2. The Wabbit and the Hospital Run

Wabsworth took an unorthodox route to the hospital. This involved the illegitimate use of three walkways and a pedestrian tunnel. The Wabbit didn't seem to care about that. Nor did he comment on the trail of street furniture that Wabsworth left in his wake. So Wabsworth knew the Wabbit was seriously out of sorts. The hospital had several entrances but Wabsworth ignored them all. If he could have driven directly into the emergency ward, he would have. Instead he took the fastest route. He crashed through the back gates, drove up several flights of stairs, then jumped from a connecting bridge. "Nice view," slurred the Wabbit. Lapinette's teeth jarred. She held on with both paws and kept a mental note of the damage. "It's over there," she shouted and she pointed a paw. Wabsworth slid between two squad cars and left tyre tracks on the hood of a highly polished vehicle belonging to the Finance Police. Lapinette scribbled an apologetic note, attached several meal tickets and threw it out. Wabsworth screeched to a halt and lifted the Wabbit from the jeep. "Whassa matter?" asked the Wabbit. "Am I going on a lovely vacation?" He convulsed and clutched his side suddenly. "I have a rabbit in my tummy," he announced solemnly, "his name is Ernie." "Emergenza! Agente ferito. Codice rosso!" yelled Lapinette.
[Emergenza! Agente ferito. Codici rosso! : Italian - Emergency. Officer injured. Code Red]

1. The Wabbit and the Hidden Wound

"Ow," said the Wabbit as his foot lurched on the sidewalk. Lapinette looked at him critically. "You're limping." "I think I did myself a mischief," groaned the Wabbit, Lapinette's eyes flashed. "When?" "It was that rumble I had with the Tracker," sighed the Wabbit. Lapinette waited for more information. "I was shot in the shoulder. Then when I came to, I heard Wabsworth calling for help on the radio." Lapinette nodded and the Wabbit continued. "I tried to reach him by propelling myself through the snow, but I lost control and hit a snowdrift." The Wabbit groaned as he recalled the impact. "Something in my side went crick." Lapinette gently prodded his side. "Yaaagh!" shrieked the Wabbit. "That does it!" shouted Lapinette, "I'm taking you to the hospital," "No need to bother," said the Wabbit. He clutched his fur and stumbled, then smiled sweetly. "It's only a pulled muscle." Lapinette pulled a radio from her frock. "I'm calling Wabsworth to bring the jeep." The Wabbit was dismayed. "I'll be pulled off duty," he scowled. Lapinette spoke urgently into her walkie talkie then turned to the Wabbit. "No-one is indispensable." A look that Lapinette recognised flashed across the Wabbit's face. She knew the Wabbit regarded himself as the most indispensable rabbit that ever hopped the earth. Lapinette prodded his side again. "Yikes!" yelled the Wabbit, grabbing onto Lapinette's fur before he collapsed. The radio crackled and a muffled voice spoke. "On my way," said Wabsworth.

The Wabbit at the Adventure Caffè

Skratch the Cat timed his entrance to perfection. When the others arrived, he pounced out from inside the caffè. "Flowers for little old me?" he grinned, "you really shouldn't have!" The Wabbit saluted solemnly. "We were waiting for you tell us what kind of adventure we were in." Skratch saluted in return. "This time, I think you should tell us, Commander." The Wabbit grinned. "Well sit down Skratch, I'm going to pass the buck." He called for drinks and looked at Wabsworth. "Your turn." Wabsworth didn't hesitate. "It was an open text, in a world of unavoidable diverse readings." "Umberto Eco," said Lapinette firmly. The Wabbit was agog. "Do you understand him?" he asked, "I really haven't the slightest clue what he's talking about." Lapinette chuckled enticingly. "He inferred that readers had to make things up and splice them back into the story." "The reader lends a hand to the author." said Skratch. "And the hand remains an enigma just outside our grasp," sighed Lapinette." Skratch leaned back, mimed puffing a pipe and adopted a stuffy English accent. "The Beast with Five Fingers, don't ya know? What a strange business altogether." The Wabbit thought deeply. "What about our readers? Do they have to make things up?" "All the time!" laughed Lapinette.

