One eye, of course, was hidden behind the red patch and only saw darkness, but the other made out only too well the source of the noise, and it wasn’t Maximilian. Instead, through the gap beneath the trunk, Shylo saw a trio of big, greasy, menacing rats rubbing their pink paws together like thieves around a pot of gold. Maximilian had vanished, for not even he, with all his strength and vigour, could compete with a rat!
When they were very young, Shylo’s father had given all his children the ‘rat talk’.
‘The world is full of rats,’ Father Rabbit had explained. ‘Country rats and city rats, uptown rats and downtown rats, rats in silvery dresses and diamonds, and rats with fleas in their fur. All of them are dangerous for rabbits!’
Luckily, Shylo had only encountered rats a few times in his short life, but even he knew that this trio were no ordinary rats. No, indeed they were not: they were bigger, much bigger. Shylo thought they looked like super-rats! He shut his eyes again, hoping that when he opened them the rats would be gone, but it was no good. They were there in all their greasy, smelly horror and their squeaking made him shiver. It was almost too much, and yet Shylo found himself unable to look away.
The rats had cigarettes glued to their greenish lips, which let out whirls of bluish smoke, and they carried bulky cameras with giant long lenses over their shoulders. Their mobile phones were stashed in little leather pouches on belts around their waists and they wore headsets with small microphones placed in front of their mouths so that they could talk without dropping their cameras. Now they were squealing and wriggling round a tablet, which lit up their glistening pink snouts in the glare of its blue, flickering light.
Most rabbits would have run home to their mother, especially ones as timid as Shylo, but he stayed put, listening with mounting curiosity, even though he was in grave danger . . .
What were the rats gazing at on the tablet screen and why were they looking so pleased with themselves?
The three rats hadn’t noticed Shylo. He remained hidden beneath the trunk of the oak tree, trying to be as quiet as possible. He decided that in the event of the rats discovering him he would play dead. He knew what dead animals looked like and he was sure that if he lay still, and let his tongue hang out, he’d make a very convincing rabbit corpse.
From where he crouched, he could see them quite clearly. And he could smell them too because all rats smelled disgusting! Right now, Shylo wished that his sensitive nose was not quite so efficient. Their revolting pong reached him like a sour fog and he had to concentrate very hard in order not to choke on it.
But wait! They were squeaking and he could hear what they were saying!
‘A picture of the Queen in her bedroom without her crown would make every front page of every newspaper in the whole wide world!’ said the fattest and greasiest rat, not bothering to wipe the long dribble of bright emerald-green snot that swung from his pink nostril.
The Queen! thought Shylo.
Now you may not know this, but whenever a rabbit hears the words the Queen, they sit up and use their ears to bow; even if they’re in bed or on the run, rabbits always bow their ears for the Queen. So now, trapped as he was under the tree trunk, Shylo bowed his ears.
Her Majesty! In her bedroom? Without her crown! What a terrible thing!
‘Yeah, Baz!’ sniggered the shortest rat, rubbing his sticky paws together gleefully. ‘How about in her nightie? How much would that fetch us, eh?’
‘In her nightie, Splodge!’ guffawed the one with sticking-out teeth, an elongated, scraggy neck and a rather stupid expression on his face. ‘I like it! In her nightie!’
The Queen in her nightie! Shylo didn’t know whether to salute or bow or shout out in horror, he was so shocked by the rats’ horrible plan.
‘In her bedroom, in her nightie!’ chortled Baz, letting the dribble of snot dangle dangerously close to the camera that was hanging around his neck.
‘Yeah, Baz. No one’s done that before! Now we’ve discovered a map that reveals a secret tunnel into her bedroom, it shouldn’t be too difficult. Once we’ve taken the picture, we’ll sell it for absolutely loads to the website that pays the most: Rat-on-a-celebrity.com!’
‘For a million quid!’ Baz sniffed loudly and the dribble of snot shot back into his nostril like a home-loving snake. ‘Papa Ratzi will be very pleased with us.’
‘Very pleased,’ agreed Splodge. ‘A million quid is a fortune!’
‘An absolute fortune,’ Baz repeated, ‘eh, Grimbo?’
