“Who are you — ! Why, it’s Harry, my dear brother!” He struck him on the side of the face with the cane, and Harry fell, landing hard. Isaac pulled Harry to his feet and hit him repeatedly across the shoulders and head. The blows stung and Harry punched back, but Isaac ducked and whipped the cane against his legs as the momentum pushed Harry forward. For a moment, Harry remembered that they had wrestled furiously as children, before Isaac’s illness, pummeling each other and swearing until Mama called from the kitchen, “Stop it, you two!” But this was different. There was no cane then. Now Isaac’s upper-body strength gave a fierce power to his blows, and Harry sensed a deliberate impersonality in the vicious beating that knocked him to the ground. His shoulders and legs throbbed, and he felt the blood streaming down the side of his face. Struggling to his feet, he lost his balance, slipped, stumbled, and fell again to the path. Isaac was standing over him, grasping him by the throat with one paw, lifting him off the ground, his cane clenched in his other fist, when Harry cried out, “Wait! I’ve had enough!” In the old days it had been Isaac who had begged for a truce.
Isaac loosened his grip. Harry fell backward, then slowly sat up, dabbing at the side of his face and pressing his sleeve to his cheek to stop the blood. Isaac held on to the cane and reached for his knapsack and his hat, which had fallen alongside the path.
“Why did you lie?” Harry gasped.
“Because it was fun,” Isaac said, panting. He sat down opposite Harry, pulling the bundle close. “Unfortunately, this particular game is over, at least for the moment. There will be others. I hear word of a slave trade on the other side of the mountain. Could be even more lucrative.” He seemed thoughtful. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” Isaac began slowly, “but maybe the gods are trying to be helpful….”
As Isaac turned, he struck Harry’s left leg repeatedly with his cane. Harry tried to grab it away from him, but Isaac’s grip was impossible to dislodge; instead Harry squirmed away, his leg burning inside his boot. He reached over and yanked Isaac’s legs out from under him. The two struggled on the slippery path, falling and sliding. Then they fell apart, breathing hard.
“Why leave now?” Harry asked, slowly recovering his breath. “It can’t be that you’re running out of dead rabbits.”
“So you know? Good! I always suspected you were smarter than you looked.”
Harry didn’t answer. He was too outraged to speak.
“I suppose I can tell you the truth since this will certainly be our last meeting,” Isaac said. “There are rebels — rabbits, if you can believe it — who have discovered my connection to this trade — those treacherous foxes I sent as scouts confessed everything — and the rebels are committed to ending it. They are out to get me — even though the stupid creatures were betrayed by their own kind. I am not afraid of them,” he went on. “But they have been gathering my enemies. It is time to leave.
“Back in Foxboro, I promised a permanent supply of fresh-killed rabbit, only for those select few who could afford my prices….”
“Save your breath. I know all about it.”
“Really? I don’t think you do. You don’t know that I persuaded my customers to pay in advance,” Isaac said, “or that I raised the price again and again…. Unfortunately, the demand increased while the supply was slow in coming.”
“Those must be the promises you mentioned when you came to see me,” Harry said.
“Indeed. In case you’re wondering, by the way, no one suspected the rabbits were sentient — not that my clientele would have minded. Once the meat was prepared properly, no one could tell the difference. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to test this hypothesis myself before agreeing to the trade.”
“Lucky you.”
“In any case, ” Isaac went on, “due to the growing strength of these rebels and the restlessness at home, it is becoming too risky for me to keep my end of the bargain. Needless to say, I have no intention of returning the money!” he said with a short laugh. “There will be outrage. Foxes do not like to be cheated, especially by one of their own. I’m sure you can understand that.”
Harry nodded slowly. “If you knew all along about the rabbits, why did you send me out to the fortress?”
“One can never have too much information,” Isaac said smoothly.
You’re lying. There’s another reason — but what is it?
