A Taste for Rabbit Page 17

  Harry stood up and stretched. The sky was bright blue without a hint of clouds, and the snowy ground and trees glittered in the sunlight. He walked over to a small spot of brightness and stood there, rubbing his paws, imagining he felt a little warmth.

  Elton walked quietly into the tent and emerged holding a small leather pouch, tied at the top. He sat down again, put the pouch on the ground in front of him, and opened it up, pouring the contents before him onto the packed snow.

  Harry recognized it now — the moochy-poochy stones. “Not again, Elton.”

  Elton was staring at the stones and shells. After a while, he picked up a flat, blue stone and showed it to Harry. “Quentin,” he said. He carefully placed the collection back into the leather pouch and tightened the cord. “Ask question,” he said.

  “You mean about the weather?”

  “No.”

  “What, then?”

  Elton didn’t answer.

  Harry closed his eyes. What question should I ask this time? Will I succeed in defeating my brother? Will Isaac get what’s coming to him? He suddenly thought about Quentin and his pathetic determination to confront Wally and Dan. Will the rabbit survive? “All right,” Harry said. He took the pouch, untied it, shook it energetically, and dumped the contents onto the packed snow.

  Harry’s dark, oval stone had landed next to the blood red crystal again, nearly touching it. Elton’s translucent quartz was farther away. Quentin’s blue stone had landed on top of the red crystal. Elton picked it up and showed it to Harry — a large crack ran down the middle. Harry touched it with his paw and it broke into two pieces.

  “Maybe that was the wrong stone,” Harry said, unnerved. It was only a stone, for the gods’ sake. Still. “Shouldn’t Quentin be the one to pick?” he said. “And what about mine? What does it mean?”

  Elton gathered up the stones and shells and replaced them. “Same thing. Path you follow. Dead end. Danger.”

  “And Quentin?”

  Elton looked up at him. “You know.”

  Yes, I think I do, Harry thought.

  * * *

  Harry and Elton returned to the tent where they found Quentin curled up in a corner, his head resting against an empty satchel, sound asleep. Elton quietly retrieved his nightcap and slippers and in a few moments was buzzing softly. Harry sat silently for a while, thinking about the blue stone and the conversation with Quentin. His head drooped.

  At dusk he opened his eyes, fully awake. He glanced outside, noticed the fading light, and began to gather his things. In a few moments Quentin awakened, sat up suddenly, and cried, “Is it late? Am I late again?”

  “Late for what?” Harry asked. “We need to get started if we’re going to find that cave before dark.”

  Quentin rubbed his face. “Sorry,” he said. “I was dreaming.”

  Elton opened his eyes. “Night?”

  “Not yet,” Harry replied. “But soon. We need to go.”

  While Elton quickly stowed his cap and slippers, and Quentin stood and brushed himself off, Harry talked about his plan. “You can meet Elton back here tomorrow,” he finished, hoping the false confidence in his voice would not be apparent.

  Elton, busy organizing his things, glanced at him, then looked away.

  “Sounds good!” Quentin said, with what sounded to Harry like equally false enthusiasm. He busied himself with his satchel, stuffing his blanket inside and searching the interior for something.

  “Here,” Elton said. He handed Quentin a tightly wrapped bundle, bulging and tied with cord. “Need this.”

  “Thanks,” Quentin said, taking it. “You’re very kind.” His eyes welled up.

  Hopeless, Harry thought. A rabbit who weeps at the drop of an acorn. How in the world will he be able to defeat Wally and Dan? It will be a massacre. He brushed the thought aside.

  “About your plan,” Quentin said to Harry after a moment. “I’m concerned about Gerard. Won’t he and Martin be at the cave too?”

  “That seems to be the way it works.”

  “I don’t know. I’m ready to deal with Wally and Dan, although I have no idea how. Two against one is bad enough. Four, when two of them are weasels …”

  “I see your point.” Harry thought for a moment. “Well, I was planning to find Gerard at the Inn — Martin said that’s where they meet — so I’ll try to keep them from going to the cave for as long as I can. Is that better?”

