The Constant Rabbit

‘I’ve only one major point to make this morning,’ she continued, ‘and this is it: six members of the press will be accompanying us, and we need to keep a firm control of the way in which MegaWarren is perceived by the public. There are some deluded Social Justice Warriors out there who do not have a clear enough understanding of the issues involved to be a meaningful part of the dialogue. I have my people embedded near the press corps, but if any of the hacks go rogue and ask you anything at all – anything – you are to say nothing and send them over to me or a member of my team. Speak out of line and you will have to explain yourself. Not to me, not to a disciplinary panel – but to the Senior Group Leader personally. Have I made myself understood?’

We all grunted our agreement, and half an hour later we were in the coach heading west. I was next to an empty seat, presumably Toby’s. We’d got as far as Llandrindod Wells when I noticed Lugless get up from his seat at the front and lumber back through the coach. He was dressed in his usual grey duster coat, the stumps of his cropped ears covered by a flat cap. I noticed that he wore a shoulder-holster containing his largest hammer. I ignored him, hoping he wouldn’t join me, but he did.

‘Is that Knox?’ he asked – since I was out of the office and thus out of context, I was not wholly recognisable to his rabbit eyes.

‘Yes,’ I said without looking up, and he sat down next to me.

‘Where’s Toby Mallett?’ he asked.

‘Resigned,’ I said, still staring out of the window.

‘Do you think he was compromised? Think the Underground got to him?’

‘You’d have to ask him that.’

I turned to face Lugless and almost gave out a cry. The rabbit sitting next to me wasn’t Lugless at all. He was definitely missing his ears but was subtly different in many other ways. I was about to ask him who he was, but he put out a paw to quieten me and made a familiar gesture – a wink and a click of his tongue, the same gesture I had seen when he had arrived to pick up Bobby and Pippa in the RabCab.

It was Harvey.

MegaWarren

Finkle had been arrested dozens of times, usually on account of some obscure medieval law that could usefully be modified as required. When escorting his then partner Debbie Rabbit to dinner, a contravention was found in the 1524 statute that disallowed ‘the carrying of live game in a tavern or eating house’.

‘What are you staring at?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ I said, my mind in something of a whirl. I was on the coach that day, and Toby wasn’t – the only two people in the Compliance office who would have seen the Lugless/Harvey switch immediately. I suddenly wondered where the real Lugless was, and marvelled that Harvey had wanted access to MegaWarren so badly he had cropped his own ears. Only a rabbit like Lugless could hope to gain access: one who had been given security clearance by a fox.

While Harvey stared at me, presumably trying to gauge my intent, I noticed a small trickle of blood creeping down from his cap. If he’d cut off his own ears, the wounds would still be raw and freshly stitched. To uncover the impostor, all I had to do was to flick off his cap. It would be that easy.

But I didn’t. Instead, I simply touched my head in the place where I could see the blood on his. He got the message, touched the area with the tip of a claw and stared at it for a moment. He said nothing, got up and walked towards the back of the coach, where there was a toilet.

‘Oi,’ I heard a human voice say, ‘humans only. Tie a knot in it, Hoppy.’

‘Really?’ came Harvey’s voice. ‘Want to see me tie a knot in yours?’

There was silence, and I heard the toilet door close and lock.

Now thoroughly unnerved, I looked out of the window, and noted we were driving through a cordon where a group of protesters – humans and rabbits – were holding banners at the side of the road. Several yurts had been set up, and a couple of fresh burrows in the verges had been repurposed into pop-up cafés offering cappuccinos and sandwiches free of charge.

‘Ten-mile exclusion zone for protesters,’ I heard one of the other passengers say. ‘The Taskforce don’t want to deal with the added burden of protesters above the complexity of the Rehoming. Anyone in the zone without a legitimate reason for being there can be prosecuted for criminal trespass.’

I looked about at my fellow passengers, mostly Compliance Officers who worked on the main floor, and all seemed to be in something of a party mood, buoyed by the attraction of a new workplace and the bonuses. Near the front were the journalists, each of whom was accompanied by their own dedicated Pandora Pandora PR clone – all pencil-thin, all blonde, all dressed in black, all supremely confident.