The Plucker: A Beastly Crimes Book

by Anna Starobinets

  “To be fair, that hasn’t been proven yet—” mumbled Chief Badger.

  “You,” screamed Super Bat, “are Chief Badger of the Far Woods Police! You should’ve been questioning Barber Warbler! But instead you were stuffing your obese snout at the Tree Knot Tavern and losing precious time! And now you have the nerve to weigh in on the investigation?”

  “I simply meant it hasn’t been proven yet that Badgercat is—”

  “Look at the innocent victim!” Super Bat waved her wing in the direction of Ro. “Look at his burnt feathers!” She swung her triangular mouth in the direction of the oak. “Look at the trail of Arctic being dragged away! Look at the unfinished berry ice cream laced with rat poison! And look—Badgercat’s paw prints! His paw prints are everywhere! Am I right, Vulture?”

  Vulture shook his beak irritably and continued his examination. He hated being pulled away from his work. He had just planted a dozen fruit flies on the melted ice cream. He was monitoring their behavior while consulting a stopwatch. Most of the flies had stopped moving, but two were still wiggling their legs. Vulture already had confirmed that none of the flies had died; they were merely asleep. The speed of this reaction as it correlated with the body mass of the flies and the amount of ice cream eaten was very important for—

  “Vulture!” screeched Super Bat, switching to ultrasound out of irritation and then out of it. “I asked you a question!”

  “If I may, I haven’t finished my examination yet—”

  “You may not!” squealed Super Bat and hung upside down in the canopy of the oak. “I have an exceptional sense of smell, and I know it’s rat poison!” She swung from side to side. “I have exceptional eyesight, and I know that those are Badgercat’s paw prints! I do not need you at all for this investigation, Vulture! Your endless examinations are a complete waste of time! A super animal such as myself can independently smell, see, and measure everything at this crime scene in less than a second!”

  “As you wish.” Vulture was so insulted, his beak began to quiver, causing him to drop one of his fruit flies. “However, I also discovered—”

  “I wouldn’t,” said Chief Badger carefully treading on Vulture’s foot. “Best to keep quiet.”

  “And, finally, look at the witness!” Super Bat dropped from the oak, straight on to Barbara, except at the last second changed her trajectory and zoomed toward the hollow. “Barbara, recount exactly how Badgercat caught and plucked sparrow Ro and dragged Arctic away from the slaughterhouse!”

  “Special agent Super Bat,” Chief Badger cleared his throat. “I understand that you are upset. But you are leading the witness by putting words in her mouth—”

  “Silence, Badger!” Super Bat stuck her furious face out of the hollow. “Speak, witness Barbara! You were here. You saw everything.”

  “I didn’t see . . . ,” said Barbara trembling and shutting her eyes.

  “The patient is in shock,” reported Doc Hawk. “She’s in need of a mouse psychologist.”

  “Mice are for the weak,” said Super Bat. “Chief Badger, turn on that starling of yours, so he can record this.”

  “You can’t turn officer Starling on or off. He’s a living creature and—”

  “Irrelevant! Speak, Barbara.”

  Barbara took a big gulp of pine-needle tea from her disposable birch cup, heaved, and began coughing.

  “The patient—”

  “Irrelevant!”

  “It’s from the rat poison,” said Barbara in a weak voice.

  “Badgercat forced you to eat rat poison?” suggested Super Bat.

  “Yes.”

  “Badgercat?” clarified Chief Badger. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, he didn’t exactly force me,” mumbled Barbara. “But if he hadn’t added the poison to the ice cream, I wouldn’t have eaten it.”

  “Get your story straight!” ordered Super Bat.

  “I delivered cloudberry ice cream to Mr. A . . . I mean to Arctic. I put it in the oak hollow, like I always do. But before that. . . Wait. You have witness protection. Right? I can only tell you what happened if you have witness protection.” Barbara began visibly shaking.

  “We will provide you protection in exchange for your testimony.” Super Bat used the claw on the tip of her wing to clean off her echo locators so that she wouldn’t miss any superimportant information. “Don’t worry. You’ll be assigned two guard dogs.”

  “No dogs, please! They frighten me! Just don’t tell my boss, coyote Yote.”

