A group of animals huddled around the security camera, watching the footage. The dim, blurred silhouette of an animal in the dark. Its face isn’t visible. It carefully creeps toward the coop, crouched low to the ground, its head lowered, trying to blend in with the grass and its own shadow. It’s trying to be invisible, moving swiftly yet smoothly. The mannerisms of a predator. The mannerisms of a professional murderer.
Right at the chicken coop it freezes. It carefully chooses its target. It crouches low and lifts a front paw, a barely noticeable movement. The stance of a predator ready to pounce; of a predator in anticipation of tasting blood. Then, it tilts its beastly snout toward the full moon—and toward the hidden camera, so that finally, if only the slightest bit, its face can be made out.
Chief Badger was very familiar with this dreamy look toward the moon before the lightning-fast ambush—a short, mysterious ritual, performed by predators at night. Having chased many criminals, Badger had seen this ritual performed more than once. But why the moon? It was as if they were asking it for permission to kill. Maybe they believed that the cunning, bloodthirsty god of predators lived on the moon. Of course, Badger knew that no one lived on the moon and that the moon was actually just a wheel of cheese that the Evil Owl Spirit slowly ate away at all month long, only to be created anew by the Good Woodland Spirit. However, criminals, on the whole, were uneducated, superstitious creatures and were quite capable of believing all sorts of nonsense. Thus continuing to pray to a nonexistent predator god before every attack, staring into the night sky with their motionless, unblinking eyes…yes, strangely motionless…completely unblinking…
“Can you pause, Ray?” asked Chief Badger, and the predator obediently froze on the screen of the root tube.
“Why’d you stop it?” growled Muxtar. “You’re wasting time!”
“Ray, can you zoom in on the face of the assailant?” said Badger, ignoring Muxtar. “Yes, that’s good…and a bit more…Now Vulture, look at the face closely. You’re the expert here.”
“Very strange,” Vulture nodded cryptically. “Quite odd indeed…”
“It’s obviously a fox,” said Muxtar growing annoyed. “What’s the point of zooming in? And what’s so strange?”
“Yes, it’s a fox all right,” mumbled Badger. “But is it our Fox?”
“Whose else’s could she be?” Muxtar cocked his head to one side.
“Maybe she’s a stray from the Near Woods?” suggested Badgercat.
“Or a farm fox,” said Chief Badger.
“A farm fox?” Muxtar cocked his head to the other side. “We don’t have any foxes at Huntington Farm!”
“Regardless, the quality of the image is very poor,” said electric Ray.
“The quality is fine,” barked Muxtar. “Don’t beat around the bush, electric eel. Turn it back on. Your fox is about to murder our chicken.”
Ray looked inquisitively at Chief Badger. He wasn’t about to obey Muxtar’s orders. Badger nodded silently. The fox on the screen came back to life. It seized the chicken and bit its head off. The poor bird ran around for a bit without its head and then it was over.
“The poor thing,” whimpered Badgercat. “Poor Chicken Four! She laid an egg for us!”
“Hang in there, Son.” Chief Badger patted Badgercat on the back.
“If I may be so bold,” said Vulture. “The quality of the image doesn’t allow me to determine for certain that the victim was Chicken Four and not, for instance, Chicken Five, Six, or Seven.”
“Don’t try to console me,” hissed Badgercat. “I’m not a baby. I know that was my favorite chicken—Chicken Four!”
“Ray, can you zoom in on the victim’s body?” asked Chief Badger. “My colleague Vulture and I would like to take a closer look at the bite marks.”
“Holy claw!” yowled Badgercat. “I don’t want to see that!”
“I agree with the kittyhamster. There’s no need,” said Muxtar. “In the name of Huntington Farm, I declare a Hunt on the Far Woods.”
“Hold on a minute,” Badger raised his paw. “What about an investigation? What about questioning witnesses? What about forensic tests?”
“Who needs all that when it’s obvious what happened?” Muxtar shook himself off, rattling his heavy collar. “Your fox snuck into our coop and mauled our chicken to death. So now it’s our turn to maul you.”
“I insist on a further investigation!” Chief Badger tried to sound unyielding.
