Wed Wabbit Read online

  The echoes of his voice slammed from wall to wall. Fidge stuffed her fingers in her ears, and gazed upward.

  Since her last view of him, Wed Wabbit had quadrupled in size, his great round body nearly filling the space, his arms wedged against the walls, his head silhouetted against the sky. And she realized, with a jolt, that those oddly angled red banners that she’d seen from the moat weren’t banners at all – they were Wed Wabbit’s ears, poking high above the battlements.

  ‘Can we talk to you?’ shouted Fidge.

  ‘There aren’t any guards.’

  ‘Can you just listen for half a second? There aren’t any—’

  Shouted Wed Wabbit again, and he seemed to expand even more, the fury in his voice shaking the walls and sending little puffs of mortar trickling down into the courtyard.

  ‘Did you see that?’ squeaked Graham. ‘He just got even bigger! If we go outside we’ll get bleached and if we stay in here we’ll get crushed.’

  One of the van-sized feet stamped petulantly and the whole castle shook; it stamped again and one of the throne-room doors fell off, breaking in half as it hit the floor.

  For a split-second, Fidge was reminded of the time when Minnie, aged two, had had a tantrum in a supermarket and her kicking foot had knocked over a vast pyramid of fruit, sending oranges rolling as far as the car park. ‘Have a little word with Wed Wabbit,’ Minnie had said on the phone, but you couldn’t ever talk to someone who was having a tantrum; you just had to sit it out and wait for them to calm down.

  Fidge put her hands in her pockets and leaned back against the wall. ‘Ignore him,’ she hissed to the others. ‘Totally ignore him.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ asked Graham, ducking as a chunk of plaster skittered to the floor.

  ‘No, completely serious. It’s our only chance.’

  One of the vast arms swung and part of the battlement fell off; Fidge could hear stones thudding to the ground outside. There was a brief pause. Ella carefully and deliberately brushed a speck of dust from her cardigan.

  The Grey gave a little yawn.

  Graham, though looking sick with terror, managed to whistle a feeble tune. Dr Carrot actually appeared to be asleep.

  There was a longer pause. Fidge was avoiding looking directly at Wed Wabbit, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see his head swivel as he looked along the line of intruders. One of his ears caught on a flag. The pole snapped and the rectangle of red silk fluttered slowly down into the courtyard.

  Shouted Wed Wabbit again, but there was a doubtful note in his voice.

  This time, the silence was really long.

  ‘Can I say something now?’ Asked Fidge.

  Wed Wabbit raised a threatening foot.

  ‘It’s your own castle you’re destroying,’ said Dr Carrot.

  Wed Wabbit lowered his foot again.

  ‘We need a little talk,’ said Fidge.

  ‘Well in that case, you just need to listen.’

  ‘There are no guards,’ said Fidge, ‘because you’ve sucked all the colour and life out of Wimbley Land! Have you even looked out of the castle?’

  ‘In charge of what?’ asked Graham. ‘There’s nothing left to be in charge of. You had a whole country of your own and you ruined it.’

  ‘By behaving like a bully,’ said Dr Carrot.

  ‘And I don’t think it’s made you awfully happy, has it?’ Asked Ella. ‘Because being in charge isn’t at all the same as being popular.’

  The rabbit seemed to quiver slightly, and his head swivelled away from Ella, as if he could no longer bear to meet her gaze.

  ‘And I bet you’re lonely,’ added Graham, more quietly. ‘I bet you’re really, really lonely. No one likes you and you’re trying to pretend you don’t mind, but I bet you’re actually feeling horrible.’

  Wed Wabbit’s head was silhouetted so it was hard to see his expression, but he gave a furious little hunch of the shoulders, dislodging another shower of plaster.

  ‘Except Minnie,’ said Fidge, looking up at him. ‘Minnie loves you and she’s missing you desperately. And I bet you’re missing her too.’

  For a moment nothing happened, and then Wed Wabbit’s ears drooped and he slumped forward, his head thudding against the wall, high above Fidge. A crack shot up from the foundations to the battlements, like a zip being opened; a torrent of stones rattled down and then, with a noise like thunder, a huge chunk of wall collapsed outward, revealed a section of whitened hillside.

