” He jumped up and down with excitement, his floppy belly jumping up and down too, as if it had a life of its own. “They’re going to frighten the president and embarrass the Queen, and it will all be on live TV!”
Thigby started to Driggle. What a gruesome sight that was! Ratzis, like parents, should not be allowed to dance, especially in public. “By nightfall, there won’t be a single rabbit left, and you, little bunkin, will be the cherry on the cake,” he gloated. “Take your last look at London.”
Shylo stood by the glass and gazed out over the city. The sun had slid farther down the sky, turning the river to gold. It was nearly nightfall, and there was nothing Shylo could do to warn the Royal Rabbits. Nothing. He was helpless. He banged the glass with his red-stamped paw.
Back at The Grand Burrow, Nelson and the Hopsters were growing increasingly worried about Shylo. No one had seen him since that morning, when he had watched the Thumpers setting off to fight the Ratzis. Belle de Paw feared he had ventured outside to observe the action and been taken by a bird of prey, but the others were doubtful; Shylo was much too clever for that. It wasn’t until ST-BT swished in to see Nelson that the horrible truth was revealed.
“The Ratzis have taken Shylo,” he told the Generalissimo.
“The Ratzis? Are you sure?” he growled. “Why would they take Shylo?”
“Because he’s an easy target, and they want information,” ST-BT replied smoothly.
“I thought it was strange that the Ratzis retreated so quickly,” said Zeno, shaking his head. “They were simply creating a diversion so they could capture Shylo.”
“That little bunkin is much too curious for his own good,” lamented Belle de Paw with a sniff. “He should have stayed in the safety of The Grand Burrow.”
“We need a plan,” exclaimed Laser.
“And fast!” Clooney added.
The fox shrugged, for it was not his problem. “You should send a rescue party, or that poor little rabbit is done for.” He made for the door, then turned around and added: “Shame, that small bunkin had a lot of potential.” A moment later, he was gone.
Nelson solemnly gathered everyone together to try to plan Shylo’s rescue. But, as they talked through different scenarios, it seemed hopeless; how could they reach Shylo in the Ratzis’ lair?
Shylo was doomed.
Just then, Rappaport burst in. “I’ve intercepted another text from Papa Ratzi,” he updated them gravely.
“And?” Nelson asked. “What does it say?”
“They’re on their way here.”
“Here?” Nelson banged his baton on the floor. “Good heavens!”
“They only way into the palace is via our tunnels,” said Rappaport. “Now that they know our secret entrance, they’ll be hoping to catch us by surprise and fight their way into the State Dining Room. This is a threat such as we’ve never had before. They must be plotting something diabolical.”
“Then we’ll be ready for them!” said Zeno, and his booming voice made everyone jump.
“Zeno, mobilize your Thumpers. Lola, call your Secret Service Jacks,” Nelson commanded. “Remember, we’re stronger when we work together.”
Zeno glanced at Lola, and his fur bristled. Lola looked at Zeno, and her eyes smoldered. But this was not the time to be competitive. They had a common enemy to defeat.
“Lola,” said Zeno, standing over the map table. “Let me show you the tunnels.” He pressed a button and the map of the palace disappeared, and in its place the network of tunnels that ran beneath it appeared in yellow lines and flashing lights.
Lola put her paws on the table and gazed at it with interest. “Right, I propose we place Secret Service here and Thumpers here,” she said, pointing at specific places on the map. In spite of the threat, both rabbits were excited at the prospect of battle. It was what they’d been trained for.
“My Thumpers will be the first line of defense when the Ratzis reach the Weeping Willow,” said Zeno.
“And my Jacks will be right behind them,” said Lola.
Zeno looked at Lola, and Lola looked at Zeno, and then, surprisingly, they both grinned. Aware that they were on the same team now, fighting for the Special Friendship between their two nations, they felt a rousing sense of camaraderie.
“I got your back, Zeno, my friend,” Lola added gravely.
“And we’ll be the stronger for it,” said Zeno.
While they planned tactics, Laser was pacing up and down, slicing the air with her whip. “But what are we gonna do about Shylo?” she asked.
“Shylo won’t be able to hold out against their torture. If we don’t do something, they’ll find out all our secrets,” said Clooney.
“If they haven’t already,” Lola added grimly.
Belle de Paw gasped and her delicate ears drooped. “No! I have faith in Shylo. I don’t believe he will tell them anything! But we have to rescue him.”