‘Yeah! We’ll be rich!’ said the scraggy-necked rat, who gave a little dance, wiggling his wrinkled bottom and waving his thick tail, finally lifting it up and letting out a noisy fart, which was so smelly it made Shylo gag.
Shylo, knowing it was only a matter of seconds before he erupted into a spasm of coughing and spluttering because of the stench, slunk back into the shadows. He found an exit on the other side of his hiding place and crept through it. He ran as fast as he could to Horatio’s burrow. Somebody had to do something to stop the three rats, and fast!
‘Ah,’ said the old buck when Shylo tumbled into his sitting room without thumping his paw. ‘Shylo Tawny-Tail in a hurry to hear more stories!’ and he went to the bookshelf to take down The Rise and Fall of the Great Rabbit Empire.
The little rabbit staggered to his feet. ‘No books! This time it’s real!’ and out came the story in a breathless torrent of stammering: ‘Rats . . . plot . . . Queen . . . bedroom . . . nightie!’
Horatio could not help bowing with his one good ear at the mention of Her Majesty, but his face darkened. ‘What did you say?’
‘Rats . . . plot . . . Queen . . . secret tunnel . . . nightie,’ Shylo spluttered, catching his breath.
‘Rats?’ Horatio whispered. Shylo was too terrified to notice the old buck shudder. Horatio banged the book down on the table and hobbled slowly towards the bunny, leaning heavily on his walking stick. ‘Take a deep breath, Shylo, and tell me exactly what you saw. These rats, what were they like?’
He placed a paw on Shylo’s shoulder and the little bunny immediately felt encouraged. Horatio had never mocked him, or taunted him, or made fun of him. He was a rabbit who was very eager to hear what Shylo had to say. So Shylo took a deep breath, drew back his shoulders and told Horatio about the conversation he had overheard in the forest.
When Shylo had finished, the old buck nodded thoughtfully. ‘We don’t have much time,’ he growled. ‘It sounds to me like you stumbled across a gang of Ratzis!’
‘A what?’ Shylo asked, confused.
‘A gang of Ratzis. We haven’t yet reached them in the book, but they’re among the worst enemies the Royal Family have ever faced. Ratzis hunt them in order to make money from taking the most private photos of them, which they then sell, exposing those poor people to the world!’
At this, he went to the table and opened the book they had been looking at just a couple of days before.
‘Here’s a description of a Ratzi. Is this what they looked like?’
Shylo gazed down at the page and this is what he saw . . .
HOW TO SPOT A RATZI!
Very high squeaking voices.
Shiny fur glistening with grease (can be black or brown or grey).
Thin, bony chests.
Long, swollen bellies (because they eat too much fast food and only drink beer).
Saggy bottoms (because they’re really very unfit).
Very, very long, pink, hairless tails, which are thick at one end, thin at the other.
Sharp teeth, sharp claws, sharp vision and long, thin tongues.
Snotty noses and big ears full of yellow wax.
They stink of rubbish because their rucksacks are full of rotting junk food and they also fart a lot, so you can smell them coming!
They always carry a camera, a phone and a tablet to send their photographs, and wear headsets with small microphones placed in front of their mouths.
They are very ugly creatures indeed!
Shy
lo nodded. ‘Yes! That’s who they were! Ratzis!’
‘Then we must tell the Royal Rabbits at once,’ said Horatio.
‘The Royal Rabbits of London?’ Shylo gasped. ‘But I thought they no longer existed. I thought they were history.’
‘I know what you thought, but that doesn’t change the facts. They exist all right, perhaps now a little tired and forgotten, but they’re the only ones who can stop the Ratzis.’ Horatio looked grave.
‘Every man, woman, child and animal in the world, from the highest queen to the lowest field mouse, famous or unknown, has a private place that they keep in their heart. It’s the only thing that we can truly call our own. But the Ratzis want to destroy that private place by taking intimate photographs and sending them round the world via the internet.
‘You see, Shylo, the internet is sometimes a very dangerous thing. It can steal a person’s soul. Human beings don’t know this because really they’re very ignorant creatures, but we rabbits have a deep understanding of the world that they don’t have. The Ratzis, Shylo Tawny-Tail, are Soul-Stealers!’
