Part Five - Grotto's Woe

"The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side." Luke 19:43, NIV

George Castles was a farmer in his mind, but definitely not to anyone else. He only occasionally visited his latest acquisition, a farm that was purchased a few months before, to see how his tenant, the actual farmer, was doing with his crop. He preferred staying in the upscale fifty-room mansion that his oil tycoon father, Jim Castles, had bought him in the countryside west of London. Despite the size of his home, George lived alone, with the exception of the cleaning and cooking staff that he had hired to look after the mansion for him. However, his staff were only allowed to be there to work, and went to their own homes at night - George wouldn't allow any "common folk" to live at his precious estate.

George had never really had what most people would refer to as a real job; rather, he would just borrow money from his father to buy into whatever investment opportunity fancied him at the time, then hope that the value of his investment would rise. If it did rise, he would immediately sell out his share and quickly spend the profit on the proverbial wine, women, and song. If it fell, even over the short term, he would give up and also sell out, begging more money from his father to cover the loss. And in either case, he would then borrow still more for another investment and repeat the whole cycle, with George never even bothering to ensure that he saved up money to fall back on.

It was true that Jim Castles had spoiled his son almost beyond hope, however, his patience had long ago begun to wear thin. After George had bought his sizable farm, his father had warned him that this was going to have to be how he made his living, as there was going to be no more money forthcoming. George brushed off the threat in his mind, as he couldn't imagine his dear old father ever refusing him.

On this day, George was walking through his fields with his tenant farmer, Winston Conner, giving advice as to how he thought Winston could do a better job, despite the fact that dirt had never been under George's fingernails. Winston rolled his eyes as George suggested using a certain herbicide that he had read about in a farming magazine. George liked to think of himself an expert on all things, but failed to realize that the herbicide he mentioned was meant for a very specific type of crop, and would kill his current crop if used. Winston offered only, "I'll look into it, Mr. Castles," as a reply.

George stopped and looked toward the woods at the edge of the field. He had seen a rabbit enter the trees and disappear from view. "Oh, wonderful," muttered George, "My fields are invested with vermin! Didn't you know about them?"

"About what?" prompted Winston, who hadn't seen the rabbit.

"That rabbit - I'll bet there's a million of the little pests in that forest."

"Oh, them. Yep, I've seen them before, but not to worry. They don't really bother the crop. They mostly stick to the grass in the meadow where you're planning on putting your race horses this fall." Winston paused. "You don't think your father will actually let you buy those horses, do you? We were talking the other day and he assured me that he was quite serious about this farm being your last gift from him."

"That's none of your bloody business!" snapped George quickly.

Winston quickly shifted back to the former topic, "Anyway, the rabbits don't bother the garden, since it's in a cement-floored greenhouse, nice and safe," said Winston, gesturing to an immense structure, hundreds of feet long and half as wide, built to hold enough vegetables and fruit to give produce valued at about one hundred thousand pounds per year. That was in addition to the two thousand acres of cropland.

"Don't tell me that you're not thinking of doing something about this," said George incredulously, "They'll multiply like, well... rabbits. They'll destroy my farm! Get rid of them!"

"But, they've been here for years," persisted Winston, "even when Mrs. West owned the farm before you. I'm telling you, they're harmless."

"Anyway, that's not important. I guess I'll have to see how I can get rid of those pests," said George, ignoring everything Winston had just said, "It'll give me something to do."

The next day, George returned to inspect the "infested" area with Winston. Winston already knew where the warren was, but made no effort to help George find it, pretending to be searching as well. Finally, George spotted a group of holes, partly hidden by grass and bushes. "What's this? Do rabbits live in holes, Winston?"

Winston nearly choked and resisted the temptation to say that he thought that they lived in the tops of trees, but instead replied very matter-of- factly, "Yes, Mr. Castles, I believe that they do."

"So is this where they're living?"

"I've no idea."

"Don't you know anything?" huffed George. Looking down he pointed with a foot to some pellets in the grass, he added, "And what's that? Rabbit droppings?"

Winston shrugged.

Just then, two rabbit kittens emerged from a hole into plain sight. Shocked to see humans standing only a few feet away, they gave a squeal of fright. One of them, a buck, dove immediately back into the hole. The second, though, a doe, went into shock and froze where she sat. George grabbed it by the scruff roughly and shook it at Winston.

