Wed Wabbit Read online

  ‘Two—’

  ‘I’m afraid, darling, that I’m not really able to push since I injured my back on the circus skills course.’

  ‘Three!!!’

  Fidge, aided by the Pink and Dr Carrot, gave a great heave and the entire door shifted, teetered for a second or two and then fell over with an enormous CRASH, revealing a darkened hillside.

  ‘Hinges must have rusted,’ said Fidge. ‘I hope no one heard that.’

  Mild grass-scented air spilled into the tunnel, and Graham stumbled out, breathing deeply.

  ‘The moat’s just down here,’ he said.

  The moon was half-hidden behind a cloud, but the water glinted faintly, like crumpled foil. The prisoners groped their way to the bank, and Fidge crouched down and dipped a hand in the water.

  ‘Really cold,’ she said. ‘I wonder how deep it is.’

  ‘Can’t we use the drawbridge?’ asked Graham.

  ‘It was crawling with guards. Hang on, there’s a branch on the ground here.’ Fidge lowered it into the moat, and then kept lowering it until her own arm was immersed, but still she couldn’t touch the bottom. ‘Who can swim?’ she asked, looking round. ‘Besides me, I mean.’

  No one put their hand up.

  Fidge looked back at the moat. Even in the dim light, she could see a row of trees on the far side, their branches moving gently – it wouldn’t be much of a swim, no further than a length at her local pool.

  ‘There’s a saying: “He travels fastest who travels alone”,’ said Dr Carrot, quietly. ‘It would be quite understandable if you decided to escape by yourself. No one would blame you.’

  ‘I would,’ said Graham, instantly. ‘It’s your fault I’m here in the first place so you’re duty-bound to help me.’

  ‘Darling,’ said Ella, ‘you must make your own decision, but if you choose to go, then I and the Pink demand a group hug first.’

  Graham snorted. ‘You’ll be lucky. Fidge never hugs anyone.’

  Fidge threw him a stony glance and then stood, hesitating. The Grey cleared its throat.

  ‘You’ve realized,’ it said, ‘that without a boat

  We really cannot cross this moat.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Graham. ‘Duh.’

  ‘But I’ve been thinking, as Greys do,

  And I have an idea for you.

  A quick solution for our plight

  So we can all escape this night.’

  ‘Great,’ said Fidge. ‘What is it?’

  ‘While others run around, Greys think

  And forge solutions, link by link.

  So answers gradually evolve

  That “would”, if used, our problem solve.’

  ‘This is exactly what it was doing in the Punishments Room,’ said Graham. ‘Just going on and on and on and never getting to the point. Just tell us.’

  ‘Please,’ added Dr Carrot, reprovingly.

  The Grey spoke again, slightly huffily this time.

  ‘I rather hoped you’d understood

  The door you broke is made of—’

  ‘Wood!’ shouted Fidge and Graham simultaneously, and just as they shouted, the moon shifted from behind a cloud and flooded the landscape with silver light. They could see the moat, curling round the base of the hillside like a broad ribbon, they could see the drawbridge, just a few hundred metres away, and the castle, looming above them, every detail sharp. They could also see a large number of guards, standing on the battlements. And the guards were staring in their direction, and shouting and pointing.

  ‘Look at us!’ said Fidge, in horror. ‘We’re all lit up!’

  ‘How fabulously dramatic – it’s the glitter!’ said Ella, who looked as if she was draped in fairy lights.

  And now they could all hear the rumble of the castle gate beginning to open.

  ‘Come on!’ shouted Fidge, running towards the fallen door. They slid and dragged it down towards the moat, and it slithered into the water and bobbed to the surface. They scrambled on, Ella at one end, everybody else at the other.

  ‘And now paddle with your hands,’ ordered Fidge. ‘Paddle!’

  They could see the Blue guards hurrying down the slope towards them.

  ‘I can’t swim,’ said Graham, sounding half-crazed with nerves. ‘The water’s freezing, there’s no life jacket, there’s no armbands, there’s no life guard, it’s dark, I don’t even have a coat, this craft is dangerously overloaded—’

  ‘And yet, here you are, paddling with vigour,’ said Dr Carrot, who was lying on her back in the middle of the door. ‘I, for one, think that you’ve made tremendous progress.’