9. The Wabbit and the Last Oration

Lapinette turned and walked through the graveyard. The Wabbit signalled for the rest to keep a respectful distance as Lapinette paused between two gravestones. The hand settled quietly on the grassy plot in front. Lapinette raised two paws skywards and waited. Branches lowered. Thunder rolled. Lightning flashed. Cloaked in a clear blue light, Lapinette began to speak. "The part is the whole, the whole is the part." Somewhere in the distance, a piano played Mozart's Requiem. The Wabbit delved deeply for his medal ribbons and attached them to his fur. Wabsworth bowed his head and so did Skratch the Cat. Now the distant piano played joyfully. "Freude, schöner Götterfunken," said Lapinette. Everyone smiled as the hand sank into the grass. Wabsworth felt something rippling through his android circuits and Skratch's tail stood bolt upright. The hand sank deeper  - but just before it disappeared, it made a small wave of farewell. The Wabbit saluted. "I leave you in good hands," said Lapinette and she slowly dropped her paws. Rolling thunder became silent. Lightning ceased. The piano began to play jazz and it filled the wooded space. The Wabbit watched the last of the hand fade from sight. "Take Five," murmured the Wabbit and he waved goodbye.

8. Lapinette and the Instant Reading

They followed the hand through the Bavarian Quarter until it came to the graveyard - and face to face with Lapinette. Bathed in daytime moonlight, she stood directly in the path of the hand. Her paw moved upwards and with a deft gesture, produced a Tarot card. Time seemed to freeze and with it the hand. "Cards or palm?" hissed Lapinette. The hand flipped over and offered a palm creased with lines.  "Criss cross." whispered Lapinette, "you have more lines than the Coliseum, more junctions than King's Cross." The hand trembled under Lapinette's searching eyes. "I see a vague musical talent, stretched past its best," murmured Lapinette. The hand twisted in discomfort. The Wabbit watched, powerless to intervene. He glanced at Wabsworth, then at the hand. "Magic," shrugged Wabsworth, staring at Lapinette. Lapinette's voice became silky smooth as she scrutinised every line in the palm. "You must seek another path." The forefinger moved and seemed to inscribe something - like graffiti on an ancient wall. "Yes, you do have a choice," answered Lapinette. "Forget your lines, they're old and tired." The hand dropped to the ground and crawled along the path towards Lapinette. The light of the daylight moon fell on the Tarot card - and now the Wabbit could see it clearly. "The Magician," he breathed ...

7. The Wabbit and the Angry Piano

The severed hand played until it was exhausted but the piano demanded more. Its pedals clattered and its keyboard snapped yet still it was unsatisfied. Preludes gave way to etudes. Nocturnes, ballads and scherzos passed without pause. When the hand exhausted the classics, it played boogie woogie, bop and blues, until it had consumed the entire breadth of jazz. But the piano was insatiable. It bounded in the air and rocked around the clock. "I think we should go." The Wabbit's voice was a murmur but it came out loud. Five fingers swept the length of the keyboard and slammed down hard, and then the hand somersaulted and flew in the direction of the exit. "Follow that hand!" yelled the Wabbit. Everyone followed, but so did the piano. It had lost a few panels by this time and the lid flapped wildly, but its keys crashed out a macabre version of the Planet Suite. Drama and violence dripped down walls like molten plastic as the deranged piano charged relentlessly, "Run! Run or we'll B flat." Skratch thought a joke might help and it certainly made a difference. The piano chattered menacingly and picked up speed. Ivory spat in all directions. "It can't hold the keys!" yelled the Wabbit.

