by Phil Geusz
The pilot set us down gently enough, but I woke up regardless and stretched. “We’re there,” Andrew pointed out unnecessarily.
“Yes,” I replied between yawns. “I know.”
Things went a lot smoother on the home end of our journey. Not only was there a lot less that could go wrong in the first place, but the people at the airport knew us by name. Uncle Andrew’s big white Lincoln was parked near the terminal in a reserved slot that the Guild rented for official use. It cost more than any of us cared to admit. But the simple fact was that our time was valuable. While no single one of us flew often enough to justify such an extravagance, the Guild as a whole generated enough traffic to keep our special slot in use just about full time.
“I guess you took a taxi?” my Uncle asked as I clambered in.
“Yeah.” My own house was fairly close to the airport.
“Good. I’ll drop you off.” We rode wordlessly through the parking lot and out onto the highway, then just as we were working up to cruising speed the traffic began slowing down to a crawl. “Shit,” Uncle Andy murmured. The Interstate gods certainly hadn’t been kind to me recently. In fact, they seemed bound and determined to make certain that I spent as much of what little time I had left as possible bound up in swarms of frustrated commuters.
This time things never did quite come to a complete stop. The left lanes continued moving, albeit slowly, and a lucky gap allowed us to shift over and make progress once more. We crawled past perhaps half a mile of cars before finally moving up far enough in the pack to see what was the congestion was all about.
A band of elves was travelling down the rightmost lane. On horseback, naturally.
I wriggled my nose in frustration at the sight. No matter what arrangements were made for them, the elves caused trouble everywhere they went. The dwarves, the trolls, even the gnomes got along perfectly well both with us and each other. In fact, their unique talents made them especially valuable members of society. Who would’ve guessed, for example, that trolls would prove to have such an incredible knack for the advertising business? Sure, the pixies caused problems sometimes. But in their case people understood and made allowances. Pixies weren’t fully sentient, and even on those rare occasions when it was destructive their kind of magic dissipated within a few hours. But the elves… They were a breed apart. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t master any technology more complicated than a bow and arrow. Their culture had been in ruins since the loss of Atlantis back in late prehistoric times. Yet long after their sun had set the elves continued to see themselves as superior to the rest of us. We’d fought wars with them from time to time, just as the dwarves and the rest had. In fact the elves often attacked everyone at once. And invariably the conflict devolved into a one-sided slaughter, a massive spilling of ‘fair-folk’ blood. Bows and arrows, no matter how well handled, were no match for the machine-pistols favored by the rest of Earth’s warriors. Besides, there were and perhaps always had been many more of us than them, especially we humans. Nowadays the pitiful remnants of the race wandered about the countryside in filthy rags, oblivious to and perhaps incapable of comprehending traffic regulations and trespassing laws and all the rest of the fabric of modern society. They made excellent gardeners and game wardens, but only rarely stayed in one place long enough to hold a steady job. Then it’d be time for them to move on, urged along by some strange song no one else could hear.
Two or three cars up, a semi blared its air-horn as it finally worked free of the traffic jam. The elves’ horses shied and reared at the loud noise, and as the riders attempted to regain control of their mounts the tallest elf, riding in front, made an angry two-fingered sign at the trucker. It wasn’t exactly what might be called a polite gesture, and unfortunately the trucker knew exactly what it meant. He slammed on his brakes and squealed to a halt. Then he rolled down his passenger-side window.
“You did what to my grandmother?” he roared. “Well, maybe so! But while you were doing it my grandfather was cleaning the vermin out of Blythe!”
My throat tightened. Blythe was perhaps the most unfortunate incident in the long series of misunderstandings and out-and-out hatred that had marked human-elf relations since who knew when. The settlement was once the last elvish town in the world of any size. It no longer existed, nor did its inhabitants. This insult was far deadlier than the two-fingered gesture. In response the elvish leader stiffened in rage and wheeled his horse about as if to charge. But the trucker let loose another blast from his air horn, which sent the horses scrambling once more. Then, grinning victoriously, he threw his rig into gear and drove away.
I sighed. It was pitiful. Elves lived forever unless killed, and were highly intelligent in their own way. According to legend, mankind stole the original secrets of magic from elvish mages. There were even a few humans who idolized elves and their mysterious ways so much that they adopted their lifestyle and culture—a human man and woman rode with this particular band. But despite all their abilities, despite their physical beauty and avowed respect for all things living, somehow elves had never mastered the trick of playing well with others. Not even the pixies willingly visited them. There was talk of setting aside an international elf reservation and confining all of the survivors there for their own protection, lest they be wiped out entirely. While the idea normally felt repugnant to me, right at that moment I’d have been hard-pressed to argue against the notion.
Traffic came to a complete standstill as the motorists in the leading edge of the jam halted for fear of hitting one of the bucking mounts. Then we began to creep by one car at a time again, almost as if ashamed. The human children openly stared at the beautiful faces and ragged cloaks, while most adults tended to look away. I joined the kids and filled me eyes as full as I wished, meeting the curiously inexpressive black eyes dead on. The elves were a beaten race, an also-ran in the Darwin Sweepstakes. Barring a miracle they’d never recover. Most of the rest of us felt pity for them. And to a degree, so did I. But I wouldn’t have been human if the pity weren’t at least somewhat tempered with anger and resentment. My curse showed every sign of an elvish origin, though there could be no certain proof. Elves after all specialized in magic involving plants and animals. Part of me was certain that somewhere out there among the ragged bands the elf who’d destroyed me was watching and waiting to strike again. Even after I became a pure rabbit, I hoped that my hatred would live on. Even with my brain gone, with me smaller than a housecat, I hoped that given half a chance I’d either rip that particular elf's throat out or die trying. He deserved no better, and I no less.
When we finally arrived at my place Uncle Andy pulled his big sedan up into my driveway and shut off the engine. “I can stay here with you tonight if you like,” he offered.
“No thank you,” I replied with a shake of my head. “You don’t need to put yourself out. I’ll be fine.”
He smiled his crooked half-grin. “You’d tell me that regardless, wouldn’t you?”
I smiled back. “Of course.”
“Well, then… I think you’re good for another night or two alone. Until we can work out something better, at least. Promise to call me every day? And your mother too?”
“Sure.”
“Good.” He hesitated, then reached out and ruffled my ears. “It’s not over yet, Greg. Not by a long shot. We can still fight this. There are mages working on a fix every minute of every day.”
“I know,” I replied absently, my attention distracted. Something moving in the front yard had caught my eye. My body tensed, but the object was only a wild bunny come out to graze. She was anything but a threat to me, yet my eyes were drawn to her as if to a magnet. Her ears bobbed at such a graceful angle, her flank was so perfectly curved… And the way she moved in the silken moonlight! Andrew followed my gaze, misinterpreting my response so totally it was farcical.
“Greg!” he whispered urgently. “Don’t give up hope! You won’t end up like that!”
“No,” I whispered, the sp
ell broken. “I’ll never give up.” But deep in my soul I just had. The rabbit invading my being was going to win, and take me over more thoroughly than I could even yet grasp. If there’d ever been any doubt, the doe had settled it. Because just for a fraction of an instant I’d found her attractive. In the physical sense, I mean.
For better or for worse, it was almost over. I'd be fully a rabbit in no time.