Shylo’s teeth began to chatter: this was a lot for a bunkin like him to take in. ‘So how are you going to tell the Royal Rabbits of London?’
Horatio once again put his paw on Shylo’s thin, bony shoulder. ‘Not me! You are going to tell them.’
Shylo thought he must have misheard, but Horatio continued: ‘I . . . well . . . I’m much too old to travel to London,’ he said uneasily, his eyes lowered. He hesitated, as if searching for an excuse. ‘Once I was young and adventurous and bold, but now . . . No, Shylo, it has to be you.’
He looked the stunned bunny up and down. ‘You’re a rabbit who is always curious to discover new things – how would you like to go to London? To the Royal Rabbit Headquarters – The Grand Burrow – at Buckingham Palace.’
Shylo was still unable to speak. All he could manage was a loud gulp and a high-pitched squeak, which was meant to sound like ‘Me?’, but came out as ‘Eek!’ Shylo didn’t feel brave at all. He was frightened and ever so slightly regretful – if he hadn’t run away from Maximilian, he might never have stumbled across the Ratzis.
At last, he found his voice, thin and trembling though it was. ‘London?’ he gasped.
‘Yes, of course! You’re the only one apart from me who knows that the Royal Rabbits exist. The only rabbit who can prevent the Ratzis from sneaking into the Queen’s bedroom and taking the photograph that will steal a little of her soul. She can’t defend herself: only the Royal Rabbits can do that. How shameless those Ratzis are! How very, very shameless.’ Horatio shivered. ‘Come on, you must leave at once!’
‘But I’m not strong enough or . . . or . . . brave enough. My brothers and sisters call me Runt!’
Horatio smiled at him kindly. ‘This is one of those moments that can change a rabbit’s life forever – yes, even the weakest and most feeble! Do you remember the first time we met?
‘You’d wandered over to my side of the forest and had found some old newspapers I’d discarded among the bluebells. You sat down and started to read. I noticed how brave you were to venture into this forbidden part of the forest, but also how curious. It was your thirst for knowledge that impressed me the most. When I approached, you didn’t scamper off. Do you remember what you said?’
Shylo shook his head.
‘You said: “Why is everyone afraid of you?” You see, your curiosity made you brave. Shylo Tawny-Tail, you are braver than you know.’
‘But how will I find the headquarters when I get to London?’ Shylo asked.
‘Listen carefully.’ The excitement rose in Horatio’s voice. ‘I’ll tell you exactly how to get there!’
Shylo, just for a moment, started to cry. ‘I’ll get lost!’ he protested in a small voice.
‘No, you won’t. Now you’re not crying, are you, Shylo?’
‘Not any more,’ Shylo replied with a sniff, lifting his chin.
‘Good. I have great faith in you. As I always say: Life is an adventure. Anything in the world is possible – by will and by luck, with a moist carrot, a wet nose and a slice of mad courage! You’re going to discover that there’s more to you than you ever imagined.’
Horatio shuffled towards the dresser and reached stiffly down to the bottom left-hand cupboard. Shylo thought he was going to open it. Instead, he turned the knob like the dial of a safe: once to the right, twice to the left, three times to the right, muttering to himself as he did so. Then he pulled, hard.
‘Carrots and turnips! This thing was always very stiff,’ Horatio grumbled. He gave the cupboard a kick and tried again, but the door still wouldn’t open. ‘Trouble is, it hasn’t been used in years.’
He straightened up and looked at Shylo with a sniff. ‘You try. Give it a good kick.’
Shylo banged the door with his paw, but Horatio was unimpressed. ‘That wouldn’t kill a fly! Give it a proper kick with your hind leg. Go on!’
Shylo turned round, squeezed his eyes shut and thrust his back paw against the wood. Horatio bent again and pulled the knob. To his satisfaction, the door opened with a creak.
‘See this?’ he said, leaning down. ‘It’s a secret tunnel which will take you to the barn on Farmer Ploughman’s farm where the crates are packed up with vegetables for London and loaded on to a van. They’re harvesting spring green cabbage at the moment, so you can hide among those. You’re a small rabbit. No one’s going to find you and, if they do, you must run.
‘The main thing is to get to London. The farmer delivers to the poshest hotel there, right next to Green Park, a large field in the heart of the city that’s full of rabbits. Go there and find the Weeping Willow. Beneath the Weeping Willow, you will come across a Royal Rabbit.’
