The Wabbit at the Adventure Caffè

"Hello Spider woman," meaowed Skratch the Cat. The Wabbit had invited Skratch to his favourite caffè to listen to his views on their latest adventure. Wabsworth leaned forward. "Wab's the name. Gumshoe's my game." The Wabbit waved to Skratch and drawled. "The cheaper the shaman, the fancier the outfit." Skratch puffed out his chest and laughed. Lapinette crossed her legs and murmured. "I knew it was a film noir, because I was completely in the dark." "As was your audience," purred Skratch, "and I'm still figuring who was telling the truth." He scrutinised all three then thought deeply. "Wabbit, I saw your deceptive reflection, mirrored in the subway walls." He wheeled to face Lapinette. "You were the femme fatale. You were hidden but possibly hiding the truth. Maybe you and the Shaman were together." Wabsworth was next on Skratch's list. "You took the role of narrator but instead of following and explaining, the plot dragged you along." "I ran interference," said Wabsworth proudly. "What about the Shaman?" grinned the Wabbit. Skratch brushed a paw across his chest. "I considered he might be a sham but rejected it. His was rough magic but he was the real deal." Wabsworth rapped the arm of his chair. "He didn't get the antimatter and he didn't get the female." They instantly paused and looked at the Wabbit. "Where is he now ... ?"

8. The Wabbit and the Inside Out

Wabsworth linked paws with the Wabbit and they both chanted. "Nissa nissa nissa nissa." They were relentless. The Shaman collapsed on the station floor and deflated like a bag of old breath. Then something moved inside the cloak as if it was trying to get out. "Chant Wabsworth, chant!" yelled the Wabbit. "Nanna hey, nanna hey, nanna hey ho," chanted Wabsworth and they both hopped from one foot to another. The figure was small but grew every second as the Wabbit and Wabsworth danced round in a never ending circle. Now they could see who the figure was. "Get me out of here! On the double!" yelled Lapinette in a squeaky voice. The Wabbit pulled Wabworth's paw and they went round again. "Etlay erhay ogay! Etlay erhay ogay " Lapinette spun through the air - along with a hat, an assortment of batteries and an impatience at bursting point. "I'll take him apart at the seams!" She landed with a wallop that was far from graceful and turned to look at the remnants of the Shaman. The Wabbit shrugged. So did Wabsworth. "Is she full size now?" whispered Wabsworth. "I never answer questions about size," murmured the Wabbit. Lapinette shook a paw at the costume but the Wabbit looked very suspicious. "Are there any more in there?"   "I heard voices," said Lapinette. Wabsworth gazed enquiringly and Lapinette grinned. "Sounded like the Swingle Singers." The Wabbit's eyes suddenly twinkled. "Let's leave them ..."

7. The Wabbit Chants Down

They reached the comparative safety of the concourse, but the Shaman started to yell. "Now! Give me the antimatter, Wabbit, I know you have it." Wabsworth could only watch. The Wabbit turned, raised raised both paws and chanted. "Nissa nissa nissa nissa." The air cracked with a dreadful roar and from it issued seven demonic wabbits. The Shaman stumbled as they swooped. "Nissa nissa nissa," chanted the Wabbit. The seven circled and dived and the Shaman swiped aimlessly. "I'm not afraid of rabbits!" The station lights dimmed as he tried to draw power - but the seven were merciless and swift. He shrieked as pieces of costume flew from his cloak and he cursed the Wabbit nine times with all his might. "May your paws dissolve!" The Wabbit lowered his paws slowly and spread them wide. "Nissa Gy We Oh," The Shaman's sigh was like a death rattle. Wabsworth watched closely for it looked as if the Shaman was being torn from the inside. The Wabbit raised his paws again. "I command you to obey." The Shaman made one more attempt to break free from the seven, but his stomach sank and his head sagged by such a degree that it threatened to dislodge completely. "Enough," grunted the Shaman in surrender. "Release the soul within," said the Wabbit ...

[Seneca nation chant.  Nissa: moon.  Gy We Oh: Blessed be.  