“However,” his brother said, slowly getting to his feet, “all good things must come to an end. While it lasted, this was one of the best — and most delicious — things ever.” He leaned over, opened the knapsack, and showed the contents to Harry: dozens of neat packages of bills, all of high denomination and banded with paper and the familiar logo, along with several small burlap bags that Harry remembered seeing at FoxBank. “As you can see, I don’t expect to have any trouble establishing myself in a new business venture.”
He stood, closed the knapsack, picked up the cane and sack, and started down the path. After a few steps, Isaac turned. “I feel sorry for you, brother,” he said. “You have nothing and you’re going nowhere. You’re a failure — Mama knew it, and so did Dad — and you always will be.” Reaching into the knapsack, he pulled out one of the small bags. “For their sake, I can afford to be generous, at least this once. Here. This is for your trouble.” He tossed the bag contemptuously in Harry’s direction. It landed at the side of the trail and broke open, spilling some of its contents into the snow. Then he twirled the cane, tossed it in the air, and caught it. He broke into a trot, then a run; the path turned and he was gone.
The woods were silent once again, and the moonlight was bright on the spot where Isaac had stood. Insult upon insult! Outrage piled upon outrage! Harry could hardly contain his anger and disappointment. His hopes for seeing Isaac in front of the High Judge — vanished; his chance to bring him down, to expose him for the criminal he was — gone forever. So much for revenge, for fairness, for justice. “Damn! Damn! Damn!” He pounded the path with his fist. He got away with it! Again!
And that comment about Mama and Dad — a low blow. Typical — but bitterly satisfying to recognize that Isaac’s last effort to hurt him had been ineffective. Isaac was wrong. Mama and Dad didn’t believe I was a failure. They were too busy worrying about you.
He lay back and closed his eyes.
* * *
It seemed only a moment later that he was awakened by a sharp pain in his leg. Someone had tripped over him in the darkness and fallen heavily. Harry saw a lantern on the ground and smelled the familiar scent of sassafras tobacco.
Gerard groaned and tried to get up. “What in the gods’ name … ” He looked around. “Harry!” Gerard reached for the lantern and held it up to Harry’s face. “What happened to you? What are you doing here?”
If I stay on this path long enough, Harry thought, everyone I know will find me. “I could ask you the same question,” he said, remembering the purpose of his journey to the Inn. “We were supposed to meet at the fortress, remember?”
Gerard shifted his position on the ground. He was out of breath and had obviously been running — with some difficulty, apparently, considering he wore the heavy fur coat and the ridiculous hat Harry remembered. Gerard looked anxious and worried. “Of course I remember,” he panted. “Didn’t Elton find you at the cabins? It was an opportunity I could not afford to miss. A theater troupe, looking for an experienced director, paying well — I couldn’t turn it down. My old profession, the lure of the …” His voice trailed off.
“I thought it was your knee.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. My knee.” Gerard was silent. “Harry — I need to tell you … things are not what they seem.” He heaved himself to his feet. He was carrying the heavy carpetbag Harry had opened on his bed, the bag in which he’d found the note from Isaac, “Remember: I trust you.”
The note now seemed laughably unimportant.
Gerard held the lantern up to Harry’s face. “What happened?” he asked again. “Did you fall? I told you it wa
s dangerous to travel these trails alone.”
“No,” Harry said. “I … bumped into Isaac. Or maybe I should say he bumped into me.” He watched Gerard carefully in the lantern light, but Gerard only blinked. The expression of concern on his face did not change.
“Oh? Very surprising, don’t you agree?” He looked around anxiously, then turned back to Harry. “Did he say where he was going, or whether he was coming back?”
“You never mentioned you knew my brother,” Harry said, ignoring the question. “In fact, you told me you knew only theater people in Foxboro.”
“So I did, so I did.” There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Did Isaac tell you to spy on me?” Now that I finally have the opportunity to ask the question, Harry thought, I hardly care about the answer. “Is that why you insisted on going with me to the old fortress?”