‘But how will I even recognize a Royal Rabbit?’ Shylo asked, his stomach beginning to churn with nerves at the thought of the adventure ahead.
‘Oh, you’ll know all right. First you’ll see the Badge, the unmistakable red paint on the sole of one of their front paws, and second you’ll see that they’re not like other rabbits. They’re . . .’ Horatio hesitated and stroked his grey whiskers one by one. ‘They’re . . . knowing. Important. Busy-looking Hopster rabbits. Not like rabbits from the countryside.’
‘But what do I say when I find one?’
‘Listen carefully; this is important: when you recognize a member of the Royal Rabbits, you say: “I think it’s going to rain rats and frogs.” ’
Shylo frowned. ‘Rats and frogs?’
‘Yes,’ Horatio answered. ‘You say: “I think it’s going to rain rats and frogs.” Then they will answer: “A thump of the paw is as good as a carrot in the warren,” and you’ll know that they’re a true Royal Rabbit.’
Shylo did his best to memorize the code phrase, but Horatio was already rushing ahead.
‘Do not trust any rabbit who doesn’t know the code. Once you’re satisfied that you’re talking to a genuine Royal Rabbit, you must demand to be taken to the Royal Rabbit with the Double Badge and only then, when you’re face to face with him, can you tell him your name and the nature of your mission. Those are the Rabbit Rules of Secret Craft!’
Horatio patted Shylo on the back, then moved past him to the store cupboard.
Oh dear, thought Shylo nervously. He wouldn’t remember ANY of that!
‘Now I can’t send you off without a snack for the journey,’ Horatio added, picking up a dry-looking carrot and handing it to Shylo. ‘Although I suspect you’ll enjoy a grand feast of spring green cabbage on the way. Here’s a torch for your pocket. You’ll be needing that for the tunnel. Hurry, you must catch the van before it leaves!’
‘But I have to say goodbye to my mother!’ cried Shylo.
For the first time, Horatio looked annoyed. ‘Your mother?’ he snapped. ‘You can’t tell your mother where you’re going!’
Shylo’s ears drooped again and he felt very small and silly. ‘I need to let her know so she doesn’t worry,’ he explained in a shaky vo
ice.
‘Doesn’t worry?’ Horatio roared. ‘Good greengage! There’s a plot against the Queen . . .’ (they both bowed their floppies) ‘. . . and you’re worrying about your mother? Shylo Tawny-Tail, you are just about to head off on an adventure! You’ll leave as the scrawniest runt of her litter, but will return a big, brave buck and make her proud.’
If I return at all, thought Shylo, fighting back tears. ‘Am I to go alone?’ he asked, almost wishing that he was allowed to take one of his brothers. Now more than ever he longed to be like Maximilian. His biggest brother would rise to the challenge and probably save the Queen single-handedly (and boast about it shamelessly for months . . .).
‘Of course you must go alone. You can’t tell anyone about your mission, do you understand? You have to find the Royal Rabbits of London and repeat what you overheard or the Queen will be harmed. Go! By will and by luck, with a moist carrot, a wet nose and a slice of mad courage!’
‘By will and by luck, with a moist carrot, a wet nose and a slice of mad courage,’ repeated Shylo with a thumping heart.
And so it was that the runt of the litter, the weakest and most feeble of all the rabbits in the Warren, the butt of his siblings’ jokes and mocking laughter, shone his torch into the dark tunnel and made his way slowly into the unknown.
With a carrot to sustain him and only a drop of courage, Shylo left Horatio’s warm burrow behind and hopped anxiously along the muddy tunnel, deep underground.
The thought of what dangers might be lurking in a tunnel that hadn’t been used in years rose in his mind and made his teeth chatter. What if he got tangled in electrical wires or bumped into a weasel? He had nothing but his claws to protect himself with and they weren’t even sharp enough to cut through a turnip. If he met a badger, with its crushing jaws, his mission would be over before it had started.
With all these worries weighing down on him, Shylo soon began to think about turning back. He’d explain to Horatio that he wasn’t the right rabbit for the job.
The Royal Rabbits of London Page 2