A Taste for Rabbit Read online

  For Phyllis, my sister and dearest friend

  CHAPTERS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  1 Harry: Can’t a Brother Be Brotherly?

  2 Quentin: A Chance to Get Even

  3 Harry: Some Things Are Not Fair or Logical

  4 Quentin: Possibly Very Dangerous

  5 Harry: Inn the Forest

  6 Quentin: Mouse Courage

  7 Harry: Remember: I Trust You

  8 Quentin: A Trap

  9 Harry: Badger Checkers

  10 Gerard: Declining Is Not an Option

  11 Quentin: Rabbit Heroes for All Times

  12 Gerard: Nice Clothes

  13 Harry: A Way to Win

  14 Harry: So It’s True

  15 Harry: It’s Only a Game

  16 Harry: A Dam of Straw

  17 Quentin: The Enemy Was Among Us

  18 Quentin: Like Looking Death in the Face

  19 Harry: Things Are Not What They Seem

  20 Harry: Trapped!

  21 Quentin: An Unexpected Life

  22 Harry: Brave Fox

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain’d;

  I stand and look at them long and long.

  – Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

  Harry the Fox, standing at the end of the line that coiled like a snake through the snowy streets, peered up at the sky — gray, leaden, low to the horizon. It had been snowing for weeks, with no end in sight. He pulled up the collar on his jacket and dug his bare paws into his pockets, feeling once again his last few icy coins. This will be pointless, he thought. By the time I reach the market, there will be nothing left.

  As the line shuffled slowly forward, the volunteer members of the Foxboro Cleanstreets Department, bundled in their brown uniforms, approached and began to work; but after a short time, the snow, falling with a silent ferocity, buried the newly cleared paths under a blanket of white. Harry watched as the volunteers shrugged and gave up in disgust, dropping their brooms and shovels, which quickly began to melt into the white streets and soon vanished.

  The snow kept coming.

  In front of him stood an older fox in a threadbare brown coat. “It’s moving, but slowly,” he said, turning to Harry. “I’m sure there will be enough for all of us.”

  Ahead of him, a fox with gaunt face and hollow eyes, turned and snarled. “Are you crazy? There’s no food anywhere!”

  “Get off the line, then,” Harry said calmly. “We’ll be happy to move up.”

  The fox thrust his face close to Harry’s. “Make me.”

  Just then, the line turned a corner; the front door of the market was now in view, its windows spattered with driven snow. The fox scrambled to return to his place. “We can take care of this later,” he muttered, but the threat was gone.

  The line inched forward. Every so often, there was a scuffle as someone tried to push ahead and was challenged, but mostly foxes of all ages stood close together for warmth, jamming their paws deep into their pockets. Even from this distance, Harry could see the bare shelves with only a few wrapped items remaining. No wonder everyone is on edge. Probably nothing left but mouse tails and squirrel paws, he thought. Not much nourishment there. But saliva filled his mouth and his stomach growled just the same.

  The fox in the brown coat turned again. “My name’s John.”

  “Harry.”

  “I keep wishing I’d been able to get here sooner, but my children were sick,” John said. “It’s the rich who benefited from this storm,” he added bitterly, and lowered his voice. “The price-gouging at the other markets didn’t bother them. They got all the food and still have their money.” He stopped to cough. “I had to borrow….”

  Harry just nodded absently. Not long ago I was one of those rich foxes, he thought. Not anymore.

  “What do you do?” John asked.

  “Recently I’ve been a hunter.”

  “Not much work for you these days,” John said sympathetically. “Not in this weather.”

  It was true. Still, just yesterday, Harry had ventured into Wildwood Forest, floundering through the drifts that blanketed the paths, watching, listening for a sign of life — but there was nothing. He’d returned to his apartment, cold and filled with frustration.