  “Don’t tell him what?”

  “That it was hot . . . and the ice cream smelled so good . . . and, anyway, I took a few bites. I didn’t know there was poison in it!”

  “Oh dear! Rat poison isn’t a joke,” said Chief Badger in alarm. “Maybe she needs an antidote?” he turned to Hawk. “Or a blood test to make sure everything is all right?”

  “Blood test?” whispered Barbara and shut her eyes again.

  “Don’t worry, if she only took a few bites, her life is not in danger,” said Hawk.

  “Taking into account her body mass, even if she had eaten all the ice cream, she would’ve been fine,” said Vulture. “I can make this conclusion based on my findings of the correlation of the fruit flies’ body mass to the speed at which—”

  “Irrelevant!’ squealed Super Bat. “How much longer must we discuss this? Doc Hawk, does the witness need a blood test or not?”

  “As a doctor, I always err on the side of caution and do everything possible—”

  “Please, no,” whimpered Barbara. “I’m scared of needles.”

  “But taking into account the psychological state of the patient—I mean the witness—there is no urgent need to do a blood test.”

  “Phew,” Barbara exhaled with relief.

  “Back to the questioning,” said Super Bat. “So, witness, you ate some ice—”

  “Barbara, how are you going to fly into space if you’re scared of everything?” interrupted Chief Badger. “You’re scared of dogs. You’re scared of needles. Your father, Bullet, the badger-astronaut, probably had to undergo all sorts of blood tests before flying into outer space—”

  “Silence!” screeched Super Bat. “I asked the witness a relevant question and you. . .” She suddenly stopped talking and looked over at Badger, then at Barbara. “Who is this father Bullet, badger-astronaut? What are you talking about?”

  “My father was the first badger on the moon,” whispered Barbara, staring at the ground.

  “Nonsense,” said Super Bat. “I know everything about animals in space. As a flying special agent, I was trained at the Beastly Sky Academy. A badger has never been in space. Badgers are fat, lazy, listless animals. The only animals who’ve been to space are two dogs, Belka and Strelka, unintelligent, though very hardy and obedient, and a few bats, whose names are classified—”

  “But my father—”

  “And, most important,” continued Super Bat, “you do not have a father named Bullet. You don’t have a father at all. Since you’ve only recently moved to the Far Woods and since it wasn’t clear what brought you here, I checked your personal information in my database. You were raised by a single mother. Your father was indicated as ‘seasonal,’ and his name is unknown. It means he was never married to your mother. It means he abandoned her after the mating season and was never interested in your fate.”

  Barbara whimpered.

  “How inappropriate and cruel to speak to a witness in that tone and about such traumatic events!” Chief Badger threw up his paws in frustration, accidently knocking over Vulture’s briefcase. It tipped over and something crunched inside.

  “Oh, clumsy me,” mumbled Badger with embarrassment. “Sorry, Vulture! Let me take care of that,” and he started opening the briefcase.

  “I think I’d better do it,” said Vulture, agitated.

  “No, no, I was the one who knocked it over, so let me fix it.” As he reached for the briefcase, there came another much louder crunch.

  “Son o
f a badger!” Chief Badger looked at Vulture in despair. “Vulture, I’m sorry! I accidently crushed your vial of mosquitoes . . . Look, there they all go—”

  “I’ve never seen a police badger be in such abominable beastly shape!” Super Bat began smirking shrilly and flipping through the air. “You are uncoordinated! You’ve completely lost control of your portly body!”

  “I guess it really is time for me to retire,” sulked Chief Badger.

  “Do not doubt it for a second. You will retire very soon. Most likely dishonorably. I can promise you the Plucker case will be your last.”

  “Those insects were probably your lunch,” Chief Badger said, looking guiltily at Vulture and ignoring Super Bat. “I have some leftover Bump on a Log I can share with you. . .”

  “They were not my lunch. They were for work.”

  “Speaking of work”—Super Bat hung upside down on an oak branch right above Barbara—“let’s return to questioning the witness. So, badger Barbara, you did not smell the rat poison and ignored your professional duties and took a bite of the ice cream you were delivering to the customer and then put it in the hollow. What happened next?”

