A Taste for Rabbit Page 2

  Isaac turned, and Harry saw the fox who had stood in line ahead of him the day before. “John? What do you want?” Isaac said with obvious irritation.

  “Forgive me for troubling you, sir,” said John. “I need to have a word with you, if you wouldn’t mind.” He looked at Harry. “Oh, hello,” he said. “It’s Harry, isn’t it? I didn’t know you were …” He glanced at Isaac. Then he seemed to remember his conversation. “I … I didn’t mean … I wasn’t referring to …”

  “Don’t talk to him,” Isaac said. “Talk to me. What do you want?” he repeated.

  “It’s about the loan,” John said, turning back to Isaac, his voice trembling. “I need more time. My children have not been well and …”

  “Are you telling me you can’t pay?” said Isaac. His bulky frame loomed over John and his voice was suddenly filled with rage. “You pathetic … !” He stopped and cast a furtive look at Harry. “Let’s not discuss this here,” he said, taking John’s arm and roughly walking him across the snowy street. “Wait for me,” he called to Harry, as they disappeared behind a building.

  It seemed a very long time that Harry waited, the swirling snow blowing against his back. He walked up and down and stuck his paws under his armpits for warmth. This was cold even for a fox. What was Isaac doing? How long could it take to negotiate a new arrangement? Why not meet indoors later to discuss it?

  When Isaac returned, he was alone. He approached Harry with a smile of satisfaction. “Sorry for the intrusion,” he said. “These things happen.”

  “What things happen?” asked Harry. “Where is John? What took so long? It’s freezing out here.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. Let’s walk — we’ll stay warmer that way.”

  He picked up the pace and they continued toward the town square. Harry turned to look across the street. Three ragged fox children were running toward the building where Harry had seen Isaac and John disappear. As Harry watched, they emerged a few moments later, crying, and carrying something limp and bloody. Harry caught a glimpse of a faded brown coat.

  “What did you do to that poor fellow?” Harry cried. He glanced down, saw blood on Isaac’s cane, and turned to run back.

  Isaac put a firm paw on Harry’s arm. “Go there and our deal is off. I’ll find another way to get the information I need. I mean it.” His eyes were cold.

  Harry argued briefly with his conscience: There was nothing he could do to help; John’s children would care for him; no one would believe Harry if he accused Isaac; and besides, he hadn’t actually witnessed anything. And there was money in his coat pocket.

  He turned back, and they continued walking.

  Harry and Isaac parted company at the town square.

  “When will you leave?” asked Isaac. His face, almost hidden behind the fur collar of his coat, showed no trace of the icy anger Harry had seen moments ago.

  “You said I had two weeks,” Harry replied. “If I start tomorrow that should give me enough time to get there and back, even in this weather.”

  “If the weather improves, you may be able to return sooner, although the forecasters are not optimistic.” Isaac coughed and reached into a deep pocket. “I thought you could use this.” He removed what looked like a thick wooden ruler, the kind that folded on itself.

  “What is it?”

  “A collapsible walking stick,” Isaac said. “Look. I had it made for me, but I don’t use it anymore.” With a few quick movements he unfolded the stick and locked the segments into position. He tapped it on the snowy street. “See? Very steady. It’s not going to be easy getting to the fortress if the snow continues,” he said. “You know what those trails are like even in good weather.” He offered the stick to Harry. “This could help.”

  “You’re giving this to me?” Harry said, surprised.

  “Not giving, lending. I want it back. Take it.”

  Harry tried it. The stick was straight and sturdy, the segments jointed with brass fittings. Isaac’s initials were carved into the top. “I’ll see. It might be useful. Thanks.” He collapsed it and put it into his other pocket.

  “By the way,” Isaac said, “I wouldn’t stop at Inn the Forest if I were you.” He rubbed his gloved paws together for warmth. “I’ve been hearing those badgers who run it cannot be trusted. And I have never understood how you could tolerate the awful food.”

  “I’ve always enjoyed the food. Besides, it’s not like you to express concern for my creature comforts,” Harry said suspiciously. “First the walking stick, now this. What’s going on?”