  “I guess so,” Quentin replied. “And after that?”

  “I’ll be on my way home to settle things with my brother.”

  Harry and Quentin walked outside as Elton started to dismantle the tent. I won’t be seeing the badger again either, Harry thought. Once I’ve taken care of Isaac and Gerard, and collected the inevitable rewards, both tangible and otherwise, there will be no need for me to travel these paths. I can move into Isaac’s mansion and …

  Elton stopped and came over to shake paws all around. “Harry,” Elton said. “Good-bye. Good company.”

  “Good-bye to you,” Harry replied, feeling a fleeting regret. I will miss him.

  “I’ll see you here tomorrow,” Quentin said to Elton. “Thanks for everything.”

  Harry grabbed his walking stick, half buried in the snow, and picked up his things. Quentin took the bundle that Elton had given them and the other pack that lay on the ground, shouldering them with difficulty. Harry noticed for the first time that he was favoring his left arm.

  “What happened?” he asked, gesturing.

  “A flesh wound.” Quentin told Harry about being pursued and cornered at the perimwall. He touched his arm gingerly. “I think it’s healed but …”

  “Bows and arrows?” This was an unpleasant surprise. Foxes only used them recreationally. Harry had never held a bow and had only occasionally attended the archery meets that were held on holidays in the summer. They were boring. What could be entertaining about shooting at a fixed target? Where was the challenge? What possible skill could be involved? Try catching a terrified possum or a family of quail, well camouflaged and dashing like mad through the underbrush! He’d walked away from the meets filled with contempt. A ridiculous waste of time.

  Would Wally and Dan be armed at the cave? Martin had never mentioned it, and Harry knew Gerard carried no weapon. Martin’s own rusty knife would pose no threat. But suppose Wally and Dan were armed. By the time I get there, Harry thought, the worst will be over. The rebels will arrive too late to help. Wally and Dan will have escaped and Quentin will be dead. Even the moochy-poochy stones said so. The trade will continue. So much for trying to restore kindness and decency to the world.

  After I confront Gerard, however, he will probably confess to everything, giving me all the information I need to bring Isaac to court.

  … “Now you know it all,” Gerard said. He lit a cigarette and inhaled slowly. “You know the depth of my depravity and shame. How could I have done something so terrible, so despicable!” He covered his eyes with his paws and sobbed.

  “Yes, you are despicable,” Harry replied. “Utterly and completely without a single redeeming quality.”

  “I should never have deceived you, Harry,” Gerard replied, lifting his head. “I deserve to be punished, don’t you agree?”

  “Oh, yes. I do agree!” Harry said. “But if you come with me to the High Judge in Foxboro and tell about Isaac’s part in this illegal trade, I will ask the Court to be lenient.”

  “Oh, Harry! How can I ever thank you!” Gerard cried. He fell to his knees. “I will tell everything I know and with my assistance you will bring down Isaac once and for all. It’s the least I can do to repay your kindness, of which I am so undeserving.” …

  Harry glanced over at Quentin, who walked slowly beside him, occasionally shifting the weight of his burdens from one shoulder to the other, wincing each time. His face was set and determined.

  Foolish rabbit, Harry thought. You can’t stop this. No one can. It’s like trying to hold back a flooded river with a dam of straw.
Greed and self-interest drive these creatures. The torrent will wash you away.

  He returned to the delightful image of Gerard on his knees.

  It was dark when they found the cave. It seemed innocent enough, Quentin thought, and somehow that made it even worse. He noticed the rough circle of stone that had been cut out of the floor, and pointed it out to Harry, who held the collapsible lantern Elton had provided.

  “I see it,” Harry said. “This must lead to the tunnel under the fortifications.”

  “I guess so.”

  Harry leaned down, and using Isaac’s walking stick, pried the lid up and pushed it partly open.

  Quentin came closer and they both peered into the darkness as the cold, damp air of the tunnel, smelling of wet stone and mud, gusted gently into their faces.

  Harry pushed the stone back and they walked into the woods.