  Guards were pouring out of the castle and the front-runners had nearly reached the moat, but the door and its sparkling passengers were now mid-stream. The Blues halted momentarily, and then turned and began running towards the drawbridge.

  Fidge glanced at the woods on the far bank. The treetops were thrashing in the wind, casting odd shadows across the water.

  ‘Not much further,’ she said. ‘Ella, can you reach out with your trunk, and try and pull us in to land?’

  ‘Of course, darling. I was just thinking how lucky we are with the weather. A balmy night and not a breath of wind.’

  ‘But—’ Fidge, frowning, looked up at the trees again – the waving branches, the odd shadows. The very odd shadows.

  ‘Nearly there,’ said Ella, reaching out to grab a small sapling, and then losing her balance as it ripped straight out of the ground. She fell backwards, landing on Dr Carrot and knocking everyone else except Graham, into the black waters of the moat.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Fidge surfaced and trod water, gasping at the cold. Just beside her, the Grey floated on its back, looking irritated but calm.

  ‘The Pink Wimbley sank like a stone,’ shouted Graham. ‘Right beside you, somewhere.’

  Fidge took a deep breath and dived, thrashing her hands around in the inky water, touching and then grasping a rubbery hand. ‘Got it!’ she gasped, surfacing, dragging the Pink with her. She could hear, from not too far away, the snapping of undergrowth and the bark of orders. ‘The Blues have crossed the drawbridge,’ she said, breathlessly, as she struggled to haul the Pink onto the bank. ‘I don’t think we’re going to make it.’

  And then, from a branch directly above her, a voice spoke. Unbelievably loudly.

  ‘Now listen, chaps, I’ll count to ten

  And that will be the signal when

  We launch our secret Green attack

  To try and get our country back.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Graham, helping Dr Carrot off the door and onto the mossy bank. ‘It’s the Greens again.’

  Fidge was staring upwards; the trees were full of leaping Wimblies, and as the first Blues came into sight, sprinting through the ferny undergrowth, a cluster of Greens, all with the letter ‘A’ chalked on their backs, abseiled to the ground and struck Kung-fu-style poses. The voice spoke again.

  ‘Now while Team “A” defends this zone

  Team “B” can strike out on its own

  And with stealth, secrecy and skill

  Can cross the bridge and climb the hill.’

  ‘Oh, genius,’ said Graham, sarcastically, as the sprinting Blues instantly turned round and headed back towards the bridge.

  ‘But this is our chance!’ Hissed Fidge. ‘Let’s get away!’

  ‘We’ll have to hurry,’ said Dr Carrot, trundling through the bracken. ‘I don’t think it will be long before the Blue guards win this particular battle.’

  ‘But what marvellous voice control those Greens have,’ said Ella. ‘Such projection! I rather suspect they’re professionally trained.’

  They emerged from the shelter of the wood and saw ahead of them a hay meadow, striped with shadow.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Graham, stopping dead. ‘I’m not just wandering aimlessly, waiting to get caught again – where’s the safest place to go?’

  The Grey raised a hand.

  ‘For tho
se of us who think, not do

  The answer’s obvious and true.

  There’s just one place the Blues abhor;

  They never venture past the door.

  They’d much prefer to waste their days

  On sports and games. Unlike us Greys.’

  It paused.

  ‘Just say it,’ said Graham, through gritted teeth. ‘Just say the answer quickly. Say it.’

  ‘Or what about miming it?’ Suggested Ella.

  Slightly frostily, the Grey took an imaginary book from a shelf and started reading.

  ‘The library!’ shouted Graham.

  It nodded, grudgingly.

  Fidge glanced over her shoulder; she could still hear the grunts and thuds of distant fighting. The thought of hiding away and wasting yet more time was more than she could stand; didn’t the others realize that the situation was urgent? Didn’t they understand that Minnie was waiting?