  Isaac shook his head. “For the gods’ sake!” he said with irritation. “Can’t a brother be brotherly? Are we that far apart? Stay where you want, then. It’s not my concern.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Well. I’ll be looking for you in two weeks. The mothers and children of our community thank you,” he said, switching into his political voice. “The weak and the starving will praise your name.”

  “Save it for the newspapers,” Harry said. “We both know who is going to benefit from this little arrangement.”

  “Yes,” said Isaac, and he glanced at Harry’s coat pocket, which bulged slightly from the presence of the envelope. “We do.”

  * * *

  Now, back home, Harry stomped the snow off his boots and walked into his bedroom. He opened the narrow closet, pulled out a large, heavy wooden box with an old-fashioned latch, released it, and surveyed the neatly arranged contents with satisfaction.

  “Preparation, Planning, and Perseverance — the three Ps — the keys to successful hunting, as Dad always said,” Harry murmured. He removed a carefully folded map, a small penknife, a miniature box of matches in a waterproof container, a canteen, and a large, clean leather pouch with several compartments. At the bottom of the box was a compass in a worn leather case. Harry held the compass in his paws for a moment, staring into space, then he carefully put the compass and everything except the map into the leather pouch. He locked the box and put it back in the closet.

  He packed a change of clothes and some extra socks. In the kitchenette, he brushed crumbs and dirty dishes off the table and spread out the map.

  Quentin the Rabbit stood on the library steps, looking out at the white world and the snow that flurried around him. “I hate this weather,” he said to Zack. “It’s been snowing for weeks and the streets are still piled with snow. Why doesn’t the government do anything about that?” He shifted his backpack to his other shoulder and pulled on his mittens. The snow stung his face.

  “I know,” Zack said. “We could try to bring it up at the next community meeting, but I read this morning that they’ve been postponed until further notice. You know what that means.” He started down the stairs.

  “Yes. Forever,” Quentin said, following him. “I always thought the long walk from home was worth it — it’s the library, after all — but these days I keep wishing there were an easier way.”

  “You always wish there were an easier way.” Zack wrapped his fuzzy black scarf securely around his neck, tucked the ends into his black jacket, and breathed deeply. “But you wouldn’t be my friend Quentin if you loved the outdoors.”

  Quentin noticed the streets were emptying quickly; rabbits, bundled up in coats and jackets in the traditional blue, walked purposefully toward home without looking up. It used to be different, he thought. I wasn’t always afraid — but it’s been so long since I felt safe in Stonehaven that I can hardly remember what that was like.

  At the corner, a tall rabbit, mufflered up to his nose, approached them with outstretched paw. “Pamphlet?” he said in a friendly voice through layers of scarves. “There’s a prayer service in a few minutes over at the meeting hall. It will end before curfew,” he added, reassuringly. “Please come.”

  Zack shook his head, but Quentin took the paper as they continued to walk.

  “What does it say?” Zack asked.

  “What they always say. Oh, no — wait. This one’s a little diff
erent. A prayer ritual to soothe the angry gods — and they’re offering free samples of a new potion to increase body strength for ‘all your defensive needs.’” He crumpled up the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. Anti-littering laws were now severely enforced.

  “And cure gout too? Prayer ritual!” Zack said scornfully. “What about our belief that we could control our own lives without needing the gods?”

  Quentin laughed. “No one thinks that’s going to work anymore.”

  They trudged through the snow in silence. At the next corner, another rabbit approached, this one wearing a sandwich board. Zack read, “‘Rabbits! Beware the Gray Forces of Night! Change your ways or we will all die!’” The rabbit wore neither jacket nor scarf, and his eyes burned with zealous fire.

  “Poor fellow. He’s obviously lost his mind…. ‘The Gray Forces of Night!’” Quentin repeated. “How does he know what color the Forces are? Maybe they’re pink!”

  “I like pink,” Zack said, “but it doesn’t scare me in quite the same way.”

  “I guess that’s the point.”

  “How much time until curfew?”

