Now Comes the End of this Rabbit Tale

Szerykl had hurry-hopped and caught up with Beamish and the Rabbit Prince. The prince edged near a dark hole, and Beamish perched nearby amidst weeds and grass. Szerykl watched from atop a rock that sheltered the hole, which she knew to be not just any old hole. This hole was a gateway that led to the world’s largest rabbit warren, hidden under the village called Królik Polski: Polish Rabbit.

She tightened her grip on the amber drops she held. Szerykl noticed that the amber had started to pulse with inner light, as if the drops themselves were eager to fulfill their role in the prophecy.

For Poland’s Rabbit Prince

to become its Rabbit King

requires the help of a magic thing.

Under the Bunny, twitch then hop,

then to gather the amber drops

from dragon, from knight, from dwarves and mice.

If prince will become king, here is the price.

“Down we go!” said the prince. “Onward to my home, the Great Bunny Burrow!”

He disappeared into the hole as if swallowed up. Beamish followed. Then Szerykl, too, plunged into the warm, cozy dark, chasing the panting of the speedy prince and hurtling Beamish. Down and down the trio rushed, yet Szerykl felt more as if she were rising. This was not like descending into the crusty Salt Mine or the dank, rough-edged dragon lair. Here, her whole self soared.

And then, the run ended. The tunnel opened into a space that startled the rabbits to a statue-still halt.

“Whoa,” whispered Szerykl.

“Brillig!” said Beamish.

The Rabbit Prince had led them to a great chamber unlike anything Szerykl had ever seen, unlike anything you, dear reader, have ever seen. Because here, far under the earth, lay an entire rabbit metropolis. Rabbit hutches large enough to house hundreds of bunnies rose up and up, their towers built in the shape of rabbit ears. Barns with open doors held sheaves of grasses stacked to their ceilings. Rabbits queued up for retail. A shop that sold clover in bulk. A salon for grooming and tail fluffing. A stand where rabbits ordered lettuce and carrot smoothies. A rabbit movie theater that showed round-the-clock Bugs Bunny cartoons. So many rabbits! Rabbits milling and nudging and racing just for fun. Big rabbits and small, tawny and albino, warrior rabbits with scuffed ears and sharp claws, bucks and does tending to kittens. The village light glowed dimly, as if here it was always dawn or dusk–which made sense because rabbits see best at dusk and dawn. And above, higher than any rabbit could hop, that light’s source: roots dangling from the chamber’s dirt ceiling–roots that glowed!

“Witamy,” said the Rabbit Prince, then translated his Polish word into English for Beamish (because, remember, Szerykl understands all languages).

“Welcome, magic rabbits, to the Great Bunny Burrow.”

All three kept silent a moment: Beamish in astonishment, Szerykl with reverence, and the Rabbit Prince with all the wonder of coming home.

Then Szerykl realized something. All these rabbits and not a one behaved as if Szerykl or Beamish were anything special. Here, magic rabbits were just other rabbits, because, you know, each in its own way, every rabbit is magical.

Well, that felt good to Szerykl! To be just another rabbit! Sometimes she liked being magical, but then “Hey, Magic Rabbit,” people would say, “show us your magic!” Sometimes performing was exhilarating and sometimes it was exhausting. Now, here, in a rabbit colony, Szerykl began to get an inkling of how nice it was to just be yourself.

Of course, that wasn’t going to last. Because right then, Beamish held out the amber drop that had been concealed in his fur. “What do we do with these?” he asked.

“We take them to the Royal Rabbit Palace,” said the Rabbit Prince. “But let’s stop on the way for a carrot and lettuce smoothie. I’ve missed those.”

•••

They slurped their smoothies as they made their way to the center of the Great Bunny Burrow and its royal palace.

“I like that you use paper straws here,” said Szerykl.

“My father decided that years ago,” said the Rabbit Prince.

“Is he the Rabbit King now?” asked Beamish.

