hundred decisions seemed to be made and unmade in that silence.
“We’d better have the whole story,” he concluded finally.
The Rabbits of England
I t took some time to get the rabbits of Willowbraid to return to their homes. The younger ones lingered, approaching Norman cautiously and sniffing him tentatively, daring each other to touch him, until Esme shooed them away.
The meeting was held in the cathedral. The rabbits opened the two main doors, but it was still only wide enough for Norman to fit in his head and his forearms. He rested his chin on his hands, but the rest of his body lay on the square outside. It was a vulnerable position. The archers had been moved indoors and stationed on the catwalks and stairs. He was an easy target lying there, and he would not be able to get out quickly. The sight of Esme at his side reassured him. They were on the same level for once and he was able to look her in the eye again.
“Your father is in charge?” Norman whispered.
“He’s the alderman. They usually listen to him.” She gave him a quick rabbit smile, but Norman wasn’t sure that this was necessarily a good thing.
The magistrates filed in through one side door. A line of robed monks filed in the other. When they had assembled, Norman assumed it was time to speak and cleared his voice to tell the whole story. Esme’s father stopped him with a raised hand.
“We’ll hear more from you later. First let us rabbitfolk talk.”
He called Esme, and she told the assembly how Norman had summoned them from the edge of the grass field. The rabbit elders grumbled and harrumphed as she told them how he had called out the names of the Great Cities. When she mentioned Raritan, they gasped and nearly shouted in outrage.
One of the magistrates rose in protest. “Get him out of here now, Alderman Morgan. We must leave the village. It’s the rule that’s kept us alive: when the two-leggers find us, we move on. And this one has a liocorno. It does not bode well for us.”
Esme’s father held up a hand to silence the other magistrate and turned to Norman. “Why did you come to the great house?” he asked. “Who told you we would be there?”
“The unicorn, Raritan, told me, and I remembered that I’d seen rabbits there before …” Norman tried to recall exactly what he’d heard and seen when he woke up from his nap inside the folly. “Two monks talking about celebrating St. Peter’s Eve.”
The delegation turned to stare at one of the brothers, who coughed nervously and tried to look away.
“Brother Timothy? That would have been you, I presume?” Alderman Morgan asked.
“Yes, yes,” the monk began, stuttering apologetically. “I believe I recall stumbling on a young two-legger sleeping in the old ruin.”
“That’s right,” Norman affirmed excitedly. “The ruined cathedral. It looks just like the one at Edgeweir—the one the foxes started but never finished.”
There was a loud grumble of protest.
“Where did you hear about the Great Cities, and about Lochwarren and Edgeweir?” Alderman Morgan’s voice rumbled with suspicion.
Norman paused before answering. He’d learned to be very careful about this. You couldn’t just tell someone they were a character in a book you’d read. Nobody wanted to believe they were from a book. Everyone thought theirs was the real world.
“I’ve been to Edgeweir and Lochwarren. Cuilean himself toldme the stories of the Great Cities as we warmed ourselves by the campfire. I was there when the stoats were freed from Scalded Rock and when they won the Second Battle of Tista Kirk. I saw the wolves routed and the stoat flag raised again at Lochwarren.”
“This is an outrage!” someone called. It was the magistrate who had spoken earlier. There was a murmur of agreement behind him. “How blatant must his lies be? He speaks of ancient history. Are we to believe that this pup is a thousand years old?”
Alderman Morgan turned to stare. He seemed to have
“We’d better have the whole story,” he concluded finally.
The Rabbits of England
I t took some time to get the rabbits of Willowbraid to return to their homes. The younger ones lingered, approaching Norman cautiously and sniffing him tentatively, daring each other to touch him, until Esme shooed them away.
The meeting was held in the cathedral. The rabbits opened the two main doors, but it was still only wide enough for Norman to fit in his head and his forearms. He rested his chin on his hands, but the rest of his body lay on the square outside. It was a vulnerable position. The archers had been moved indoors and stationed on the catwalks and stairs. He was an easy target lying there, and he would not be able to get out quickly. The sight of Esme at his side reassured him. They were on the same level for once and he was able to look her in the eye again.
“Your father is in charge?” Norman whispered.
“He’s the alderman. They usually listen to him.” She gave him a quick rabbit smile, but Norman wasn’t sure that this was necessarily a good thing.
The magistrates filed in through one side door. A line of robed monks filed in the other. When they had assembled, Norman assumed it was time to speak and cleared his voice to tell the whole story. Esme’s father stopped him with a raised hand.
“We’ll hear more from you later. First let us rabbitfolk talk.”
He called Esme, and she told the assembly how Norman had summoned them from the edge of the grass field. The rabbit elders grumbled and harrumphed as she told them how he had called out the names of the Great Cities. When she mentioned Raritan, they gasped and nearly shouted in outrage.
One of the magistrates rose in protest. “Get him out of here now, Alderman Morgan. We must leave the village. It’s the rule that’s kept us alive: when the two-leggers find us, we move on. And this one has a liocorno. It does not bode well for us.”
Esme’s father held up a hand to silence the other magistrate and turned to Norman. “Why did you come to the great house?” he asked. “Who told you we would be there?”
“The unicorn, Raritan, told me, and I remembered that I’d seen rabbits there before …” Norman tried to recall exactly what he’d heard and seen when he woke up from his nap inside the folly. “Two monks talking about celebrating St. Peter’s Eve.”
The delegation turned to stare at one of the brothers, who coughed nervously and tried to look away.
“Brother Timothy? That would have been you, I presume?” Alderman Morgan asked.
“Yes, yes,” the monk began, stuttering apologetically. “I believe I recall stumbling on a young two-legger sleeping in the old ruin.”
“That’s right,” Norman affirmed excitedly. “The ruined cathedral. It looks just like the one at Edgeweir—the one the foxes started but never finished.”
There was a loud grumble of protest.
“Where did you hear about the Great Cities, and about Lochwarren and Edgeweir?” Alderman Morgan’s voice rumbled with suspicion.
Norman paused before answering. He’d learned to be very careful about this. You couldn’t just tell someone they were a character in a book you’d read. Nobody wanted to believe they were from a book. Everyone thought theirs was the real world.
“I’ve been to Edgeweir and Lochwarren. Cuilean himself toldme the stories of the Great Cities as we warmed ourselves by the campfire. I was there when the stoats were freed from Scalded Rock and when they won the Second Battle of Tista Kirk. I saw the wolves routed and the stoat flag raised again at Lochwarren.”
“This is an outrage!” someone called. It was the magistrate who had spoken earlier. There was a murmur of agreement behind him. “How blatant must his lies be? He speaks of ancient history. Are we to believe that this pup is a thousand years old?”
Alderman Morgan turned to stare. He seemed to have
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