The meeting room is buzzing with conversations as the clock strikes midnight. The Chamberlain clears his throat in an attempt to attract the attention of the assembly.
- My dear brethren, I demand some quiet, please. We are here to discuss a serious matter. I've been told that some of us have emitted some concern about the validity of the human tradition of invoking us on the first day of every month. Our elders are offended to know that a faction of our younger members, calling themselves "Leporidae Potentia", want to deny human beings the right to be blessed by our luck. We decided it was time to discuss the problem, and what better time than tonight, on all hallow even, to bring the matter forward?
- Dad, I mean, with all due respect, Mr Chamberlain, I'd like to be the first to voice my opinion, said Alba. The practice you mentioned hasn't been revised since 1420. We are now in 2008, and things have changed. Humans don't respect us as much as they used to. This rule is obsolete: they don't even believe in us anymore! So why should we bring them good luck just for the sake of it? The tradition has lost its meaning!
- They can't even agree on the invocation anymore! said Candidum, with all the revolt of his youth. "Rabbit, rabbit", "white rabbits" or just "rabbits", even "hares"; and what about that "tibbar" nonsense of saying it backwards! They can't remember why they're saying it, and, which is worse, we can't remember either!
- I hear you, said the wise Chamberlain. I agree with you, Alba: humans don't really believe in us anymore. But they do respect us more. Only 40 years ago and your legs would have been turned into keyrings. And you're mistaken about the lack of revision: the Balliol amendment has been created to prevent the type of abuse as performed by Harold Nicolson. As for you, Candidum, you do have a point. Nobody knows why...
- We should go on strike! interrupted Blanche.
- ...but we should work together on finding the origins of our deal with the humans, finished the Chamberlain. As long as we don't remember what we're getting in exchange of the luck we give them, we shall keep our promise. For all we know, not fulfilling our side of the engagement might cause our doom.
- What makes you think we're getting something in exchange? said Candidum.
- I know what we're getting, shouted Shiro from the back. We're getting drowned in boiling wine and experimented on!
A clamour spread across the hall.
- Silence! bellowed the Chamberlain. We shall vote. May the ones who want to maintain the tradition raise their ears. I will take into account Hvit's unfortunate encounter with a lawn mower that left him short of one ear.
A rustling sound echoed in the galleries.
- The majority has spoken: we shall continue with the tradition. Meeting is over.
* * *
Back in 1420, on the early morning of November the first, the White Wizards and the White Witches of Somerset travelled and gathered by a rabbit hole just outside a place they called Oxenaforda. John, a young sheperd, was hiding behind a tree.
- But white habits bring good luck! said one of the wizards.
John ran back to his home and woke his sister up:
- White rabbits, white rabbits! he said.
- White rabbits, white rabbits? she repeated.
- I saw the White Wizards grouped around a rabbit hole saying that white rabbits bring good luck!
- Really? said Alys. So we shall call on the rabbits for good luck too! Let's go and wake Mum and Dad up, and let's make it the first words they say, so they have a lucky day.
Meanwhile, in the rabbit hole, the rabbit they called Stein woke up with a start.
- Mister Chamberlain, Mister Chamberlain! he shouted, running in the galleries.
- What now, Stein?
- I've been invoked! I'm the chosen one!
- Calm down, Stein...I've felt it too.
- Have you? Wasn't it amazing? What shall I do? Shall I give them some luck?
- Whatever Stein, if it makes you happy. They might invoke us again if you do, and I have to admit I found it quite pleasant.
- Great! I shall tell all the others! said Stein, as he ran to spread the word in his most debonaire way.
Your turn:
A bookseller becomes allergic to printing ink.
Startled by the start of the motor,