  ‘I think someone’s feeling a little bit sad,’ whispered Ella.

  Wed Wabbit slumped still further, his face squashed against the wall, his arms dangling hopelessly. More cracks appeared in the stonework.

  Fidge raised her voice. ‘So I want you to have a good think about your behaviour,’ she said, kindly but firmly, and the words and their tone were so familiar to her that she could almost hear her mother’s voice saying them. ‘And then you need to work out how you can make things all better again.’

  There was a long pause and then Wed Wabbit shrugged. Another bit of wall fell over and through the gap, the whiteness crept onward into the castle.

  Fidge looked helplessly at Ella. ‘What now?’ she whispered. ‘I’ve said all the things my mum usually says.’

  ‘Are you sure of that, darling?’ asked Ella. ‘Are you absolutely certain?’

  ‘Yes I …’ Fidge hesitated. ‘Oh.’ She clenched her fists and then unclenched them.

  ‘And finally, just one of you, Must find the hardest thing to do,’ quoted Ella, gently.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ urged Graham. ‘Whatever it is, just do it, or we’re all doomed. You’re always doing brave stuff, what’s the problem now? Get on with it.’ He ducked as another avalanche of plaster cascaded down the wall.

  ‘I think you’ll find,’ said Dr Carrot, ‘that bravery comes in many forms.’

  Fidge walked forward until she was right next to Wed Wabbit, directly beneath his drooping head, and then she spoke. ‘My sister Minnie said that when I found you, I had to give you something. And now I know what that something is.’ She took a deep, deep breath. ‘Want a hug?’ she asked.

  Ten seconds went by. Then another ten. And then Wed Wabbit moved his head very slightly in a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

  Stiffly, Fidge opened her arms and embraced as much of him as she could reach.

  It was a long time since she’d given anyone a hug. Two and a half years, to be precise. She thought of her dad, so bulky in his fireman’s uniform that she hadn’t been able to get her arms all the way round him. ‘Fidge the Mighty’, her dad had called her, ‘Strong Girl’.

  She hugged tighter, the red velvet squashy beneath her cheek, her eyes shut, the muscles in her arms beginning to ache. She hung on, her mind a blank. Time stopped.

  And then the world turned upside down.

  THIRTY-THREE

  She was tumbling through the air, whirled by a hot wind, her ears blatting and popping with sudden pressure, her vision striped and blurred.

  ‘Fidge!’

  She was lying on her back, her head pounding.

  ‘Fidge, are you OK?’ She opened her eyes and saw a cloudless blue sky, and then Graham’s worried face.

  ‘Yes, I’m OK,’ she said, automatically. She raised a hand and rubbed her forehead and felt a small object roll beneath her fingers. She picked it up and held it in front of her eyes. It was a jelly bean.

  ‘You did it,’ said Graham.

  ‘Did what?’ Ella loomed into view. ‘It’s a triumph!’ she exclaimed. ‘An absolute triumph!’

  ‘Well done.

  We’ve won!’ called the Oldest and Wisest, from somewhere behind her.

  Fidge struggled up onto her elbow and flinched at the brilliance of the view. The castle was completely flattened, the walls knocked outward, as if by a gigantic explosion. And Wimbley Land was back, blazing with colour, bursting with sound, birds singing, wind ruffling the hillside grasses and swaying the treetops. In fact, if anything, it
looked even more colourful than before, with orange and yellow blossoms blazing on all the trees, and red-and-purple birds swooping above the rubble. And there were sweets everywhere, dotting the grass like wildflowers.

  ‘Good work,’ said Dr Carrot, who was propped up against the splintered remains of the Rewards Room door, a tangle of strawberry licorice laces wrapped around her stem.

  ‘But what happened?’ asked Fidge, looking round, relief seeping into her bones like sunshine. She felt oddly light, as if she’d been carrying round a sack of stones, and had just put it down.