"May your paws dissolve" is a freely adapted curse from a Roman inscription - Archaological Museum, Bologna]

6. The Wabbit and the Ghost Train

The power failed to return. So Wabsworth, posing as Conductor, led them through the Tunnel. The Shaman's eyes became searchlights and the Wabbit pulled an old torch from his fur. "Everything is locked down," said Wabsworth, "but we should get out along the tracks." They made good headway for a while, then without warning the Shaman began to vibrate and he chanted. "By the prickling of my nose, some kind of current this way flows." The Wabbit could smell it too and he looked back. "It's a train." Wabsworth looked at his watch. "It can't possibly be a train, it's not on the timetable." "And there's a power outage," said the Wabbit. "So it must be a ghost train," said the Shaman. "Do ghosts have a timetable?" asked the Wabbit. "No," said Wabsworth, "they only run a skeleton service." At that moment, the Wabbit realised Wabsworth was making everything up as he went along, just like the old game they used to play on lengthy stakeouts. But the train was real enough. He could hear metal on metal and he shivered as it rounded the curve and headed towards them. "Make for the emergency stairs," yelled the Wabbit. It was too late. They were rooted to the spot, all except for the Shaman. He wheeled and danced and made strange sounds that were the screech and squeal of brakes with a hiss on the end. With a tungsten blur the ghost train passed straight though them ...  

5. The Wabbit and the Rail Conductor

"Attention passengers! Attention passengers!" Wabsworth strode along the platform with all the authority of a rabbit with an official hat. "We're getting that power back for you now." The Wabbit smiled to himself. "What happened, Conductor?" "Nothing much," said Wabsworth. "The train in front of the train in the middle caused an overload on the train at the back." Will we be long?" asked the Shaman. "Indefinite I'm afraid," said Wabsworth. "But whatever you do, don't leave the train." "We're not on the train," said the Shaman. "The train must have left you then," scowled Wabsworth, "but perhaps I can offer you a light refreshment while you wait?" The Shaman showed the first signs of amiability. "I'll have an aperitiv ..." He changed his mind with lightning speed. "Ayahuasca Bitters." Wabsworth turned to the Wabbit. "And you, Sir?" "Ginger and Carrot Cocktail," replied the Wabbit. "I'll fix them now," said Wabsworth. "Wait here, passengers. But whatever you do - don't get on the first train." "Why?" asked the Shaman. "Because it's late," said Wabsworth. "The train you require is the train that follows - that's the Antimatter Flier, change at Lepton for Quantum Spin." "Quantum Spin?" queried the Shaman. The Wabbit grinned. "It's the site of the Large Shed Collider!" Now the Shaman became impatient. "Conductor. The Antimatter Flier. How long?" "Oh, it's about 70 metres," shrugged Wabsworth.
[Ayahuasca: Amazonian psychoactive brew consumed for revelatory and divinitory purposes.]

4. The Wabbit and the Moonlit Subway

The Wabbit turned on his heel, then closely followed by the Shaman, he hopped down to the Metro. Wabsworth waited, then followed too. Something was afoot, because the Metro lamps owed more to moonlight than electricity. "The Wabbit appears unconcerned," thought Wabsworth, "so what would I do in his place?" His thoughts were interrupted as the Shaman's voice boomed through the station. "Is this your shed?" "This is my subway to my shed," replied the Wabbit. "Ah," said the Shaman, "the words of the Wabbit are written in the subway halls." "They almost certainly are," smiled the Wabbit,  "no one dare remove them." "Take me to your shed!" yelled the Shaman. "Get me the antimatter!" "What colour would like?" chirped the Wabbit. The Shaman was dangerously angry. "What colours have you got?" "I have black, white or no colour at all," said the Wabbit. Now Wabsworth grinned since he knew the Wabbit was making things up as he went along. It was a game they played on long surveillance shifts, the winner being the one who could first anticipate a likely ending. So he knew what to do. Wabsworth quickly dismantled a power access cover and as the Wabbit lifted a paw, all the lights dimmed. "Was that you?" asked the Shaman. The Wabbit shook his head. "Just a bit of dirty power. We'd better grab a conductor ..."