  The line reached the front door of the market. The thin, gaunt fox hurried in and emerged in a few moments, tearing at the wrapping of a small package and chewing hungrily at the contents, which Harry could see was the shriveled, frozen carcass of a squirrel. The fox hurried away, avoiding Harry’s eyes.

  John shuffled inside. The owner, an old-timer everyone called Popsy, who was never seen without his white apron and a striped scarf about his neck, opened the door quickly and then shut it firmly. Harry watched as John took the last package from a low shelf and dug into his pockets for change. Popsy pushed his paw away. John tried again to pay, but the older fox was insistent. John tucked the package into his pocket and opened the door. Popsy followed, shook his head at Harry, and turned the OPEN sign over.

  “This was the last,” John said to Harry. “Mouse tails.” He started to walk away, then turned back. “Listen,” he said. “I wish I could share … but my children … I’m sorry.”

  I wish you could share too, Harry thought. Children couldn’t eat that much. But he just nodded and left.

  Harry trudged home through the icy streets of Foxboro. No income, no food, no resources. It was definitely a low point. Of course, there was always Isaac, his younger brother. He never seemed to run out of money. Maybe I could visit him and ask for a loan. Harry stopped in his tracks, imagining Isaac’s insufferable arrogance, his condescension. No! I’d rather die of starvation.

  As night fell and the sky darkened, the snow began to fall in thick, heavy flakes, muffling his footsteps. Children who had been sledding down the slick hills in the park near downtown made their way slowly home, pulling their sleds behind them. The streets grew quiet.

  Harry stomped the snow off his boots at the front door of his apartment and turned the key. Inside, he reached for a match on the nearby table and struck it; the flickering light illuminated the cramped space, but left the outer corners in darkness. The apartment had a close, familiar smell — Harry’s nose detected the odors of unwashed clothes, faulty plumbing, and days-old garbage — in stark contrast to the fresh cold air of the outdoors. But in a few moments it was gone. Home.

  He lit the stub of a candle and prowled around his little space, looking for a relatively clear spot where he could rest. Unwinding the scarf from around his neck, he flung himself down on the used couch that stood against the wall near a grimy window. He dug around in the rubble behind it, found a moldy sandwich, and gnawed on it gratefully.

  What about the rabbit warren? he thought. Everyone had heard the rumors that several years ago a huge colony had established itself within the abandoned fortress far to the south. No one knew who built it or when, but the high, crumbling wall, perched on a steep hill, was difficult to reach and impossible to climb. The rabbits who were said to inhabit it had been simply too much trouble to bother with, especially with other food so readily available. No one had eaten rabbit for a long time, although Harry had a faint recollection of some superb dinners from the distant past, and had often heard old-timers like Popsy reminiscing and trading recipes as if it were yesterday. If I can find a way to get inside the fortress, Harry thought, the rabbits will be an easy kill. Even squirrels and chipmunks are more intelligent than rabbits, who, when faced with a predator, freeze stupidly in their tracks, their hearts pou
nding beneath their fur, their eyes staring. Yum.

  He swallowed hard. The only trouble is that after struggling through this miserable weather and the snowbanks, icy winds, and blinding, howling storms, I’ll be back here, exactly where I started: hungry again.

  I don’t need food — I need money.

  The front door opened. “Anybody home?” asked a familiar voice. Isaac. Harry reburied the remains of the sandwich under a rag he found in a dark corner.

  “Close the door, will you!” Harry said. “It’s freezing.” He watched his brother limp into the apartment. “What do you want?”

  In the dim light, Isaac looked even shorter than usual. For a moment, his broad shoulders and thick neck, backlit by the candlelight, made him appear menacing, even to Harry. Not long ago, Harry had read in the local paper that Isaac had been elected to the position of Managing Director, the highest administrative post in Foxboro. It must have been Isaac’s wealth — how had he acquired it, anyway? — that had given him entrée into the complex and notoriously corrupt political system, Harry thought. The tabloids had proclaimed Isaac “a champion of the common fox.” Harry knew better.