“Um. Not really. He’s dead. You’ll see when you meet him.”

Szerykl’s spit-take left carrot and lettuce smoothie all over her forepaws.

“What really? Who dead? How meet? When?!?!?” She’d lost her words.

“My father. Now. Right there,” and the Rabbit Prince motioned with his nose toward yet another stunning sight. This was the Royal Rabbit Palace.

Its facade looked like an ancient, massive tree trunk. Yet all over its exterior, as if chewed into shape by little rabbit teeth, were hundreds of small details: windows and lintels, arches shaped from mosses and vines, clock faces with branches for hands, and carvings of rabbits wearing crowns of stars and crowns of flower blossoms. But also carved nearby: looming and hungry foxes and cats.

“The jaws that bite, the claws that catch,” said Beamish.

“All our rabbit tales,” said the Rabbit Prince, “can be found depicted on the facade of the Royal Rabbit Palace. Peter and his sisters Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-Tail. Roger Rabbit. Lepus the Constellation. Bigwig, Hazel, and Fiver. And there: see Aesop’s sleeping hare, and way ahead is the tortoise.”

“I love it here,” said Szerykl, and she really did. When she said that, she forgot all about the Neighborhood Grandparents and E. All the warmth and coziness and dim, rich light of the burrow washed over her. She felt herself to be part of time, all those millennia of rabbits huddled together, fur and twitching noses, and ease. “Can we go in?” she asked.

The Rabbit Prince didn’t answer. He moved toward the palace, his hops short and hesitant, his ears back as if in fear or respect–Szerykl couldn’t tell. But she lowered her ears, too. Just in case.

Up ahead, she noticed a tall gray-white rabbit, tall as a bear, taller than any rabbit she’d ever seen. Though white, it was not albino, because its eyes weren’t pink. It sat with regal rigidity, shadows playing across its dark face, and this rabbit frightened her, because it seemed not at all cuddly. Its nose didn’t twitch. It didn’t even seem to breathe. When it spoke, its echo-y voice seemed to come from inside Szerykl’s own head, though it seemed to only address the Rabbit Prince.

“Tu czeka duch twojego ojca,” said the gray-white rabbit.

“Here waits the ghost of thy father, once king

of rabbits, who faced fox, dog, and owl–

whom thou must now confront. Hast thou amber

as prophecy demands? O Prince, trouble

me not with thy living breath til thou hold

the pulsing drops that rabbits will honor

with song. Risk not my haunting self’s return

to remind thee of thy failure.”

The Ghost Rabbit King

Could Szerykl’s ears lie any lower? She could sense Beamish all a-tremble beside her.

“No poofing!” she whispered. “You stay right here!”

“Father,” said the Rabbit Prince. “King. Sir. I’ve brought friends. Together, we carry the necessary amber. May I please present Szerykl and Beamish.”

“Hello,” squeaked Beamish.

“Hello,” squeaked Szerykl. She held out her two amber drops.

The ghost rabbit king’s head turned, and he stared at her.

“You smell of dragon and dwarf,” he said. “And courage.”

One of Szerykl’s ears lifted a millimeter.

“Wszystkie króliki ci dziękują,” said the ghost rabbit king.

“All rabbits give you thanks. When inside, lay

thine amber at the prince’s paws, lucky

rabbit’s feet–then watch as floral tattoos

vanish and royal collar appears, swirls

of green and blue, turning ever turning.

Fare thee well, prince–praise-worthy child. Good bye.

I will miss you.”

And with that, the ghost shimmered and faded, and Szerykl felt something crinkly in her eyes so that she had to blink several times to clear her vision. When at last she could see again, she noticed that the palace doors had swung open. The Rabbit Prince, ears upright, looked sad, and a little scared, but also confident. He motioned with his head, said, “Friends,” with a note of invitation, and together the trio hopped, as one, into the palace.