“Spy on you? Why would you think that?” Gerard said, genuinely surprised. “Really, Harry! Our meeting was nothing more than a delightful accident. It’s been lonely out here in the woods, staying at the Inn, eating meals with that … fool and his incessant singing…. I needed a break from the … routine. When I met you, I had been considering the possibility of a permanent departure for climes unknown. An escape, you might say. A trip to the cabins seemed like a good start in that direction —” He stopped abruptly. “But I was quickly reminded that I needed to attend to other … responsibilities.” He paused again. “I confess I suspected you might be related to Isaac. There’s a strong family resemblance, don’t you agree?”
“I never thought so until recently.”
“Did you hear something?” Gerard lifted the lantern and held it high, squinting into the dim light.
“No. Are you being pursued? Or are you expecting someone? A rabbit or two, perhaps?” Harry couldn’t resist.
Gerard turned to him slowly and pulled the lantern close. “How did you find out?”
“I met Martin,” Harry said. “Singing. He mistook me for my brother.”
“Martin! Where is he? He’s disappeared and without him I can’t possibly …” Gerard sighed. “Oh, I don’t care. It’s over, at least for me, and I’m glad you know. I did not enjoy the pretense.”
“Spare me the sentiment,” Harry said scornfully. “What you’ve been doing is disgusting and illegal. You deserve to be punished.”
“It’s not sentiment,” Gerard insisted. “I like you. You’re different from Isaac. He has a heart of stone.” He sighed again. “You have no idea how much I regret being involved in this business. And as far as punishment is concerned, I carry mine with me every day. It’s called a conscience.” He looked down, unable to meet Harry’s gaze.
“Still the actor,” Harry said. “You’ll get no sympathy from me. Besides, there are always choices. Don’t you agree?”
Gerard turned to him angrily. “Maybe you’re more like your brother than I thought.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I ask myself that question sometimes,” Gerard said. He fell silent, then after a moment, said, “Haven’t you ever done something you regretted, but then found it difficult to get untangled?”
Harry thought about it. “No.”
Gerard smiled briefly. “No? How unusual! What a strange life you must have led! No mistakes, no regrets, no apologies. No sleepless nights, tossing and turning, wishing for a different outcome! I can hardly imagine it.”
“If you didn’t like what you were doing, why not stop?” It seemed so simple.
The weasel was silent. “I liked the money,” he said finally. “Perhaps you can understand that.”
Yes, Harry thought, I can.
Gerard stared at him, then lifted his bundles. “Well, I am going up North to get as far from here as possible,” he said. “I never want to see another rabbit as long as I live, and if I can find a community without foxes, so much the better. Good-bye, Harry.” He turned away and ran heavily down the path, the earflaps on his hat bouncing against his head. After a moment he too disappeared.
At least Gerard won’t be going to the cave tonight, Harry thought. That will leave Quentin to deal with Wally and Dan. And I know how that will turn out.
Harry’s shoulders were stiff and aching, and when he took a deep breath there was a sharp pain in his upper back. His leg was swollen where Isaac had struck him repeatedly with his cane, and Harry took off his boot with considerable difficulty. He applied some snow to the spot, which helped for a moment, until the cold water ran down into his sock. If I don’t put the boot back on now, he thought, I’ll never be able to do it.
He pulled himself to his feet and took a step, but his weight on the bruised leg inside his boot caused him to gasp with pain; he wobbled and fell. Damn Isaac! Groping in the snow for the walking stick, he heaved himself up and leaned on it, picked up his belongings, and shifted his weight so that his pack was on one shoulder. He was weak with hunger; breathing was painful and his leg could support no weight. He turned toward the Inn, hesitated, then looked back.
There was not a sound in the forest. The burlap bag lay bulging on the path, its contents outlined clearly, the few escaped coins glinting on the snow. I don’t need you, Harry thought. I’m through with Isaac and everything connected to him. He turned and made his way slowly down the path.
