Vote at Toad Hall

by Eddie Saint

  ‘But…’ tried Ivan again, but no words could capture his thoughts.

  ‘Your role is vital,’ continued the Commander. ‘We can’t have anyone thinking we have state of the art Tiger technology at our disposal. Tongues might wag. They must see a driver in the car at all times and you, Ivan, with your proven loyalty and determination, are the perfect Fox for that special role.’

  In a daze, Ivan clung on to four simple words:

  ‘…sit behind the wheel…’

  Half an hour later he was still sitting behind the wheel with the Commander smiling on the back seat. No one had laughed at him; his world hadn’t fallen apart; and his car had parked itself a little way from Toad Hall.

  Today was, unquestionably, a happy day.

  ‘HE’S A SLIPPERY one, is Toad,’ said Mel when we met up again around the corner from Toad Hall. I could see she was holding a folded piece of paper, just like one of the ones she had printed off before we left Dug in the safe house, cleaning up the ribbons and the machines.

  Sure enough there it was: Toad’s signature, large as life, saying I was no longer an Enemy of the State. Had it not been for Buck Wildheart I would have hopped all over the place with relief. Without the State sniffing around I no longer had to stay hidden. I could even start to get my online life back on track…

  Except Buck was still out there, and even though Mother was quite confident she had his number, those Foxes can be cunning. While I had Buck on my tail there was still no chance I was going to be able to let my guard down.

  I might still frame that letter from Toad though.

  ‘He heard me, but I’m not sure he took everything in,’ Mel continued. ‘It seemed like his mind was busy on other things.’

  ‘Well, that’s no surprise, is it? I mean, it is his last day in office, and then there is the Vote going on. That would keep anyone preoccupied.’

  Mel sighed.

  ‘You have an old head on young shoulders, Cottontail. If you ever fancy a permanent move to the Service just let me know.’

  She shook my paw, then all too soon she turned in the direction of HQ. And that was it. Within moments she was just an ordinary Badger, ‘instantly forgettable’ if you didn’t know her, mingling with the morning pedestrians.

  It was only then that it hit me. We had reached the end of our short but adventurous road. The rollercoaster that had started in Tony Mole’s front room had been a mad ride but there on the pavement outside Toad Hall it looked like the carriage was slowing down and pulling back into the station.

  How spectacularly wrong I was.

  Mel turned at the steps that went down to the river walk and gave me a final wave. I waved back, with the folded letter in my paw. Not a bad payoff for a few days work.

  As I tucked the letter safely into my pocket I barely noticed the deep throbbing of the black Sedan’s engine as it glided to a halt beside me.

  ‘HEY, I KNOW a pub named after you!’ said Weasel as he strode up to the landlord of The Stump, almost fizzing with excitement.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Jeff, the white Horse. He gave Weasel a look which eloquently said that, no matter how funny Weasel thought his very old jokes were, he was welcome to see if they still seemed funny after a rear leg kick from a fully grown Stallion. Weasel momentarily looked crestfallen.

  ‘Hey, Jeff, I didn’t mean anything by it. Really.’

  There was an inevitable pause, with both parties wondering just how cocky Weasel was feeling. The answer came soon enough.

  ‘Anyway, why the long f…?’

  His sentence was cut short by the sight of the landlord, more nimbly than you might imagine for such a powerful beast, turning on the spot and pointing his quivering hindquarters at Weasel. Or at least, where Weasel had been before Stoat had quickly and unceremoniously whisked him away behind a pillar.

  ‘Don’t mind him, Jeff,’ said Stoat, playing the peacemaker. ‘He’s just a bit excited toady, that’s all.’

  Jeff looked around his pub. It was true, as the week had gone on more and more journalists had been filling up the empty seats, and now that it was the day of the Vote, even regular punters were squeezing in, keen to buy Weasel a drink. The landlord knew better than to kick a money-spinning regular in the teeth.

  ‘I’m not, you know,’ said Weasel to Stoat, as they settled into the Snug.

  ‘Not what?’ said Stoat, munching on a Danish pastry.