  They set up camp in a sheltered stony outcropping they found not far from the cave. Elton had managed to stuff a small tent, a blanket, a canteen, and the collapsible lantern into the parcel he’d handed them.

  Harry unpacked the tent but Quentin stopped him. “Let me,” he said. “I watched Elton.” It was satisfying to do it himself. If only my buddies at school could see me now, he thought, as he pounded the stakes into the icy ground and smoothed out the floor inside. No one would believe it.

  The snow-covered forest smelled clean and wet; the trees and shrubs, laden with snow, seemed to be silently waiting in the dark; the air was still. The sharp sound of stone against wood as he pounded the stakes for the tent into the icy ground echoed through the trees and bounced back, a stutter, each muffled blow sounding like two. What would Zack and Frank say once he was able to tell them about these last two days? I won’t have to exaggerate, he thought. The facts alone will say it all.

  “I’m going to the Inn now to find Gerard,” Harry said as soon as Quentin was finished.

  Quentin was startled. So soon? He’d been sitting in front of the tent, taking a breather, trying not to think about what lay ahead. Now, the thought of being alone again in the dark, so near the cave and all that meant, made his stomach turn over.

  “You can keep the lantern,” Harry said. “I know the way.” He turned to Quentin. “Good luck.”

  “You’re thinking I’ll need it.”

  “Yes,” Harry said, “I’m afraid so.” He disappeared into the forest.

  * * *

  Alone again, Quentin thought, and very hungry. I should be going to the cave … but not just yet.

  At one point, as they were collecting their things and Harry was distracted, Quentin had taken the last remaining turnover in Frank’s backpack and shoved it deep into his jacket pocket, next to his book. Now he remembered. Frank would understand, he thought. Saliva filled his mouth as he breathed in its fragrance — it smelled heavenly — and he swallowed hard. Just a bite. He unwrapped it and the pastry crumbled. Quentin licked his paw and tasted the sweetness and the bit of slightly burned apple that stuck to the pastry; he took a huge bite and in a moment had swallowed the entire thing. He examined the ground for crumbs, which he picked up with a dampened paw, along with some dirt, sucking on each morsel. His tongue searched his mouth for the last remaining bits of pastry and cinnamon. The sugar buzzed in his head and he felt his face growing warm. That was the best, most wonderful food I have ever eaten in my life. I wish there were fifteen of them.

  Gods! What have I done? I have no self-control at all! Now there’s nothing left to eat. What will I do tomorrow? And suppose they find Charlie — how will I explain this to Frank?

  A nearby crackling of the underbrush startled him. He peered outside, holding the lantern, but could see nothing. Not a sound. Quentin went back inside and lay down with his head against Elton’s emptied satchel.

  Who could be out there? The military police? He recalled Dan, handing him his induction papers on the snowy street outside the café, the high-pitched voice and the smug, self-satisfied look as he turned away, followed by his uniformed bodyguards; then Zack, in his apartment, showing him the guard duty assignment that had been left on his doorstep. An oddly fateful coincidence. Suddenly Quentin sat up. “Fakes!” he said aloud. “They were fakes.”

  Had he saved it? He felt deep into his pockets, pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, and held it close to the lantern. Now he saw that the official seal had been copied in an uncertain script, and that the paper itself lacked the government letterhead. He was right: his draft notice, and certainly Zack’s call to guard duty, had been forged.

  Quentin stuffed the paper back in his pocket and sat down. Wait a minute. That’s why the military police have not come for me — they probably don’t even know I was drafted.

  I wasn’t drafted.

  I see it now. If they can fake these notices without being caught, then wouldn’t that mean they’re acting independently? That the government isn’t behind the abductions at all? Dan and Wally are acting alone, then, murdering their own kind for profit. In fact, the enemy was among us.

  Zack would probably say the Leader knew all along and just looked the other way, letting his advisors take advantage of our deeply ingrained love of order and need for security and using it to make themselves more powerful. “The Leader is easily influenced,” Zack often argued, “and he likes to let others do his thinking for him. We are headed for a military takeover, Q.” He’d shake his head ominously. “I can feel it in my bones.”

