The Constant Rabbit

My timing was quite good because I could see the bright red post van driving down the road towards us. If Flopsy 7770 was nervous, he didn’t show it. He didn’t check his watch, didn’t turn to observe the van approach, didn’t seem to do anything at all, in fact – just stood there in a relaxed manner, his nose twitching, his expression blank. Annoyingly, there weren’t enough distinguishing marks for me to recognise him if I saw him again, so I moved closer and bought some stamps from the vending machine, then nonchalantly stuck them on my postcards. At that moment the sun came out, and I turned to look at the Flopsy, thinking my luck had changed, but it hadn’t – the post van had placed itself in between the sun and the Labstock. Unless he moved forward, I would not be able to see the fine network of veins in his ears. I could sense the other agents near by, too – dressed variously as a Village Person, a Pearly King and a Scotsman – and ready to grab him the moment the postman unlocked the pillar box and the Flopsy made to deposit his satchel of post. But as I watched, something unusual happened. Three more Labstocks appeared from nowhere, all similar heights and build and dressed identically with briefcases also chained to their wrists. Lugless’s plan had been compromised: the Underground had been taking precautions. They probably knew that a snatch squad typically had three agents – even if they could arrest three they’d not manage four – and all were Labstock to confound any potential Spotters.

I heard Lugless swear in my earpiece, and then the order:

‘Take them. Take them all.’

The agents made to arrest the Labstocks, which could have a very different outcome if the rabbits decided to bring violence into the mix – a kick from the hind legs would be powerful enough to break bones and rupture internal organs, as well as catapult the victim at speed through a shop window, while a well-aimed bite would be fatal in as long a time as it takes to bleed out.

None of this happened because rabbits had a generally more robust relationship with consequences than humans, and the agents’ commands to halt were met with a series of giggles from the Labstocks, who mingled briefly to confuse us before running off in separate directions as though it were some sort of jolly game.

‘Don’t just stand there like a twat, Knox,’ came Lugless’s voice in my earpiece, ‘get after the fourth.’

I had until that time been stunned into inactivity by the sudden turn of events. I was, after all, a Spotter – not a Field Agent. This wasn’t what I did. Even so, I looked around and saw the fourth Labstock walking in a relaxed manner towards the ancient Market House at the top of the main street.

‘Look,’ I said into my microphone while pretending to rub my mouth, ‘I’m not trained for this. I’m not sure I even have the power of arrest.’

‘I don’t want you to arrest him, idiot,’ came Lugless’s voice, ‘I want you to get a good look at him.’

This seemed reasonable so I walked up the road in the direction the Labstock had gone, lost sight of him as he walked to the right of the Market House, then caught another glimpse of him walking up the steps to the churchyard once I’d reached Rossiter’s bookshop.¹⁸ When I got to the churchyard I just caught sight of him as he vanished in through the door. I walked in an unhurried pace towards the church, acutely aware that the only people near me were rabbits. And although they weren’t looking in my direction, the rabbit’s peripheral vision was so good, it’s safe to assume that if you can see a rabbit, they can see you.

I stopped to tie the whippet to the foot-scraper and took the opportunity to whisper into the microphone.

‘Flopsy suspect in the church, but this could be a trap. The whole set-up might simply have been to bag a Spotter.’

This could indeed be true. Spotters were forbidden to go on-colony for that very reason, though my identity and job at the Taskforce were well guarded: hence the accountant cover story.

‘Of secondary consideration,’ came Lugless’s voice. ‘I want every single one of those fat furry bastards in the clink before teatime.’

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, then pushed open the door and stepped inside the church. It was a good size, imposing but not overgrand, and boasted a double nave and tall stained-glass windows. A vicar was humming to himself while tidying the leaflets, postcards and guidebooks that were arranged on a small table.

I looked around to see whether I could spot my quarry. There were two rabbits inside, one Wildstock, one Labstock – and both were dressed in the sort of pale blue tabard that befits a church volunteer. I thought it was a different Labstock, but then I noticed an identical shooting jacket to the one 7770 had worn hung on a peg in the vestry, and it was still swinging from being hurriedly placed. I was just going to wander over to the Labstock on the pretext of studying several old tombs when the vicar caught my eye.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said.