  ‘Excited. You told Jeff I was excited. Well I’m not. It’s just an act. For all the punters.’ He gestured around The Stump, at the new Leave-voting clientele ordering their post-Vote pints.

  ‘Aren’t you? Blimey, I am! I can’t wait to hear the result this evening.’ Stoat stood up and skittered in a couple of tight circles then sat down again.

  ‘I’m frustrated, more like,’ said Weasel, and he sipped disconsolately at his first Pint of Best of the day.

  ‘How so?’ said Stoat, in between mouthfuls.

  ‘Campaigning’s over, isn’t it? There is nothing more can be done to sway the good voters of Wild Wood. I just have to sup my beer, look cheerful, and wait.’

  Stoat considered his friend, who was looking at his Pint of Best as if it had been turned into water.

  ‘Surely there’s something we can do,’ he said. ‘We could go bowling, or see a film, if you want.’

  Weasel shrugged.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But I wouldn’t enjoy it.’

  They fell into an uneasy silence, and even a fresh Pint of Best sent over from a well-wisher at the bar didn’t do anything to lift Weasel’s mood.

  ‘Here. Why not read these?’ said Stoat, and he wafted his phone under Weasel’s nose, its screen showing a scrolling list of comments from citizens who had just cast their votes.

  Weasel swivelled his eyes, glanced at the screen, then turned back to his pint.

  ‘Just makes me frustrated,’ he said, and Stoat’s face fell. ‘I mean, how come they are allowed to keep talking about the campaign online but I’ve got to keep schtum?’

  ‘Go on. Read them. They love you. It might make you feel better.’

  But already Stoat’s words had begun to blur in Weasel’s mind, as some small glimmer of an idea perked up between Weasel’s ears. He closed his eyes and tried to coax it into the light.

  ‘Hold up, Stoatey!’ he said, triumphantly. ‘I’ve got it!’

  Stoat finished the last of his Danish.

  ‘Which is…?’ he said.

  ‘We’re not allowed to carry on campaigning, but who can stop the power of social media? And if it can’t be stopped, why not give it a push? Who’s to know?’

  A minute later the Snug was empty…

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I’M NOT SURE how many seconds I had to enjoy the sense of freedom, but it was probably only counted in double digits.

  I had noticed the small group of pedestrians coming towards me, but not really taken them in. As I put the pardon in my coat pocket I’d taken a step sideways to let them pass. One of them must have just leaned into me and helped me on my way. Next thing I knew I was through the open door of the Sedan and down on the floor, with my nose in the tail of a Fox in full military uniform.

  The driver put the car in gear and slowly pulled away from the kerb. Or, at least, that is what anyone watching would have seen. As I found out later, it was actually a recruit called Alexei doing the driving, from the basement of the Alternative Army headquarters.

  ‘Champagne?’ said the military Fox. He had two glasses in his paw, and he was offering one to me.

  I made an impulse decision. I’d heard how Foxes liked to play with their food, and I didn’t want to become just another chew toy.

  Sure, in hindsight I should have known the doors would be locked, but I wasn’t thinking straight, was I? I took one look at those sharp teeth shining out above a row of medals and made a dive for the door. I figured I would be better off taking my chances with the oncoming traffic than staying there to scrap it out with the Fox.

/>   To his credit the Fox didn’t flinch. Didn’t even spill a drop of champagne.

  ‘Come now, Cottontail. There is nothing to be afraid of. You are an honoured guest.’

  I looked up at him from my position on the floor, grasping a useless door handle, and knew that I was at his mercy.

  ‘Sit,’ he said, politely, and I found myself crawling backwards off the floor and onto the back seat of the Sedan. Instinctively, I squished myself as far into the corner as I could, and took the chance to quickly scope out my surroundings. There were only three of us in the vehicle. The military Fox had me within easy reach any time he decided to make a lunge for me. Up front was another Fox, whose bandages made him look very much like the Fox I had last seen at the Comic Con, lying underneath an angry Porcupine. At a push I reckoned I could escape his clutches if I ever got the chance, but the smiling military Fox showed no signs of leaving us alone.

  ‘A toast,’ he said, offering the champagne again.