“Absolutely not,” said Muxtar flatly. “The Hunt is about to start. Polkan and the others are already on their way. I just came early to show you the footage and to formally declare the Hunt, so that everything is fair and square.”
“Fair and square would be to give us time to evacuate the women and children,” exclaimed Badger.
“Evacu-eight?” Muxtar cocked his head.
“Evacuate. Remove from the woods.”
“No way. You maul our chickens—and in case you’ve forgotten, they’re women. So we’ll maul yours. Well, I’ve got to go meet the pack. See you soon at the Hunt.”
“Find me Rabbit, now!” said Badger to Badgercat, watching after the disappearing dog. “If he wants to make up for his previous wrongdoing, here’s his chance. Tell him to give them the runaround, to double back on his tracks and throw the hunting hounds off their game. It’ll win us some time. At least a bit of time.”
“What good will that do?” asked Badgercat desperately. “We’re going to lose the Hunt either way.”
“Never give up, friend,” said Ray, encouragingly patting Badgercat on the back, causing him to jump from the electric shock, his fur and whiskers standing on end.
“Hopefully in that time Starling will return,” said Badger. “I very much hope that nothing has happened to him and he’ll be back any minute. With important intelligence.”
“Exactly! Never lose hope!” Ray tried to pat Badgercat again, but Badgercat jumped out of his way.
CHAPTER 9: IN WHICH IT'S A DOG EAT DOG WORLD
“What a strange chick.” Nina Palna placed the starling on her cutting board and carefully examined him. She held him down with her right hand, so he wouldn’t fly away, and in her left hand she held a cleaver.
“Dark brown on one side…and his other side seems to be losing feathers…” She put her cleaver aside and tugged at the costume’s torn seam. The chick costume quietly slipped off the starling falling to the floor.
“My, oh my, what’s this?” Nina Palna was so surprised she loosened her grip on the starling, and he immediately soared to the ceiling. “And he can fly? No, it’s definitely not a chick…looks more like a starling…Where do you think you’re going?”
Starling made his way to the open window but ran into something sheer and unyielding—a window screen.
“You won’t be flying out of here,” Nina Palna smiled contentedly. “Right, Marquise? Here, kitty kitty. Come here, sweetie. Look, Marquisey-poo, we’ve got a woodland visitor—a starling.” Nina Palna’s voice became as sweet as crystallized honey. “You can catch it! Here, kitty kitty!”
Marquise hated to be called Marquisey-poo. If it wasn’t for the bird, she would’ve simply ignored Nina Palna. But she really wanted to catch the bird. She wanted to play with it, then smother it. So Marquise waited a few minutes, so Nina Palna would grovel a bit more, and then, her nose held high, leisurely walked into the kitchen through her custom-made cat door. There was, indeed, a starling flying around the kitchen.
“My sweetheart Marquisey-poo. How I love you, my darling kitty! If you catch the starling, I’ll pluck it and cook it and you can feast on it, my sweetie.”
Marquise fixed her yellow, moonlike eyes on the starling. The tip of her tail began twitching. Upon seeing the cat, Starling panicked. He swerved sharply and flew right into a piece of twine strung with drying mushrooms that hung from the ceiling. Mushrooms rained down on the floor, on Nina Palna, and on Marquise.
“You little devil!” yelped Nina Palna. “My favorite porcini mu
shrooms! They’re all over the floor! They’re dirty! They’re ruined!”
“My favorite porcini mushrooms!” yelled Starling in Nina Palna’s voice. “My favorite! My favorite!”
“Yes, they’re my favorite,” repeated Nina Palna. “I love picking mushrooms!”
He had been right—grandfather Starling had been 100 percent right. It turns out it wasn’t just animals, but people, too, who fell for his trick: repeating their words would cause them to spill all their secrets.
I might never escape this torture chamber they call a kitchen, thought Starling. I might be plucked and cooked...but I’m a spy. I’ve got to complete my mission. I’ve got to find out what Nina Palna loves most of all and what she’s most afraid of.
“I love picking mushrooms more than anything,” repeated Starling, landing on the kitchen table.
“Yes, exactly!” said Nina Palna crawling around the kitchen on all fours gathering up the mushrooms. Marquise crept up to the table and readied herself for attack.
“I love my darling kitty?” said Starling in Nina Palna’s voice. “More than anything?”