3. The Wabbit & the Shaman's Desire

Night kicked in like a hammer, but the Shaman stayed behind the Wabbit and Wabsworth tucked behind the Shaman. In the light of the Metro entrance, Wabsworth saw the Wabbit wheel and gesture to the Shaman. He heard the Wabbit speak in a stern voice he had never heard before. "Please, after you." Flashes of blue lightning connected the Shaman with the Metro sign. "You are the Wabbit that knows everything!" The Wabbit grinned and 28 teeth flashed menacingly. "Aw shucks." The Shaman started backwards. "No-one ever says that." "I heard it in a film," shrugged the Wabbit. They stared at each other but the Shaman broke the silence. "An animal guide appeared to me in a Vision Quest. It implied that you were the one." "The one what?" asked the Wabbit. "The one," breathed the Shaman, "who keeps antimatter in his fur." The Wabbit rocked on his hind legs. "For what purpose do you want this antimatter?" "Special effects," said the Shaman. The Wabbit smiled. " You're clearly a Shaman. Can't you do special effects on your own?" The Shaman shook his head. "I used to, but I quit." "Oh, everyone wants to be legit," said the Wabbit in a most sorrowful voice that Wabsworth knew was fake. The Shaman sighed. "I was legit, too legit. People want more." "But what if I can't help you?" mused the Wabbit. "Then I'll vapourise you," said the Shaman. "But you quit," said the Wabbit. "Maybe I quit too early," snarled the Shaman ...

2. The Wabbit & the Electric Shaman

All day long, Wabsworth trailed the Wabbit through the city. But just as he'd thought about giving up, something happened. A curious creature emerged from a side road and it was clear that he too was following the Wabbit. He wore an elaborate cloak of many colours and from it came blue flashes that lit the damp air. "A Shaman!" breathed Wabsworth. The Shaman mumbled something - and thinking it might be an incantation, Wabsworth drew close and listened. But this was no incantation; it was a list of technical equipment. "A Pulse Detonation Engine is essential," muttered the Shaman. "Without a Pulse Detonation Engine, I cannot proceed." The Wabbit strolled on and the Shaman set off again. "There he is," muttered the Shaman. "He has antimatter hidden in his fur and knows where to find the correct detonator." The Shaman's voice dropped and Wabsworth struggled to hear. "He knows everything," breathed the Shaman. Wabsworth paused. He knew that the Wabbit could find most things but he didn't have a source of antimatter to paw. "Maybe he has some in his shed," said Wabsworth to himself, but it came out too loud. The Shaman stopped dead because he was a real shaman and still had confidence in his powers. "My Inner Spirit Guide speaks of a shed." Now the Shaman pursued the Wabbit with vigour and Wabsworth scampered after them both. "I'd better look out for the Wabbit," he thought. "He might be in over his shed."

1. The Wabbit and the Smell of the Arc

The Department of Wabbit Affairs was under reconstruction and the Wabbit couldn't complain. It was he who had suggested the idea, after his fur became trapped between a filing cabinet and a crack in the plaster. When he met his android copy at the corner, he exhaled with force. "Wabsworth. Things aren't quite right." Wabsworth paused because he seldom thought anything was right. The fact that buildings were still present on a second visit was, for Wabsworth, a source of never ending amazement. "It will all be finished soon," he said, "and your office will be synergistically sustainable." The Wabbit frowned. He had requested a stained glass window - and although it would double as a solar panel that charged his walkie talkie, it had been the first budget cut. "I don't mean the building isn't right." He sniffed the air. "I keep smelling electricity." Wabsworth sniffed too. His circuits hummed a little and he could feel something blue. "Like arcing?" The Wabbit nodded and spoke on a whim. "Maybe it's magic." Wabsworth mused. "Arcing of the magical kind." "I'll track it down," grunted the Wabbit and he turned. "Need any assistance?" asked Wabsworth. The Wabbit smiled and shook his head. "I'll be fine thanks." Wabsworth watched him stroll away until he was almost out of sight. Then he followed him ...

The Wabbit's Adventure Caffè

Lapinette and the Wabbit were about to order, when Skratch appeared from around the corner. "Ask me the question!" yelled Skratch in a theatrical manner. "I am not afraid!" Lapinette seemed nonplussed. "Hello Skratch," she murmured vaguely "What kind of Adventure did we just have?" Skratch purred. "It was free-wheeling road movie kind of Trek, with a Scottish flavour and a Cold War vibe." The Wabbit was looking at something else. "Someone left a book behind." "What's it called?" asked Lapinette. The Stolen Life of a Cheerful Man, said the Wabbit. "Oh," said Lapinette. "That is intriguing." "I'd better take it to Lost Property," said the Wabbit. He grasped the book but suddenly Lapinette was reading it. "I'll take it myself," she said. The Wabbit took it back. "I'm afraid I spilled wine on it and it must go to the cleaners." Lapinette screwed up her eyes. "What if I'm in it?" The Wabbit smiled. "Then you'll be cleaned too." They tried to out stare each other for some time without success. A red paw grasped the volume away. "There's my book," said Skratch. "I knew it was here somewhere." The Wabbit was suspicious. "Who wrote it?" Skratch straightened to his full height. "It's signed to me by the author, Dimitris Politis himself." Lapinette turned. "How would you describe it then?" "Distinguished," shrugged Skratch.