"I knew it," growled George, believing himself to be the world's greatest sleuth, "This is where they're living! Now, I can get started!"

Run, rabbits, run, thought Winston. He knew who he was rooting for in this contest. "Say, Mr. Castles, do you have any use for that kitten there?"

George was genuinely confused. "What kitten?"

"The one that you're holding."

"This is a rabbit, you daft fool!"

Winston rolled his eyes. "Young rabbits are called kittens, as well."

"Oh... Well, I suppose there's no need to keep it. I may as well step on its head right-"

Winston's eyes went wide. "NO! Don't do that! Let me have it!"

"Whatever for?"

"My niece's birthday is coming up! That kitten would make a perfect gift."

"You're willing to pay a hundred pounds for this mangy pest?"

Grumbling, Winston brought out his wallet and placed several bank notes into George's outstretched hand. George gave Winston the trembling young rabbit with his other hand.

***

"Marli! Marli! Help!" The breathless buck kitten sped down the run and into his burrow with such speed that it ran straight into his mother's side.

"What is it, Bryony?" she answered, somewhat annoyed at being abruptly woken.

"Man is here! Just outside! I saw them myself! And they've got Wren!"

Just then, an Owsla buck entered the burrow from the run. "Where is that kitten?" he demanded.

"I'm right here," mumbled the shivering kitten.

"Don't you know any better than to go out on the silf when there is an alarm of humans nearby? You could have been killed!" The buck then sensed that the mother was present and offered, "Sorry, Murrelet."

"Oh, Bryony, you didn't" scolded his mother, regaining her breath, "Wren! Hornbeam, men have my Wren!" At this, the Owsla buck left, hurrying to relay the news to Walnut-rah.

"But I wanted to see what a human looked like," said Bryony meekly, adding in tears, "It's all my fault!".

Murrelet nuzzled the sobbing kitten, cooing, "Oh, Bryony, don't cry, we'll find her." She knew herself that Wren was lost forever. She held her tears to help calm her distraught son, now her only remaining kitten.

***

"What are you going to do, Mr. Castles?" asked Winston, holding the whimpering rabbit.

"Well, you know that rifle that I've wanted to try out?"

"Are you referring to the unregistered one that you bought from that underground pawn shop?"

George sneered. "Don't pretend that you'll tell the bobbies. You'd be the one to get into trouble. I'd just tell them that it's your gun; who do you suppose they'd believe?"

Winston was taken aback. "No need to be so defensive, Mr. Castles. I'm not saying anything to anyone."

"I thought so. I'm going to have myself some target practice. See you tomorrow, Winston," said George as he made his way to his forty-foot jet- black limousine. After opening and closing the door for his employer, the smartly-dressed chauffeur, who was addressed by the name of Ken by George, got back in the vehicle and drove slowly off.

After George was out of sight, Winston thought about how he could possibly get the rabbits out of danger. It was partially out of pity for the animals, but mostly because he just wanted to deny his annoying landlord his opportunity to play soldier. Unfortunately, there was no way to move a warren of rabbits in one night. The Grottons would have to hope that George was a bad shot.

***

Beet was out on the silf alone at first light. The Grotton Owsla Captain wanted to ensure that the men that had threatened the warren the day before were indeed gone before anyone else ventured out. The distinct scent of man was still in the air, but there was no visible signs anywhere.

He climbed a rock and stood up on his hind legs to get a panoramic view of the meadow and the farm. Suddenly, a glint in the distance caught his eye. Beet froze, and focused on what he had seen, while perking up his ears. Immediately after this, a searing pain unlike any he had felt before racked his left ear. At that moment, a loud crack of thunder was heard; however, he didn't consider how it was strange that the sun was shining brightly, with no cloud anywhere. He tumbled backward, squealing and grabbing at his ear. Already, he was covered in blood. Beet crawled in agony to the nearest hole and inside, trailing large drops of blood behind him.

***

"Really, Mr. Castles, this isn't necessary. The rabbits aren't harming anything."