  ‘OK, let’s split up,’ she said. ‘You all go to the library, and start working on what the rest of that prophecy means, and I’ll try and find Minnie’s mobile phone. I think I might have seen it already – when I was standing on top of that column in the town square, I remember noticing some bright pink lights flashing, just like the ones on the phone. They looked miles away, though – near a sort of giant wheel.’

  ‘That’s Wimbley Fair,’ said the Pink, ‘I know the way

  And since you saved my life today

  Please let me stay and be your guide

  And face all dangers by your side.’

  The Pink looked at Fidge beseechingly, eyes wide, mouth stretched in an uncertain smile.

  ‘OK,’ said Fidge, surprised at how pleased she felt at the prospect of company. ‘Thanks very much. No time for hugs,’ she added, quickly, as the Pink lunged forward. ‘We ought to get as far as we can under cover of darkness.’

  The six of them set off across the moonlit meadow, following a path that took them across one stile and then another, past hedgerows starred with pale flowers, and alongside a stream that twisted briskly between steep banks. And then, at the corner of a maize field, the path split into two.

  ‘The parting of the ways,’ said Ella. ‘Best of luck, darlings. Remember to breathe from the abdomen and always trust your innermost feelings.’

  ‘Don’t do anything rash,’ added Dr Carrot. ‘Take time to think before you act, and if in doubt, the best course is always to be polite.’

  The Grey started to say something, paused, glanced at Ella and then gave a double thumbs-up.

  ‘Bye,’ said Graham. ‘Hope you have wapid success in your search. And when I say wapid, I mean weally, weally, wapid.’

  Fidge’s mouth fell open – was Graham (spoiled, humourless, selfish, terrified, arrogant Graham) actually trying to make her smile? She was so stunned that she could only manage a small nod in reply, and then she turned to follow the path, and the Pink hurried to catch her up. There was silence for a while, apart from the soft pad of their footsteps, and then Fidge felt the Wimbley’s hand steal into hers. And though it belonged to something that looked like a glossy dustbin, it felt warm and reassuring, almost as if her mum were walking alongside her. Or even her dad.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Dawn was breaking as Fidge and the Pink neared the fairground. Fidge was so tired that she felt as if her legs belonged to someone else, but she halted beside a nearby stream and splashed her face and felt instantly more awake. Up ahead, she could see the big wheel silhouetted against a dappled sky; next to it towered the opening span of a rollercoaster, the row of little cars sitting motionless at the top.

  ‘I love rollercoasters,’ said Fidge.

  ‘It runs from here right back to town,’ said the Pink.

  ‘For most of it, you’re upside down.’

  ‘That’s my favourite sort,’ said Fidge. The entrance to the fairground lay just ahead, and three Orange Wimblies were already queueing outside the ticket office, despite the fact that it was hung with a banner which read:

  CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

  Next to the office was a wooden turnstile. The Oranges watched, round-eyed, as Fidge and the Pink clambered over it, and then, with much giggling, they hurried across and followed the pair into the fairground.

  The place was deserted, the carousel horses unridden, the dodgems unoccupied, the hook-a-ducks bobbing, unhooked, around their little river. The only noise was the creak of the big wheel gondalas as they swung in the breeze.

  ‘We’re looking for a mobile phone,’ said Fidge, for the benefit of the Oranges, who were hanging around, staring at her and nudging each other. ‘It’s pink, covered with fake diamonds and it has a flashing lights display – and since I could see it from miles away, it’s probably pretty big.’ She was looking around as she spoke, glancing from the ghost train to the hall of mirrors, to the waltzer, but nothing caught her eye. ‘It might be easier to spot it from above,’ she said, glancing up at the big wheel. ‘Maybe we can get that working, if the mechanism’s not too complicated …’

  The operator’s booth was directly beneath the wheel; it contained a table, a chair, and a large, red ON/OFF switch.

  ‘I’ll manage that,’ said the Pink, cheerfully. ‘Just clamber in

  And hold on tight – then I’ll begin.

  Unless you’re gripped by fear or doubt

  And first need hugs to sort that out?’

  It looked at her hopefully.

