3. The Wabbit's Encounter with the Slift

The dream was all too real for the Wabbit. But he saw Lapinette float some distance from the ground in what was unmistakeably the slaughterhouse at Testaccio. And there was a Slift, clearly recognisable in his distinctive fur coat. He tapped him. The Slift turned and looked down. The voice was familiar but had a strangely disembodied tone. "Commander Wabbit, where's my money?" "I didn't give you any money," said the Wabbit, "I recall advising you to make some investments." Lapinette pointed at him. "You were supposed to make more money than you ever dreamed of." The Slift inclined its head. "No money was forthcoming from my investment." Lapinette smiled. "You didn't allow enough time. I quite firmly stated at the time that I would triple your investment in 900 years." The Wabbit smiled too. "I remember saying I would take these Fake Fur investments off your hands, and you refused." The Slift moaned a long and mournful moan that might grace any crazy dream. "So here I am with only the fur I'm standing up in." Lapinette pirouetted. "Poor you!" The Wabbit poked the Slift harder and, like before, his paw passed straight through his fur coat. He hopped back. "Since it's my dream I can put everything to rights. Please take this key and go to locker number 66 in Torino Porta Nuova Station. There you will find all the gold in the universe." The Slift took the key and made for Rome Station to get a connection. Lapinette fluttered dream-like to the ground. "What was that key, Wabbit?" The Wabbit smiled the wickedest of wicked smiles. "I just dreamed it up."

2. The Wabbit and the Fur from the Past

Now the Wabbit was spinning. The crime museum had gone. He recognised the new place as the old slaughterhouse in Testaccio. He was dropping steadily to the floor. He looked up at the rafters and across at the walls. They rippled like a black ocean. It was then he saw Lovely Lapinette. She was calling to him. "Wabbit, Wabbit you're dreaming." The Wabbit knew he was dreaming. He just couldn't do anything about it. She was shouting again. It was more of a yell. "You're dreaming of old adventure locations, Wabbit." His mouth moved in response, but no sound came out. He stopped a metre from the floor. He wiggled his paw to see if it would move. It did. Lapinette drifted close by. "This is where we met the Slifts. It's a dream and it's all in your head." The Wabbit hit the floor with a thump and so did Lapinette. "Fake Fur Futures?" His voice was slurred. "Yes," said Lapinette. "Are you dreaming too?" asked the Wabbit." It was mangled and sounded like sheeming choo. "Yes," giggled Lapinette. The Wabbit slowly sat up and shook himself. "I'm not dreaming anymore." Lapinette laughed a silky laugh. "Yes, you are." The Wabbit put a paw on the wall. It went straight through. Lapinette dug him in the ribs. "What do you want to do in your dream?" The Wabbit thought for a while. "I'd like to wake up?" Again, he heard Lapinette's silky laugh. "That's no fun," she whispered, "Live a little. How would you change the past?" The Wabbit tried to recall the events. "Oh, I remember. It was like the Wild West." "Well, air yer lungs," suggested Lapinette. The Wabbit thought about it, smiled and then effected a cowboy drawl. "I'm looking for the man who shot my paw."

1. The Wabbit and the Curious Sky

The Wabbit was dreaming - or hoped he was dreaming. He recognised the corridor. It was certainly the Museum of Crime in Rome. But there was no floor, only sky. He could feel fluffy clouds at his back, and he was sinking. "Why am I here?" he said to himself. He looked at his paws because he knew it was the way to tell if he was in his dream body. He could see his paws all right. He wiggled them than they moved. "This would suit Carlos Castaneda," he thought. "If I'm in my dream body, something will happen." But nothing happened except for a relentless sinking. Maybe it was the sinking that was happening. He tried to recall the last time he'd been to the museum. He'd been on a work trip to Rome and had just been to the Antimafia Commission to give evidence before learned judges. That was following his undercover stint at a popular newsagent and he'd popped into the museum on the way back on a whim. It was a strange museum, an eclectic collection of objects which he quite liked. And for once in his life, he hadn't borrowed anything. The Wabbit thought that would be bad form for the Crime Museum. He bobbed up and down a bit more. The walls and the skirting board came into view, then sky, then skirting boards. He shut his eyes and tried very hard to hear. There were murmuring voices. He opened his eyes. The murmuring stopped. He opened them. There was the murmuring again. With an enormous effort he made his ways to the walls and leaned on them for support. The sky started to whirl and became solid, but the walls were soft as the marshmallow clouds he'd seen before. "Curiouser and curiouser," thought the Wabbit ...

The Wabbit at his Adventure Caffè

It was a jovial gathering at the Adventure Caffè. Skratch as usual was late - but he arrived in good form. The Wabbit welcomed him with unusual vigour. "Here's my good friend, Skratch the Cat!" Then he added, "It was Skratch who saved the day." Skratch raised an eyebrow. "I thought I'd messed everything up." Lapinette was cool as a carrot. "Not one of us ever messes up." Wabsworth chimed in. "Not much anyway!" The Wabbit grasped Skratch's paw. "Tell us oh great critic. What was that for a sort of Adventure?" Skratch leaned back. "I'll tell you now. That was a novel and exciting story featuring great danger." The Wabbit interrupted. "Which the main protagonist overcame with good humour!" Skratch meoawed. "But there was a main signifying feature used to comic effect. That was ... the dynamite!" Wabsworth tapped on the table. "It definitely avoids the wider extra-diegetic implications of conspiracy films that we know and love." Through comedy," added Lapinette. Skratch nodded. "The dynamite would not explode - except in particular circumstances. So, the comedic effect was placed in the final frame and suggested exactly such a circumstance." Lapinette laughed. "Explosive! I'm glad I wasn't in that frame." They all giggled. Skratch continued. "The Agents were emotionally unstable and so was the explosive." The Wabbit smiled. "So maybe we could scare up a drink?" Lapinette laughed. "Maybe we're just not scary enough?" Wabsworth was tickled by this and thought of a joke. "Lapinette," he said, "You're dynamite!"

7. Skratch and the Stick of Dynamite

The Wabbit was passing through the kitchens of the medieval castle and looking at the food in preparation. He wasn't quite happy with the cook's choice and his nose wrinkled. But suddenly he spotted Skratch, hanging from the roof. "Hello Wabbit," cried Skratch. He seemed pleased with himself, but the Wabbit was puzzled when he saw the dynamite. "What are you up to?" he asked. Skratch swung down. "I just disarmed a couple of thugs outside the castle," he meaowed. The Wabbit looked none too pleased. "What did you do with them?" he asked. Skratch snickered, "I ate them." The Wabbit jumped in the air. "Whaaat?" Skratch laughed. "Just joking Wabbit. They're all locked up in the cells." The Wabbit hopped up and down. "We were hoping to act as decoys and find out who they were working with." Skratch didn't see any problem. "Well, we're no worse off, I can let them escape." They could have killed you Skratch," yelled the Wabbit. "Who me?" said Skratch. "I'm a cat. I have nine lives." The Wabbit put his paws on his hips, a little like Lapinette. "How many have you used?" Skratch counted, but when he came to eleven, he gave up. "I see what you mean," he purred, "Anyway, these two rabbits are completely hopeless." "They got us with stun grenades," said the Wabbit. "Never mind," said Skratch, "This dynamite is perfectly safe." He threw the dynamite at the Wabbit. The Wabbit dived out the way as it hit a metal grill and exploded. Pots and pans and crockery clattered to the ground. The Wabbit picked himself out of the debris. "What am I going to tell the cook?"

6. Skratch and the Flying Leap

As a kinetic projectile, the decisive factors were speed, object size and drag. For Skratch that was automatic. He propelled himself forward with a thrust of his rear legs. His huge claws raked from right to left. The two Agents didn't stand much chance. Caught by the claws they were thrown to the side and landed in a tumbled heap. Dynamite flew high in the air. Skratch flipped and summersaulted. With a single lunge he caught the dynamite, tucked it into his fur and landed feet down on the Agents chests. "Up to no good?" he shouted. "I've caught you in the act." The Agents were dazed and could hardly answer. Skratch knelt beside one of them. "Talk," he said, "talk fast." The first Agent thought quickly. "We're tourists," he gasped. "We're having a picnic," said the other. "Fimble fambling fools!" yelled Skratch. He picked them both up by the scruff of their scrawny necks. "Lucky it's not your ears!" He started to drag them into the castle and headed for the cells, meaowing and hissing alternately as he sped along. "I have a lovely spot set aside for fools like you." It was a dank day and the dim prison cells failed to lighten it. A single light illuminated the bars. They sat in a corner under the light bulb looking miserable. Skratch plucked the dynamite from his fur and juggled with it for while. "Strange tourists, you. I suppose you were going to brew up." They nodded vigorously. Skratch slammed the prison doors with a clang, and paused to read them their rights. "Anything you say will not be taken seriously. You're entitled to a lawyer but we haven't got one. Understood?" They nodded their heads. Skratch left to find the Wabbit but he was laughing. "A right pair of Herberts." 

5. Skratch and the Two Enemy Agents

Skratch the Cat was out for a prowl. It was a dull day and he thought he'd take a turn down by the castle. He was in the delicate process of cat contemplation when he noticed something happening - down by the drawbridge. Two figures, who looked suspiciously like Agents of Rabit, were engaged in conversation. Skratch looked the other way - but he continued to watch them nonetheless. His ears pricked up and swivelled round. In this way he could hear everything and evade attention. He watched the first enemy agent hand the second a bundle of sticks of dynamite. He heard him whisper "Don't drop it!" The second immediately did just that. The first snatched it away before it hit the ground. "You clumsy toad. I told you not to drop it." The second was aghast. "I thought you said 'swap' it." The first agent slapped a paw to his forehead. "What on earth did you think I'd swap it for?" The second agent cringed back. "I thought they were cigars." Skratch was trying not to laugh and he sniggered lightly. "There's a cat over there," exclaimed an agent. "Probably he's cold," said the other. "How can you tell?" said the first. "He's got his coat on," said the other. They carried on chattering. Skratch thought he'd slope off to find the Wabbit but changed his mind halfway. "I think I can deal with this," he murmured. He dropped low and padded round the fence until he came to the drawbridge. They didn't notice a thing. Skratch climbed up to the gatehouse, looked all round and poised for a second. Then with fistfuls of razor sharp claws and letting out a vicious cry, he sprang ...