“I love my darling kitty too,” nodded Nina Palna. “But I love porcini mushrooms just a tiny bit more. You can fry them, roast them, marinate them, make soup out of them…But cats aren’t edible. You can’t cook a cat.”
Marquise forgot about the starling and glared at Nina Palna in shock. She was absolutely sure that Nina Palna loved her most of all because there simply wasn’t anyone or anything more perfect than Marquise herself. Nina Palna’s words insulted Marquise to her very core. Mushrooms? A fungus? Really? How could she love mushrooms more than a snow-white, fluffy, angelic cat? Nonsense! Complete and utter nonsense. Apparently, Nina Palna was in need of a reality check. Marquise crouched down, hissing, and jumped on Nina Palna’s back, digging her claws into her sides.
“Help!” screeched Nina Palna causing the dishes in the china cabinet to vibrate. “Help! Wolf attack!”
Marquise gave Nina Palna’s ribs a quick bite then jumped off of her onto the china cabinet and gave a satisfied stretch. That’ll show her who to love most of all, thought the cat. She looked around in search of the starling. He was still sitting on the kitchen table, curiously studying Nina Palna’s cleaver. Marquise readied herself to pounce once more…
“The big bad wolf!” Nina Palna clutched her ribs. She teetered and fell to the floor with a thud, bumping into the china cabinet on her way down. “I’m so scared! The horrible wolf!”
Marquise jumped off the china cabinet right in time, before it, too, crashed to the floor. Glasses, plates, and vases spilled out, chiming and ringing as they shattered into hundreds of fragments. Starling took flight, narrowly avoiding a careening salad bowl shard, and began circling Nina Palna like a vulture.
“I’m so scared!” he yelled in Nina Palna’s voice. “The big bad wolf!”
“So that’s how the cookie crumbles,” said Nina Palna to herself, her eyes watering. “You live your life, not bothering a soul, and then the day comes when your very own cat suddenly turns into a wolf and attacks you. That’s my biggest fear—that the story about the big bad wolf turns out to be true. And that he’ll huff and puff and blow my house down and then eat me…”
She’s got to be kidding, thought Marquise. How can anyone confuse a snow-white, fluffy, angelic, supple cat with a mang y gray wolf? I’m going to catch that bird—show Nina Palna how graceful I am. Marquise jumped onto the kitchen table, from there she grabbed on to the curtain, then leaped onto the chandelier, and finally swooped down from the swinging chandelier straight onto the starling. She overtook him midflight, backhanded him with her clawed paw, and as he fell at Nina Palna’s legs, she gracefully landed nearby.
Now, I’ll play with this cute little woodland bird for a bit, then smother it. And Nina Palna will make me a delicious starling soup… What’s that strange sound? Sounds like hooves…
“Stop the soup!” came a chicken’s shrill squawking from behind the kitchen door. And in that same instant, something heavy rammed into the door causing it to fly open.
In pranced the mini pig Pence with Chicken Four on his back. Marquise was in such shock she loosened her grip, and Starling fluttered out from under her paw.
“A pig and a chicken,” identified a stunned Nina Palna. “They must want to be cooked, so they came into the kitchen.”
“Free the bird!” yelped Chicken Four. “Free Starling!”
“Go on, Starling,” Pence indicated toward the open door with his eyes. “Fly home!”
“Fly home?” asked Starling, fluttering above Pence.
“Yes, fly home to the Far Woods! Chicken Four told me that you were a good guy, that you—”
“Shared your nuts with me,” interrupted Chicken Four.
“—shared your nuts, yes. And that you work for the Far Woods Police. Fly home and tell the Police Badgers the danger we’re all in here at Huntington Farm. There are so many terrible crimes committed here. Fly fast! Chicken Four and I will cover for you. Also, there’s something behind the doghouse. I think it’s a piece of evidence. You’ve got to take it with you to the woods.”
“Thank you, friends,” said Starling, flying out of the kitchen. “I’ll find the evidence!”
“You want Starling to do a dance?” asked Chicken Four.