  ‘One second Wed Wabbit was there,’ said Graham, ‘and the next he wasn’t and it was like a paintbox blowing up or a really huge kaleidoscope falling to bits or being shut inside a washing machine filled with sweets or spun about by a tornado full of confetti or …’ He shook his head, unable to describe it adequately.

  ‘It was like the rainbow of peace that comes after the storm of rage,’ said Ella.

  Graham rolled his eyes at Fidge. ‘No it wasn’t,’ he mouthed.

  ‘So where’s Wed Wabbit now?’ Asked Fidge, looking around. Her gaze snagged an object lying just within her reach. It was a red velvet rabbit, slightly dusty and just over a foot long. She reached out and grabbed it by the ears.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Graham.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Blues are coming back.’

  A cluster of guards was marching up the hill towards them. Hastily, Fidge tucked Wed Wabbit under one arm and clambered to her feet, bracing herself for yet another struggle.

  One of the Blues gave a little wave and then bent to pick up a sweet.

  ‘It waved,’ muttered Graham, out of the side of his mouth.

  Another of the Blues stumbled slightly, and then started giggling.

  ‘Are they drunk?’ asked Graham.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fidge, squinting into the sunlight, ‘but they look incredibly odd.’

  The solid, deep colour of each Blue was now randomly spotted and streaked. The giggler was splashed with orange and the one who’d waved at Graham had a smudge of pink across its front. One of the other Blues seemed to have been partially dipped in purple; it was doing a little dance and had made itself a crown of woven grass.

  ‘The explosion’s mixed everything up,’ said Fidge.

  She could see other Wimblies making their way up towards the castle: a Green with yellow feet was sharing a bar of chocolate with a giggling Grey whose arms were covered in orange polka dots; two blue-dappled Yellows were jogging shoulder to shoulder and exchanging vigorous remarks.

  ‘A whole new society!’ exclaimed Ella, stepping forward to greet one of the spotted Blues.

  It spoke, its voice the usual rough gurgle:

  ‘Accept our thanks for everything.

  We’ve come to free our captured king

  Restore him to his usual state

  And afterwards invite everyone to a really enormous party going on until all hours with mountains of food and drink and sweets to celebrate.’

  It hurried off towards the gaping hole that had once been the door to the dungeons, just as a Pink with blue-and-grey streaks and an enormous grin, strode up and gave Fidge a rib-crushing hug. Despite its coloration, it looked oddly familiar and she felt a shock of recognition.

  ‘It’s you!’ she exclaimed, grinning back. ‘I kept thinking about you, still stuck at the fairground. I never thanked you for everything – you were brilliant.’

  ‘But it’s us who can’t thank you enough,’ said the Pink, in serious, confident tones.

  ‘We know that your journey’s been rough.

  For such a brave fight

  Your talents were right

  You’re clever and stubborn and tough.’

  ‘It wasn’t just me,’ said Fidge.

  A Purple with green blotches clapped Graham on the back.

  ‘One straw is so weak,’ it bellowed.

  ‘But take and weave a handful –

  Such strength together!’

  ‘That didn’t rhyme,’ said Fidge.

  ‘Blank verse,’ said Ella. ‘Freedom of expression is blowing like a fresh breeze through Wimbley Land – can’t you feel it? There’s such artistic potential here! It’s almost a pity that we have to go.’

  ‘Go?’ repeated Fidge. ‘How? What do you mean?’

  ‘The transport’s here, darling – didn’t you see it? It’s down by the bridge.’

  Suddenly breathless, Fidge turned to look.

  Parked by the side of the moat was an enormous silver bus with pink wheels, the sort of thing that an international film star might travel in, except that printed on the side, in letters large enough to read from the top of the hill, were the words:

  She turned to Graham. ‘We can go home!’ she said.

  ‘Oh.’ He paused. ‘Good.’

  ‘Aren’t you pleased?’

  ‘Yes, of course I am,’ he said, irritably, turning away so that she couldn’t see his expression. The word ‘home’ had filled him with a sudden, stifling sense of panic. In his mind’s eye he could see drawn curtains and closed doors and the tired, worried faces of his parents.

