Jasper Fforde - The Constant Rabbit

I expected the judge to intervene, but she did not.

‘But in light of my learned colleague’s accusation,’ continued Lance, ‘I would apply to this court to represent Mr Knox in a lay capacity as a McKenzie friend. 61 61. A non-legally qualified person who may assist a litigant in court. See McKenzie v. McKenzie , 1970. ’

‘Ridiculous,’ said prosecution counsel. ‘Mr deBlackberry’s status and qualifications should be reviewed separately, and I must once again request, in the strongest possible terms, that these proceedings be adjourned.’

There was silence and we all watched the judge, who stared at Lance and prosecution council in turn.

‘The court is dismayed to learn that Mr deBlackberry is not legally permitted to speak,’ she said, ‘and since he has done so in the capacity of defence counsel, I find that he is in contempt of this court, and the court will fine him a solitary one pound, to be paid to the clerk before the end of the day. As regards his plea to become a McKenzie’s friend, I see no reason to deny this, and every reason to permit it. I should also warn prosecution counsel that I have taken note of Mr deBlackberry’s concerns, and will direct my staff to make enquiries. If the concerns prove justified, I fully intend to bring charges against anyone who has attempted to pervert the course of justice. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes, Your Honour,’ said the head prosecution barrister.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Mr deBlackberry? Please continue.’

Lance cleared his throat and summarised what he had said so far: that I had been coerced and threatened to confess – something that was apparent by my thumbless condition – and that I was actually in the Rabbits’ house to indulge in a little fox-hunting.

‘Yes indeed,’ said the lead prosecution barrister, ‘the thorny fox-hunting issue. Would learned counsel care to demonstrate to the court just how he can prove this ridiculous suggestion, given there were no horses or hounds?’

There wasn’t any laughter this time around, and Lance drew several evidence photographs from a folder.

‘I draw the court’s attention to crime scene photographs 8, 17, 34, 26 and 38. In all of them an owl can clearly be seen. I would also like to draw your attention to photograph 78, in which we see Mr Knox’s burned-out house the following morning, in which an aviary is, again, clearly visible. I also have a signed receipt, here entered as defence exhibit B, to show that said aviary and owl were delivered to Mr Knox the week before.’

He paused to take a sip of water.

‘The Hunting Act of 2004 clearly states that a bird of prey may be used to flush a fox, and a bird of prey – brought by Mr Knox himself – was there in Hemlock Towers when Mr Knox was doing what the law permitted: legally destroying vermin. Once again I appeal to this court to dismiss all charges and release my client.’

‘None of this was in discovery,’ said the prosecution barrister, ‘and shows a flagrant lapse in procedural rectitude.’

‘Agreed,’ said the judge. ‘I find Mr deBlackberry in contempt again, and fine him another pound. As for dismissing the charges against Mr Knox, I find Mr deBlackberry’s argument plausible, and given the grey areas regarding Mr Ffoxe’s taxonomic status, I no longer believe there is enough evidence to satisfy this court that Mr Ffoxe was human when he was killed, and I therefore dismiss the charge of murder. As for the “intimate association” charge, I find that Mr Knox’s confession, in light of the personal attack upon him in prison, should be regarded as tainted, and is also inadmissible. Without it, I cannot see any likely chance of a conviction, and dismiss this charge also.’

There was a collective sigh of annoyance from the humans in the public gallery, and three ‘huzzahs’ from the rabbits. The judge directed her next comments to Lance.

‘Mr deBlackberry, I have been as impressed with your qualities in this court today as much as I have been disappointed by prosecution counsel’s attempt to undermine the rule of law. I will warn you, Mr deBlackberry, that in future you should not misrepresent yourself in court as other judges may not be so tolerant. Consider this a reprimand. Mr Knox, you are free to go.’

The judge then stood up, the court stood up, and ten minutes later I found myself blinking on the steps of the courthouse.

‘My client has no comment at this time,’ said Lance as we made our way through the phalanx of reporters to a waiting RabCab, in this instance a charmingly ugly 1973 Ford Gran Torino.

‘Nffiffr hrff niffrh?’ asked the cabbie, who was an old flea-bitten buck with a single hole in his left ear that was so large he must have duelled with a howitzer.

‘Colony One,’ said Lance, ‘and step on it.’

The cabbie did indeed ‘step on it’, but only in a strictly relative way: he ramped it up to a heady 40 mph, only 12.62 mph below the all-time self-piloted rabbit land speed record. I think I realised then how they made their cars last so long.

‘Is that wise?’ I asked. ‘I’m probably the last person who should be seen anywhere near the May Hill colony.’

‘You need to be there,’ said Lance.

‘Why?’

‘Because Bunty has foreseen that the endgame is near – and we need all the help we can get.’

A three-dimensional mapping of the warrens beneath Colony One revealed a labyrinthine network of tunnels that were, astonishingly, more tunnel than soil, and instigated a new branch of mathematics that was later used to greatly improve shock-absorbing foam.

We sat in silence as we drove up and out of Hereford towards Ross-on-Wye, and I didn’t speak until we were past Harewood End.

‘That was really impressive in court,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ he said, ‘thank the Venerable Bunty and Mr Finkle. It was their overall plan. I just spoke the words, trippingly off the tongue.’

‘Are you going to study law for real?’ I asked.

‘Maybe,’ said Lance, ‘but it’ll take more than just rabbit lawyers – we need rabbit judges to see our point of view. When every legal system on the planet is skewed against any non-human animal group, it’s almost impossible to make any headway. We’d have liked to help – the Rabbit Way has a lot going for it – but maybe humans just aren’t grown up enough to be able to share the planet quite yet.’

‘Why help me out at all?’ I asked. ‘I mean, you could have just left me to my life sentence and it would be no down off anyone’s ears.’

‘That’s true,’ said Lance, ‘but the second circle of Lago is about restorative self-justice. Responsibility for one’s errors, choice-consequences and transgressions. You didn’t kill Mr Ffoxe, so you shouldn’t go to prison. Luckily, it’s relatively easy to outfox the British legal system. Your billionaires do it all the time. The way we see it, London is just one massive money-laundering scheme attached to an impressive public transport system and a few museums, of which even the most honest has more stolen goods than a lock-up garage in Worcester rented by a guy I know called Chalky.’

We chatted for a while and I learned that Lance’s appearance in court had only been his first criminal case, but not his first civil plea. Although there was not yet a ruling, the civil case revolved around whether a receipt from a pet shop for Blackberry, Lance’s Petstock forebear, could be considered proof of pre-Event residency, and if so, did that count as documentation and thus make the fifty thousand or so rabbits who carried the deBlackberry surname legally British.

‘Will it work?’ I asked.

‘It’s legally sound,’ he said, ‘but with UKARP’s shifting legislative goalposts, probably not.’