Wed Wabbit

by Lissa Evans

  ‘So can I just suggest a little facial relaxation?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re looking rather stern.’

  ‘Oh.’ Fidge tried a brief grin. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘It’s a start,’ said Ella, tactfully. ‘Now tell me about these Purples.’

  ‘All I know is that Purple Wimblies “understand the past and future of our Land”. And I’ve been told to see them first.’ She was struck by a thought. ‘Do you know Wed Wabbit?’

  ‘I’ve only been working with your sister since her last birthday, so probably not as well as you do. I do know that he and Minnie are very close.’

  ‘He’s her favourite toy, she takes him everywhere and she’s always giving us his orders – “Wed Wabbit wants to stay up late, Wed Wabbit says to get more strawberry bubble bath, Wed Wabbit says he doesn’t want to go to Auntie Claire’s flute concert”. He was the first thing Minnie asked for after the accident. She’ll be missing him really, really badly.’ The thought was painful; Fidge began to walk faster.

  A delicate, silvery note floated across the meadow, followed by a second, and then a third, and from the shadows of the Grove, a trio of Purple Wimblies stepped into the sunlight.

  Each carried a small gong; each wore a hooded purple cloak; each had a scribbly black moustache. Together, in whispery, dreamy voices, they spoke:

  ‘In and out and back and through

  Follow strangers, follow do.

  To the Mystic Woody Hollow

  Follow follow follow follow.’

  Softly, the Purple Wimblies tapped the gongs again, and then turned and melted into the darkness.

  ‘Oh that was awfully good,’ said Ella. ‘Such a marvellous sense of drama.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Fidge, eagerly. ‘Let’s go!’

  It felt as if they were entering a huge hall, the trunks of the trees like broad pillars holding up a roof of leaves. Through odd gaps in the canopy, sunlight sliced through to the forest floor, and ahead of Fidge and Ella, an edging of white stones marked the narrow path. The air smelled of spice and smoke, and there was the sound of distant chanting.

  For the first time since arriving in Wimbley Woo, Fidge felt a stir of excitement. Soon, she’d be getting instructions; soon, instead of randomly wandering around she’d be able to make a proper plan and sort things out.

  The path began to slope downwards, and the leaping light of a bonfire came into view. Around it danced a circle of Purple Wimblies, waving silver ribbons, leaping, swooping, dipping. More gongs sounded.

  ‘Thrilling,’ said Ella. ‘The hours of rehearsal that must have gone into this …’

  The chanting grew louder, until Fidge could make out the words:

  ‘The long-awaited day is here

  And soon we shall be freed from fear!

  These strangers from another land,

  Our prophecy will understand.’

  She glanced at Ella. ‘Prophecy? I thought they were just going to tell me what to do next.’

  And then, abruptly, silence fell and the dancers paused, toes pointed, arms outstretched, silver ribbons drooping from their four-fingered hands.

  A tall hooded Wimbley, holding a small log above its head, walked with slow dignity in front of the dancers and stood for a moment silhouetted against the fire. And then two Wimblies with flaming torches took their place on either side, and in the sudden light, Fidge saw that it wasn’t a log that the central figure was holding, but a parchment scroll, tied with a purple ribbon. The figure spoke, its voice heavy with significance.

  ‘When knotted anger rules the land

  When holidays and sweets are banned

  When rage soaks up the joy and fun

  And colour out of everyone

  We need to turn to four brave strangers

  To release us from all dangers.’

  Fidge glanced at Ella. ‘Four strangers?’ she mouthed. ‘But there’s only two of us. And what’s that stuff about knots and soaking up colour?’

  The Wimbley spoke again.

  ‘Come hither, strangers, break the seal.

  The ancient secrets thus reveal

  Just listen to the simple verse –

  It’s all you need to lift the curse.’

  It held out the scroll to Fidge and she stepped forward, feeling as if she was accepting a prize at school.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ she said, awkwardly. Close up, the Purple’s moustache looked freshly drawn, as if Minnie had just put away her felt-tip pen. Fidge swallowed. ‘I’ll open it, shall I?’ she asked. The Purple nodded.