“Evidence,” repeated the mini pig, looking through the window after Starling, who was disappearing in the direction of the woods with the evidence in his beak. He was flying very low, as it weighed more than the bird himself. “Evidence is proof. Proof of who is guilty of—”
“Chicken slaughter!” yelped Chicken Four, not letting him finish. “Butcher! Butcher! Butcher!”
Pence tore his eyes off the window and looked up. Nina Palna was standing over him wearing her butcher’s apron, the one with cherries on it. She was holding her cleaver.
* * *
“A fox mask,” said Vulture. “There’s no doubt about it. The piece of evidence that Starling has delivered is a fox mask.”
“There’s no doubt about it,” said Starling and ate ten more pine nuts. “A fox mask.”
“And you’re absolutely sure that Chicken Four is alive?” asked Badgercat for the tenth time. “And that it was Chicken Five who was killed?”
“Absolutely sure,” nodded Starling. “Chicken Four is alive. It was Chicken Five who was killed.”
“Amazing news!” Badgercat began purring at a level four of bliss.
“Are you feeling better?” asked Chief Badger, watching Starling swallowing up nuts with adoration.
“Better.”
“Okay. So we’ve got the testimonies of the chicken-witnesses. We’ve found out what Nina Palna loves and what she’s afraid of. Now, please play the testimony of the main witness Pence the pig.”
“I haven’t been sleeping well, darling,” said Starling in the mini pig’s voice. “I keep thinking about your extra weight and the apple-nut-honey stuffing…So, yes, I saw something. Something very strange. The chicken wasn’t killed by a fox. It was killed by a dog wearing a fox mask. I definitely saw that it was a dog, but I couldn’t make out the breed in the dark. Darling, I think it was Muxtar. I think it bothered him that the chickens had started to rebel, chanting ‘stop the soup.’ I assume he killed the chicken to put an end to their uprising. But he pretended to be a fox so that Nina Palna wouldn’t punish him.” Starling gobbled up a few more nuts, then continued in Petunia’s voice. “It’s a dog eat dog world! You can’t trust a soul!”
“Thank you,” said Chief Badger.
“That dog, Muxtar,” hissed Badgercat, letting his claws out instinctively. “I knew he couldn’t be trusted.”
CHAPTER 10: IN WHICH THERE'S A RUNAROUND
Rabbit ran. Around and around he ran. He could hear the barking of the hunting hounds on his trail. The tips of his ears and tail could almost feel their hot, greedy breathing. He knew his strength was leaving him. He knew the hounds were closing in. But he kept running. He
was trying to lead his pursuers as far away from the heavily populated areas of the Far Woods as possible, just like Badgercat had asked him to. Yes, he ran.
He had to make it up to the Far Woods, he had to save the animals because he had done them wrong. He had done something awful. Just recently, he had lied to and stolen from his best friend, the coyote, Yote. Just recently, he had tried to frame the innocent Wolf and take away his den. He had deceived the residents of the Far Woods and this—running in circles to the heavy beating of his own heart, throwing the hounds off their game—was the only way to win back their trust.
Circling. Circling. Doubling back on my own tracks. Leap to the right. Leap again. Then back to the left. Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Barking dogs. Wheezing dogs. The dogs are near. Heartbeat. At least there’s still a heartbeat. It’s deafening. Circling. Weaving. Doubling back on my own tracks. Leap to the right. Leap again. Then back…stop. I’m not the only one circling around this brook. I see someone else’s tracks…someone bigger…someone more sly. They disappear under that moss-covered stump. An animal has already circled around here recently. A predator…
“What are you doing here, little Rabbit?” asked Fox unkindly. She was sitting in a hastily dug hole under the moss-covered stump. She looked menacing.
He couldn’t turn back because of the dogs. But in front of him was a fox. Well, this is the end, he thought, freezing in place instinctively. Not that it did any good. If it had been winter and there was snow, then it would’ve been a different story. The white rabbit would’ve been invisible against the white background. Yes, in the snow he could’ve been still and hoped that the predator wouldn’t notice him…
“What’re you standing still for?” asked Fox. “You really think I can’t see you against the grass and fallen leaves?”
“Are you about to maul me?” asked Rabbit point blank. He had nothing to lose. “Maul a father of twenty-five?”
“Why would I maul you?” asked Fox.
“You’re a predator. A killer fox.”
A Predator's Rights Page 4