IV
It's natural for both humans and rabbits to seek comfort in ordinary routine. I made myself a little dinner and then fired up the television. But not much was on. Full of nervous energy—as I usually was these days, around sunrise and sunset—I paced my little house over and over, searching for something pleasant to distract myself with. A car magazine had arrived while I was out of town, and I scanned a few of its articles. But I was still restless. Finally I turned on the computer and logged myself onto ThauNet, the computer network set up for victims of magical afflictions. Though I wasn’t going to be pursuing the Nothing Powder case any further, I’d made a lot of friends along the way that I fully intended to keep. At almost any hour of the day or night, it was a fair bet that someone else with a fur coat much like mine would be online looking for someone to talk to. Sure enough, that night there were a dozen individuals present, every last one of them cursed just like I was. Sally Bjorn was just beginning to turn into a mouse. No one knew exactly why, as was often the case. Probably some distant ancestor or another had offended a mage. Back in the old days magic-users were much freer in the use of mana, and most likely one of them had laid down a curse that had activated itself so rarely down the generations that it was completely forgotten between manifestations. No one even knew anymore what the ancestor's offense had been, but that didn’t stop the magic. Ditto for Harold Westerfield, a rabbit just like me. But they at least were retaining their intellects. It seemed likely that they’d never lose them at all.
Far sadder were the cases of Thomas and Eric Steinman, twin brothers who were almost finished changing into a matched pair of Clydesdales. Their icons showed up on the screen just below the brown rabbit representing me, but they weren’t saying anything. Nor had they said anything in several weeks that I knew of. Their transformations had progressed much faster than my own, which was perhaps kinder in the greater scheme of things. There wasn’t any reason for further optimism; now they were horses, pure and simple. My guess was that a parent or caregiver had turned on the machines in their stalls in the hope that a word or two from one of us might generate a reaction.
“Hi, Eric!” I greeted them as cheerfully as I knew how. “Heya, Thomas!” How’re you guys tonight?” The Eric icon tossed its tail and whuffled, which might or might not have meant something, while Thomas simply ignored me. A bright outline appeared around the icon of another friend—I knew from memory that it was red, though I could no longer tell. It meant that he wanted to chat with me privately.
“The twins haven’t said a thing all night,” Jonas informed me. He was almost done changing himself, into a gargoyle in his case. His mind was completely unaffected. The rest of us were happy for him, if a touch envious. “Not in several nights, in fact. Sorry.” He knew of my own condition, of course, and therefore understood my special interest in the equines. In fact, he was probably my closest friend.
“Damn,” I whispered. Then I shook my head and changed the subject. “How’re you?”
“It’s rough sometimes. I’m not quite solid stone yet in the daylight, so still have terrible, well… Daymares, I guess you’d call them. But it’s not like what you…” He lapsed into silence.
“Yeah,” I agreed, still whispering for no apparent reason. “I’ve got forepaws now, Jonas. And I can’t do any algebra at all anymore. They say I need someone to take care of me from now on.” Conversation sort of lapsed after that until Thomas and Eric disappeared from the channel a few minutes later.
“Wonder how long my parents will keep on trying after I’m gone?” Holly Himmel asked into the silence. She’d been Harvey Himmel until recently, when the hand of an angry and long-dead mage had reached out for yet another slice of revenge. Most people whose curses involved sex changes kept their old names and identities, but this would’ve been unusually difficult in Holly’s case. She was becoming a rather buxom pixie. “A week? A month? A year?”
“As long as it takes to be sure,” Jonas replied, trying to offer what reassurance he could. “And then some!” There was more silence on the channel for a long time after that. Though it was well-intended, the supportive comment rang false coming from someone whose own mind wasn’t at stake. We terminal cases had, very privately, discussed forming our own separate group several times. But somehow it’d never happened. Probably because the result would have been just too gloomy…
“I know,” Holly replied in her trilling voice. “Everyone will do all, all, all they can.” There was more silence, which I decided to fill with a lighter subject.
“Hey, I saw a bunch of elves today,” I commented to fill the emptiness. “They were moving camp right down a major highway during rush hour.”
“Silly elves!” Holly replied, tittering. She sounded terribly pixie-ish already, sometimes.
“At rush hour?” Campbell asked. He was British and becoming a bull mastiff, but apparently the term was recognized on both sides of the Atlantic. “They have no sense at all, eh?”
“Not much,” I agreed, simply making conversation. “You should’ve seen them go crazy when a truck- that’s a lorry to you, Campbell! - blew its air horn at them. The horses couldn’t handle it at all.”
Jane, an Arabian-soon-to-be, nickered in protest. Apparently at one time horse-cursing had been quite the fashion, as the form remained common even into the present day.
“No,” I explained to her. “I felt sorry for the horses, Jane. And even for the elves, kinda. But… Well, the whole situation is a mess.”
“Over here, too,” Campbell agreed. “Blythe, you know.”
I nodded. The famous massacre had occurred in the UK. Feelings were still harder there than in most places. “Everywhere, it’s a mess. But what can anyone do?”
“At least we had normal lives once,” Jonas pointed out. “We fit in and could do normal things. So we have an understanding of what it’s like to be part of a working society. Those of us who’re still able can find a way to fit in again someday. But the elves… Only the handful that remember Atlantis ever belonged to a truly viable culture. And that one is long, long dead.”
“I can understand why they’re angry,” Holly offered. “At least pixies never get mad. When I get upset, I just spread my little wings and dance, dance, dance…” The conversation paused again as Holly’s icon dipped and twirled. Once she got started doing that, the rest of us knew, she could be gone for hours. One day she wouldn’t come back at all. But at least she seemed happy. Would I be a happy bunny, I wondered? For that matter, would I even be able to appreciate the difference between being happy and unhappy? No one knew.
I was thinking about that when something startled me. A little window way off to one side of my screen had appeared; now it was flashing insistently. There was no name or icon attached to it, and I knew from experience that if I tried to trace the thing it’d lead me off in fruitless circles. It was my Nothing Powder connection! Without thinking it through I reached over with my mouse and clicked on the icon.
“Did you complete the deal?” a deep voice inquired.
“Yes,” I replied. “I made money, you made money. Everyone’s happy.”
“Who bought it? Did it work?”
“Now, now!” I replied. “That’s my business, not yours. I respect your privacy, and you can respect mine in turn.”
The line went silent. I spent the time watching Holly dance her intricate pixie dance and wondered why I was still talking to the dealer. It was just going to get me in trouble, was all.
“Want more?” the voice finally asked. “Maybe for yourself, this time?”
I smiled.
Nothing Powder couldn’t cure me; it’d already been tested in micro-dosages. A complex and powerful spell like my curse wasn’t something you could just halt in midstream without doing serious damage. “Maybe for me, maybe for resale. I might as well enjoy the time I’ve got left, and that’s a lot easier to do with lots of cash.”
“We’ve got more than we need,” the voice replied. “But there’s not much time. Ten grand in gold, and the deal goes down tonight.”
“Tonight?” I asked.
“Tonight. You won’t be hearing from us again, bunny rabbit. I’d suggest that this time you try the stuff on yourself. It’ll be your last batch.”
“Where?” I demanded. “It’s late, and there aren’t many flights-“
The voice gave me a location and I gulped; it was only about forty miles from my home, down an old highway that paralleled a river. It was a pleasant rural road, one that ducked and weaved prettily up and down the bluffs. I drove it frequently for pleasure, and knew the area well. Alarm bells began going off in my head by the score.
“Let me check the airline schedules,” I temporized, actually bringing up my favorite travel webpage in case they were somehow monitoring me. “I’ll need to see if I can get a flight out of Lambert Field.” My fake electronic address was in St. Louis.
“Right,” the voice agreed. “I’ll wait.”
My mind was spinning as I studied the airline schedules. I still had enough Family gold sitting in my wall safe to make another buy; it’d been stashed there against the very possibility that I might need it in a hurry, and no one had taken it back yet. If I decided I wanted to make this buy, all I’d have to do would be to drive out into the country and close the deal. But it seemed awfully fishy for it to be so close to home…
“There’s a 9:17 flight,” the voice observed. “Could you make that one?”