Inside was even more dramatic. The ceiling was painted with stars, and gilt-framed windows allowed soft light to bathe the space. Everything was wood or stone, polished as if licked shiny by the tongues of generations of rabbits. Up above was a balcony crowded with rabbits, and rabbits waited, too, along the walls. They shared whispers of excitement until the Rabbit Prince found a perch from which they could all see him, and he could see them. Then he nodded to Beamish and Szerykl, who knew to leave their amber drops at his feet. The amber glowed, and the Rabbit Prince glowed, too, a lovely orange beginning in his chest like dusky sun, and then he disappeared into the light, or the light engulfed him–Szerykl couldn’t tell. She closed her eyes against the brightness, and when she opened them again, the Rabbit Prince was transformed.

The new Rabbit King!

Now his white fur showed blue dots, and his neck was collared with blue and green swirls. Now, he wore the royal rabbit collar and had become the new Rabbit King.

Then, the rabbits in the palace began to sing. What a sound! If dawn had a sound, it was this. If spring had a sound, it was this. If cuddling had sound, this was it. The rabbits sang and sang–long lasting notes that carried on until Szerykl thought the notes had to end but they kept on. The singing filled the space, and it stayed with her, and it would stay with her, for all of her life.

 

 

•••

The time had come for the Neighborhood Grandparents to leave Poland for the United States. They had spent weeks preparing, sending clothes home and giving away a chair and rug. They’d packed books and gifts for E. They’d helped Szerykl change into new traveling clothes: a smock with pink flowers and a yellow ribbon. Now, they waited for the taxi to the airport.

Dressed for travel across the Atlantic!

“But what if I want to stay here?” said Szerykl to the Rabbit King. “Beamish decided to live in the Great Bunny Burrow. Why can’t I?”

“That’s why I’m here,” said the King. “It’s why I’ve always been here. Long ago, E found me. It was your job to bring home the Neighborhood Grandparents, she told me. Well, she said it was my job to make sure you went home. Why do you think I just randomly showed up here one day?”

“Magic?”

The Rabbit King winked. “E has talents.”

“I will miss Poland,” said Szerykl. She looked out the window with its view of the building called Under the Spider. “Charley Bear. The dragon. All the parks and trams. Chopin music. Dancing dwarves. Królik Polski. Beamish! And, of course, Gummy the Spider.”

“We’ll miss you, too,” slurped Gummy in that wet-spinach voice. He scrambled across the green filaments of his web. “It’s been a good time.”

It had been. A good time.

Back in Baltimore, E welcomed the Neighborhood Grandparents with hugs. Sheri and Michael both got teary. E had grown up so much in just a few months (well, she’d been nine and now was almost ten). “You see,” Sheri said, “of course we were going to come home.”

“Did you want to stay?”

“We loved it there,” said Michael. And Sheri added, “The world is full of places and people to love. You can start and never stop.”

“What about Szerykl?” said E. “Did she come home, too?”

That was when the Rabbit King and Szerykl both leaped from Michael’s shirt pocket into E’s arms. She cradled them against her, gently. They all three cuddled, until the rabbits twitched a bit. “We’re hungry,” said Szerykl.

So E brought them into her backyard and set them in the grass, careful to choose a spot without much dog poop. (Her old dog Charley was still around, and there was a rude, sweet new puppy, too, named Rudy). Rudy was maybe a little too interested in the rabbits, and E kept telling him, “Go away, Rudy. Rudy! Be nice.”

Between bites of grass, Szerykl told E about all their adventures, and about the Great Bunny Burrow under Królik Polski, and how the Rabbit King would return soon to make sure life there remained fair and comfy.

“It felt good,” Szerykl said, “to live for a while among so many rabbits.” She looked at E a little sideways, not knowing how E would react to her next idea. “Maybe I’ll go back to Poland,” she said, quietly.

“Maybe when you do,” E said, “I’ll go on the adventure with you.”

E with her Magic Rabbit friends

 

Digging into a Village Called 'Polish Rabbit"

The morning after our trio of magic rabbits escaped the dragon’s lair, Szerykl woke to find the Neighborhood Grandparents engrossed in their morning routine: strong coffee and laptops.

