“Lola will do,” she said with a grin, shaking Nelson’s paw. “Hola.”
From his place beneath the chandelier, Shylo nudged Laser. “Why did she say ‘oh-la’?” he whispered.
“Because she’s from Miami, where many people speak Spanish,” Laser replied. Then she grinned. “In fact, in Miami, even the alligators speak Spanish!”
Nelson nodded solemnly. “I suppose you’re in command, Hunter?”
“No, I am the commander,” replied Lola.
Nelson was impressed. “Right you are, Lola,” he said. “Now let me introduce you to our Hopsters.” The Generalissimo waved over Clooney, Belle de Paw, Laser, and Shylo. When the Jack Rabbits saw Shylo, they tried hard to hide their surprise, but the small rabbit noticed the looks, and it hurt. He lifted his chin and stood as tall as he could and put out his little paw. Hunter and Lola shook it, almost crushing it with their powerful grips.
“Don’t be deceived,” Nelson said to Hunter and Lola with a smile. “Shylo is the most dangerous of all my rabbits.” The Jacks stared at Shylo with curiosity, wondering how a feeble-looking bunny with an eye patch could possibly be a danger to anybody, but the old buck didn’t appear to be joking.
Laser winked at Shylo. “Muscles aren’t everything, you know,” she said.
Zeno, of course, disagreed and gave a loud click of his tongue.
“Now that you’re here, we have work to do,” said Nelson. “Tomorrow night is the Royal Banquet and we must prepare. Come, let me take you to the war room.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
IN THE WAR ROOM, HUNTER and Lola were at the map table, discussing the president’s schedule with Nelson and Zeno, while Laser was ready to mark the hotspots with her croupier’s stick. Belle de Paw was spying through the periscopes, and her greedy eye had spotted the Queen’s dressing table laid out with sparkling rings, bracelets, brooches, and tiaras in preparation for the Grand Banquet.
I love mes diamants, she thought, hatching a plot of her own.
Clooney was lounging on the sofa, studying photographs that ST-BT’s Backstreet Brushes had just sent over of a couple of Ratzis prowling about the Weeping Willow. Shylo stood awkwardly at the side of the room, longing to be given something to do.
Just then, Frisby, the Majordomo, rapped on the big doors with her ceremonial baton and, in a very fluffily-buffily voice, announced Rappaport.
The blotchy, mangy rabbit shuffled into the room. “You called, Generalissimo,” he said.
“Ah, Rappaport,” Nelson replied, looking up from the map table. “Explain to our American allies the problem we are having with the Ratzis.”
Rappaport began to tell them about the threat posed by the rats, but at the mention of those repellent creatures, Hunter and Lola looked at each other in alarm.
“We have a problem,” said Lola.
“A serious problem,” Hunter echoed.
“I’m listening,” said Nelson in the calm voice of a commander who has seen everything and is impressed by nothing. Shylo felt very confident that, whatever the problem was, Nelson would be able to sort it out.
Lola lowered her voice, for she was about to reveal the most confidential state secret. “The president is terrified of rats,” she said. “Aterrorizado! Pet-ri-fied!”
Nelson frowned. The president was tall, muscular, and seemingly fearless. It was well known that he had once been in the Marine Corps, the fiercest division of the United States Armed Forces, which was made up of some of the bravest people in the world. Nelson was not surprised by much, but he was surprised by this.
“Ah,” he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Well, most people aren’t fond of rats.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Lola interrupted. “When the president sees a rat . . .” She paused, afraid to expose such an embarrassing flaw. “He goes white, his eyes bulge, and he trembles all over!”
“When he sees two rats,” Hunter added, “his teeth chatter and his knees knock together.”
“When he sees three rats, he loses all control and jumps up and down and screams,” Lola said.
“So what will happen if he sees a swarm of rats?” Zeno asked, grinning crookedly.
Lola looked at Hunter. Hunter looked at Lola. They shook their heads. “We don’t wanna even think about it,” they replied in unison.
“This is not good,” said Rappaport, fidgeting anxiously.
There was a long pause. “So it’s up to all of us to make sure the president does not see a rat,” Nelson replied calmly. “Let’s go through his schedule again and see where the dangers lie.”