6. The Wabbit and the Ghostly Notes

The Museum's Piano Room was huge and the severed hand sped along the line of pianos and back. With a prod of a poky forefinger it tried this one and that - until it settled on an upright piano of considerable size. The hand played a tune on ivory keys that had seen musical evenings of many years. They had suffered the touch of a thousand hands and were worn here and there, but they had never endured anything like the onslaught that the severed hand meted out. The Wabbit and Wabsworth felt their ears turn to jelly. The floor shook beneath their feet as the piano shuddered into a tune. "Graceful Ghost Rag!" shouted Skratch. But the Rag was as graceful as a spectral sausage. "The hand can't syncopate," yelled the Wabbit. "All hands sign the plate?" queried Wabsworth. The hand stopped. Then it switched to D minor. No single hand had ever played Beethoven so sweetly - and no hand would ever do so again. The piano lifted into the air and swayed as the hand tinkled Ghostly Waltzes. Skratch pirouetted and exclaimed he'd never been so moved. With a sudden jolt, the piano crashed on the polished floor and the music halted abruptly. To everyone's astonishment, pianos keys moved independently and the piano began to speak. "Does the hand do requests?"

5. The Wabbit and the Right Piano

They met Skratch the Cat at a museum that lay in the heart of the Bavarian quarter. Skratch always had many keys and most of them fitted something. If they didn't, he had other ways of getting in. "This one's sure to fit," he meaowed. Wabsworth and the Wabbit gently carried the severed hand, wrapped in a bag, through the empty museum. It twisted a bit when it sensed musical instruments, then it traced several notes with a long forefinger. One by one, instruments in the glass cases started to play and displays vibrated loudly. "Shhh," hissed the Wabbit. The music faded slightly and the Wabbit patted the bag. Skratch was enthusiastic. "What kind of piano does the hand want?" he purred. "An early fortepiano? Maybe a virginal or a clavichord?" The hand shook violently. "An electronic piano?" suggested Skratch. The hand made a rude sign. "A grand piano!" said Wabsworth. The hand seemed interested. "Parlour Grand, Boudoir Grand or Baby Grand?" asked Skratch. An air of indecision hung in the air and the hand tried to wriggle out of the bag. "Let's find the right room and let the hand choose," murmured the Wabbit. He gripped the bag tightly and quickened pace as the instruments burst into Scarlatti's Cat Fugue. Skratch pirouetted across the floor. "My favourite," he purred.

4. The Wabbit and the Upper Hand

The Wabbit suddenly turned and the severed hand jumped back. Wabsworth tentatively touched flesh that felt clammy and yielding. The Wabbit sneered and shouted, "What do you want?" For a moment the hand hung like a flap. Then fingers traced the outline of a piano and pecked at the Wabbit's fur. Music filled the arcade with wrong notes that growled and howled. Everything was off key. The hand jarred and twitched and the five fingers pinched. The Wabbit bared 28 teeth and snapped viciously. The hand retreated and bumped into Wabsworth with its stump. Wabsworth brushed it off and spoke up. "Perhaps you'd like a nice ring? I can get you five if you like." A forefinger wagged negatively and made another shape. "It wants a piano," said the Wabbit and he mimed playing one with his paws. "Skratch the Cat can get a piano," said Wabsworth quickly, "he can get anything." "He can get you sheet music, too," said the Wabbit. "And a stool," added Wabsworth, immediately regretting it. Nonetheless, the hand seemed enthusiastic because his fingers were all of a flutter. The Wabbit hummed the Last Concerto but now the hand was far from pleased. It wagged a forefinger at the Wabbit and made a move for his ears. Wabsworth grabbed the arm and twisted, the Wabbit forced the thumb backwards - and together they wrestled the hand down. "It's time to face the music," smiled the Wabbit.