Szerykl hopped onto Michael’s, taking care not to land on the keyboard.

“Just in time to help with the Wordle,” said Michael.

Szerykl studied the screen. “GHOST,” she said.

“That’s the word!” cried Michael.

“Tomorrow’s will be CROWN,” Szerykl said.

Michael’s face scrunched up like Szerykl had bit his nose with sharp rabbit teeth.

“I’m not supposed to tell you, am I?” she said. She’d wanted to be helpful because she needed a favor, but now maybe she’d blown it.

“Magic plays by its own rules,” Michael said. “Live with a magic rabbit, and you have to get used to that.”

Szerykl pirouetted right there on his laptop but stumbled at the end, so one paw landed on the shift key.

“Let’s shift the subject,” Szerykl said. “I have something to tell you that’s magical, too. You might not believe it.”

Michael sipped his coffee. “I’m all ears,” he said, and wiggled two fingers of each hand aside his head as if he were a rabbit.

“That’s a good Dad joke!” said Szerykl. Then she began. “I want to tell you a secret nobody knows but us rabbits. You know that village where your great grandparents lived? Królik Polski?”

“We’re going there this week to look into my family history,” said Michael. “We’ve been before, and we learned a lot. For example, my great-great grandfather was a farmer. But we couldn’t find anything about one particular relative. She was my great-grandmother Maria Fedor, who was maybe Ukrainian and Greek Catholic and–”

“You know the village name means ‘Polish Rabbit.’ ”

Michael nodded, a little perturbed that he’d been interrupted. “Such a goofy name.” He shook his head.

“It’s a noble name!” Szerykl exclaimed. And then she went on to tell Michael how beneath that village lay the Great Bunny Burrow, dating back a thousand yesteryears, populated over the centuries by billions of rabbits. “That’s what explains those foothills around the village,” Szerykl said. “Those mounds were made when generations and generations of rabbits dug out the earth to make their burrows." 

“Maybe my great-great grandmother trapped and ate rabbits,” Michael said.

“Read the room!” shouted Szerykl. She covered her face with her paws. “Anyway, I need to go along with you. And so do my friends Beamish and the Rabbit Prince. If we can get to Królik Polski, we can fulfill an ancient prophecy and the Rabbit Prince will be crowned the Rabbit King!”

“Under the earth, rabbits will sing,” said Michael.

“You know the prophecy?”

“You sing it in your sleep. Over and over. It’s an ear worm. Anyway, yes, come along. You three won’t burden us, provided you don’t mind traveling zipped up in my backpack.”

Later that afternoon, Szerykl met Charley Bear at a park for a picnic lunch and explained why a bear couldn’t go along to Królik Polski. “Sadly, you’re too big for the backpack,” she said.

***

Maybe it was true what the Rabbit Prince had said, that underneath Królik Polski lay the largest, coziest, rabbit burrow in the world with its rabbit pedicurists and rabbit aromatherapy salons and rabbit smoothie shops and especially the Royal Rabbit Cathedral where he’d be crowned.

But up above where the sky rose up forever, the people village was teensy-tiny! Just a few hundred souls lived there. Królik Polski had one elementary school and no restaurant and no place for a visitor to sleep and only two stops for the vans that carried people to other towns and villages. So Sheri and Michael rented a room in a nearby town and rode bicycles to reach Królik Polski. There, in the village center with its 400-year-old church where Michael’s ancestors had been baptized and married, Michael opened his backpack and let loose the magic rabbits.

The rabbits landed in tall, fresh grass, noses twitching. The Rabbit Prince scampered in circles. Beamish poofed there and there and back again. Szerykl sniffed the air and she smelled that comforting smell of other rabbits, and she saw in her mind a picture of herself, grazing on thick, sweet grass across these hillsides. She saw herself sleeping softly in the warmth of deep and ancient earth, soft dirt, cuddled with millions of rabbits.

“This feels like home,” she whispered to herself, not even knowing, really, what she meant by that except maybe that here she felt most like her best self. It was as if she’d returned to a home she’d never known.

Beamish poofed in beside her. “For me, too,” he said. And they both fell quiet a moment.

Then the three magic rabbits gazed out over the land, all those grassy hills built by centuries of burrowing rabbits. “What’s next?” asked Beamish.

“We go under the earth,” said the Rabbit Prince. “There’s a passageway just over there. See that great tree? It was already old when Michael’s great grandparents lived here. There’s a hole in it that leads to a tunnel and that tunnel leads to the Great Bunny Burrow.”

Quickly, the three hopped over. Szerykl carried with her two of the amber beads. Beamish hid another inside his deep, thick, bristly fur. And the Rabbit Prince carried the fourth – the heart-shaped bead – deep inside his magical self, nestled alongside his own pitter-pattering heart.

The ancient tree had over the years grown limbs long and twisted, bark so thick and gnarly it appeared no axe could cut it, and a crown so high and wide you could only grasp its girth by flying overhead on the back of a stork, those birds so common and beloved in Poland.

In the tree’s trunk lay a large cleft, deep and dark. Around the cleft grew green, stringy moss, and leading to the cleft’s mouth was a trail of fine brown dust, like a welcoming path that Szerykl followed.

“Oh, that dust,” said the Rabbit Prince. “That means carpenter ants.”

Even as he spoke, the ants appeared, large and crawling sharp-mouthed little wood-chewing creatures. They swarmed the space, skittering around the magic rabbits,. “No biting!” cried Beamish! “No biting!”

Szerykl shuddered as one ant crawled up her leg and then to her ear!

“Clack, clack,” it chittered. “Old rabbit track no way to come back, clack, clack? Go home by another tack, clack, clack?”

“Please excuse me,” said Szerykl in that polite Polish way. “I’m only a visitor. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I don’t know how to reach the Great Bunny Burrow, because I’ve never been there. It’s not actually my home. Maybe you can suggest an alternate route?”

“Clack, clack, a rabbit home you lack?”

“Oh,” said Szerykl, “not at all. I’m from–”

 

But this stopped her. Hadn’t she said just a moment ago that she felt coming to Królik Polski was like returning to a home she’d never known? So: if not here, where was home? Was it back in Baltimore with E? Was it in a Kraków apartment with Michael and Sheri where she had made friends like Gummy the Spider and Charley Bear? Or was it under the earth where she could cuddle with small fuzzies like her?

As if the ant could read Szerykl’s mind, it whispered, “Clack, clack, rabbit out of whack.”

Ants, Szerykl knew, stay in one place, one colony or hill, with their family and friends: their own ones, as she’d heard them called in a song Michael liked listening to.

Szerykl hadn’t stayed with her own ones. She’d gone out into the world on adventures. Now she wondered whether any place you find yourself can become home–especially after you make friends. Maybe E had known that. That’s why E worried when Sheri and Michael left: she knew they might make new friends and become happy and never come home. And hadn’t that actually-in-truth happened? Szerykl knew how much Michael and Sheri loved living in Kraków. The walks, the bicycle rides, the parks, and the book shops. And they’d made lots of  new friends, with names like Michał and Scotia and Władek and Łukasz and Jane.

“Let’s find another gateway,” the Rabbit Prince called out. “We don’t want to saunter through their colony. It’s their home, after all.”

And he hopped away, Beamish following. Szerykl hesitated, recalling E and Baltimore and the promise she’d made. She was supposed to make Michael and Sheri return, but what if Szerykl herself didn’t want to leave Królik Polski?

How many homes could one Magic Rabbit have?

But now she’d caught up to Beamish and the Rabbit Prince–were they her own ones?–who stood over another gateway, another place rabbits called home.

 

“Down we go!” said the Rabbit Prince.

 

Escape from the Dragon's Lair!

“Oh, springtime,” said the dragon, “My favorite time of year, when dragons scoop rabbits into waffle cones and swallow them up!”

 

This Kraków dragon gave Szerykl such a fright! By some weird power, it kept changing in shape and substance right before her eyes. One moment it looked like a regular scary dragon, with its skin rough and scaly as an alligator. Then the next moment it transformed and was spiny as a porcupine. Its breath blew fire, then snow. It blinked small eyes, then large; those same eyes flashed green then black then violet. The dragon’s mouth showed fangs like a snake, then teeth like a shark. Its wings were those of a bee, then those of a bat, and then it had no wings at all and instead a back lined with spiky horns.

 

And this terrifying dragon was reaching to scoop up the trio of trembling rabbits!

 

“RUN AWAY!” cried the Rabbit Prince.

 

He fled right, Szerykl leapt left, but Beamish just stayed put, twitching and trembling. Szerykl glanced back at her frightened friend, then tripped over a bump in the rock and tumbled, bouncy-flouncy, ears-over-tail, until she landed–SPLAT!–on the hard cavern floor.

“Errglurg,” she said.

 

“Oh,” said the dragon, “I like it when rabbits get all soft and creamy inside.” He loomed so near that Szerykl could feel his icy-fiery breath on the back of her neck.

 

And that’s when Beamish shouted, “JABBERWOCKEEEEEEE!”

 

Then he sprang right toward the dragon and grabbed a furry wing. The dragon roared and reared back, then flapped its wings as if to shake Beamish away, the way you or I might shake our head when a fly buzzes near our ear. But Beamish held tight. And suddenly, Szerykl saw a puff of fog. When that fog faded Szerykl saw that both Beamish and the dragon had disappeared.

 

“What a hero, that Beamish!” said the Rabbit Prince as he helped Szerykl stand again on two  rear paws. “He poofed that dragon to some far away place!”

 

“Will Beamish be okay?” Szerykl asked.

 

“He’s clever,” said the Rabbit Prince, “he’ll poof himself to safety. Look, though, he’s given us time. Let’s find that amber!”

 

The shadowy cavern still seemed haunted. Lights glowed here and there, then faded, luring Szerykl and the Rabbit Prince into one cleft of a cave wall and then leaving them in darkness. They searched and searched for amber and found many other amazing things in the dragon’s cavern. Tufts of lambs' wool. The ancient bones of some prehistoric creature. Thousands of lollipops waiting to be unwrapped and eaten, and thousands of lollipop sticks without their lollipop heads.

 

Then, a cavelight grew from dim to bright like a firefly and drew Szerykl’s attention. She saw the orange glow of amber. Szerykl rushed toward it.

“Here! Here!” she cried.

 

Yes, this was it. The last amber bead, shaped to fit inside a silver heart. Szerykl gazed and felt something inside she couldn’t quite name. Part of the feeling was relief: she’d found this final piece the prophecy required to make the Rabbit Prince into a Rabbit King. Hooray! But she also felt a mixed-up jumble of joy and sadness, because this piece of amber was so-so-so beautiful. And, finally, the feeling included a a little frizzle of belief in herself, because Szerykl–a small rabbit–had broached the lair of a ferocious rabbit-eating shape-shifting dragon and been brave enough to grab the treasure.

 

Wait.

 

Grab the treasure?

 

“Is this stealing?” Szerykl asked the Rabbit Prince.

 

“Um,” he said. “I don’t think so. Not if it’s part of a prophecy.”

 

“I don’t see how that makes it right. Since when does a legend get to decide right from wrong? A legend doesn’t have any moral authority. Are you saying that by participating in a prophecy, we lose free will? We just do what the prophecy tells us to do and we’re absolved, forgiven, even if we’re stealing?”

 

“Um.” The Rabbit Prince lay his tattooed ears back against his head and down his back. “Rabbits are good; dragons are evil?”