  Now he observed, with surprise — considering the scarcity of food — that in addition to being well dressed and protected against the cold with a heavy, fur-lined coat and fine wool scarf, Isaac was looking extremely well fed.

  Something’s up.

  “Gods, this place stinks,” said Isaac, looking around for a comfortable spot and finding none.

  Harry sat back on the couch. He knew Isaac wouldn’t join him; since childhood, Isaac had always needed his own chair. He would wince when he sat down and that would inevitably bring someone running to get a pillow for his weak leg.

  Harry didn’t move.

  Isaac brushed the snow off his shoulders and unwrapped the scarf. The snow puddled around him, but he took no notice. Finally he settled on a stool near the cluttered kitchenette and rested his cane against the table. He winced and looked around for a pillow. “Don’t you ever clean it?”

  “Is that why you lowered yourself to come here? So you could criticize my living quarters? Don’t you have something better to do, some sweet, young potential voters to impress, some bribes to take?”

  Isaac shifted on the stool, trying to get comfortable. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know bribery greases the wheels. You should try it. Or hire someone to fix the plumbing, for the gods’ sake. Surely you have something left from our inheritance!”

  Harry was silent.

  “No?” Isaac shook his head. “Harry, Harry! All right, then. Give one of those sandwiches you’ve been hoarding to some young fox to clean this place. Stop living like this.”

  “Let’s get back to bribery,” Harry said. “Speaking of which, I haven’t congratulated you on your recent election.”

  Isaac didn’t respond. He shifted again, gave up, and stood with difficulty, leaning on the cane. It was a new one, Harry noticed — carved mahogany with the head of a rabbit, its ears flattened into an easily gripped handle, at the top.

  “Listen,” Isaac said. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

  Harry tried not to show any interest. Clearly his brother was about to ask for a favor and was feeling uncomfortable about it. Harry was not going to make it easy.

  Isaac took a deep breath. “We have never been close,” he began and then stopped at the sound of a barely suppressed snort from Harry. “All right, that’s an understatement. I know you don’t like me and I must say, I don’t … understand why, but I accept it. Still, we are brothers and we are family.”

  The stubby candle flickered and sputtered.

  “Harry,” he went on. “I need a favor.”

  “I figured as much,” Harry replied coldly. “You have never come by this place on a social visit. Your brotherly love speech notwithstanding.”

  “There is something strange going on at the fortress, the one that protects that rabbit warren,” Isaac continued, ignoring Harry’s comment. “You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you? Well, I’ve sent several scouts to the area. They … have not returned. There could be a food supply behind those walls that would get us through the rest of the winter. Hundreds, maybe thousands of rabbits …” He stopped.

  Harry waited for Isaac to spit it out.

  “I need you to find out what’s going on over there, what happened to the scouts, everything,” Isaac said. “We need that food! It’s our only hope. I don’t have to tell you what this terrible storm has done. The roads have been completely impassable for weeks. Even the ermine traders — and you know how resourceful they are — cannot penetrate this storm. No one can get in or out, not even to hunt — as if any of us, other than you, knows how anymore. If this weather continues, we will starve to death. We must have those rabbits!”

  “I don’t get it,” Harry said. “Why send scouts at all? Why not the traditional hunting party? The fortress can’t be that much of an obstacle if rabbits could find their way in.”

  “As I understand it, the rabbits arrived years ago, and you know perfectly well there’s no road to the southeast that goes that far. Besides, it’s … complicated,” Isaac said. “Trust me. Scouts were a good idea. Until they didn’t return.”

  Trust you? Harry thought. I’d sooner trust a bloodhound.

  There was silence in the cold, dark space. Harry finally sat up and poked around the sofa pillow cushions until he found a box of matches he’d dropped there several days ago. He struck one and held it up — very close — to his brother’s face for a long moment. The flame danced in Isaac’s eyes. He blinked. Harry blew out the match.

