The Constant Rabbit

Janice continued to pour the ale, and a dull, portentous silence filled the room.

‘Look here, Peter,’ said Victor, ‘we were once good friends and we’ll be good friends again. There’ll be a place in the village for you, once everything’s back to normal. Sit down and drink your Guinness, and … take your time.’

I didn’t at first understand what he was trying to say, but then my eyes fell upon the table in the far corner, the one where Dicky the drunk had sat before his life hobby finally caught up with him. There was an unfinished glass of whisky on the table, a smouldering Sobranie in the ashtray and a folded-up copy of Fox and Friends.

I stood up, but so did Victor.

‘Peter,’ he said more seriously and, oddly, it was about the only time he had shown me a shred of empathy or concern, ‘don’t get involved. Not with this. You can look the other way.’

I headed towards the door but found my way blocked by Norman, who pushed me hard in the chest. He was a heavy man, and while tall, I’m not that weighty, and he easily put me off balance and I found myself sprawled on the floor, to several shocked intakes of breath from the people in the bar. Bullying coercion was one thing, physical violence quite another.

Before I knew it I was on my feet and made a wild sprint towards Norman. I put out a fist where I thought his face might be and placed my full weight behind the blow. I surprised myself by actually connecting with his chin in a quite forceful manner – fluke, I think, as I’d never fought anyone, not ever – and we both went rolling out of the door into the street. I picked myself up and made off towards Hemlock Towers, the sound of Victor saying ‘Let the silly sod go, Norm’ echoing in my ears as I ran.

I took a leaf from the Rabbits’ book and ran straight into the house without knocking, reasoning to myself that Mr Ffoxe’s actions might be postponed or at least softened into mere threats by my presence. I stumbled into the oak-panelled hall to find Doc and Connie standing there, seemingly unconcerned. Of Mr Ffoxe, there was no sign.

‘Hello,’ said Doc with a smile. ‘What do I owe you for the Rancid Bishop?’

‘Mr Ffoxe is in the village,’ I said, breathless after the run.

‘D’you know, I thought I could smell Old Spice on the air,’ said Doc, apparently with little concern.

‘You’re not worried?’

‘Constance told me everything. She’s a member of the Underground, y’know.’

There was a hint of pride in his voice.

‘And Bobby and Harvey,’ I said, ‘and now probably Pippa, too. Look, I saw some unfamiliar cars parked up on the way here. I think there might be other Taskforce officers about, and the faces I didn’t recognise in the Unicorn looked blandly middle-class enough to be members of TwoLegsGood. You’re in a lot of danger and you need to get out. I never thought they’d act this fast.’

‘We’re not running,’ said Connie. ‘It all ends here and now. He’ll ask me what I know of the Venerable Bunty’s greater plans and movements, I’ll tell him nothing, and that will be it.’

‘You don’t have a chance,’ I said, ‘he’s a fox, for Christ’s sake, a four-legged multi-fanged rabbit-killing machine.’

Doc and Connie’s ears popped up as a rapid series of thumps were heard on the upstairs floor.

‘In the back garden between the runner beans and cabbages,’ said Doc, reading Kent’s lookout thumps perfectly. ‘They like to sneak up in an unannounced assault so they can paralyse us with fear before they pounce. I think it excites them. The vixens too,’ he added. ‘In fact, I think they’re worse.’

‘Please,’ I said, ‘you’ve got to leave. He’ll kill you all. Kent and Bobby and everyone you ever knew.’

There was another series of rapid thumps on the floor upstairs, and Doc and Connie moved so they were with me, at the far end of the hall facing the door to the kitchen. Connie’s hind leg quivered anxiously. As we watched, the door to the kitchen opened a crack and a whiskery snout sniffed the air cautiously. We were about twenty feet away, with Doc taking up a defensive position a couple of yards in front of us and to the right.

‘Hello, Doc,’ said Mr Ffoxe.

‘Hello, Torquil.’

‘Been a while.’

‘Never long enough. Haven’t seen you at any regimental get-togethers.’

‘I’ve moved on,’ said Mr Ffoxe. ‘Dwell in the past and you’re stuck in the past. Your wife has some intel about the Bunty that I want, and she’s going to give it to me. We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the exceptionally unpleasant way.’

‘Far as I recall there’s only ever an unpleasant way between your kind and mine.’

Doc’s voice sounded confident. I guess he’d faced dangers as great or greater than this in the armed forces. But I don’t think he’d seen the speed at which Mr Ffoxe could move. The fox could be across the room, snap both their necks and have them half buried behind the compost heap before they’d even realised he was through the door.