“No,” I replied. “It’s impossible; I’m too far from town. The first chance I’ll have is the 11:33.”
“All right,” the voice agreed, though it wasn’t happy. “We’re about an hour and a half from the airport. With you having to rent a car, I’ll figure to see you at about 2:15 AM. If you aren’t there by 2:30, I won’t be either.”
“Right,” I agreed. Then the connection was cut. I bought a ticket from the web page, just in case, then said my good-byes to the folks on ThauNet and shut down.
“Damndamndamn!” I murmured to myself, standing up and stretching my sore back. Adrenaline was flooding my system, so that I simply had to get up and move. As rapidly as my big feet would allow I strode up and down my hallway, thinking intently. There were about a million excellent reasons why I shouldn’t go out and make this buy, I realized. First and foremost, I’d told my uncle that I wouldn’t. I hated the idea of lying to him. And I had to admit that he had good reasons for not wanting me to take any more risks; with my algebra skills gone what part of my mind might I lose next? Surely another security ward would be waiting for me; it was almost a given. I’d be exposed to that much magic as a minimum. How much more damage would it do? Also, since no one would ever approve of my making another deal under any circumstances, I couldn’t let anyone know in advance where I’d be. And the location thing; was it too much of a coincidence? I lived in a fairly big city, after all, and the address wasn’t all that close. But still… Were the bad guys on to me?
On the other hand, I badly wanted to accomplish something before I became an animal; wanted to live up to the expectations that everyone had once had for me. I was tired of being an object of pity, and ashamed of how little I’d been able to accomplish. For heaven’s sake, I was a Lombard by my father and a Grisham of the True Line by my mother! Had I died in childhood my lack of accomplishment might be excusable. But here I was in my twenties and what had I done? Nothing! What would I be remembered for? Becoming a goddamned rabbit! It was intolerable that my curse should win this final victory, should steal from me my legacy as well as my life! I ground my teeth in agonized indecision for what seemed like forever, then remembered that my fur was bleached back to its natural white again. Which meant that if I was to make the deadline, my new dye-job would have to start almost immediately.
For that matter, did I still have enough dye in the house to make me brown again?
It was the dye issue which ended up making the decision for me. I had two full bottles of brown in the cabinet, plus three half-bottles. It’d take three and a half bottles to do a good job on me, I knew from experience. But was what I had on hand enough? The stuff wasn’t all that easy to buy; it was specially formulated for fur. Ordinary human hair dye didn’t work well on me; if there wasn’t enough of the special stuff on-hand then there wasn’t any point in even considering further action. I lined up the bottles on my vanity, trying to decide. Was there or wasn’t there enough? Just thinking about it made my head hurt. One bottle, two bottles… Then what? It was all so confusing! I hopped about my house, angrily shaking my head in frustration. What a silly, pathetic mess I was becoming!
Then finally it came to me. I’d begin the job, and if there were in fact three and a half bottles or more then I’d be the first to know, wouldn't I? If I came up short, I'd just explain to my family that I’d wanted to be brown again for a while. They'd not question something like that, not with everything else that was going on in my life. So I laid out some old towels, then climbed into the shower and got to work. Just as I was finishing up the soles of my feet the last bottle ran out. Perfect! I dried my fur on the towels, then turned on my blow dryer and rotated solemnly under it until the new coloration was firmly set. My coat was getting a little frizzy from all the abuse, but it didn’t really matter. I’d never be using the dye again, after all. This was absolutely the last time.
Usually I stayed under the dryer longer than was really necessary. The hot air blast was warm and pleasant, so much so that sometimes I laid under it simply to relax. But I was far too upset to appreciate the pleasures of warm air just then. The dye-problem hadn’t been a particularly complex one. Yet I’d been totally unable to solve it, or even figure out how where to begin. Fraction-equations shouldn’t require more than a few minutes, if I remembered right. It was yet another painful reminder of how far I’d fallen, on top of a day overfull of such reminders. Up until now, my inability to do algebra hadn’t particularly bothered me. But now that I’d come up against the need for it in real life, my lack made me feel terribly helpless. Even…
I sighed to myself and faced the truth. It made me feel inferior, just as being forced to sit like an animal in public had. Less than human, in other words. Soon I’d be losing even more than what was already gone; the power of speech, the ability to reason, my dignity and independence, even in time my very identity. I wasn’t gone yet. But it was coming all too soon.
It was sort of ironic, really; I’d planned to let the dye problem set my course of action, and it’d done so far more thoroughly than I ever anticipated. For now, after failing so miserably at algebra, I had my first real insight as to where I was going and what my life was going to be like when I got there. My family said I was strong and brave, but no one could be that strong and brave. Or at least they shouldn’t have to be. The two most important facts of my existence were that my life was about to become a burden to me, and that so far I’d never accomplished anything I wanted to be remembered for. I only had one chance left to remedy that, as near as I could see. Sure, there were risks. But even the downsides were really upsides, when you put things in the proper perspective.
The bottom line was, what did I have to lose?
Once I was settled on a course of action, the rest went quickly enough. I dictated my last will and testament into the computer, using the camera attachment to verify that I was indeed me. It’d stand up in court so long as no one worked too hard at challenging it. This I fully expected to be the case, since I had few personal possessions of any monetary value. I stated for the record that I thought Uncle Andrew would make an excellent Regent should
I outlive Mother in my incapacitated form; no one was certain about how quickly I was aging or would age in the future. Then I sent a copy of the document to an online data-storage outfit with instructions to forward it to Mother in a week. If I wasn’t back by then to cancel the mailing, she’d be needing it. I also took a moment to print out two copies of the conversation I’d had with my supplier, including the time and description I’d been given for the buy location. One copy I pocketed, the other I left lying in the center of the kitchen table.
Next I turned my attention to more immediate problems. For a moment I feared that I might be unable to open my combination safe, but simple numbers and counting were apparently still within my repertoire. I shoveled out eight tiny gold bars, the same as last time, and stuffed them carelessly into my jacket pocket. After hesitating for just the slightest second, I also picked up the snub-nosed revolver I kept there. Then I scowled and put it right back where it belonged. I’d only needed to hold the gun in my paw for an instant to realize that the weapon was now useless to me except as a poorly-shaped club. For I no longer had a trigger finger.
Next I walked around my little home turning out lights and making certain that everything was in perfect order. I’d become quite attached to the little place; it was very much my own even though the deed remained in Mother’s name. I was never sure whether my strong sense of ownership came from lapine territoriality or simple human pride, but in the end it didn’t matter. I loved my home, and if I failed to return it was important to me that that everything be in order.
Then, quite suddenly, there was nothing else left to do. I patted my jacket pocket to make sure I’d not forgotten the gold, then stepped through the door into my garage. Awaiting me there, looking almost as if it’d missed me, was the only thing I owned that really mattered to me; a half-restored 1968 Dodge Dart GTS Convertible still in primer gray. “Hi,” I said aloud as I walked around the front of the vehicle. "I’ve missed you."
Hi, yourself! it seemed to answer back. Want to go for a run?
I grinned despite myself as, exerting all of my strength, I threw back the hood. The huge slab of metal weighed several times what the equivalent component on a more modern vehicle did, and as always I felt a shiver of excitement run up and down my spine as the cleverly-crafted springs counterbalanced the mass and then raised it over my head. I’d mounted a permanent work light on the wall that shone into the engine compartment; without even looking I reached out and flipped the switch. The 340-cubic-inch power plant, a miracle of technology, gleamed under a fresh coat of paint. When you’re covered with snowy white fur and insist on spending much of your free time under the hood of a car regardless of the practicality of the matter, you can’t afford to ignore even the tiniest leak. With infinite care I checked the oil and generally looked things over, then dragged a ladder over to the car and climbed up two rungs. As I continued shrinking down to rabbit-size, shutting the hood was growing more and more awkward. This time I practically had to dangle from the front edge of the blamed thing before it’d swing shut. But it was well worth the trouble to me.