  ‘Afterwards,’ said Fidge, swinging herself into the lowest of the gondolas. It was quite large – easily big enough for two Wimblies – and as she sat down, she saw one of the Oranges ambling across, clearly keen on joining her.

  ‘Quick,’ she shouted to the Pink. ‘Turn it on.’

  There was a click, and a loud hum, and then the wheel began, slowly, to turn. The Orange watched, crestfallen, as Fidge rose out of reach; from her seat, she saw the Wimblies shrinking to tiny dots, and the landscape opening up like the page of a vast book. But a book would have straight edges, and Wimbley Land was very clearly circular: the castle on its hill right at the centre, the train track wiggling round it and the surrounding fields a vivid green, fading abruptly to a much paler colour at the horizon.

  A much, much paler colour. Whitish, in fact.

  Odd, thought Fidge.

  She remembered suddenly what she was supposed to be looking for, and dragged her attention back to the fairground, her gaze darting over the patchwork of rides and attractions. Where on earth was Minnie’s phone? The wheel reached its highest point, Fidge glanced up, momentarily, and there it was! Exactly on her level: a mobile phone the size of a petrol pump, encrusted with plastic diamonds, twinkling with pink lights and lying back, like a lazy passenger, in the very first car of the rollercoaster.

  ‘I can see it,’ she shouted down to the Pink. ‘It’s on the …’ Her voice died away. Not far behind the Pink Wimbley was the hall of mirrors, and behind that was a row of candyfloss and hamburger stalls and behind those was an open field – but instead of being green, the field and everything beyond it was the same weird, bleached-out shade that she’d just seen in the far, far distance, right on the other side of Wimbley Land. She stared, puzzled, but she was losing height now, and the view was disappearing. ‘I’m going to go round again,’ she shouted to the Pink. ‘There’s something really strange over there, behind the hall of mirrors. I want to have another look.’

  She saw the Pink crane round curiously at where she was pointing, and then, as the wheel turned and began to rise again it called up to her.

  ‘I’m going to see if something’s wrong –

  I’ll hurry back and won’t be long.’

  It scampered off and Fidge turned again to the wider view. And this time, as she rose above the countryside, the oddness of it leaped out at her. It was as if Wimbley Land was a circular puddle of colour on a white floor. The fairground was situated just inside the puddle, and immediately beyond it, the world was milky-pale.

  A line of verse slid
into her head, a line that had been spoken by one of the Purples: ‘When rage soaks up the joy and fun and colour out of everyone’.

  ‘Soaks up,’ she repeated, out loud. Why did that image seem so familiar to her? Why did it seem so significant?

  She jerked her attention back to the view; below her, the Pink was making its way past the hall of mirrors and towards the bleached field.

  ‘Hang on,’ she shouted. ‘Let’s go and look at it together.’ But she was too far away to be heard. Her gondola reached the top of the big wheel and began to descend; she lost sight of the Pink behind the fairground rides.

  ‘Hey!’ she shouted at the Oranges standing below. ‘Can you press the OFF switch? The red OFF switch?’

  They gaped up at her, and then one of them started waving, happily.

  ‘The OFF switch!’ She shouted again, as the wheel returned her to ground level. The other two Oranges joined in the waving. For a third time, Fidge began to ascend above the fairground. Minnie’s mobile phone swung into view again, and the row of snack stalls – and the Pink, who was standing with its back to her, staring out at the pale field.

  She shouted until her voice was ragged, but the Pink didn’t answer, or move, and then Fidge was heading back down again, and she knew that there was only one sure way of getting off the wheel. She stood up, and slung a leg over the side of the gondola, so that she was riding it like a horse. It swayed beneath her and she hung on, heart jumping. The ground grew nearer, and nearer. She waited until the last possible second and then swung the other leg over and dropped. She hit the ground hard, and rolled, and lay for a few moments, both ankles and one elbow throbbing, before slowly sitting up. Directly in front of her stood the three Oranges. They started clapping.

  ‘Well thanks for your help,’ said Fidge, sarcastically, rubbing her arm. She began to roll up her sleeve, and the clapping faltered to a stop. One of the Oranges took a shuddering gasp.