‘Rabbits.’
It was then my turn to laugh. ‘Rabbits? Rabbits aren’t dangerous.’
Columbus nodded wisely. ‘I see. You are thinking about the kind of rabbits you find in the Human World. Little cute hoppy things with big ears. Hop, hop, hop! Father Christmas told me about them. But no, these rabbits are very different. These rabbits are bigger. They stand on their hind legs. And they are’ – he took a moment, swallowed – ‘deadly.’
‘Deadly?’ I couldn’t help but smile. It sounded so ridiculous.
‘He’s serious,’ whispered Twinkle.
‘Yes,’ said Columbus, whose eyebrows lowered in disapproval. ‘And it’s no laughing matter . . . Who can tell Amelia about the rabbits who live in the Land of Hills and Holes?’
Snowflake was first with her hand up.
‘Yes, Snowflake?’
‘Their ruler is the Easter Bunny.’
I stifled a giggle.
‘Correct,’ said Columbus. ‘Their ruler is the Easter Bunny. Everyone knows that. Well, everyone apart from Amelia. Now, anything else?’
Twinkle, inevitably, put up her hand. ‘They have a very big army. There are thousands of them. Tens of thousands. And hundreds of years ago they had battles with trolls and elves. There were the Troll Wars, which they won, and before that, when elves used to live throughout the whole of the Magic Lands, the Rabbit Army fought them and beat them, and took the Land of Hills and Holes for themselves.’
Columbus, as always, looked very pleased with Twinkle. ‘Exactly. In the very olden days, when the rabbits lived in warrens below the ground, the elves and rabbits lived quite peacefully together. But then one day, when the Easter Bunny took over the army, he had a different idea. He wanted everyone to know about rabbits. Yes, they still kept their warrens to sleep and work in, but they no longer wanted to be scared or to hide away. Especially in summer. They liked the light. They liked the warmth. They wanted to be running free. They wanted to go wherever. Which would have been fine, but they didn’t want anyone but rabbits around them either. They forced the elves out. Well, those elves who made it out alive – which wasn’t many of them.’
‘Oh no,’ I said, ‘how terrible.’
Columbus sighed. ‘Well, it was a very long time ago. And the rabbits keep themselves to themselves and so do we. So there is nothing to worry about.’
‘How can you be sure?’ I asked him.
‘Because he’s the teacher!’ said Twinkle. Everyone laughed as if I was stupid. Still, my head was full of questions and the questions had nowhere to go except out of my mouth.
‘Why is he called the Easter Bunny?’ I asked.
Columbus again pointed at Twinkle. ‘Twinkle, explain why the Easter Bunny is called the Easter Bunny.’
Twinkle took a very deep breath and sat up super-straight. ‘He is called the Easter Bunny because it was Easter when they came out of their burrows. Easter is when things get warmer and lighter, and it was also when the first and last battle between the elves and the rabbits happened.’
‘Oh, so what was the Easter Bunny called before?’
‘Seven-four-nine,’ said Columbus. ‘Rabbits tend to call themselves numbers rather than names. They are a very mathematical species.’
‘Right,’ I said, ‘I see.’ But I didn’t really. There were still questions inside my head. For instance: if the Easter Bunny and his Rabbit Army wanted to be everywhere, why didn’t they ever want to be in Elfhelm? Was the threat from the rabbits over? Was the Easter Bunny even still alive?
When I got home that evening I asked Father Christmas about the Easter Bunny.
‘Oh,’ he said, as we made paper chains, ‘the Rabbit War was way before I arrived here. Way before I was even born. There are some very, very old elves who remember what life was like in the Land of Hills and Holes. Father Topo is one of them. He was six at the time, when the elves had to retreat here. He said it wasn’t so special and most elves didn’t really miss it. It was a very flat place. No woods. No hills. Nothing except rabbit holes . . .’
An hour later, we were around the table, eating cherry pie.
I was still curious about rabbits. ‘If it’s so boring, how do we know the rabbits won’t come here and take Elfhelm too?’
Father Christmas smiled that reassuring smile of his. His eyes twinkled. ‘Because it was three hundred years ago. And in all that time there hasn’t been so much as a single bunny hop near Elfhelm. Whatever the rabbits are up to, they are up to it a long way away, and so there is no need to worry about anything at all. Nothing’s changed.’
That reassured me. But my face must have still looked glum, because Mary said, ‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’
I sighed. I had always thought it best not to complain too much about life here, as there was no doubt that it was a lot better than life in Creeper’s Workhouse in London. But Mary’s stare was the kind of stare that made you have to tell the truth, so I came straight out with it.
‘School,’ I said. ‘School’s the matter.’
Mary’s head tilted in sympathy. ‘What’s wrong at school?’
‘Everything,’ I said. ‘All year it’s been a bit tricky. I’m just not good at elf subjects. They don’t make any sense to me. And I’ll never get the hang of elf mathematics . . .’
Father Christmas nodded. ‘Ah, yes. Elf mathematics does take some getting used to. I couldn’t believe it when I learned that the five times table here is an actual table – made of wood, with five legs. And long division is just normal division that you write down really slowly. But don’t worry. Everyone finds it hard.’
‘But they don’t,’ I said, picturing in my mind Twinkle’s hand shooting up faster than a star. ‘And it’s not just maths either. I find it all hard. I am the least cheerful singer the school has ever known, even when I really try. And Laughing Even When Times Are Tough is a really stupid subject to begin with. I mean, why should people laugh when times are tough? If times are tough, I think it is perfectly normal not to smile. You shouldn’t have to smile at everything, should you?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Father Christmas. ‘I daren’t ask about the spickle dancing.’
‘It’s terrible. Humans just aren’t made for spickle dancing.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Mary.
‘I mean, I’m fine with the footwork but it’s the hovering in the air. That’s just impossible.’
Father Christmas winced as if a firework had just gone off. ‘Don’t say that word.’
I must have been in a very bad mood because all of a sudden I was saying it, over and over. ‘Impossible. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible.’
‘Amelia,’ said Mary, ‘you know there is no swearing in the house.’
‘But impossible shouldn’t even be a swear word. Some things simply are impossible. For an ordinary normal human being spickle dancing simply is impossible. And Practical Drimwickery is impossible. And on some Monday mornings even Happiness is impossible.’
‘Happiness is never impossible,’ said Father Christmas. ‘Nothing is impossible.