Jasper Fforde - The Constant Rabbit

‘Well, no.’

‘Then we’re totally together on this, because that’s what Flopsy 7770 and the rest of those treasonous bunscum are up to.’

‘Really?’

‘You’d better believe it. So look, here’s what you’re going to do about your neighbours: be wary, but stay friendly. Do what you have to do to gain their confidence. We’ll tell you what we want you to do in due course.’

‘So I want to keep them in the village?’ I said, thinking about the Malletts’ moving-out fund.

‘If you can. Infiltrate, make friends and report back. The Taskforce will be grateful. I will be grateful.’

Mr Ffoxe patted me on the shoulder in a patronising manner, and then, without me noticing, snaked a paw into my jacket and deposited a small yet very fresh fox turd in my inside breast pocket. 32 32. I only found this out the next time I put my hand in my pocket. It is a well-known fox joke, although only foxes find it funny. He then smiled.

‘Oh yes,’ he said, indicating the bloodstained hessian sack in the middle of his office carpet, ‘want a couple of haunches for the pot? Tasty and nutritious.’

I finally found a voice.

‘This isn’t compliance,’ I said, ‘it’s …’

My voice trailed off.

‘You can speak your mind here, Knox. I give you permission. This one’s on me. A free pass.’

‘It’s … murder ,’ I said, indicating the hessian sack.

He took a draw on his cigar and chuckled.

‘Can you even begin to understand the level of that statement’s hypocrisy coming from you? Cruel as we are, foxes are amateurs next to humans. I may be a little harsh on your furry woodland friends, but exitus acta probat , 33 33. The outcome justifies the deed . Knox. But here’s the thing: it’s not me and my foxy chums currently and without even a flicker of collective guilt precipitating an unprecedented extinction event on the entire sodding planet.’

He glared at me for a moment and I shifted my weight nervously.

‘And don’t say you’re not personally responsible,’ continued Mr Ffoxe, ‘because you are. Your tacit support of the status quo is proof of your complicity, your shrugging indifference a favourable vote in support of keeping things exactly as they are. I’m not the murderer, Knox, you are – you and all your pathetic little naked primate cousins with their silly hairstyles and gangly limbs and overdeveloped sense of entitlement and self-serving delusion.’

I felt myself grow hot under his glare.

‘And now,’ he said in a low voice, ‘you can piss off back to the upstanding and necessary work you are paid handsomely to do. Four names, on my desk, by sundown.’

I needed no second bidding and hastily left the room.

‘Everything OK?’ asked Toby when I got back to my desk.

‘No,’ I said, ‘not really. In fact, not at all.’

The most decorated service rabbit in history was RAF Navigation Officer Danielle ‘Thumper’ Rabbit, who ejected from a Tornado over Iraq when it was hit by a surface-to-air missile. She wrote about her time as a POW in Bouncing Out of Tikrit , and it was quite a good read, although critics did find fault with the overlong detail of Iraqi salad in the latter part of the book.

After prevaricating all afternoon on which Labstock names I should send down to Mr Ffoxe, I selected four who were already dead or long missing – but wouldn’t be readily apparent as such. Someone would have to do some research, and that might give me breathing space for a couple of days.

The evening was warm and clear with white mares’ tails flecking the sky as I drove back towards Much Hemlock. I said nothing to Toby on the way home, my mind full of spotting, LitterBombs, Mr Ffoxe, Connie – and, of course, the fox turd I found in my breast pocket when fumbling for my dark glasses. After I’d dropped Toby at his house, I drove home and had a shower, a shave, and went through the cupboard to find something to wear for my evening over at the Rabbits’. I eventually chose slacks, white shirt and casual sports jacket. I’d put on a few pounds since I’d bought them, and they felt a little tight, but were about the best threads I had. I didn’t go out much.

Pippa had decided not to come with me as she’d half-promised to meet Toby at the new Welsh-Thai fusion restaurant that had opened in the village. She’d got wind of the leaving fund, too – the move to have them ousted was already known around the village as ‘Rabxit’.

‘Are you really going to ask them to shove off for cash?’ she asked. ‘I’m not sure being a mouthpiece for the Malletts can lead to anything but trouble.’

‘I’ll be diplomatic,’ I said. ‘After all, it’s possible this might be the Rabbits’ plan, and fleecing everyone who’s put in some cash does have a sense of poetry about it.’

‘Aside from the vicar who raided the church roof appeal.’

‘Yes,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘maybe I could arrange some sort of ecclesiastical cashback arrangement.’

She told me to be careful, I said I would, and I walked across to their house.

Major Rabbit opened the door almost as soon as I knocked.

‘Hello, Peter,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Peter, do you?’

I said that he could, and he replied that I should call him ‘Doc’ because everyone else did.

He squeezed my hand in his two paws, then beckoned me in. Although it was still light, most of the curtains were drawn and what few lights were on had only low-wattage bulbs with an orange colour bias, so the interior appeared gloomy, yet warm. There was a rich, almost loamy scent of fresh earth in the air, and in a prominent place on the wall was a circle of delicately braided copper wire that represented the symbol of their faith, the five circles of lifefullness. We had a cross, they had a circle.

‘The Circle of Lifefullness,’ said Doc, following my gaze, ‘and the circle of trust. It also represents home, the burrow, the bounty of ovulation, the birth canal from which we all emerge, and the mother earth to which we all return. It is incumbent upon us all to complete the circle.’

‘What exactly does that mean?’ I asked, as the term ‘completion of the circle’ had always remained ambiguous.

Doc shrugged and stared at the braided copper circle for a moment, deep in thought.

‘The linguistic translation is easy, but the cultural translation much harder. It’s … the completion of an individual journey of one’s own making. For some, it’s simple, like seeing all the Die Hard movies in order, or collecting versions of Spider Man mini-figures. For others, it’s harder, like attaining a truth, or bringing about a change in others. For me and Connie, it’s about leaving this world in a better state than we found it.’

‘That sounds a noble cause,’ I said.

‘It’s a noble goal ,’ he corrected me. ‘Ninety-two per cent of circles remain broken – which is why some rabbits go for mini-figures and Die Hard . If you really want to achieve your life goal, it’s probably best to keep it fairly simple.’

UKARP and Smethwick had long been worried about the whole Bunty ‘Completing the Circle’ issue, and always maintained – without evidence – that a noble goal in the rabbit’s eyes might not be one that was compatible with humans. Bunty, as far as Smethwick was concerned, was not a spiritual leader at all, but a leader-in-waiting, poised to a seditious overthrow of the UK.

Doc had gone silent and was standing on one leg, as was the custom when venerating Lago, the Grand Matriarch, and I did the same. Doc looked at me oddly, so I put my foot down again.