3. The Wabbit and the Five Fingers

Wabsworth and the Wabbit scurried from the cinema with the disembodied hand in hot pursuit. "I need information!" yelled the Wabbit. Wabsworth was an android copy of the Wabbit and resembled him to a point. But where the Wabbit's memory was concerned, he was quicker. "Symbolically, hands can mean justice." "I was just going to say that," said the Wabbit, "but what about fingers?" The hand flexed fingers and showered them in nail clippings that hooked into their fur. A nail scraped viciously on glass. The screech crashed down and chewed the sidewalk. "It's not a helping hand," yelled Wabsworth. He grabbed the Wabbit's fur and hauled him along the gloomy arcade. "I guess handcuffs aren't going to work," moaned the Wabbit. Five fingers drew a series of notes on the wall and the arcade rang to a left handed piano concerto. A sharp nail traced a pattern through the Wabbit's fur. The longest finger touched Wabsworth on the ear and he dragged the Wabbit faster. "Any ideas from the movie?" gasped the Wabbit. Wabsworth began to lope. "We could try giving it a ring." "It hasn't got a phone," yelled the Wabbit. "A finger ring!" shouted Wabsworth. The Wabbit looked around for a jewellery shop and rummaged in his fur for a brick. But a finger and thumb pinched his ear in a painful grip ...

2. The Wabbit and the Phantom Hand

In a small repertory cinema in the very centre of town, the Wabbit and Wabsworth took what was on offer. There was no rain as Wabsworth had correctly anticipated, but there was a musty smell like a soggy mop abandoned in a corner. They sat spellbound. A wheelchair-bound pianist had been murdered and to the haunting strains of Bach's Chaconne, his severed single hand crept abroad seeking musical justice. Both Wabsworth and the Wabbit trembled as the hand opened a window, then jumped at a scrabbling sound from behind them. "People just can't behave at the cinema," whispered Wabsworth. The Wabbit pulled a pad from his fur and made a short note concerning the cinema and popular culture. The hand on the screen wrote a note and signed it, then hid itself in a drawer. "Is this the right version?" asked Wabsworth. "Things are mixed up." "Maybe it's one of these restored prints," suggested the Wabbit. On screen, the hand leaped from the drawer to a piano and played jazz in the manner of Thelonius Monk. Wabsworth was spooked and so was the Wabbit. Nails scratched fabric. "I think there's a cat in the cinema," said the Wabbit. The movie hand casually squeezed the neck of a victim. A gurgle ended in a wheeze and the wheeze faded slowly. The Wabbit felt a sudden thump in the back of his seat. "People have no manners," hissed the Wabbit angrily and he turned ...

1. The Wabbit in the Weary Weather

The Wabbit bumped into Wabsworth in the city. He could never recall the name of the street and if asked directions, he didn't know the way. "What's this street called?" asked the Wabbit. "I have no clue," shrugged Wabsworth, "shall I look it up using a powerful application?" The Wabbit shook his head. "I don't think it matters. It's near somewhere else." The rain was slight but it was one of these showers that soaked into the fur. Wabsworth shivered. "We need a change of climate. This makes my bones creak." The Wabbit was perfectly aware that Wabsworth was an android, but had long given up figuring his idiosyncrasies. "Me too," he murmured. "Maybe the weather is better over there." He pointed vaguely into the middle distance. "The weather is usually different in the cinema," said Wabsworth. "Oh, I know what you mean," sighed the Wabbit. On his last cinematic visit, the air conditioning was set so low he'd been forced to borrow an overcoat and socks. He thought affectionately of South Pacific and Fahrenheit 451. "I suppose we could go to the movies," he suggested, "so what's on?" "Frozen," said Wabsworth. The Wabbit scowled. Rain swept down from the Alps bearing more than a touch of frost, and they dived into a caffè.  "What will you have?" asked Wabsworth. The Wabbit's response was swift. "Caffè corretto!" "Make that a double," said Wabsworth.