  Fidge untied the ribbon and tugged at the wax seal. It broke into fragments, and the scroll sprang open to reveal a verse, written in spidery, elaborate handwriting.

  ‘Would you like me to read it?’ asked Ella, as Fidge squinted at the loops and curlicues. ‘I have experience with scripts.’

  ‘OK.’

  Ella flung back her pink hair and lifted the scroll with her trunk. When she spoke, it was in a rolling, expressive voice that carried well beyond the circle of the fire.

  ‘First seek the lost device and ring

  The listener who knows everything

  Then cast aside the words you use

  For summing up the Wimbley Woos

  And look again at every hue

  A different word for each is true.

  Then team new weaknesses and skills

  To win the way to cure all ills.

  And finally, just one of you

  Must find the hardest thing to do

  And when it’s done – and only then –

  You’ll find your way back home again.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Is that it?’ asked Fidge.

  Ella checked the other side of the scroll. ‘Yes, that’s all there is.’

  The Purples had started chanting again:

  ‘These strangers from another land

  Our prophecy will understand,

  It won’t be hard for them to free

  Our Wimbley Land from tyranny.’

  ‘But …’ Fidge peered over Ella’s front leg and quickly re-read the verse on the scroll. ‘I don’t understand any of it. What Lost Device? What Ring? Who’s the Listener? The whole middle bit’s just vague rubbish and then it says we can’t get back home till we’ve solved everything. How long’s that going to take? I mean, Mum and Minnie are waiting for me right now!’

  The Wimblies continued their infuriating chant:

  ‘The simple clues they’ll quickly crack

  And soon we’ll have our freedom back

  So let us caper hand in hand

  Because these strangers understand.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ said Fidge, in frustration. ‘Do you?’ she asked, hopefully, swinging round to look at Ella.

  ‘Darling, I’m still absorbing and observing. Interpretation comes last; first you must feel the role – it’s only later that you can begin to act.’

  The Wimblies were still singing:

  ‘Hurray, hurray, hurray, hurray

  These strangers here will save the day!

  Like lightning they’ll defeat the Blues

  Because they understand the clues!’

  ‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ muttered Fidge; the singing, the darkness, the smoke, the frustration, seemed to wrap around her neck like a choking scarf, and she was longing for sunshine. She turned and began to head back.

  ‘Thank you for everything!’ she heard Ella calling to the Purples. ‘Marvellous work. A five-star performance! The reviews will be fabulous!’

  ‘Do you still have the scroll?’ asked Fidge.

  ‘Yes, darling. Safe and sound.’

  Without the light of the bonfire to aim for, it was hard to pick out the path, and Fidge found herself stumbling over roots, and being smacked in the face by leafy branches, while behind her, Ella smashed through the undergrowth. By the time they emerged from the Grove, it was clear that they had gone badly wrong. Instead
of a grassy meadow, there was a ploughed field ahead of them, and a brisk stream bordered by an avenue of tall trees. And instead of bright sunshine, the view was steeped in the blueish light of early evening. Fidge realized suddenly how tired she was, and how thirsty. She knelt beside the stream and scooped up mouthfuls of water, and then splashed some over her face.

  ‘It tastes OK,’ she said to Ella.

  There was no reply. The cloth elephant had walked a little way along the avenue, her head tilted thoughtfully, her ears extended like wing flaps.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Fidge, joining her.

  ‘Listen, darling,’ said Ella. ‘Can you hear what I’m hearing?’

  Fidge listened, and gasped.

  Someone was calling her name.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘Fidge!’ shouted Graham, from halfway up the tree. ‘FIDGE!’

  She was standing directly below him, and he saw her snap her head back and gape upwards.

  ‘Graham!’ she said, in astonishment.

  ‘You have to help me. I’ve been stuck up here for hours and hours. It’s lucky I haven’t fainted.’