“Right now, the president is having lunch with the Prime Minister at Number Ten,” said Lola.
“Burgers and pecan pie, his favorites,” added Hunter.
“We have the ROTUS following the president’s every move,” Lola said.
“Good,” exclaimed the Generalissimo. “Then what’s he doing?” He turned to Laser.
“He’s meeting with the American ambassador at 2:30 p.m., the head of the Bank of England at 3:30 p.m., and Ed Sheeran at 4:00 p.m.,” she said. “He’s visiting Pinewood Studios at 5:00 p.m. and meeting the cast of EastEnders at 5:30 p.m., then he’s having a private tour of Hampton Court Palace at 6:00 p.m.”
Nelson nodded thoughtfully. “Good. Then we will cover all those locations alongside our American friends. Lola and Zeno, we need a joint unit of Jacks and Thumpers to go immediately to Number Ten. I want all exits and entrances covered, do you understand?”
Zeno’s fur bristled, which it always did when he was irritated. “My Thumpers can deal with this,” he said, flexing his muscles to show the Americans how strong and capable he was. “We don’t need the Jacks’ help.” He lifted his chin and glared at Lola, who stared back at him arrogantly. Lola didn’t like anyone telling her what to do either.
“He’s our president,” she objected, stepping toward Zeno. “You should stay here and guard your Royal Family.” Her sharp eyes flashed.
Zeno puffed out his chest in anger, standing his ground in front of Lola.
Nelson looked from one to the other as if he were appraising naughty schoolchildren. “In order for this state visit to be a success, we must work together,” he said patiently. “Lola, while your ROTUS are on our territory, they will work with the Royal Rabbits, and I will give the orders. Do you understand me?”
“Of course,” Lola replied quickly, and stepped back from Zeno.
“And Zeno, Lola and the ROTUS will be given the respect they deserve while they are our guests.”
Zeno scowled, but he wasn’t going to disobey his leader. “Understood, Generalissimo,” he said.
“Now go,” Nelson commanded, giving Zeno a warning look as the muscly buck bounded out with Lola.
Shylo didn’t think Zeno was going to enjoy working alongside the ROTUS.
Nelson put a paw on Shylo’s shoulder. “While Zeno and Lola take their units to Number Ten, I want you to help Belle de Paw at the periscopes. I need to know everyone who comes in and out of the palace and be updated on anything suspicious. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Generalissimo,” Shylo replied, pleased to be given such an important job.
“Hunter, Laser, and Clooney, we should plan your movements at the banquet tomorrow night. I want you in the State Dining Room. We must leave nothing to chance. Rappaport, see what else you can glean from the web.”
Shylo was relieved he wasn’t being sent to the banquet—the thought of coming face-to-face with those corgis again filled him with terror. He wasn’t sure he’d be quite so brave a second time.
CHAPTER NINE
SHYLO HOPPED OVER TO THE periscopes.
Belle de Paw was very happy that the little bunkin was going to help her. “Oh, it is such hard work manning these periscopes all on my own,” she complained, fanning herself with a pad of paper. “I’m so busy. I only have one pair of eyes, and there are dozens of rooms in the palace.”
“Why don’t I take half and you take the other
half?” Shylo suggested eagerly.
“No, I need a rest. I’m sure you can manage them all while I take a break. I won’t be long.” Before Shylo could object, Belle de Paw had thrust the pad and a pencil into Shylo’s paw and flounced out of the room, her silk dress and feather boa floating like a puff of blue smoke behind her.
Shylo was not put off by the long row of periscopes attached to the ceiling, but he was a little daunted by how high up they were: much too high for a small rabbit like him to reach. But Shylo was nothing if not clever. He hopped around the room, collecting big hardcover books, and piled them up directly beneath the first periscope. Using the books as a step, he was able to reach it and pull it down to his eye level. Through the glass eyepiece he was able to see the shoes of maids polishing the silver in the pantry. After he had seen what was going on in that room, he wrote down the time and details of the shoes, then moved on to the next. There was THE THRONE ROOM, THE WHITE DRAWING ROOM, and THE MUSIC ROOM. For every periscope, he had to laboriously move the pile of books.