13. The Wabbit and the Holy Snail

Flying overhead, the Fake Vote led them to the Holy Snail - and it was exactly where they started. The MoTo Snails thought themselves very punk indeed, but for once they were lost for words. "Your Holiness," stammered Mo. The Holy Snail shimmered in the strange light. "Did you bring me any cardboard?" he murmured. "Please approach and I will bless it and eat it." The Wabbit knew Mo and To had eaten all the cardboard. But secretly he had stashed a small piece in his fur because it had a strange shape. He passed it to To then called up to the Fake Vote. "Can you explain something?" The Vote shook his wings and swooped round the Old Abandoned Tower. "What about the Warplane?" yelled the Wabbit. The Vote shook his nose. "What plane?" The Wabbit sighed because he knew what was coming and he shouted, "It dropped the ballot boxes on the railroad and you were in one." "I'm afraid I was in the dark at the time," said the Vote. "Then we're both in the dark about that one," said the Wabbit, "but was it an enemy or a friend?" "Hard to tell sometimes," said Lapinette for the second time that trip. The Holy Snail interrupted. "When something sinister means to be your enemy, it starts by being your friend." Silence fell and the hum of the nearby underpass seemed to get louder. Mo and To spoke sadly. "Our Quest is over." The Wabbit shook his head thoughtfully. "No Quest is ever over."

12. The Wabbit's Ballot Denouement

They watched the last butterfly head out, but when they turned back, the Spieler and his stall had vanished. In its place was a tower and a generous supply of cardboard. "Yummety yum," said Mo as they feasted. "We will take some of the Cardboard City back," said To with a burp and he tried to eat it all. "When you're quite finished," said a voice. The Fake Vote had changed too. He stared directly at the Wabbit and rocked his stylish wings. The Wabbit narrowed his eyes. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" The Fake Vote lifted its nose. "Did you ever fly AeroFlotsy?" "I recall the sandwiches," nodded the Wabbit gravely. His nose twitched at the thought of food and he was about to mention he could smell chocolate - but the Fake Vote sounded slightly irritable. "I had the devil's own job getting you here." Lapinette waved from Mo's back. "You weren't chasing us?" The Wabbit laughed carefully. "You were directing us, not pursuing us." "It was my job," said the Fake Vote. "I was supposed to make sure the vote was fair, but I got sealed in a box of fake votes and put in a Jeep with the real ones." "Go on," said the Wabbit. "The ballot boxes were to be substituted and the fake votes taken to the count," said the Fake Vote. "But the jeep went over a cliff and all the votes with it." "And you," said the Wabbit. "And me," smiled the Fake Vote ruefully. "Anyway you rescued me, so perhaps there's some way I can help you." The Wabbit glanced at Mo and To. "We seek the Holy Snail."

11. The Wabbit and the Blue Butterflies

The Wabbit scattered the ballot boxes and they burst open. For an instant he was lost in the beating of gossamer-thin wings - but it was only for the smallest fraction of time and space. Butterflies poured from the ballot boxes, surrounded him and soared into the sky. The Wabbit's eyes glistened. He raised a paw and murmured something as he waved to the butterflies. "Stay with me, do not take thy flight." Lapinette could just hear his words and completed the verse. "A little longer stay in sight." The MoTo Snails let out a cheer that could be heard for miles. Even the Fake Vote briefly abandoned savaging his captive to watch the astonishing display. One of the butterflies settled between the Wabbit's ears and its grip was just as sharp as the Fake Vote's talons. "Thank you, Commander. "We're in your debt." The Wabbit shook his head. " No, it is I who is indebted to you." "Call it mutual?" suggested the Butterfly. The Wabbit nodded and gestured towards the Fake Vote. "What about him?" The Butterfly made a strange shrugging motion with its wings. "I've never seen him before. Is he with you?" The Wabbit shook his head but suddenly changed his mind and shook it the other way. He stared at the Spieler, who's skeleton frame was rather the worse for wear. Then he stared at the Fake Vote. "I suppose," frowned the Wabbit, "that he must be."
[To a Butterfly: William Wordsworth]