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re the best. Maybe the others didn’t come back because they weren’t up to the job — I don’t know. I just know you’re smarter than they were. You’re the best we’ve got,” he repeated. “And … I’m offering a reward.”

  “A reward? For what?”

  “Information.”

  A reward for making a trip to the fortress, which I had been thinking about doing anyway? I like the sound of this, Harry thought. Maybe my luck has turned. On the other hand, why do something for Isaac? “Suppose I say no?”

  “You can’t do that,” Isaac blurted out. “Think of the children!” he added, in what Harry recognized as the phony voice of an elected official. “Already some have collapsed, the poor little things…. Damn it, Harry,” he went on in a different tone. “Don’t you have any other light in here? It’s like a tomb. I can’t carry on a serious conversation this way!”

  “Why can’t I do that?”

  Isaac was silent for a moment. “Because I’ve given my word that I, meaning you, obviously, since with my leg …”

  Gods, do I have to hear about his leg again? “Oh, yes, your poor leg. You’ve been using that excuse ever since we were children. I would think even you would be sick of it by now.”

  “Really, Harry.” He sounded hurt. “It is a disability. You should know that. You were there, after all.” Isaac cleared his throat. “Anyway, as I was saying. We — you — are the only one who can find out what’s going on at the fortress. It’s incredible to me that four of our best scouts have … disappeared without a trace. Incredible and … frightening, if you must know the truth. If I don’t find out what’s going on — if you don’t — I’ll be thrown out. Or worse. There have been some … irregularities. I had to make promises.”

  There was a long silence. Make him wait, Harry thought gleefully. Make him wait. “How much time would I have?”

  Isaac’s faint sigh of relief hissed into the darkness. “I knew I could count on you!”

  “Hold on. I haven’t said I’d do it. I just asked how much time I’d have. I have a life, you know — obligations, commitments. I can’t just drop everything to do you a favor. Especially if it’s as fraught with apparent danger and mystery as this.” Then he paused. “Is there something you’re not telling me, my dear brother?”

  “Of course not.�
� A little too quickly.

  More silence.

  “What’s the reward?”

  “One thousand. Cash.”

  “One thousand?” Harry laughed. “Are you serious? I am not going out in this filthy weather to help get you off the hook for one thousand anything. Try again.”

  “One thousand now and another five when you return with the information,” Isaac said. “But I can’t wait forever. You have two weeks to get there and back. Otherwise the deal is off. What do you say?”

  “I’ll think about it,” Harry said, but a smile of deep satisfaction lit up his face in the dark.

  * * *

  The next day, after Harry and Isaac had visited the bank, tromping with difficulty through the snow-covered streets, Harry returned to his apartment with the down payment.

  “Bills or gold?” Isaac had asked, and when Harry said, “Bills,” Isaac had simply withdrawn the cash by signing a note. The teller had put away the little burlap sacks of coins and instead counted out the cash impassively, tucking it into a paper envelope stamped with the bank’s logo: an elaborately calligraphic FB for FoxBank.

  “I can’t imagine how you could have accumulated enough wealth to part with a thousand so easily,” Harry had said, impressed in spite of himself as they left the building and faced the icy streets. “Our inheritance was relatively small and real estate values have been dropping. What did you do — rob a bank?”

  Isaac looked him in the eye. “None of your damn business. All you need to know is that if you come back with the information I need, the rest is yours.”

  “Are these” — Harry indicated the fat packet of bills — “the ‘irregularities’ you referred to? Am I now the recipient of stolen goods? Delightful,” he said, rubbing his paws together. “I had no idea extortion, embezzlement, and blackmail could be so lucrative.”

  Isaac ignored him. “Well?”

  Harry carefully stuffed the envelope into his coat pocket. “Brother,” he said, holding out his paw, “it’s a deal.” They shook on it.

  Harry and Isaac walked slowly and silently through the icy streets. It was a while before Harry became aware of footsteps behind them.