  Quentin reached into his pocket and looked at his watch. “Not much. I really have to get home and try to finish my farming-methods paper before guard duty tomorrow night,” he went on. “I’m not looking forward to it — guard duty, I mean.”

  “Don’t you hate the idea? The phoniness?” Zack said, turning to him.

  “Yes,” Quentin said. “It’s a joke. Rabbits are still disappearing, no matter what they do.”

  Zack didn’t answer.

  “I can’t decide which is worse — the waste of time or the horrible uniform,” Quentin went on. “Besides, I feel ridiculous marching around like some military type. I’m not a soldier — I’m a student, for the gods’ sake!”

  “I know,” Zack said grimly. “And they’re getting closer to the end of the alphabet. My turn will be coming.”

  It’s more than all that, Quentin was thinking. It’s being up at the top of the high perimwall, walking for hours on that narrow pathway looking out over the tops of the trees in Wildwood Forest. With nothing to hold on to except a torch. One slip on the icy path and … He shuddered.

  “It’s cold, huh?”

  “Yes. Very. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he said. He’d never told Zack he was afraid of heights. It seemed too silly. “Maybe we can pick up a hot drink in the park. It’s on the way.”

  They headed toward one of several carefully planned open spaces that appeared at regular intervals in Stonehaven, but the park, dotted with benches and paths for runners — Quentin had a favorite bench, near a fountain — was now obliterated by snow. The little shop that sold cool drinks in the summer and hot tea in the winter was closed and looked desolate and abandoned.

  “I heard another speech from the Leader yesterday — did I tell you?” Zack said as they turned away from the shop and continued on the path.

  “No. Anything new?”

  Zack shook his head. “There was a big crowd, though. He explained why the new laws were for our own good, and how we have to trust him because they are working — a lie, of course, because another family disappeared the night before. I guess the news hadn’t reached him yet.”

  “Anyone we know?” Quentin asked with a sinking heart.

  “No.”

  “Remember — we didn’t vote for him,” Quentin said. “It’s not our fault. Anyway, I hear his advisors keep him in the dark about everything. I wonder if that’s true.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Zack said. “He also talked about the new draft, and that it was necessary for our protection. I was amazed that most of the crowd seemed to support the idea.”

  The faint tracks of sleds across the snow were fast vanishing in the oncoming gloom of an early dusk. Quentin turned to see their footprints filling quickly behind them as they walked the diagonal path to the other side of the park. The streets had become very quiet.

  “It’s awful, isn’t it.”

  Zack nodded glumly.

  “I don’t know,” Quentin said. “We used to be so peaceful. What happened?”

  “Everyone’s afraid. I guess that’s what rabbits do when they’re scared. They try to be strong. Or pretend they are.”

  “Do you think it will work?”

  “Nope. Listen, I’ve been thinking,” Zack said. “Remember we used to talk about the rebels? What would you think about joining them?”

  Quentin stopped and turned to look at his friend. “Joining them?” he said with a disbelieving laugh. “Do you really think we could live a feral life?”

  “I’m pretty sure I could do it. I’m not so sure about you! But who knows how the rebels live? Maybe they like a cozy fire!”

  “Somehow I doubt it.”

  They started to walk again. Zack sighed. “You’re hoping this repressive nonsense will just go away.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Quentin checked his watch. “Curfew.” He looked around. Night had fallen; the streets were deserted. Houses all down the block were tightly shuttered; the light that filtered through the wooden slats made yellow stripes on the small mountains of snow that filled yard after yard. “At least there’s no one around to notice.” He stopped under a streetlight. “Oh no. I think I left my identity card home.” He patted his pockets and dropped his backpack to the ground, rummaging through it, feeling panic. “Maybe it’s here,” he said. “Gods, I hope so.”

  “I left mine at home on purpose,” Zack said quietly, and Quentin looked up at him, shocked. “You did? Why, for the gods’ sake?”

  “Because it’s all a fake — guard duty, identity cards, curfews!” Zack leaned over and whispered angrily, “The only point is to try to impress us with what a great job the Leader is doing. I refuse to play along.”