George looked up from his rifle, which was placed on a fence railing, enabling him to shoot standing up, while maintaining a firm grip on the weapon. "That's the trouble with you, Winston. You're irresponsible. Any farmer should want to get rid of any pests. If it was up to you, there'd be a rabbit for every square foot. They're not pets, Winston - they're pests." George turned his attention back to his line of sight. He had seen a rabbit in the distance, perhaps five hundred feet distant. When he again focused on the area, the rabbit was no longer to be seen. Winston cursed. "Now you've made me lose my target, you idiot!"

Oh, shucks, what a bleeding shame, thought Winston, who replied, "I'm terribly sorry, sir. I'm sure it's still out there." Just then, a rabbit, probably the same one, appeared standing on a rock. George trained the crosshairs on the rabbit's head, waited a moment, and pulled the trigger. The loud report shocked George, and the kickback from the gun also caught him off guard. He cursed loudly again, nursing his bruised shoulder. Despite George's trying to act like an experienced marksman, it was obvious to Winston that this may actually be the first time that he had fired this particular weapon - or possibly any weapon at all. That was made even more obvious by the fact that the target was still alive. Winston had seen it fall, but had heard its squeals. George had made the error of pulling back on the gun when he fired, causing him to shoot high.

***

Beet, his squeals of pain terrifying the warren, tried to find his way to his burrow, but in pain and confusion, he lost his way, and just stopped and stood in the darkness, in the middle of a run. Fawn came out of a nearby burrow belonging to herself and Restharrow, where they had rapidly growing kittens. "Beet! What's happened?"

"My ear! My ear! Bleeding! Hurts!" panted Beet.

The doe felt his ears with her paw, and then found the wound about halfway up his left ear, wet with warm blood. "Your ear has a hole in it, Beet!"

At this, Restharrow also emerged from the burrow. "A hole in his ear? Great Frith! How is that possible?"

"A gun, Restharrow," replied Fawn, "Didn't you hear it just now? I've seen man use them before, and they create wounds just like this. He's lucky it's his ear, and not somewhere else..."

Beet was now growing dizzy from his wound, and stumbled against Fawn. "Beet," soothed Fawn, "Take it easy. Here, lie down in our burrow."

"I've got to see Walnut-rah about this," said Restharrow, "Fawn, can you take care of Beet?"

"Yes, dear. I'm sure Walnut-rah's wondering what's happened along with the rest of the warren. And tell Pipit to come, please." Fawn knew that Beet would want his mate with him right now.

***

George was still nursing his shoulder. "Well, at least I got it! Right in the head!"

"You hit it, but it's still alive."

"Didn't you hear the vermin squealing?"

"If it was dead, it wouldn't have squealed."

George failed to the hole in his logic that Winston was trying to point out. "Nonsense, Winston. Come, I'll show you."

When the men got to the rock where the rabbit had been, the fresh blood was the focus of George's attention. "See! Blood!"

"Yes, Mr. Castles. But, no body. It crawled away; you've only wounded it."

George's enthusiastic joy dimmed as reality dawned on him. "Well, I suppose you're right," he said, following the blood with his eyes to a nearby hole, "This may be the fun way of getting rid of them, but it's going to take forever. I suppose I'll have to use a different method - a more efficient one."

Uh-oh, thought Winston, wincing.

"I'm going to ring my exterminators - they will know what to do," continued George. Then, his work at the farm done, he left in his limousine.

Winston looked up at the sky. The heat and humidity had been unusually high for the past few days. There were telltale rings around the sun. Looks like a storm in a day or two, thought Winston, The weather's like Mr. Castles, sometimes. The pressure builds until something breaks.

***

"Good day. My name is George Castles... Yes, I'm him... Well, you should know me, I only send heaven only knows how much business your way. Anyway, I've got a problem at my farm... Rabbits... Oh, I don't know, perhaps a hundred? How many usually live together?... I see. What do you suggest?... Ah! That should work! Lovely! How much does that cost?... Not a problem. When can you send out a crew? Tomorrow?... Booked up! But the rabbits are destroying my crop!... Oh, very well, let's go with Wednesday. But, rabbits can do a lot of damage in two days, lady... I see. Thank you very much, then. Wednesday at four p.m. will do nicely... I'll fax you the directions to the farm, it's easier that way... Yes, thank you, and good day." George hung up the telephone. "Gassing! This will get those little rascals for sure! I'm a genius!"

************