  I looked at the glass but didn’t move. Foxes know a thing or two about poisons. I wasn’t about to fall for a simple trick.

  ‘Oh come now,’ he said, pretending to be offended. ‘You and I are on the same side. To Jay J Cottontail: the Rabbit who uncovered Pincer’s digital battlefront.’

  He raised his glass and took a sip. Then, I guess for my benefit, he took a sip out of the other glass.

  ‘See,’ he said, ‘no hidden ingredients.’

  They were the last words I remember hearing him say before my head hit the seat. The inside of the Sedan had already started to blur.

  I saw the champagne.

  The medals.

  The teeth.

  Then nothing.

  WEASEL SAT IN Stoat’s office, chastising himself for ever having thought he was constrained by the campaigning rules.

  ‘Princess, I have been a fool. I’m sorry,’ he said, his thin layer of genuine sincerity drowned in over-acting.

  Stoat was already busy, loading up the program Theo had knocked up for them the day before.

  He mocked up a simple picture of Weasel’s face, with the words ‘Leave with Weasel’ across the top.

  ‘Campaigning is officially over. The Rule says we can’t do this,’ said Stoat, his paw manoeuvring the mouse over the ‘Post’ button. Looking Weasel squarely in the eyes he clicked the mouse and said,

  ‘Whoops. I appear to have broken that Rule. Ah well.’

  ‘Do you know what, princess?’ said Weasel. ‘I’m feeling much happier already.’

  WHEN I CAME to I found myself lying on an upholstered bench, blindfolded. My nose was hard up against the seat and I could tell I’d been dribbling onto the leather.

  If my brain had been in gear I might have tried to leap up and run for an exit, but for some reason my whole body felt like it was stuffed with sawdust. Instead, I tried to stay as still as I could and piece together where I was and what had just happened. I figured that, if there was a guard on me, and it was a Fox, then the element of surprise might be the only weapon I had.

  I could picture the back seat of the Sedan, the teeth, the champagne. I definitely hadn’t drunk the champagne, had I? No. I’d been stupid, but not that stupid. Yet, somehow I was knocked out. For how long, I had no idea.

  The bench was comfortable, not like I imagined they’d have in a prison cell. The air was warm: warmer than normal for the time of year, like someone had already started putting the heating on although it was still the summer. The scent of furniture polish was strong and vulgar in my nostrils. There was a dull, mechanical motor noise, and an occasional bubbling sound, like you get from the aerator in a fish tank.

  I lay still and tried to put all the pieces I had together. I was lying on a comfortable bench, in a warm room, on my own. And slowly, as the feeling came back into my limbs, it dawned on me that I wasn’t actually tied up.

  Gingerly, I reached up a paw and pulled off my blindfold.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I LIFTED MY head and scanned the room, trying to ignore the dull ache that lingered behind my eyes. Sunlight poured through the two large windows. It was so bright it hurt. That’s when I looked down at the blindfold in my paw and saw it was only an eye-mask. Had someone just wanted me to sleep undisturbed? What crazy sort of prison does that?

  Apart from the bench I was sprawled on, there were only two things of note in the room as far as I could tell. First were the glass cases, two of them, each set on an ornate pedestal.

  My legs felt like I’d been running all day but after a bit of stretching the life came back into them enough that I could stand and give those glass cases a closer inspection. One of them had caterpillars in, bigger and fatter than any I’d ever seen in real life. I still recognised them instantly. They were just like the photos of Hornworms from my online research, even if they were a bit more wriggly in real life than I had expected.

  The other case had what looked like large, furry tablets resting on leaves. I didn’t recognise them at all. In hindsight I should have guessed though. Maybe I’m just not always good at seeing what is staring me in the face.

  The second dominating feature of the room was the pair of large portraits that hung on the two windowless walls. One was of an elderly Fox, posh clothes, relaxed smile. The other was very different. I couldn’t quite make out the species. Some sort of Cat, perhaps? I moved up closer to that portrait to investigate it further.

  ‘Ah, I see you admire Machiavelli! Not a Fox… but he could have been! Such insight. Such cunning. Yes, I bet he had some Fox blood in his family somewhere.’