“The Shard is like a fortress.” Nelson shook his head regretfully. “I fear Shylo is lost. The threat to the banquet is more important. We took an oath and we must honor it, whatever the cost. Hunter, Laser, and Clooney, I want you in the State Dining Room, now. Belle, I need to you to check the periscopes and keep an eye out for any sign of the Ratzis.”
Belle de Paw hopped sadly to the periscopes and pulled down the one inscribed with the name STATE DINING ROOM. She put her eye to it and saw the shiny shoes of butlers, footmen, and maids as they put the final touches to the table in preparation for the dinner. Then her vision misted, and a tear trickled down her cheek. She had grown very fond of Shylo in the last few weeks, and now it seemed she would never see that floppy-eared bunkin again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HAVING CAUGHT SHYLO, MAVIS AND Flintskin had celebrated with a feast of junk food they’d found rotting in the garbage cans before quickly falling asleep. They’d been awoken sharply by the ruckus of all the other rats strapping on their Ratzi-blades and wheeling out of the building. This was their chance to win fame. There was no way these two ambitious rats were going to stay in the Shard when there was a prize to be won for filming the president’s humiliation.
Of all the Ratzis, Mavis was the craftiest. She and Flintskin did not set off, as the others did, toward the Weeping Willow, but toward the palace itself. Mavis knew the Royal Rabbits would be distracted chasing the Ratzis on blades at the Weeping Willow, and she could use that to her advantage and sneak in another way without being seen. The Royal Rabbits would never expect a Ratzi to enter the palace through a door or window.
Mavis decided that she would somehow attach herself to a guest attending the dinner, then be taken directly into the State Dining Room itself where she’d have a perfect view of the president and the Queen. Her video camera would be ready for her to film the moment the rats swarmed, and she’d be the first with the footage of a terrified president. That would earn her Papa Ratzi’s reward and maybe even her own reality show on one of his TV channels. She’d become a star.
She looked across at Flintskin skating beside her as she whizzed down the tunnel on her Ratzi-blades.
Every star needs a sidekick, she thought.
Back at the entrance
to The Grand Burrow, Zeno was busy shouting orders at his Thumpers. His voice was so loud and booming that it echoed off the trees in the park and sent squirrels fleeing into the branches. He formed the elite rabbits into lines beneath the Weeping Willow, ready to face the Ratzis.
Lola assembled the ROTUS, dressed in their dark suits and shades, behind the line of Thumpers, as well as sending a select few to hide among the bushes with their acorn guns at the ready. The Special Relationship between the United Kingdom and America might have been on the brink of disaster in the human world, but it had never been stronger in the animal world.
“I’m grateful you’re here,” said Zeno to Lola as they discussed their final plans.
Lola grinned. “We’re a good team,” she replied. “We’ll blast those rats back to the sewers where they belong.” She put up her paw, and Zeno gave it a friendly slap.
“The sewers are too good for them,” he growled.
“After, we’ll come back and celebrate our victory over a glass of carrot juice,” Lola added.
“A glass of our finest carrot juice,” Zeno corrected. “Only the best for our American friends!”
Laser, Hunter, and Clooney took the small wooden lift that used to be a dumbwaiter up into the palace. If the Ratzis managed to break through the lines of Thumpers and Jacks, they’d head straight for the State Dining Room. The three rabbits would wait for them there. Laser had her bow and arrows and her whip, Hunter had an acorn gun, and Clooney had a hand mirror tucked into his dinner jacket. (You may think that a little vain of Clooney, but remember that shiny surfaces enabled him to secretly observe people.) They all hoped Zeno and Lola would ensure that they didn’t have to use their weapons.
The three rabbits crept through the rooms, keeping to the shadows as much as possible to avoid the comings and goings of staff as they prepared for the banquet. At last, they reached the State Dining Room. Their secret entrance to this room was normally concealed inside a wooden cabinet placed against the wall, but their hearts sank as they realized the cabinet had been moved and a table with a display of flowers had been put there instead. There was no way they were going to get in by their usual method. The big double doors, which were open, would be their only chance, but sitting in front of them was a corgi. This particular dog was called Messalina; she was one of the Queen’s favorites, and because she was the fiercest, she was head of the Pack of nine that lived at the palace.
Escape from the Palace Page 5