 

Just then, they heard a great echoing roar. Then another, different roar in answer. The Rabbit Prince grabbed the amber heart and hopped away. Szerykl followed him as he rushed toward a glowing light, which grew brighter and larger until she recognized it as the opening to the dragon’s lair. In just a few hops, they escaped into bright day.

 

And when they did, there was the dragon, now neither furry nor scaly but instead rough and metallic, like an iron dragon. Beamish hid near the dragon’s great claws, and Charley Bear roared toward the dragon.

“NO ONE HURTS ANY RABBITS!” Charley Bear bellowed.

 

The dragon answered with fire.

 

Beamish ran to the Rabbit Prince and Szerykl. “Snicker-snack!” he cried. “Snicker-snack!”

 

“Why does Beamish blabber such nonsense at the worst times?” asked the Rabbit Prince.

 

“BACK OFF, DRAGON!” shouted Charley Bear.

 

And the dragon breathed fire.

 

Then, Szerykl grabbed the heart-shaped amber from the Rabbit Prince and stepped between Charley Bear and the dragon.

 

Szerykl said, “Pan Smok,” because that is the polite way to address a dragon in Poland. It’s like saying, “Mr. Dragon.”

 

Szerykl said, “Pan Smok, we only want this small item from your many treasures. We need it to fulfill a prophecy. We were ready to steal it from you, and maybe that was wrong, but if we ask nicely, maybe you’d like to give it to us? Or, we could just borrow it?”

 

Pan Smok–Mr. Dragon–stared at Szerykl, his breath icy as a February wind off the Baltic Sea. Now Pan Smok’s eyes were striped like rainbows.

 

Szerykl lifted the heart-shaped amber so Pan Smok could see.

 

“But orange lollipops are my favorite,” he said.

 

Szerykl said, “This isn’t a lollipop.”

 

“It looks like an orange lollipop.”

 

“It’s just old tree sap, really.”

 

“Does it taste like an orange lollipop?”

Szerykl licked it. Then she let Charley Bear lick it, too.

 

“Nope,” Charley Bear said.

 

Pan Smok rose up to his full height. His wings, now covered in feathers, beat against the air and a wind swirled around Szerykl and lifted her off the ground, so high she stared right at Pan Smok’s rainbow eyes.

 

“You’re pretty brave for a rabbit,” Pan Smok said. “Probably you are tasty, too. But if that tree-sap stuff doesn’t taste like an orange lollipop, I don’t want it. Go ahead. Take it. I hope your prophecy works out. Maybe some day you’ll bring me an orange lollipop.”

 

Pan Smok retreated to his lair, the wind ceased, and Szerykl fell. But Charley Bear reached out one of his great paws and caught her.

 

“Pretty brave for a rabbit,” he said.

 

The Rabbit Prince had a glazed look in his eyes. “Pod ziemią zaśpiewają króliki,” he said. “Under the earth, rabbits will sing. Friends, we’re so close. Our adventure is almost ended. Now we must bring our four amber beads to the great rabbit warren, the burrow beneath Królik Polski, where the prophecy will be fulfilled, and I’ll become the rabbit king.”

 

“To where?” said Szerykl. "Kr-ew-leek Poleskee?"

“Yes: Królik Polski,” said the Rabbit Prince. “It’s a village in the mountains of southeastern Poland, and its name means Polish Rabbit.”

“Ha ha,” said Charley Bear. “That’s a funny name for a town.”

 

“Lots of Polish towns have funny names,” said the Rabbit Prince. “There’s one called Bad Meat and another called Monsterville. There’s even one called Kissing.”

 

“But how will we get to Polish Rabbit village?” said Szerykl.

 

“We’ll rely on your friends Sheri and Michael,” the Rabbit Prince said, and he looked off to the south east as if into a better future. “Even though they don’t know it, Neighborhood Grandparents play an important part in this quest.”

 

NEXT TIME:

The magic rabbits arrive in Królik Polski!