  I turned, still groggy, and took in the suited figure before me. Instantly recognisable from his photographs, he was a good size, for a Fox, but was showing signs of age around his whiskers and eyes.

  ‘Do forgive me,’ the newcomer said. ‘We Foxes are born to be stealthy. I didn’t mean to alarm you.’

  I took a short breath. I seemed to be developing a bad habit of bumping into powerful Foxes.

  ‘President Vulpine?’ I managed.

  ‘Miss Cottontail,’ said the Fox, with a small bow. ‘Welcome to my private office. Drink?’

  He poured a glass of water from the cooler, releasing a bubble of air to burble its way up through the water tank. Handing me the glass, he took me by the elbow and guided me back to the bench.

  ‘The effects should wear off soon, but it’s best to sit still and rehydrate while you wait.’

  ‘Effects?’ I said.

  ‘The tranquiliser. In your shoulder, I believe, as you were pushed into the car. A little crude, but effective nonetheless.’

  I sipped my water and wiggled my toes to knock the sleepiness out of them. I never once took my eyes off the most powerful Fox in the world, while he just sat there, next to me on the bench, like an attentive nurse.

  ‘I have been hoping to make your acquaintance for some time,’ he said. ‘In fact, ever since your Mr Mole sent you the Hornworm message. That was careless of him, and dangerous for you, but it all seems to have worked out fine now, so no harm done.’

  I thought of Tony Mole hooked up to tubes and machines.

  ‘Fine? I’m not sure Mole would see it that way,’ I braved. I mean, I figured if Vulpine wanted to kill me he could just go right ahead. I was defenceless. No point going out like a timid bunny.

  ‘The poison will wear off in time. Our operative was careless. Mole was lucky. It happens.’

  The adrenaline was kicking in by that point and I was almost back to full speed. It struck me that Vulpine might have just made a mistake.

  ‘Your operative? I thought you were denying involvement.’

  Vulpine sat back and gave me a relaxed grin.

  ‘You are just as sharp as they said you were, Cottontail,’ he said, giving me an appreciative nod. ‘Publicly we are denying it, yes, but of course it was one of ours. I have no secrets from you.’

  That gave me a chill. Why would a megalomaniac confess to me?

  Unless he had no intention of letting
me live…

  After twenty minutes of posting similar campaign posters to all the customers on Stoat’s private list, Weasel began to feel a bit bored again.

  The slight thrill of breaking a Rule had waned, and the two campaigners found themselves in ‘might-as-well-get-hung-for-a-sheep-as-a-lamb’ territory. It was time to up their game.

  ‘Ok,’ said Stoat. ‘What shall we send next?’

  Weasel racked his brain for some campaign ideas. He thought for a moment of calling Selina. She’d know what to do. She’d been doing it all week. But he didn’t have her direct line, and the thought of going through Pincer felt a bit too much like asking her Dad for permission.

  Instead he tried to conjure up some of the themes he’d seen Pincer’s crew use.

  ‘Let’s try this,’ he said. ‘How about we say that if we Remain in the LEAF League all the Gibbon’s will be allowed to join too, and then they’ll be free to come to Wild Wood and take our jobs.’

  Stoat thought for a moment.

  ‘Is that…?’

  ‘True?’ said Weasel. ‘Of course not. But we’ll only need to share it around until the Vote closes.’

  Stoat busied himself making a poster of a park full of Gibbons, and once it was on its way into the ether they looked at each other and tried to conjure up more ideas. After two minutes, when no new angles had presented themselves, Stoat went out into the corridor and came back in with as many large sheets of paper as his small arms could hold. He busied himself sticking the pieces of paper to the walls of his office. Then he turned to Weasel, handed him a marker pen and said with determination,

  ‘When you hit a wall: brainstorm!’

  ‘Relax, Miss Cottontail. Please.’

  Easier said than done.

  ‘I see you have noticed my babies,’ Vulpine said, changing tack, and he got up and gazed into the Hornworm case. ‘Come. Things are about to get interesting.’