The top was already down, it being midsummer, and putting the ladder away was the work of only a moment. Then I was sitting behind the wheel, smiling in anticipation as the garage door rose automatically behind me. When it was all the way up I reached for the accelerator pedal, then frowned. It was too far away; I’d shrunk considerably since the last time I’d driven the Dart, it seemed. Sighing, I adjusted the seat to its extreme forward notch, then took my time adjusting all three mirrors. When everything was perfect I checked the gold bars one last time, cracked the throttle and turned the key.
“Rrr-rrr-rrr,” the big brute of a motor groaned as it cranked ever so slowly over. The Chrysler workers who’d originally assembled my engine wouldn’t recognize it anymore; I’d upped the compression, installed a more radical cam, fuel injected it, the works. My starter motor had to work extra-hard as a result, and the cam, optimized for performance instead of smoothness and reliability, made starting the Dart more of an art than a science. “Rrr-rrr-rrr… B-B-Baroom!”
My face broke into a grin as the big V-8 began thrashing away, its dual exhausts singing a tune all the sweeter for my sensitive lapine ears. I let it idle for a moment to warm up, then depressed the clutch and slid the gearshift into reverse. Crash-Chunk! my transmission said, and I grinned again. Modern cars had real wimps for transmissions compared to my rig. Sure, it was crudely machined, noisy, poorly synchronized, and had a sloppy linkage. But you could use its innards to pulverize a half-ton of gravel and the gearbox would soldier right on without missing a beat. To me this was American engineering at its finest, what domestic cars were supposed to be all about.
I reversed down my drive, then shifted into first and idled along for a while. While my property was fairly extensive, the house itself was located near one edge so that my neighbor lived close by. At this time of night, she’d be trying to sleep. So I kept a tight rein on my Dart until I was out on the main road. Only then did I open things up.
It was glorious to be out and about in a convertible on such a beautiful night. The wind was warm and delightful; it rippled the fur against my soft skin and caressed my long, flapping ears. The night sounds and smells were crystal-clear despite the murmuring of the exhaust. My gauges all looked normal as I hit the interstate; with childish ease I accelerated to fifty, sixty, seventy, then eighty miles an hour on the deserted highway, tapping only the tiniest portion of the naked raw-edged power that waited patiently for me in reserve. It was perfectly safe for me to run a little fast with no one else around. Before I knew it the Dart and I arrived at our exit. Reluctantly we rolled to a stop at the top of the ramp, the engine loping badly due to the high-performance camshaft. A police car was sitting there waiting for someone to run the red light; I ruined his night by waiting patiently until it turned green and then signaling properly before making my right turn out into the countryside beyond his jurisdiction.
Once I was out in the hinterlands on a road I knew well I let the Dart have its head. Together we charged out of curves and ran flat out down long straightaways, the intakes generating such a roar that at times it sounded as if the hood would cave in under the pressure. The acceleration shoved me back hard into the seat, so that my arms strained to hold onto the wheel and my tail cramped in protest. At other times and in other places I might’ve been more careful. But tonight I had nothing left to lose, and there was no one else out on the roads for me to endanger. Did I enjoy driving fast so much because of the rabbit in me? Maybe. It didn’t matter so much to me anymore. Any more than it would’ve mattered had I run into a telephone pole. My seat belt wasn’t fastened, and this was no accident at all.
At the rate I was travelling, I’d arrive far too early at my destination. Reluctantly, my head still buzzing with adrenaline, I slowed down and tried to calm myself. It worked; the need for speed was no longer so urgent and I resolved to simply enjoy the night air for the rest of the journey. Even so, I hit my first landmark at 1:07 by the dashboard clock, about twenty minutes early. I’d have to find something to do to kill time- there was no way that I could’ve flown in from St. Louis and arrived so early. I thought about driving past the small turnoff I’d been told to look out for and then circling back. But no, someone might see me come from the wrong direction. Or for that matter…
My jaw dropped. Oh my heavens! I’d almost made a terrible mistake! People don’t rent primer-gray 1968 Dart GTS convertibles at airports these days, or at least not so often that you’d notice. I shook my head and pounded the wheel. What a hare-brain I was becoming! I thought furiously as I slowed the Dart to a crawl. There wasn’t time to go back to the airport and rent a car, nor was there anyplace closer to get one. I was early, but not that early. Which left two options. I could either go back home and pretend it all never happened (No! part of my mind screamed) or else… what?
Hmm. I could park short of my destination and walk the rest of the way in. There was e
nough time for that, and it’d give me a good chance to do a little scouting before knocking on the door. The more I thought about this option, the more I liked it. I could explain to the supplier that I’d done it as a precaution, if he asked. And so, this became my best and only plan. But I was still blushing under my fur at having been so stupid in the first place.
What else, I wondered, had I done wrong?
V
The turnoff came up sooner than I expected, just beyond a moldering Standard Oil billboard. I throttled back and shifted down, then delicately eased my Dodge down a narrow gravel track that led across a pasture of sorts. The ground in the area was absolutely flat, though the river valley wall rose sharply to my left and I could smell the water nearby. As near as I could tell, I was rolling up the long driveway of a farm of some sort. Supposedly, I had two more miles of slow going before arriving at the old house trailer where I was supposed to meet my connection. I glanced at my odometer, then turned the headlights off. There was no sense that I could see in advertising my presence. Besides, the moon was up now and these days I could see pretty well in the dark.
For what felt like forever the gravel crunched under my tires as the Dodge and I crept forward. Then a steep, dark embankment loomed up ahead. I shifted to neutral, then scrunched my head up close to the dashboard until I could read the odometer in the moonlight. I’d come a mile and a half; near enough. And it was 1:45. The timing couldn’t be better. So I shut down my motor, then reached for the door latch…
…only to stop my hand just in time. How stupid could I get? If I opened the door, all the courtesy lights would come on, illuminating the Dart like a Christmas tree. What I needed to do was climb out the hard way. Which wasn’t all that difficult, the top being down. I shook my head at how closely I’d come to throwing all my advantages away. The mutter of my motor and the crunch of gravel as I drove in was bad enough. But to spotlight myself…
I sighed and rested a moment in the driver’s seat. My pulse was racing, and it’d be best to get it under control if I could. I took advantage of the opportunity to think things through one last time. What else was I doing wrong? I shifted my position a little, and the keys dangling from my paw jingled. That’d never do, if was going to be sneaking around! So I slipped them back into the ignition. It wasn’t likely that my Dart would be stolen, out in the middle of nowhere and long after midnight. Then I shook myself more vigorously, listening especially for the gold bars. They rattled a tiny bit, but I was certain no one else would hear them. So, as nearly as I could tell, I was set.
One of the advantages of keeping your car in primer is that you don’t fear minor scratches. I stood up and hopped into the back seat, then crawled across the trunk lid and lowered myself onto the gravel. Owning a convertible was so convenient sometimes! There were tall weeds in the ditches alongside the driveway, and I walked as close to the right-hand foliage as possible so as to break up my silhouette. No doubt anyone with eyes had already seen my car. Still, it was good practice and helped get me into the proper mindset.
The embankment up ahead was clearly artificial- a levee, I realized once I stood at its base. It ran off to both the left and right as far as I could see, and was thickly overgrown with brush. The driveway ran directly up this side and (presumably) down the other. Until I was at the top, I could learn no more. I sighed, then decided to try and find an alternative to the road. This took perhaps five minutes. In deer country, an overgrown area surrounded by good grazing soon becomes home to dozens of hooved residents. Their trails ran everywhere. I had to drop to all fours to get through a few tough spots, but once I made it to the top I was reasonably sure that no one knew where I was anymore, not even if they’d seen me leave the Dart. Moving carefully, not rustling a single leaf, I stuck my head out of the thick cover and looked down on my destination.
