The Constant Rabbit

Reprisals were seen less like mass murder and more a useful tool of deterrence, and began when a particularly unpleasant individual named Jethro Phox ventured on to Colony Five for ‘a little sport’ and was found face down two days later in a muddy ditch just outside the wall. The coroner found enough cocaine and alcohol in his body to kill a small horse, but the actual cause of death was asphyxiation due to ‘a small carrot lodged in the windpipe’. While the coroner said this did not immediately suggest foul play on the part of rabbits, his brother foxes interpreted it differently. When the fur had settled, six hundred random rabbits had been killed, tortured and partially eaten in the most sadistic manner imaginable. It was so unpleasant that even then Prime Minister Tony Blair – a long-time supporter of fox rights – had to warn the fox community that any more ‘overreach of this sort’ would result in a repealing of Fox v. Rabbit.

This didn’t stop the reprisals – the foxes just found the acceptable limits. A hundred dead rabbits per dead fox, as it turned out, effectively making foxes all but untouchable. But despite Fox v. Rabbit, foxes used right-to-kill sparingly to keep the culling fees disproportionately high.

‘You haven’t found him yet because these things take time?’ he echoed. ‘How much time?’

‘Well, about as—’

‘Give me some names,’ said Mr Ffoxe, interrupting me. ‘Labstocks who look a bit like Flopsy 7770 – even if nothing else than to sow a bit of discord amongst the cottontail.’

‘I’m … not sure that’s a good idea.’

‘Why?’

‘We should try to avoid another Dylan Rabbit debacle,’ I said, my mouth dry. ‘It brings the Taskforce into disrepute.’

I could hear my voice crack.

‘The public has moved on since then,’ said Mr Ffoxe with a dismissive shrug. ‘The whole Dylan Rabbit wrongful death nonsense lives on only in the deluded minds of the irredeemably self-righteous. To maintain the high efficiency of the Compliance Taskforce we are going to have to make a few mistakes here and there, and Mr Smethwick agrees with me that it is a price worth paying. Now: I want you to go back over your list of Labstocks and select four to be brought in for questioning.’

‘I have no names,’ I implored, ‘not a single one.’

‘That’s not my problem,’ said Mr Ffoxe, fixing me with a menacing look. ‘It’s yours. Four names. To show the Underground we mean business.’

‘Then why not choose four from the Labstock community at random?’ I said, a terrified warble in my throat. ‘They’ll be as guilty as any I can choose …’

My voice trailed off as his small yellow eyes stared at me coldly.

‘You’re an excellent Spotter,’ he said in a quiet voice, ‘one of the best. Your strike rates are off the chart. But if you don’t align yourself a little more with policy, we’ll have to talk about letting you go.’

I swallowed nervously again. I needed this job.

‘You can’t fire me for not supplying you with random names.’

He smiled and patted me on the arm.

‘My dear fellow, we’re not going to fire you. Heavens above, no. It’s just that there have been a number of intelligence leaks in the Taskforce, and those leaks can often have grave consequences.’

He stared at me with a faint smile and I felt hot and uncomfortable. Mr Ffoxe had leaked Dylan Rabbit’s name to TwoLegsGood, who then jugged him. It was quite possible he could leak my name, too – but to rabbits with more on their minds than carrots, dandelion leaves and reruns of How Deep Was My Warren. He chuckled, and I knew he wasn’t kidding. He placed his paw on my shoulder and spoke softly, close to my ear.

‘Like it or not, Knox, you’re one of us. You’ve taken the dollar, dipped your toes in the effluent. I’m not sure the rabbit would see your complicity in anything but a …’ he paused for thought ‘… unfavourable light.’

He was right. There were many incidents that, while seemingly accidental or unrelated, definitely benefitted rabbits. Like the sudden departure of Smethwick’s deputy to a Buddhist retreat in Bhutan without explanation, or the higher-than-average fatal car accidents that involved foxes and weasels, or the Spotters who abruptly left the business, or just went missing without adequate explanation. There was a very good reason we kept our profession secret.

‘Do we understand one another?’ he asked.

I felt a cold sweat creep down my back.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes, we understand one another.’

This was typical of how foxes operate. Cajole, bully, threaten, diminish, divide, disseminate and eventually, as far as rabbits were concerned at least, murder. It was in their blood, it was in their DNA. More than that, they actually enjoyed it. Many of them considered inviting a fresh-found foxy friend on a rampage through the colonies as little more than a cracking first date.