  ‘Are you injured, or something?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why don’t you just climb down then?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Climb down. It should be easy. There are loads of branches, it’s practically like a stepladder. There’s even a big platform just above you.’

  ‘I know. I was on it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I got kidnapped by a group of abseiling dustbins.’

  ‘What colour dustbins?’

  ‘Green.’

  ‘Green are daring,’ shouted Fidge.

  ‘What are you talking about? Why’s there a purple elephant standing next to you?’

  ‘Just climb down, Graham.’

  ‘I can’t, all right? I got this far, but I can’t get any further. Climbing’s the sort of thing that you find easy, but I have more important skills. And if you don’t help me it’ll be your fault if I fall and die. The way that Dr Carrot did.’

  ‘I am not dead,’ said a firm, level voice from the stream. ‘The willow broke my fall. I have merely chosen not to communicate for a while.’

  ‘Who’s Dr Carrot?’ asked Fidge. She walked over to the bank, where a weeping willow hung over the water, and pushed her way through the drooping branches. The top half of an enormous plastic carrot was sticking out of the stream.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ it said, from a mouth that was a single black line.

  ‘You’re Graham’s trans-thingy object!’

  ‘Transitional,’ corrected Graham from the tree, but Fidge was scarcely listening. An idea had leaped into her mind and she was mentally ticking off the list of all the things she’d thrown down into Graham’s basement: Wed Wabbit, the pop-up Wimbley book, Ella Elephant, the plastic carrot – and there was one other item, a toy about which she’d completely forgotten …

  ‘I know what it means!’ she shouted.

  ‘What, darling?’ Ella poked her head into the leafy cave.

  ‘The Purple prophecy, I think I know what the first bit of the instructions means – can you read it again?’

  Ella took the scroll out of her skirt pocket and unfurled it.

  ‘First seek the lost device and ring,

  The listener who knows everything,’

  she intoned. Fidge punched the air in triumph. ‘The “lost device” is Minnie’s mobile phone! She’s got a toy one covered in fake diamonds and it’s obviously in Wimbley Land somewhere, just like everything else I chucked down those stairs, and we’ve got to find it and then ring someone.’

  She could hear Graham shouting.

  ‘Hang on!’ she called.

  ‘You see what happens,’ said Ella, ‘when you allow yourself to relax into an experience? Interpretations simply flood in.’

  There was the sound of a throat being cleared. ‘Reluctant as I am to interrupt,’ said the carrot, ‘I’ve now been relaxed into this particular flood for nearly three hours and I would be grateful for some assistance.’

  ‘Oh right, sorry,’ said Fidge. It seemed odd to apologize to a vegetable, but this one had an air of crisp authority and she hurried over to help. Graham was still shouting.

  ‘I said hang on!’ she called to him again. It was difficult to get a grip on Dr Carrot, and it seemed somehow rude to haul on the green plastic sprout on the top of her head.

  ‘If only I could help,’ said Ella, ‘but I have a little bit of a back problem, ever since attending a circus skills course. I shouldn’t have tried the trapeze.’

  ‘Loos!’ Graham seemed to be yelling.

  Fidge was lying on the bank, groping under the water. ‘You’ll just have to go in the woods, like I did,’ she called.

  ‘Blues, you idiot, I said Blues! Everywhere! Hundreds of them!’

  And before Fidge could get up, or even turn round, the curtain of drooping branches was thrust aside and the space beneath the willow was invaded by a unit of red-sashed Blue Wimblies, who dragged Ella away, and hauled the carrot from the water. They tied Fidge’s arms behind her back and jerked her out into the open, and though she twisted and fought against the cold blue hands, she couldn’t break free. Graham was still screaming, but now it was because he was being lowered on a rope from the tree, upside down. As he neared the ground, he locked eyes with Fidge.

  ‘This is all your fault,’ he said, hysterically. ‘You wouldn’t listen to me.’ And then he was flung over the shoulder of one of the Blues, and carried off, drumming his feet against the cylindrical body.