The house trailer was painted white, just as my connection had said it would be. The thing wasn’t set up to be lived in, however. Rather it sat abandoned not far from the driveway, still atop its travelling wheels and with tall weeds growing all around it. I squinted in the moonlight. There were no curtains in the windows; in fact, no signs of life whatsoever. I sniffed carefully at the air, and picked up only the smoke of a distant fire, then an equally faraway aroma of rotting fish. The river again, I figured. A stand of large trees swept across the meadow beyond the trailer, and I assumed they marked the near bank of the stream. There was no sign of any magic about, nor of any security wards of any kind. I gulped. I’d gained nothing from my reconnaissance, except to kill a few minutes.
And now it was time to make my buy.
With great care I moved across the top of the levee, then turned left to follow the weed-lined ditch down the steep slope to where it led almost right up to the front door of the trailer. No one seemed to notice me as I looked up at the entryway; there wasn’t any reaction of any kind. The front door was open a crack; had there been the slightest breeze it would’ve been swinging back and forth on its hinges.
“Hello?” I asked, the sound barely escaping my tight throat.
There was a sudden motion, as if I’d startled someone. Then a deep voice spoke; I recognized it from Thau-Net. “Hello! We’ve been expecting you. Come on in!”
Suddenly trembling in fear, I scanned the open area around me with eyes and ears and nose. The ditch was only a few feet away. Reminding myself of this made me feel better, somehow. “I like it better out here,” I replied with a tremor in my voice. “Please?”
The door opened slightly; apparently someone was standing just behind it. “In here or no deal,” the voice replied sharply. “You need us a lot more than we need you.”
My voice failed me entirely for a moment as the trembling became uncontrollable and the image of the friendly ditch filled my mind. But I shook it off and stood my ground.
The voice spoke again, this time more gently. “Come on, bunny! There’s only one-”
Then a net dropped over my head! Someone had sneaked across the roof while I was distracted! I pumped my legs explosively, tried for all I was worth to run, to get away, to find a safe place far, far away from the scary darkness and the deep voice! But my efforts just entangled me further. Two slight figures dropped alongside me—elves!— and wrapped me up tighter and tighter until, shaking with fear, I stopped fighting them.
“Get the gold,” the deep voice ordered in the fair tongue. Small nimble hands probed my pockets until they found the bars, and I watched the two net-throwers dance with glee as they held the fortune above their heads in triumph.
“Good,” the deep voice said with satisfaction. “Now, bring him inside. Let’s have a closer look at what the hunting gods have brought us this night.”
The door to the trailer was several feet off of the ground due to the travel-wheels; the two Elves tossed me up onto the living room floor like a sack of potatoes, then lithely scrambled up behind me. A short time passed while someone mucked about with flint and steel, then a single candle lit the room. I blinked in the sudden brightness. There were four elves in the room, or rather two true elves and two human converts. The two men towered above their adopted kinsmen. They were fully-accepted adoptees, as evidenced by the fact that their ears were trimmed into crude points. The bigger of the two smiled, but his expression was cold and heartless. “So,” he rumbled in his deep voice. “We’ve snared ourselves a rabbit, have we? What’s the rabbit’s name?”
He didn’t know? Or perhaps he was testing me somehow? Either way, I could think of a fairly good answer, one that didn’t require much at all in the way of histrionics. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” I replied in a lapine wail, struggling pitifully against the net once more.
The big man-elf frowned. “Come on, Richard!” he demanded, using my fake name from the chat room. “You’re not that far gone. What’s your real name?”
I wailed some more, and the elves grew irritated. A rabbit’s wail is rather akin to the cry of a baby, and grates just as badly on the nerves.
“By the pimples of the gods!” the deep-voiced one mumbled to himself in elvish. Then he turned to the other human and continued in the same tongue. “Hekla, go tell Hirst that we’ve got the rabbit. He’s not talking yet, and I’m not sure if he’s faking or not. But it doesn’t matter. It's time to move.”
“Aye, Henst” Hekla replied. His breath reeked, and I realized that he must have the devil’s own case of tooth decay. Natural-born elves don’t get sick, suffer from poor eyesight, or have bad teeth. Therefore human converts didn’t admit to suffering from any of these failings either, even when they really did. Besides, the cures required the use of ‘unnatural’ substances and technology, something unacceptable to the elvish lifestyle under any circumstances. Hekla must’ve been in continual pain, but if he was a typical convert then he’d die before admitting that he was any less an elf than one of the True Blood.
The dentist’s nightmare went running off into the darkness, and then Henst barked out more orders. “Go get our horses, Hanni!” he commanded. The smaller true elf nodded and dashed out. Once he was gone Henst spoke again. “All right, Homma. Let’s get the bunny untangled and ready to travel.”
I tensed myself, then kicked and fought at every opportunity. But even the blood-elf was considerably bigger and stronger than I was, and in almost no time my paws were bound together and there was a noose snugged tight around my neck. “We’ll have to watch him,” Homma noted. “Look at those teeth! He could gnaw through a rope in no time flat.”
I’d been thinking the very same thing, actually. But since I wasn’t admitting that I knew Elvish, I didn’t let my disappointment show.
“Yes,” Henst agreed with a nod. “Too bad his arms won’t reach around behind him anymore. He’ll have to be watched every second. But it should be well worth the trouble. He’s proven that he’s rich.”
Homma grinned, remembering the gold bars. “They rape Mother Earth of treasures that she wouldn’t willingly give. But we’ll take her goods back for her! The ransom should be enormous for one with access to so much gold.”
I remained expressionless, though my mind was racing. Did they truly not realize who I was? Was this whole setup just a simple kidnapping? What did elves need money for, anyway? They never bought anything. Then again, they never used computers either, I realized suddenly. Or they never had before, at least. Yet somehow the Fair Folk had entered the information age. There was no possible mistaking the leader’s deep bass voice. Not for someone with my ears!
Henst returned Homma’s smile. “Yes.” Then he paused, looking puzzled. “Where could Hekla be off to this time? He should’ve returned by now.”
“I’ll go find out,” Homma replied. Apparently Hekla was often tardy. “If it’s all right?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll mind the prisoners. But be quick! The night is passing!”
Prisoners? Then there was at least one more captive! But who? Where?
Homma nodded in acknowledgement and vanished silently into the darkness, leaving me alone with the big human. He looked at me and spoke once again in English. “Hello? Do you understand me?”
Simulating abject terror, I cringed away from the sound. When you’re a rabbit, such actions come quite naturally. They appear perfectly natural to others, as well. Which can be useful.
“Listen to me,” he explained, leaning slightly forward. “We’ve no quarrel with you, Richard or whatever your name is. No one wants to hurt you. In fact, I feel true pity for you. It must be terrible to be cursed.” The man-elf looked at me hopefully, but I met his gaze with stony silence. Eventually he continued. “All we want to do is ransom you. You humans have all the money and all the power. We won’t demand more than your family can pay—I swear it! And you won’t be harmed in the slightest. But the sooner you tell us who you are, the sooner we can let your loved ones know you’re all right and begin the process of getting you back home.”
Could it be true? Had my cover actually held? They really didn’t know who I was! It felt like a major victory, albeit one won in the course of a losing campaign. I realized I’d been looking the elf in the eye for much too long a time, so I cringed again and allowed myself to tremble violently. It worked; Henst sighed and turned away, picking up my leash. “Come along, then,” he murmured in English. “I’ve got some packing-up to do, and I’m not letting my eyes off of you for a second.”
