The friends clambered to the top of the amphitheatre and peered
over. Agents of Rabit clustered in great number and the structure rang to their
capering. A Chief Agent towered above the rest, casting a giant shadow
across the terracing. "Agents!" he called. "We have the Philosopher’s Ball!" Cheers rocked the amphitheatre and air hissed as Agents punched fists high. The Chief calmly bounced the ball
and caught it. "Within this magi ball is the Philosopher’s Stone, and with the Stone,
we shall bestride the world." "The whole wide
world!" chanted the Agents. The Wabbit clung onto the parapet and growled softly. "Shush," whispered Lapinette, "they’ll hear us." The Chief Agent kicked a leg. "What’s
the first thing on our evil agenda?" he demanded. "The Wabbit!" they shouted. "The
Wabbit and his ghastly do-gooding friends!" shouted the Chief. "Kill the Wabbit!" they cried. Lapinette
snickered. "Shhh," said the Wabbit. "With the Wabbit eliminated we can spread hatred," roared the Chief. "Hatred!" howled the Agents. "Tomorrow is New Year," yelled the Chief, "and we who have the Stone, own the future!" "A future with no Wabbit," cheered
the Agents. "There's no future without
the Wabbit," muttered the Wabbit, "but we need to retreat and make a plan." "I know
an old Roman taberna round the corner," said Cicero. Lapinette wrinkled her nose. "Is it OK?" she asked. "It certainly used to be," said Cicero. "Then back to the
future," smiled the Wabbit.