There was much coming and going in the palace, but the shoes seemed to be either those of maids and ladies-in-waiting, or footmen, butlers, and police officers. Shylo had been hoping he’d see the Royal Family. He remembered Belle de Paw telling him that the Queen wore sensible, square-toed shoes, while the King wore shiny black brogues. The Princess of Scotland, their daughter, favored red-soled stilettos while her younger brother, the Duke of Cumbria, loved biker boots, and his wife, an Indian princess, only wore beautiful Jutti shoes turned up at the toes. But he saw none of those shoes, which was disappointing.
When he got to the periscope with HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN’S BEDROOM written on it in big gold letters, he recognized not a pair of shoes but a pair of paws. A pair of fluffy amber brown paws! It was Belle de Paw! Shylo gasped as he realized she must have decided to go and steal some more jewels for her collection.
Shylo watched with rising anxiety as those amber paws hopped across the carpet toward the dressing table. He turned the periscope to see the polished court shoes of Lady Araminta Fortescue, the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, entering the room. Now he felt sick with worry. He turned the periscope back to Belle de Paw. For a second, he couldn’t find her, but after he turned it again, a little to the right, a little to the left, he spotted her blue dress trailing down the legs of the chair in front of the Queen’s dressing table. The amber doe was standing on the chair, on tiptoe, leaning over the jewels.
Shylo was aghast. What if she was spotted by Lady Araminta? Belle de Paw was risking her life for a gem. He turned the periscope again to see the lady-in-waiting’s court shoes make their way toward the dressing table. Shylo turned back to Belle de Paw; she had climbed down from the chair and was now peeping out from behind one of the dressing table’s legs. The lady-in-waiting’s shoes stopped. Shylo jerked the periscope just as four dog paws trotted into view. His heart stalled. The lady-in-waiting reached to pat the dog. Shylo saw her hands swinging into view, but the corgi had already dashed across the carpet to the dressing table. Shylo turned the periscope again, searching for Belle de Paw. She was no longer there.
Shylo knew he should be checking the other rooms as Nelson had instructed, but he couldn’t. All he could think of was Belle de Paw, trapped in the jaws of a corgi.
Shylo glanced at Nelson. The Generalissimo was still at the map table with Laser, Clooney, and Hunter. The small rabbit longed to tell him what he had seen, but he didn’t want to betray Belle de Paw. He knew the Generalissimo would be very angry. Shylo wrung his paws, and one of his big ears drooped over his eye patch.
Just when he was beginning to despair, the big doors opened and in swept Belle de Paw, like a rabbit empress.
She smiled broadly at Shylo. “I’m sorry I took so long. I fell asleep. What a lovely rest,” she gushed. “A lovely, lovely rest. I feel like a new rabbit!” Shylo noticed a big sapphire brooch, in the shape of a star, glittering and sparkling on her dress. It hadn’t been there before. She saw Shylo looking at it and touched it with her paw. “This?” she said with a small smile. “Oh, the Queen will not notice. When you have so many, what is one less?”
At the top of the Shard, the Ratzis waited once again for Papa Ratzi’s orders. They had scoured London for information they could use against the president and the Queen, but so far had found nothing helpful. They had also tried to find the secret entrances into the palace, but had found none that were not heavily guarded by the Royal Rabbits. They were all very worried that Papa Ratzi would be angry with them.
U haven’t found anything to help us ruin the visit? I am disappointed in my Ratzis!
Just then, Slippery Mavis slithered forward. “I have a plan,” she said, rubbing her glistening paws. The rats held their breath. . . .
What is ur plan, Mavis? It had better be good.
“I’ve found the entrance to The Grand Burrow,” she said, and there was a collective gasp of amazement from the swarm of rats behind her.
Well, I am impressed. What do u suggest we do with that information?
“I’m going to create a distraction so that we can kidnap Shylo.”
Very good! Mavis, I put u in command of all operations. If you succeed, u will be greatly rewarded.
Mavis’s fur quivered with delight, and she glared at Flintskin in case he decided to claim that he had found the secret entrance too. But he just scowled crossly.