  Fidge struggled. ‘We’ve done nothing wrong!’ she yelled at the one with the red beret. Its face, close-up, was horrible: painted eyes that narrowed sternly, a dark slit of a mouth that widened into a shout:

  ‘Our Leader’s wish is very clear

  We do not welcome strangers here

  Our Leader has a place for those

  Who break his rules or dare oppose.’

  And then it nodded at her captor, and Fidge was given a shove between the shoulder blades that sent her stumbling into the twilight.

  SIXTEEN

  The bicycle truck hurtled through the darkness, six Yellows pedalling, their legs a pale blur. Locked in the back, hands tied, Graham, Fidge and Ella were flung from side to side as the truck veered round one corner after another.

  ‘That hurt,’ shouted Graham, as a purple trunk smacked him on the ear.

  ‘Sorry, darling. Accident.’

  Dr Carrot lay on the floor; the Blues, apparently confused by the fact that she didn’t have any arms, had handcuffed her wheels together, with the result that she’d fallen over on the first corner.

  ‘I would be very much obliged,’ she said, ‘if everyone could avoid actually standing on my face.’

  Through the window, Fidge glimpsed a full moon rising above the hedgerows.

  ‘Where are they taking us?’ wailed Graham.

  ‘I think I know,’ said Fidge. The road was beginning to rise, and silhouetted against the white disc of the moon, she could see a hill, and on top of it the unmistakable outline of a castle, decked with flags.

  The truck swayed round another couple of corners and then jerked to a halt, throwing everyone to the floor.

  ‘Ow,’ said Dr Carrot, pointedly.

  Fidge was still clambering to her feet when the guards unlocked the back door and hauled her, with the others, out onto the road. In the cold blue moonlight, she could see a stretch of water spanned by a heavily guarded wooden drawbridge. On the far side, a path led steeply up towards a monstrous gate in the castle wall. Red Beret shouted to his troops:

  ‘Come now! Our Leader mustn’t wait.

  Rewards are cancelled when we’re late.’

  They set off at a fast pace, a guard at each shoulder, Dr Carrot’s wheels rumbling over the bridge across the moat and then squeaking as she started uphill.

  ‘I’m scared,’ said Graham, breathlessly. ‘I’mscaredI’m scar
edI’mscared—’

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Fidge. She glanced sideways at her captors and then lowered her voice to a mutter. ‘The thing is, this leader they keep going on about is just an ugly old stuffed toy.’ And then she thought of the last time she’d seen Wed Wabbit, lying tied in a knot on the cellar steps, one eye staring furiously up at her, and she felt a wave of unease.

  The hill steepened. Behind her, she could hear Ella panting.

  ‘Would you mind awfully, darlings, if we slowed down just a tiny bit? I’ve not been able to get to the gym for a while – terribly, terribly busy at work.’

  Ahead of them, the huge gate swung open, and they were marched through into a courtyard, its walls hung with flaming torches. Shadows leaped and shrank across the stones.

  ‘Gorgeous lighting,’ said Ella, breathing heavily. ‘Super-dramatic.’

  ‘Silence!’ shouted a guard. ‘In just one minute

  This room will have Our Leader in it.’

  The gate crashed shut behind them and Graham gave a whine of fear. Fidge glanced quickly around, searching for possible escape routes, and saw three doorways in the opposite wall of the courtyard. The nearest to her had the word REWARDS written above the lintel, and was guarded by a pair of Blues; the second was labelled PUNISHMENTS and was fastened with a series of heavy bolts, while the third was deep-set into a gloomy archway.

  She looked again at the REWARDS door; the two Blues standing guard were much heavier than the others with large, baggy stomachs, and both of them were chewing, their expressions serene.

  ‘I wonder if …’ she started to say, and then stopped; she could hear a low rumbling noise and the ground beneath her began to vibrate.

  ‘Earth tremor!’ shouted Graham.

  ‘No,’ said Fidge, pointing, ‘look!’

  The wall at one end of the courtyard seemed to be splitting in two, a dark crack widening at the centre of it. Two words written in golden letters glittered in the torchlight as they moved slowly apart: