The Wabbit had been appalled. Suddenly no-one could see him. He had been through a list of errors - many of them fatal. They all had numbers, but the one that had bothered him the most was Error 404, not found. How could he not be found? He was the most famous Wabbit he knew. Error 403 was bad enough. but how many errors could you have? Yet he had overcome it all with the help of Wabsworth, his android assistant. It was only a backslash and easy to fix. Something so small. Now he relaxed in the big Archive. No-one could find him there, or so he thought. He climbed steps and perused rows of ancient texts. If anything couldn't be found it was only a matter of searching. Miscataloguing was the usual mistake. He reckoned if the Wabbit wanted to go undercover, miscataloguing might be worth a go. He would pose as an old book and on occasions he'd change his cover. He laughed at his own joke. Then he gazed at the roof - as lots before him had done. Out there was Piazza Navona with all it had to offer. "Mostly pigeons," he thought. He smirked. And a few prosecco-selling establishments too. He was supposed to meet Lapinette in ten minutes and he didn't like being late. She'd been early Christmas shopping. "A Series 500 service error wouldn't do, ho ho ho," he chortled. He shoved his paw deeper in his pocket and turned. That's when he heard a familiar voice ...