“Fellow Ratzis!” she screeched. “This is what I want you to do. . . .”
At dawn the following morning, at Mavis’s command, the Ratzis grabbed their Ratzi-blades, which are a little like Rollerblades but much faster. On the sole of each boot was a single row of four big wheels. Not only did these Ratzi-blades make the super-rats even taller, but they gave them astonishing speed. The rats slid their hind paws into the boots and fastened them tightly. They had cameras strapped over their shoulders, backpacks full of junk food and fizzy drinks on their backs, and smartphones at the ready.
With a whirring of wheels, the Ratzis whizzed toward the exit chutes, jumping into the pipelike slides one after the other, whooshing in seconds to the secret tunnels that lay in a vast network beneath the pavements of London. As humans walked, bicycled, and drove above them, the Ratzis spread out in their hundreds, blading swiftly through the underground passageways, in the direction of the Weeping Willow.
CHAPTER TEN
SHYLO WAS AWOKEN BY A loud babbling. It seemed as if the entire Grand Burrow was shaking with activity. Hurriedly, he threw on his jacket and scampered to the great hall. Rabbits were gathered on every floor, peering over the balustrades, as Zeno assembled his Thumpers in the hall below. The army of rabbits stood to attention in rows, awaiting their orders from the Marshal of the Thumpers. Shylo stood on a high step of the staircase and watched in fascination. He had yet to see the Thumpers in all their glory, and it was very exciting. He could see Hunter deep in conversation with Lola and deduced from their grave expressions that the Jacks were not included in this expedition, whatever it was.
Pricking his ears, Shylo listened to the conversations around him.
“Ratzis are circling the Weeping Willow,” murred one rabbit.
A second muttered, “This isn’t a drill. This is the real thing!”
A third, who sounded very knowledgeable, added: “The Ratzis have discovered our secret entrance, but our Thumpers will see them off.”
As you know, Shylo was a very curious rabbit. It was curiosity that had originally led him to Horatio’s burrow on the forbidden side of the forest back home, and it was curiosity that drove him to read newspapers and books, but too much curiosity can sometimes be a dangerous thing.
Now curiosity inspired Shylo to follow Zeno and the Thumpers as they made their way outside to Green Park. There he saw the Ratzis circling on their Ratzi-blades. A dark, menacing pack of the super-rats, with their oily backs hunched and their teeth bared, were weaving in and out of one another. Shylo stood beneath the tree and watched, wracking his brains as he
tried to think of something he could do to help.
From the front of his assembled army, Zeno raised his paw: “Monsters! Charge!” he shouted, and the Thumpers marched toward them. To Shylo’s surprise, the Ratzis began to retreat, quickly swiveling around and skating away into the park. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy.
“Halt!” cried Zeno, and the Thumpers stopped marching. Zeno punched the air with his paw in jubilation. “You truly are monsters!” he shouted to his Thumpers. “Look how quickly the cowardly Ratzis ran away!”
Shylo felt an uneasiness in his belly. The kind of worry that starts at the paws, climbs into the chest, and then spreads out until one’s whole body is tingling with apprehension. It was the same sort of sickly uneasiness that he used to feel when his siblings played practical jokes on him.
“Zeno!” he cried, suddenly realizing that the rats were simply a diversion. But before he had time to get Zeno’s attention something terrible happened.
The whole world was plunged into darkness as a sack was thrown over Shylo’s head. He was pushed to the ground, then hauled into the air. Panic gripped him. He squirmed, trying to escape, but the opening of the sack had been tied into a firm knot. He felt himself being carried. The bag swung, making him feel sick. He kicked with his hind legs and burrowed with his front paws, but the sack was too thick, and after a while he gave up, sitting in a sorry heap at the bottom. The smell of Ratzi invaded his nostrils. He had no doubt as to who his captors were.
Then he heard voices.
“We got him!” croaked a deep Ratzi voice gleefully.
“I got him!” came the reply, a female voice this time. “You were useless. I’ll make sure Papa Ratzi knows exactly how useless you were! He’ll lop off a little more of your tail. And I’ll be famous.”
“Shut up, Mavis! I’m carrying him now, aren’t I?”
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