I let him drag me along without putting up too much of a fight; after all, I still needed to learn more. With the candle held high Henst led me down the mobile home’s cramped hallway to a back bedroom. There was a tiny bathroom located there; someone had opened up a wall and exposed the plastic pipes that supplied water to it. Apparently the trailer had suffered from plumbing difficulties for quite some time before being abandoned. The elf tied me to a pipe there, making an excellent job of it. Then he stepped over into the opposite corner, squatted down, and got to work.
It was terribly frustrating. Henst was trying to block my view with his body, and between his efforts and the old bed located in the room’s center I couldn’t see a thing at first. Then I dropped to all fours—not in the least self-consciously, under these circumstances—and looked under the bed. This gave me an unobstructed view of my captor meticulously breaking down a tiny computer center consisting of a motorcycle battery, a laptop, and a cell-phone. Then he opened the window and pulled in a flat boardlike thingie that had to be a solar cell. It all made sense. Then Henst turned and checked on me; he wasn’t about to allow me enough private time to chew through my lead. I was ready though, and as the big man watched I rolled over onto my back, doglike, and snapped desperately at the rope. “You’ll get used to it,” he said mock-comfortingly. “That or a cage when we settle down again. Unless you want to talk?”
I kept right on chewing. The rope tasted terrible, and the cords were tough and stringy. Still, gnawing at it offered me a certain peace of mind. Which was evidence of yet another change in my personality, and one very much for the worse. I was deeply disturbed, but didn't let my jaws slacken off their pace in the slightest.
Henst frowned, then returned to his work. There was a single saddlebag lying on the floor, and several old cloaks. Carefully he wrapped his paraphernalia in the cloaks, then tried to slide everything into the bag. But it was a tight fit, and his first attempt failed. “Midden of the gods!” he muttered in Elvish as I continued gnawing, more for show than out of any real hope of escape. “Gutpile of Narcus!” With the last he slammed down the empty saddlebag in frustration. It startled me terribly.
Apparently the sudden banging sound startled someone else as well. For in the next bedroom, my sensitive ears detected a small body stirring. And then a small child began to sob.
I don’t know why, but I’ve always been very sensitive to the feelings of children. When kids cry at a restaurant, I can’t eat. Uncle Andrew thought it might be part of the ears-and-fur package, but I knew better. I’d felt the same way while I was still fully human. The child continued to weep, and suddenly the rules of engagement changed. Up until that moment this whole escapade had been almost a game. A game likely to get me killed, true enough. But that hadn’t mattered so much. Now, however, something far more important was at stake. They'd kidnapped a child! Henst and his crew weren’t merely misguided, but genuinely evil.
I had to think quickly. More elves would arrive at any moment, and I now knew that my fellow prisoner—or at least one fellow prisoner—was located right next door. Plus, my captors didn’t yet realize who I was, something that was sure to change in the next few hours or days. Circumstances weren’t likely to get any better; this was the best opportunity I was likely to have for some time. Maybe ever. Besides, we weren’t far from a large national forest. Let a band of elves loose in there, and they’d disappear for years despite the best efforts of rangers, helicopters and dogs. It was their one great talent.
My mind raced furiously. So it had to be now; right now, even! No hesitations, no planning, no sitting and thinking it over. But
how? It’d take time to chew through my bonds, more time than Henst would ever allow me. I had to find a way to cut them, or maybe slip out of them…
Then I had it. It wasn’t a particularly good plan, nor one I found appealing. But it was quick, and it stood a fair chance of success. “Henst!” I whispered. “Please! I want to talk now. So I can go home!”
The renegade turned towards me. “Good!” he replied with a reassuring smile. “I knew you'd come around. What’s your name?”
“Richard, truly! Richard Dennington. My family has lots and lots of money!” I made the last part into a nearly-indecipherable wail. If I could just lure him closer…
It worked. He stepped around the bed and placed a reassuring hand on my head. “We’ll get you home,” he promised. “Just take it easy until then. What’s your phone number?”
My jaw trembled in fear. “876…” I stuttered. “876…”
“Yes,” he replied, looking me dead in the eyes. “I have that part. Go on.”
He was totally unguarded. So I reached out with my mind and submerged myself into the spirit beyond that laid beyond the body of Henst the elf. It’d been an awfully long time since I’d performed any magic. But my natural power level was extraordinarily high. Henst was utterly and completely mine, once I’d decided I was willing to pay the price. I could’ve rendered him insane, destroyed his identity, or even cut off his soul from the body. It wasn’t proper for a mage to be unnecessarily cruel to the mundane, however. So I merely put him into a deep, persistent sleep.
Then, inevitably, the payment for what I’d just done came due as my curse activated itself with a will. There was no agonizing pain, no theatrical snapping of tendons and breaking of bones. I shrank rapidly and immediately, however. My hips rotated within me, my neck twisted, my head changed shape and grew smaller and smaller. My thumbs disappeared before my eyes, and I felt my shoulders bend further forward on my frame. Actually using magic myself, my doctors had warned me, would prove to be the quickest way of all to accelerate my demise. And I’d just proved them right. But I’d also just freed myself of my guard and bonds. The rope that had been so tightly tied around my forepaws was lying limp on the floor when my head cleared. And the one around my neck dangled loosely. A single shake, and it was gone. I was free!
Free, free, free! I hopped about in pure exultation for a time. Free, free, free! But there were walls all around me still. I dashed about madly, looking for the door to the little bedroom. Then I found it, and made one, two, three leaps down the hallway towards freedom, accelerating with each until…
…I heard another cry from the other bedroom.
Instantly I skidded to a halt, my claws digging into the decaying carpet. This brought a smile to my face. Starting and stopping so quickly was fun! I liked hopping on this stuff! Rather dopily I leapt forward again, then darted to the right suddenly and spun right around just because I could. Then I leapt up high, high, high in the air, my heart soaring with the sheer joy of leaping…
…and returned to earth with a crash, shaking the cobwebs from my clearly diminished mind. Damnit, Gregory! I told myself. You’re not done yet. You have a job to do! Then you can run and play for the rest of your life! The thought was like a bucket of ice water in my face. For the rest of my life I would hop and play! I shook my head again, then pressed my nose up against the bedroom door. It swung open with a squeak, and I was in. The room was dark, but my new body was built with darkness in mind. I sat up on my hindlegs and spread my ears wide. The sobbing came from…
…over there! I hopped silently towards the sound, sniffing and listening every inch of the way. The child wasn’t human; I’d never scented a whatever-she-was before. “Hey!” I whispered when my nose bumped up against the cage they were keeping her in.
The child stiffened in fear.
“No!” I exclaimed. “I'm here to help you!”
“Do you know my Mommy?” she asked.
“Yes!” I lied. Under the circumstances, it was the only thing to do. “She sent me to help you.”
“You sound funny,” she whispered back.
“That’s because I’m a bunny rabbit,” I explained. She sounded plenty young, whatever kind of being she was. “My name is Gregory. What’s yours?”
“A bunny rabbit? Like Lagarth?”
“Uh-huh,” I replied voice bright and confident even as I wondered who Lagarth was. And for that matter, I also wondered just how much like him I'd become. I’d still not exactly had a chance to check myself over, after all. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Tallismane.” It was Gnomish. No wonder she sounded so small!
“I need to get you out of that cage, Tallismane. Does it have a door?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where is it?” I asked patiently. “This end?”
“Yes.” She rattled it.
I was on it in a flash. Elves are clever craftsmen at need when natural materials are involved, and I feared that the latch might be beyond my now-limited abilities to crack. But the cage was held shut by a hasp backed by a board too large for the captive to reach around. Simple and effective, but more importantly something I was able to deal with despite my altered state. I opened the door easily. “There. Come on out.”