[ Caffè corretto: espresso coffee with a shot of brandy or grappa]

The Wabbit at the Adventure Caffè

They all approached from different angles. With Nessie arriving for drinks, there seemed to be lots of room so they sat down. Nessie didn't scare the waiters because they knew with the Wabbit, anything could happen. The Wabbit looked at Wabsworth and Wabsworth looked at Skratch. "I didn't like that red wind," said Skratch. "It woke me up." It was that kind of wind," drawled the Wabbit. "Makes your fur itch." "Yep," said Skratch, "everything goes screwy." "Well I'll ask the question." said Wabsworth. He hadn't sat down and looked like he was thinking. "What sort of screwy adventure was that?" he said finally. "Skratch smiled a film class smile. "It bounced around like a cork from a bottle of bubbly." "And then the cat got the cork," smiled Lapinette. Wabsworth put a word in. "Don't be so harsh. Despite its noir pretensions, it wasn't a genre piece. The wind drove it along like a screwed up chocolate wrapping." A light breeze played with the flowers in the pink vase, got bored and moved on. Skratch relented. "The wind is invisible but in the adventure the dust betrayed it. It gave it colour and ammunition." Lapinette's ears swayed gently. "The ghosts used the wind like a freight train and didn't pay." "Better charge it to the dust and let the rain settle it," roared Nessie. A spit of rain spread a damp bead on the tablecloth and it was quickly joined by another. "The rain suggests we drink inside," said the Wabbit.

8. The Wabbit breaks the Surface

The Wabbit heard ventilators closing and the unmistakable sound of bulkhead flappers. "Brace!" he yelled and he hung onto a rail. Number Nine Tram shot up through the river in a cloud of murky spray. A warm glow from the sky embraced them and Nessie roared in delight. "Wabbit, dae ye aye have so much fun?" The air was still gritty. But there were no ghosts. Lapinette dug the Wabbit in the ribs. "What happened to the Ghosts from the Mountain?" "Mi bad bwai take care of dem duppies. Dem run." said the reggae creature. "Galang chase dem back where dey fra." "Forever?" asked Lapinette. "Trubble no set like rain, Cunie," said the reggae creature. "No badda bawl - im soon come back." The Wabbit had completely forgotten the creatures knew him as Cunie, the African rabbit god. He grinned but had a sudden thought. "What about the Roman Centurion sent to guard us?" "A voice spoke from the back. "Yahso fi real." The Wabbit grinned again. "You're not a Roman Centurion at all, are you?" "No," said the Centurion reluctantly. "I'm a time tourist." "That will cost you 500 euro," shouted Nessie. The Centurion paid up quietly. The reggae creature stared at Lapinette and whistled a low whistle of appreciation. "I-Rey! Im frack look gud." "I didn't quite hear that." said Lapinette primly.
[Bad bwai : Bad Boy.   No badda bawl. : No use crying.   Yahso : right here.   I-Rey! Im frack look gud. : Well hello! Your frock is nice.]

7. The Wabbit chants down Babylon

Number Nine Tram hung in the Late Tunnel and all was relaxed - or so it seemed. Reggae creatures swirled through with a tune and left. But Nessie was agitated and roared. "The Ghosts from the Mountain are still coming." A reggae creature draped himself on a seat. "Yuh no haffi worry - dem jus' bong belly pickney," "That's enough donkya," snapped Nessie, "Babylon dey cum." The reggae creature hummed a snatch of an old Trench Town ballad. "Wha bangarang place yu frahn?" The loudspeakers crackled. "Yuh a chat bagga nonsense," shouted Nine, "opin up yuh iez and listen!" A wind whistled through the Late Tunnel and flung red speckled dust at the windows. Reggae creatures bounded inside, shut everything up and fell silent. There was no music - just the sound of scratching glass. "Heavy manners," murmured the Wabbit. "Look, we can't stay in the tunnel forever," said Lapinette, "we need to stop the wind." "Wi a gwaan chant dem down," said a creature. "That's it!" shouted the Wabbit and he whacked his feet on the floor. "Cole cole wind, wi chant yuh down." They all joined in, making it up as they went along. It was a whole lot of chanting and the wind dropped away to nothing. "So far, so good," murmured the Wabbit.
[Bong belly pickney : greedy children.  donkya : don't care. Babylon dey cum : the enemy is coming. Bangarang : old]