  Zack! I miss him. I miss my own kind. This was why species lived together, in their own territory, and were suspicious of outsiders and those who were different! For the first time in his life he understood the comfort of living in a place where the world was a mirror. The longing to see another rabbit was so deep he felt an ache in his gut.

  Trying to get comfortable on the cold ground, Quentin turned on his side, away from the opening to the tent. Just a little longer. He closed his eyes, but now the images of caves and heavy sacks and wheelbarrows came back with terrifying clarity.

  Why Frank’s family and not me?

  He sat up. I was meant to stop this. I can’t wait any longer.

  He was rummaging through the packs and satchels in search of a possible weapon when he heard footsteps. “Harry?” he said, suddenly hopeful.

  “Q! Oh, gods! Frank, it’s Quentin! Who’s Harry?” said a familiar voice.

  Quentin whirled around. “Zack?”

  “Thank the gods! We found you!”

  Quentin embraced his friends and looked at them hungrily. Zack’s sad eyes were bright and his smile covered his face, but underneath he looked haggard and exhausted. Frank’s eyes were red and he seemed tense and grimly excited.

  “Q! It is so good to see you. Are you all right?”

  “I am now! What about you? Are you all right? What happened?”

  Zack and Frank walked into the tent and sat down. “It’s a long story,” Frank said. He took off his mittens and rubbed his paws. “The rebels found us, but they thought we were Wally and Dan. Tabor, their leader, was away. He was one of the rabbits who had contacted me. It took us a while to … establish our credentials. It was scary. They’re a lot more militant than I expected,” he said, “even though they apparently didn’t start out that way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They wanted to live more freely,” Zack said. “You know, there have always been a few rabbits living among us who were unhappy with our orderly life. I never believed … Gods, it’s good to see you!”

  “Tell me about Tabor,” Quentin said, reveling in the sight of his friends. It was all he could do to restrain himself from embracing them once more.

  “Big, strong, and determined to get revenge,” Frank said. He told Quentin that the rabbit had been “peaceful as a possum” until he learned that his entire family — elderly parents, siblings, their children — had been victims. Frank paused. “I can understand how he felt.”

  “Q, you’d hardly believe Tabor was a rabbit,” Zack continued. “He’s tough a
nd he’s angry. He says he’ll do whatever’s necessary to destroy Wally and Dan. I’ve never known anyone so coldly determined. Makes me seem like an armchair zealot by comparison.”

  Frank sat down and rummaged around in a large knapsack he’d tossed on the ground. “Before we go on,” he said, “I need to eat. Are you hungry?” He pulled out some wrapped packages and held out his paw.

  Quentin swallowed hard. “Yes, I’m very hungry, thanks.” He unwrapped the package and wolfed down the cold turnip-and-potato sandwich in seconds. It was terrible and wonderful at the same time. “Do you have any more?” he asked, licking the crumbs from his paws.

  Frank looked at him. “Quentin! You must be starved — and the rebel food is awful. I’m sorry, I should have thought of this sooner. Here.” He gave him another and handed one to Zack.

  “It’s fine.” Quentin was able to eat the second sandwich more slowly, savoring the dry potatoes, the slightly bitter turnip, and the stale bread. I will never take food for granted again, he thought. I will never turn away from a rabbit who is hungry, or keep food for myself when I have the chance to share. I promise.

  He had swallowed the last crumb of the second sandwich when he remembered. “Those apple turnovers you were saving … for Charlie … are gone,” he said to Frank, unable to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry. I was hungry.” This was not the time to explain about losing at badger checkers.

  “I’d forgotten all about them,” Frank said. Then, seeing Quentin’s face, he said, “It’s all right, Quentin. Don’t give it another thought. Charlie will — would — understand.” But he stood up, covered his face with his paws, and walked outside.

  I’ll be thinking about it for the rest of my life, Quentin said to himself.

  He and Zack sat in the tent silently. In a few moments, Frank returned, his face calm. “Sorry,” he said. “I keep doing that.” He cleared his throat. “Tell us what’s happened to you while we were gone. I was very worried about you, Quentin. We both were.”