“Oh!” she said as she crawled free. “Thank you!”
I felt my heart melting. It was terribly important that I please Tallismane, I realized suddenly. I liked her a lot. I wondered if she’d pet and hold me for a little while? I was just starting to cuddle up against her warm little body when I remembered again where we were. I shook my head again to clear it, making my ears flap. “You’re a very silly bunny!” Tallismane observed.
“Yes,” I agreed. “And getting sillier by the minute." I shook my head one last time. "We have to leave now, dear. Can you follow me? Maybe you could put your hand on my back and feel where I am?”
“So silly!” she replied with a giggle. “I’m a Gnome!”
Of course! Gnomes had infra-red eyes and could see perfectly in total darkness. They lived underground and mostly worked as miners. Silly was the word, all right, if I couldn’t remember that. “Good! Then follow me. And if I run, I want you to follow me just as fast as you can. All right?”
“All right.”
I hopped slowly out into the living room, Tallismane following obediently. The door was still open, and I dropped easily to the ground outside.
“Bunny rabbit…” the little girl said worriedly from the doorway behind me. “That’s too far down. I can’t jump that far.”
In the distance I could hear hoofbeats approaching, fast! Something was after me! I hopped into the brushy ditch and took cover.
“Bunny?” The little girl’s voice was terrified. “Bunny?”
It was so hard to speak aloud when my instincts were screaming for silence. But I did it anyway. “R-r-right here, hon.”
“I’m scared!”
She thought she was scared! My heart was pounding, my breathing shallow and rapid, my eyes wide and staring… I forced myself to speak again. “Honey, you have to jump. It’s the only way.”
“But I can’t!” she wailed.
I cursed under my breath. How could I ever hide properly, with someone making so much noise so close by? “Tallismane, your mother told me you could jump. She said to make you jump. So, jump!”
“I… I…” The hoofbeats were growing louder. There were only seconds left.
“Jump! “ I hissed. “Now!”
The gnome hesitated for just a second, then made the leap. I dashed out to meet her.
“I made it!” she declared, climbing to her feet. I scented blood oozing from her left knee, but not a terrible lot of it. Probably she’d just skinned the thing.
“Good girl!” I answered her, smiling. “Now, follow me!” I leapt effortlessly into the ditch, made two long low hops under a thorn bush, then turned around and stuck up my head to check on my charge. She was clumsily barging into the overgrowth.
“Bunny?” she asked. “Where are you?”
The horses were getting close, and I ground my teeth in frustration. Had I ever been so clumsy, so graceless, so damned slow while still walking on two legs? Clearly this wasn’t going to work out as planned.
“They’re coming!” I whispered urgently. “Just drop where you are! Now!”
“Oh, no!” the little girl cried out. I was afraid that she’d panic and run, but with only the slightest hesitation she dropped where she stood.
“Shh!” I cautioned, edging further under my thorn bush. The horses came trotting up, four of them bearing a total of two elves. One of them smelled of rotting teeth- it was Hekla, the other human. The second I didn’t know, but he dismounted with the fluid grace and ease of motion that was usually associated with elvish old age. “Henst?’ the old one asked in a musical voice. “Gabra tone ing?”
I felt ice forming in my belly. I’d learned Elvish as an infant. The words should’ve meant something, but instead they danced just beyond the edge of a dark, dark place. I ran the words through my mind over and over again, unable to let the matter drop. Gabra tone ing? Gabra tone ing? Gabra tone ing? My head ached terribly, I suddenly realized. But there was a trickle of fresh water at the bottom of the ditch. It was cool and wet. I slurped some up, then turned my attention to the greenery around me. I couldn’t eat the thorn bush, of course, but there were some nice young weeds growing near the water that…
I don’t know long it was before I came around, though it couldn’t have been more than two or three minutes. Tallismane was hugging me and sobbing, and I was chewing on…
…blech! I was eating a weed! Urgently I spat the stuff out. Who knew if it might be poisonous? And the water I’d just drunk- it was green and slimy and had bugs in it and-
-suddenly I wanted to vomit, not because of what I’d eaten and drunk but rather because of what I was becoming, through and through. My head spun and my stomach cramped. Then the moment passed. There’d be plenty of time for that kind of thing, the rest of my life, even. But not just now.
“Tallis?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“Oh!” she whispered, hugging me tighter. It felt so nice. “Bunny! I was afraid that you weren’t talking to me anymore!”
“I’m sorry, honey” I apologized. “Really and truly, I am! But that happens sometimes. I can’t help it.”
“It’s all right,” she replied with the solemnity of childhood. “I understand.”
I felt warm and soft and fuzzy in her arms, safe and secure and… I shook my head again to clear it. “Are they looking for us?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “They went inside, then came out carrying the big scary one. Then there was a big argument, and one of them blew a horn. They split up after that. One of them took the sick elf away, and the other is looking around all over the place. He’s behind the trailer now. He looked right at us, bunny! But I stayed still and he went away.”
I nodded. “Which way did the one with the sick elf go?”
“That way,” she pointed. In the moonlight and shadows and thick growth even I could barely make out the gesture—no wonder they hadn’t seen us! I looked in the direction indicated…
…then realized I’d done so without turning my head. My face was all reshaped! My heart thump-thump-thumped again at this, but once again I refused to let I bother me too much. This’d been coming for a long, long time, I reminded myself. I hadn’t even noticed the change at first. So, how bad could it be if I hadn’t even noticed? At least I could still speak.
For now.
“Are you okay, bunny rabbit?” Tallismane asked me. I could smell her sudden fear, spawned by my own.
“Fine,” I reassured her, blinking slowly. It was harder to make out details, now that I was thinking about it instead of just doing it. Everything was blurry. “We rabbits sure scare easy, don’t we?”
“I’m glad I’m not a bunny rabbit,” she answered. “I’m scared enough now!”
I smiled, then tried to think. The elf camp must be some distance away, or else I’d have seen it from the top of the levee. But it couldn’t be too far off. The elves would be back soon to look for their prisoners, in strength.
“We’ve got to move!” I whispered. “Right now! Away from the trailer.”
“Okay,” Tallis replied, her voice a study in total trust. I hopped out of the brush and looked around me as best I could. There was one obvious route of escape. The gravel road made a curve once it swept past the trailer, then ran alongside the densely-overgrown levee. There wasn’t much open ground to cross between the ditch and the good cover—perfect! We’d work our way down the ditch under the thornbushes, then make a lightning dash for the levee. Once in the brush, we’d be safe, safe, safe! I smiled and turned towards Tallismane to explain everything…
…then shut my mouth before I could speak. How stupid I was becoming! Tallis was a bandy-legged gnome, short and squat and at home far below ground, not someone who could run free in the fields and forest! Her skin was already covered with tiny cuts and thorn punctures just from the few minutes she’d been hiding with me. This little girl wouldn’t be doing any dashing tonight. Nor any sneaking either, for that matter.
I pressed my lips together. The hoofbeats were getting louder. And there! The horn again! There might be dozens of elves coming for us! Probably were, even!
But what could we do about it?
Once again there was no time to plan. If Tallismane couldn’t move quickly or quietly, then I supposed she’d have to stay right where she was. My mind whirled as I turned over the possibilities. Elves were skilled trackers and hunters. But hunters normally pursued only one quarry at a time. Would they follow their habits reflexively? I could hope, couldn’t I? After all the elves were being granted even less time for reflection than I was…
“Stay here, Tallis” I whispered urgently. “This is a good hiding place. I’m going to go away for a little while, and then come back. When I call, come running to me just as fast as you can. Okay?”
“No!" she whispered. "Don’t go away, bunny!” The little gnome clung tightly to me.