Harry spent the rest of the night and the next day at the Inn. Becky had fussed over him when he’d knocked at the door, very late, and Harry decided to let her. He hurt all over and was so exhausted and gloomy he slept soundly. When he awoke the next morning, he made his way painfully to the dining room and ate quickly, without speaking to anyone. Becky and Allison were nowhere to be seen, but clearly they had left instructions that Harry be taken care of, and several youngish rats, looking respectful and concerned, hovered about him. When one of them rushed to find a cushion for his leg, Harry laughed. The irony was hard to bear.
* * *
The following afternoon, he stood at the window of his room, looking out at the forest. The dark, jagged profile of the firs was backlit; the path disappeared into the woods. He closed his eyes and thought about what lay ahead.
Isaac would settle on the other side of the Black Mountains and come up with a way to profit from a trade in slaves, an endeavor as repugnant — and illegal — as the trade in sentient rabbits. He would ingratiate himself into the governing structure and use his money to buy power. Maybe he’d fake his disability again. The public would admire him because of his wealth; some would feel sorry for him because of his limp, but all would learn to fear him once they experienced his cold heart. There would always be a Martin around who could be persuaded to help. Or a Gerard — smart enough to know better but able to silence his conscience so that he could collect the gold. Worst of all, Harry would never have the chance to reveal his brother’s true nature.
Too bad Dad and Mama are dead. At least I could go to them and tell them the truth.
… “So you see,” Harry said to Mama, “Isaac was never as sick as you thought. There is nothing wrong with his leg. He’s been pretending all these years just for the fun of it.”
“I can hardly believe it,” Dad said. “Why would he do such a thing?”
Mama sighed. “I never knew Isaac was so desperate for attention,” she said. “I tried to give him as much as he needed. Now I see that it wasn’t enough.”
“But, Mama!” Harry said. “What about me?”
“I always knew you were stronger,” Mama said. “You didn’t need me as much as he did.” …
“That’s not true!” Harry said aloud.
… Mama just shook her head. “I am so disappointed in Isaac,” she said. “Won’t you forgive him?” …
This was not the fantasy Harry had hoped for. “Never!” he said aloud again. “I can never forgive him,” and neither should you, he added, but Mama and Dad had already faded away.
He sat back down on the bed. His rib cage and stomach still ached from Isaac’s blows. After many applications of ice, the pain and swell
ing in his leg had diminished, but he still had to retrieve Dad’s knife and cut a large slit down the side in order to slip on his boot. Even then, he could barely tug it over his leg and the pain was terrible.
Somehow having his boots on made him feel better. He limped tentatively around the bed, holding on to the side. Now the room seemed small and confining. With Becky and Allison away, there was no one to talk to, and the guests at meals became very quiet when Harry appeared. The books stacked on the table in the lobby were ancient and focused mainly on raccoon history and social issues that held no interest for Harry.
I need to get out.
I’ll go back to Elton’s tent and see if I can find out what happened to Quentin, he thought, although if the rabbit had survived, he would have met Elton by now and they would have made their way to the rebels. Perhaps they’re safely back at Stonehaven. Still, Harry felt he needed to be outdoors. He’d take a quick look at the tent — if it was still there — and start home tomorrow, when his leg would be stronger. The exercise would do him good.
He put on his jacket and walked tentatively across the room, but he was unsteady on his feet and could hardly stand after a few steps. I’ll need that damn walking stick. He took it and went downstairs, and stepped out into the cold, sunny afternoon.
* * *
The sky was bright with sunlight. All around him, the snowy trees glittered; the path, turning to ice, crunched under his feet. A wet, translucent fog hung in the air and created a painful glare as the sun penetrated the dense shrubbery and trees heavy with snow. Harry shielded his eyes with his free paw and leaned on the walking stick with the other. It was slow going. The path gleamed like a mirror.
A Taste for Rabbit Page 19