When the enchanted animals of Hexwood discover they soon won't be magical anymore, they have to concoct an unlikely plan to save their village and themselves.
'Last Christmas in Hexwood' is a seasonal story of witches, enchanted animals and a series of unlikely plans to save Christmas.
Chapter 19
It was Christmas Eve, and it was snowing in Hexwood. It had always snowed in Hexwood at Christmas, because a witch lived there. But although the witch had left, it was still snowing, not only on Hexwood but on the standing stones in the Ringing Farm fields, on the village of Inkstone, and on the town of Stone Magna. Because the witch hadn’t gone far; not yet. She was spending Christmas in the Stone Magna Railway Hotel and she felt they deserved a proper, snowy season.
And so it snowed. It was mid-afternoon, already dark. The sun was setting and the clouds were thick; the air was full of fat, glowing flakes drifting lazily down, and there were lights everywhere. On the road out of Inkstone every window was lit up, and every tree hung about with fairy lights. The Christmas tree outside the Ringing Farm Shop blinked and blazed in the falling snow.
Almost invisible in the shadows and snow, two small figures stopped under a hedge to look at the tree.
“Well, here we are,” said Reynard the Fox. "The furthest I’ve ever gone from Hexwood.”
“You’re not going to get distracted by the bins again, are you?” said his friend, Buck Rabbit.
“You know,” said Reynard, "I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Oh no,” said Buck. "You are going to get distracted by the bins.”
“Well,” said Reynard, "I hope not. I sincerely hope not.”
“What’s this, fox?” said Buck. "You sound serious.”
“Well, that was odd, wasn’t it?” said Reynard. "I’m not usually over-enamoured with bins. Indeed, I might go so far as to say that when I do think of them it’s usually with a smidgen of disgust.”
“It certainly smelled disgusting,” said Buck.
“That’s my point,” said Reynard. "It smelled disgusting, it was disgusting, and yet I was fascinated by it, in a way I would not normally have been. You might even say I was not myself. And neither were you.”
“Who was I then?” said Buck. "Mrs Mouldywarp? Martin Ruckenau?”
“I’m being serious, Buck, old man,” said Reynard. "You said it yourself: you were jumpy. Terrified, even. In a way you never usually are.”
“That’s true,” said Buck. "It was the strangest feeling. Absolute panic.”
“Not yourself,” said Reynard. "Or rather, too like yourself. Not like Buck, but like a rabbit. Just as I was behaving not like Reynard, but like a fox.”
“What are you getting at?” said Buck.
“Madame Befana said it herself,” said Reynard. "It’s the magic in the wood that makes us who we are. So what if we leave the wood?”
“You mean if we leave the wood, we’ll turn back into wild animals? The thing we’re trying to stop?” said Buck. "But we’re here now, having a perfectly sensible conversation, and you’re not noticeably bin-obsessed.”
“We came straight here,” said Reynard. "We haven’t been away from the wood for nearly as long as we had last time.”
“So the longer we stay away from the wood…”
“The more like wild animals we’ll become.”
“It’s not that far to the town, is it?”
“Further than I’ve ever gone before,” said Reynard. "Further than either of us has ever gone before.”
“Like I said before,” said Buck. "Together, we can do it. Fox and rabbit, together.”
“Fox and rabbit,” said Reynard, meaningfully. "Fox: predator. Rabbit: prey.”
“Friends,” said Buck.
“Which is precisely why, Buck, old man,” said Reynard, "if I tell you to run, you run. Understand?”
“We’ll be fine, fox,” said Buck. "You'll see. Come along.”
They moved on, hugging the hedge along the road that ran away from the farm shop. Because of the snow very few people were out, but they instinctively tried to stay out of sight anyway, perhaps because they were afraid of what people might make of two talking animals out on an adventure. Or perhaps because a little bit of the wildness was starting to show in them, and they were just afraid.
Where the road turned to start up the hill towards Stone Magna they found a gap in the hedge and slipped through. They came out into a strange world, a place where all the nature had been tidied away. The hillside was bare, with only carefully placed clumps of silver birch, and at the top of it was a little columned rotunda, like a small Greek temple.
They didn’t know it, but they were in the grounds of a big house. The house itself was out of sight over the crest of the hill, and so the little animals were left to wonder at this strangely neat and tiny landscape, as their footprints sketched a dotted line across the snowy hillside.
They stopped in the little temple. Behind them the snow was already hiding their traces, and beyond that the road climbed up and to their left towards the town that was now spread out before them.
It was full of life and light. Every shop window was bright; every house window was alight. The roads were full of cars creeping through the snow, and the pavements were full of people rushing to and fro. Over the streets hung glittering Christmas lights, and in the square, under the shelter of the old market house, a brass band was playing carols.
“I don’t like it, fox,” said Buck. "Look at it: there are people everywhere.”
“We can go back, Buck,” said Reynard. "Maybe we should go back.”
“No,” Buck gritted his teeth. "We have to try. It’s Christmas Eve. Father Christmas needs our help.”
On the far side of town was a large building strung about with coloured lights, with an illuminated sign across the front of it. If the animals had been able to read they would have known it said ‘Hotel’. They did at least recognise the building next to it from Mr Cork’s clockwork train set.
They set off down the far side of the hill and, at the bottom, squeezed under a gate onto the pavement. Fortunately, even in a small town like Stone Magna, there are back alleys and yards and dark gardens through which small animals can pass unseen. Together they went, round the back of Christmas, hiding in the shadows cast by present-buying and merriment and last-minute shopping, until they were on the edge of the market square.
They stopped behind some bins in an archway beside a pub and looked out, trying to see how they could make it across.
“Your heart is beating awfully fast,” said Reynard.
“And you know why,” said Buck.
“I mean, I can hear it,” said Reynard, and his voice was strained. "I can’t normally hear it, but it’s as loud as a drum. Everything is loud. Too loud.”
Buck turned and looked at him. The fox had a distant, desperate look in his eye, as if he was trying to concentrate on something far away and receding further from him. His hand gripped Buck’s shoulder, tightly.
“Buck, old man,” he said. "I think you should run.”
For a moment Buck thought the fox wasn’t going to let go of his shoulder. Then he did. Buck tensed, and then, with all his will, stood his ground.
“Fox, we’re almost there,” he said. "You just follow me. You stay on my heels.”
“And what if I catch you?” said Reynard.
“You’re my friend, Rey,” said Buck. "I’ll be safe. Besides, what makes you think you can catch me?”
And with that he gave in to the panic that was driving his hammering heart and took off straight into the teeming market square.
Fortunately all the people were so intent on their last minute rush on Christmas Eve that they barely noticed a rabbit and a fox scurry past, even though the animals were wearing clothes and running on their hind legs.
Across the square went Buck, dodging between shoppers and creating a little hiccup in ‘Jingle Bells’ as he weaved through the brass band, then out the other side, under market stalls and into a narrow alley running alongside the main street. Reynard came dashing after him, his teeth bared in what might have been a grimace of effort, or might have been something altogether more horrible.
Buck was running on all fours now, because it felt more natural, even though his dungarees and his scarf kept getting in the way. His running was becoming increasingly rabbity. This way and that he jinked, trying to throw off the fox close behind him, trying not to think of the yellow eyes and bright teeth so close to his little bobbing tail. There was only one thing in his increasingly panicked mind: he needed to reach that big building covered in lights.
And up the front steps of the Stone Magna railway hotel ran a rabbit dressed in dungarees and after him, nose to his tail, came a fox.
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