I pushed her arm firmly away with my nose. With any luck, the elves wouldn’t think to search so close to the trailer. But the gnome-girl grabbed me and hugged me tight to her again. I could’ve wriggled out of her grasp and left anyway, but for everything to work she had to remain quiet while I was gone. In other words, I needed for her to actively cooperate. “I have to go, honey. Really I do. I’ll be back for you, though.”
“Please?” she whispered. “I didn’t like it in the cage. Don’t go ‘way!”
I sighed. “Honey, your Mommy told me that you’re the bravest little gnome-girl there ever was, and that you’d help me get you out of here. Now… are you brave like she said you are?”
“Uh-huh!” Tallis nodded vigorously.
I felt myself smile. I was glad I still could—it was something I suspected I was going to miss more than most other things. “I thought so. You’ve been very brave so far tonight!”
She nodded again. “Uh-huh!”
“So please be brave one last time for me. Okay?”
“Okay,” she sighed. “I guess.” Her arm dropped, and I was free to leave at last. But I rubbed up against again for luck anyway—I was rather growing fond of Tallismane. She was a real trouper, deep down. Then I was on my way.
Slowly, crawling almost flat on my belly, I sneaked my way down the ditch. But I wasn’t nearly as far along as I’d have liked when my old friend Hekla of the rotten teeth rode slowly out from behind the mobile home. He was sitting very erect in his saddle and peering out intently over the fields. “They can’t have gone far,” you could almost hear him thinking.
But thinking was the last thing I wanted him doing. So I put a stop to it. Explosively I broke cover, hopping directly toward him as confidently as if I’d been a quadruped all my life. Hekla’s jaw dropped, and far, far too slowly he reached for the net draped across hi
s saddle. I drew up short as I approached the man-elf, pretending that I was confused. Then, my apparent panic only partly faked, I darted madly back and forth with tail high along a crazy zigzag course that took me right back into the ditch I’d just left.
The same ditch, maybe. But a good long way from where Tallis still lay hidden.
Goggle-eyed, Hekla sat in his saddle recovering from the shock. He wasn’t the quickest-witted of elves. But eventually he came around and blew his horn in a long pure note. Another horn answered, and I knew that things were about to get complicated.
Hekla trotted his horse directly towards me, so obligingly I ducked out between the beast's legs, scampered madly about again, then dashed for cover. The exercise gained me a few more precious yards, and the hunter remained totally focused on me. So far, so good!
Then the rest of the band galloped up in a thunder of hooves. I tried to count them, but the effort made my head hurt. So I gave it up as beyond me. I was well into the end-game of my life now; there could be no more meaningful tomorrows. If I’d gained rabbit-cunning and reflexes at the expense of a few dozen IQ points, then given present circumstances it was a good trade. Hekla gabbled excitedly to his mates and pointed directly at me, but I knew that I was in no real danger so long as they wanted me alive for ransom. Knowing where I’d gone to ground was one thing. Digging me out, I expected, would prove to be quite another.
Still, the elves did a credible job at trying to wall me in. Many of them climbed down from their mounts and shoved themselves right into the brush with me. Had they formed a line shoulder-to-shoulder, they might well have succeeded. But it’s not at all easy to move through thorny brush unless you can ease your way along under the stuff, as I now could. Even for an elf, it's not easy. By the time my pursuers had kicked and thrashed their way into a circle around my supposed position, I was long gone. At one point an adoptee almost stepped on me without even realizing I was there. I sat and admired their technique from a little further down the ditch as the elves slowly drew their circle inward. A pair of real rabbits they’d trapped totally by accident came dashing out, and the confusion was tremendous. Elves shouted, nets were cast and one of the wild bunnies was actually captured, a remarkable feat considering the poor hunting conditions and time of night. But it didn’t take them long to realize that the bunny they’d captured didn’t look the slightest bit like me, and was quite a bit smaller to boot. They grumbled and muttered to each other, an ugly sound. Then they began to reorganize.
Which of course was precisely the thing that I couldn’t afford to let happen. If they ever took the time to think about it, my pursuers would realize that attempting to catch one particular rabbit alive in the middle of the night in what might as well be his home turf was bound to be an exercise in futility. Had elves kept dogs, the story would’ve been a very different one. But the Fair Folk considered the domestication of any carnivores to be a particularly odious form of enslavement, and yet another reason to hate the humans who’d invented the concept. At the moment that attitude was just fine and dandy by me; I wasn’t going to be a human all that much longer anyway, was I? So it wasn’t my fight anymore; I had other problems. Such as keeping the elves hot after me regardless of their low probability of success. For if they gave up on me and went after Tallismane, or even worse split up into two groups, finding the girl would prove relatively simple. Then they’d probably head off into the woods with her. Henst had spoken of taking good care of me, and his voice had almost dripped with concern. But the cold truth was that these elves had kept the little girl in a cage and left her to cry alone in the dark. I couldn’t let them recapture Tallis and get away; I just couldn’t! My only hope was to keep them so worked up that they wouldn’t make the intelligent choice, which was to cut their losses by giving up on me and concentrating on the girl.
So I showed myself again. This time I imitated an overly-docile cottontail seeking to graze in a suburban yard. Ears erect and eyes wide open, I hopped once into the open and sat. The elves didn’t notice, so I took two more hops into the clear and plopped my bottom down once again. What kind of elves were these? Did they need flashing lights? It was Hekla’s horse, whose legs I’d run between earlier, that finally took notice of me. She whinnied and snorted, and several pairs of bright black eyes turned my way.
“Unta!” several shouted all at once. “Unta! Unta! Unta!” Then the mad scramble began once again. I allowed one still-mounted elf to cut me off from the ditch, then whirled and weaved a complex dance out in the open to lure more and more of his brethren into the merry chase. They formed a circle once again, this time with me trapped out in the open grass and lacking anywhere to hide. My heart hammered in my chest and I feared for a moment that I’d pushed my luck too far. I hopped about madly as the circle shrunk bit by bit. Then one of the youngsters made a mistake. He cast his net while I was still too far away, so that as it fell I was able to dodge to the side. This left the hunter bereft of any means of snaring me.
So I charged him. The elf tried to grab me bare-handed, but he never had a prayer. Though I was still considerably bigger than a true bunny, making me a larger target, I was also proportionately faster and stronger and gifted in full measure with the lapine talent for wriggling and squirming. I was through his hands in a heartbeat, and as we parted I raked his lower arms with my hindclaws out of sheer spite. Then I was past him and accelerating like a bullet.
Unfortunately, my escape route had opened up on the wrong side of the circle. I’d planned on doubling back into the ditch one last time and drawing the elves still further away from Tallismane’s hide, but after such a close shave I couldn’t force myself take any more chances. The tangled growth of the levee lay dead ahead as I burst out of the trap, and it was just too tempting. I hopped lightly underneath another friendly thorn bush, then turned around to see what was happening.
The elves were terribly upset with me and with each other, it seemed. For a time they shouted and fussed something awful! Then they turned their backs and left. There was no way they’d come after me again, especially now that I was in better cover than ever. Damn! And I hadn’t led them nearly far enough away from Tallismane to suit me! I drummed my hindfeet in frustration. But there wasn’t anything to be done about it, any more than there was anything to be done about Tallis’s inability to move quickly or silently. I’d just have to accept things as they were and make do with what I had. Accepting things and making do was what I’d been doing on a daily basis ever since being cursed, after all. So without wasting another second, I turned tail and dashed away from the little meadow. The hardest part, both physically and mentally, was coming up next. Maybe I wasn’t up to it anymore. But I’d give it my best.
I might be descending into a subhuman state; that couldn’t be helped. But even we subhumans, I was fast discovering, still had pride.
VI