  He mooched over towards Dr Carrot, who was having her axle fixed by a Green-with-blue-splodges.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ she asked.

  He shrugged, and kicked a cluster of gobstoppers across the flowered turf.

  ‘You’re my transitional object,’ he said. ‘That means you’re supposed to help me cope with changes.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But what if I want changes? What if I want things to be different at home? I’m sick of being scared of stairs and bikes and darkness. And small spaces and germs and being on my own and fires and cold water and going outside and hailstones and ants and thunder and those disgusting grey bits you sometimes find in fish fingers …’

  Dr Carrot gave a little experimental roll back and forth.

  ‘Much better,’ she said to the Wimbley. ‘I’m very grateful.’

  ‘Are you listening?’ Asked Graham.

  ‘I am both listening and being polite,’ said Dr Carrot. ‘It’s quite possible to do both things simultaneously.’

  ‘OK,’ muttered Graham. ‘Sorry.’

  Dr Carrot’s expression softened. ‘In answer to your question – and it’s a very fair one – if it’s changes you’re after, I can think of something that might be far more useful to you than a transitional object. More useful and also more enjoyable.’

  ‘What?’ asked Graham.

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘But how do I get one of those?’

  Dr Carrot’s gaze slid past him, towards Fidge. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘you might almost already have one.’

  There was a sudden commotion, and Graham turned to see the sludge-coloured figure of the king being hoisted shoulder-height by his rescuers. Yet more Wimblies – striped, streaked, spotted, dip-dyed, blotched and stippled – were streaming up the hillside, and crowding into the ruins of the castle.

  ‘Speech!’ called Ella. ‘Remember, deep breath and then project.’

  ‘Dear friends and subjects, thank you all,’ said the king,

  ‘For freeing me from the tyrant’s thrall

  But being shut up in a dungeon

  Gave me time to think. Bim Bungeon.

  And I’ve realized – don’t be cross –

  That I don’t want to be your boss.

  I much prefer to sit and chat

  And therefore I’ve decided that

  I’m going to abdicate and hope

  You’ll find a better king. Bip Bope.’

  There was a buzz of shock and concern from the crowd. The king raised his voice.

  ‘My personal suggestion is

  The Oldest, Wisest Grey. Fip fizz.’

  Relieved cheering broke out and then the Wimblies who’d hoisted the king above the crowd, hastily lowered him again and picked up the Oldest and Wisest instead. The Grey held up its hand for silence.<
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  ‘One is wise, but two are wiser

  I would like a good adviser.

  Dr Carrot, could I ask

  You stay and help me with this task?’

  Everyone looked at Dr Carrot and Dr Carrot looked at Graham.

  ‘It all depends on whether or not I can move on from my current job,’ she said. ‘Are you still in need of a transitional object?’

  And now everyone looked at Graham.

  He took a deep breath. ‘No,’ he said, trying to keep his voice firm, ‘I think I’ll try and manage without one.’

  And the thin, straight black line that was Dr Carrot’s mouth, curled suddenly upwards at the ends. It was nearly – nearly – a grin.

  The Oldest and Wisest spoke again.

  ‘And in this land of fresh new starts

  We’ll need a Minister for the Arts

  And therefore I would like to know

  If Ella—’

  ‘Yes!!!!’ screamed Ella, flinging up her trunk and both forelegs. ‘Oh, darlings, it will be my pleasure. I’ve already had the most marvellous idea for a summer evening spectacular, starting with a dance sequence in and out of the ruins, followed by a mime in which we all symbolically re-build the castle. We can start work-shopping tomorrow.’

  There was a chorus of whoops and cheers from the Wimblies, and Ella was lost in a swirl of colour.

  Graham felt a touch on his shoulder.

  ‘You coming?’ asked Fidge. ‘I think it’s just the two of us now.’

  He nodded, and they set off down the hill together.

  ‘Though there are three of us, really,’ added Fidge. She dusted off Wed Wabbit and took a look at him. His ears were bent and one of his eyes had worked loose, and instead of looking smugly superior, he looked harmless and slightly silly. She wondered why she’d ever hated him so much.