  “You’re asking for trouble,” Quentin whispered back, and then thought, Why are we whispering? He looked around again, but saw only the lantern posts flickering with yellow light at regular intervals, creating bright circles on the snow beneath them and vanishing into the distance. What about the guards who supposedly looked for strangers and loiterers?

  Quentin stood and picked up his backpack. “This curfew thing really worries me,” he said. “Can we walk faster?”

  “I never thought I’d hear you say those words, Q,” Zack said with a smile. “Sure.”

  But it was not possible to walk faster, Quentin realized. The snowdrifts made the streets difficult to negotiate, and his socks were beginning to feel wet and icy through his boots. Gods, I hate this weather.

  As they stepped from one illuminated circle into the dark and back into the light again, Quentin could see the falling snow — large, wet flakes now — that melted at first on the arms and shoulders of his jacket, then gradually layered into fluffy mounds, only to be blown away by the wind and rebuilt again. He stood under the light and looked closely at the elegant, fragile snowflakes that landed softly on his blue sleeve and then vanished.

  “Hey, Q — remember this?” Zack said. He walked over to the next lantern post, dropped his backpack, and stuck out his tongue.

  “Yes,” Quentin said. “The best part of a snowstorm. That … and this — !” Impulsively, he reached down, made a snowball, and threw it hard at Zack, hitting him on the chest.

  “Hey! Cut that out!” Zack said with a surprised laugh, then scooped up some snow and threw back.

  In a few minutes they were scrambling through the dark, gasping with the exertion. Quentin could see Zack moving in and out of the light, sometimes illuminated, sometimes not. Each time he saw him, Quentin threw, but Zack dodged and aimed and scampered away. Once, Quentin heard a satisfying yelp of surprise from Zack and then quickly felt a thump on his own back. They were both laughing.

  “Got you!” Zack cried.

  “Did not! You couldn’t hit the perimwall if you were standing in front of it!”

  “Well, how a
bout this?”

  Smack. Quentin felt a soft, wet hit on his cheek. “Missed me again!” he called, wiping the snow from his face. He leaned down to scoop up more snow and was aiming for where he’d last seen Zack running, when he heard someone call out.

  “What’s going on?” a high-pitched voice said from the darkened street. “Loiterers? After curfew?” A thin rabbit wearing military gray stepped into the circle of lamplight. “You’d better have a good reason. And, incidentally, there is no good reason.”

  Quentin was so surprised at the contrast between the rabbit’s high-pitched voice and his straight-backed, military demeanor that he struggled not to laugh.

  “Just coming home from the library,” he said, breathing hard and trying to keep a straight face. “Nothing nefarious.” With his paws behind his back, he dropped the snowball he held and then brushed off his mittens.

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Let me see your identity cards, both of you. You know loitering after curfew is against the law.” The rabbit pulled a short, thick club from his belt and slapped it rhythmically into his paw.

  Quentin looked at Zack and said, “Oh. All right.” He knelt over his backpack and pretended to search. “I know it’s here somewhere.”

  “What about you?” the rabbit said to Zack.

  “We weren’t loitering,” Zack said, with a slight quaver in his voice. “We were … having a … snowball fight. Just some innocent fun. Or has that been outlawed too?”

  I can’t believe he said that, Quentin thought. Sarcasm? To a rabbit in a uniform holding a club? Has Zack gone crazy?

  “Not here,” Quentin said, standing up. “I must have left it home. Sorry. Officer,” he added as an afterthought.

  There was a moment of silence while the rabbit looked them up and down. “So,” he said. His voice was so high-pitched he sounded like a female, or a child. Yet he was obviously neither. “Two rabbits without identity cards, alone on the street at night after curfew. One, oddly dressed and with an attitude problem,” he said, looking at Zack. “Hmmm. What shall we do about this? I know!” He raised the club and brought it down, hard. Zack cried out and fell to his knees, grabbing his arm. The rabbit kicked him in the ribs, and Zack fell over into the snow. Quentin knelt down to help and felt harsh blows on his back that pushed him to the ground. Throwing his arms over his head, he tried to protect himself from the blows that rained down from above.