Jasper Fforde - The Constant Rabbit

‘So,’ said Mr Ffoxe, ‘let’s have the cash.’

I handed him the receipt for signing and he withdrew an expensive pen from his top pocket and signed the docket before handing it back, and I passed over the cash.

‘OK, then,’ he said, stuffing the cash in his breast pocket, ‘let’s talk about the operation in Ross. Lugless tells me you haven’t been embracing the sort of enthusiasm we like to see in our staff. With the Rabbit Underground threatening to upset the peaceful status quo of this green and pleasant land you need to try a little harder. Whizelle says you’ve been staring at pictures of Labstock for several weeks and haven’t fingered a single one.’

I swallowed nervously.

‘I haven’t found him yet. These things take time.’

He moved closer, the heavy scent of Old Spice cologne suddenly filling the air like fog. Foxes used it to disguise their scent from rabbits as they moved in for the kill. And foxes were permitted to kill rabbits. At the High Court in 1978, Fox v. Rabbit established that a fox killing a rabbit – while taxonomically a fox – was legally defensible on the grounds of ‘long-founded predation of historically natural prey’. It gave legality to their job as rabbit enforcers, and although it was legal for a rabbit to kill a fox in self-defence ‘once all other avenues of escape had been exhausted and the law’s definition of proportionality as it appertained to rabbits had been tested in the courts’, rabbits rarely did, owing to … reprisals.

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.

It was time for me to leave. I mumbled that I was wanted elsewhere, and turned towards the door to find Mr Ffoxe waiting at the door. He had moved so blindingly fast it seemed as though there were two of him in the room, and I had to look back to check.

‘Mr Knox, sir, not so fast, sir. Did I say that you could go, sir?’

‘No, sir, no, sir, Mr Ffoxe, sir,’ I mumbled. ‘What else should I do, sir?’

He placed his muzzle close to me and inhaled deeply.

‘Oh-ho,’ he said, suddenly distracted, ‘you’ve been near a female rabbit recently.’

I thought of Connie in Waitrose.

‘I stopped at Ascari’s on the way here,’ I said, ‘there was a rabbarista behind the counter.’

I stammered slightly as I said it, and Mr Ffoxe knew instantly I was lying.

‘Well, how about that?’ he said with a laugh. ‘Little Knoxie’s been beguiled. What was it? The eyes? The bobbling cottontail? The inexplicable and utterly inappropriate sexualisation of an otherwise unremarkable lower mammal? Who was she? Your new neighbour?’

‘No—’ I stopped as I realised what he’d said, then: ‘How did you know I had rabbits as neighbours?’

He smiled.

‘Don’t let yourself be tempted by the bun’s mild temperament and apparent peaceful nature,’ he said without answering my question. ‘That “cute and cuddly victim of human’s domination” stuff they do? It’s bullshit. It’s not sunny meadows, warm burrows and dandelion leaves they’re after, it’s majoritisation, assimilation and domination. And they could win out, if left unchecked. Promiscuity is not just their raison d’être , it’s their secret weapon. A LitterBomb is a very real and present danger, and once the supply chain of stockpiled food is successfully coordinated by the Underground, the word will go out. Before you can say Lapin à la cocotte you’ll be outnumbered, outvoted in your own nation, working for a rabbit, taking orders from a rabbit, worshipping at their altar and living the lapine way – it’ll be lettuce for supper, dinner and tea. Do you want that?’