  “I waited off to the side for Arctic to come and get his order. He took the ice cream and, as always, put the payment in the hollow. Then he walked toward the slaughterhouse, taking big bites of ice cream. Then, right in front of the door, he suddenly fell over. I thought he’d maybe had heatstroke, because he’s from the North where—”

  “Get to the point,” ordered Super Bat.

  “I was about to call Doc Hawk, when I saw Badgercat come out from behind the slaughterhouse, carrying an empty sack. I’ve never seen Badgercat, but he looked exactly like who they showed on the root-tube. He bent over Arctic, felt his pulse, and ripped out a piece of fur from his tail. Then he stuffed him in the sack. That’s when I suddenly felt very tired and . . . Anyway, the last thing I remember is Arctic in a sack.”

  “So you didn’t see Badgercat pluck sparrow Ro and burn his feathers?” asked Chief Badger, relieved.

  “Of course she didn’t,” Super Bat answered for Barbara. “Badgercat plucked Ro after she already had fallen asleep from the rat poison.”

  “That hasn’t been proven yet,” said Badger stubbornly.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll prove it,” said Super Bat smirking. “Now, Barbara, tell us what happened when you woke up.”

  “When I woke up, Badgercat and Arctic were gone. I was worried I’d get in trouble at work for being gone so long. I went to the hollow to get the payment, but instead of cones . . .” Barbara closed her eyes for a second. “I found him: the plucked sparrow.”

  “I see.” Super Bat nodded. “Badgercat plucked the sparrow, burned his feathers, put the victim in the hollow, and took the cones.”

  “That’s unsubstantiated,” said Badger through clenched teeth.

  “It’s obvious. Continue.”

  “I wanted to call the police, but I don’t have a croak account yet. So I tried to reach Magpie, so she would bring you the news on her tail. You know how the commercial goes: ‘Got news to share? Magpie cares! She’ll bring it on her tail. She never fails! Summon her with this tune, and she’ll be there soon: Rat-a-tat, rat-tat-tat. How easy is that?’ But for some reason she never showed up. It was probably just an advertising gimmick. Or she was too busy with other news. I was about to walk to the police station when you, special agent Super Bat, fell from the sky. And about five minutes later, Chief Badger arrived.”

  “If I may, Super Bat, how did you know to fall from the sky here, at the slaughterhouse, if you were not informed of the crime by a frog or by Magpie? If it’s not a secret . . .” Chief Badger looked bravely into the bat’s bulging black eyes.

  “It’s no secret. My echo locators picked up Barbara’s call for Magpie: Rat-a-tat, rat-tat-tat. Any other questions, Chief Badger?”

  “Yes, I have a question for Barbara. Did you touch the sparrow or his burnt feathers?”

  “Me? No way! I’m scared of dead birds.”

  “He isn’t dead!” protested Hawk.

  “Well, I thought he was dead. Why do you ask? Are you suspecting me of something?”

  “I was just thinking you may have accidently touched the sparrow or his feathers while looking for the cones in the hollow. You must understand, Barbara, Vulture will check for all animal prints in and around the hollow and on the body of the victim. If he finds your prints there, it could be problematic for you.”

  “He won’t find my prints there,” said Barbara confidently.

  “That concludes our questioning,” squealed Super Bat. “I am announcing a new special operation for the capture of Badgercat, effective immediately. It’s called Operation Anticat. Dogs! Surround the slaughterhouse within a three-mile radius—”

  “What radios?” asked the alpha dog Count, cocking his head to one side. All the other dogs followed suit.

  “Idiots! Do you have anything between your ears besides fleas? ‘Radius’ means around!”

  “How rude,” growled Count. “We don’t have fleas. Nina Palna treats us for fleas every month. And worms too. And sorry we don’t know about your radios. We didn’t graduate from the Beastly Sky Academy.”

  “Speaking of radios,” Super Bat ignored Count and turned to Vulture, “the Wanted Ad for Badgercat and information regarding the reward for his capture should not only be transmitted on the root-tube—”

  “You have no respect for us,” interrupted Count. “We’re risking our lives! The Plucker could shoot us with his rifle!”

  “What? Badgercat doesn’t have a rifle.”

  “Seems like he does now,” said Count. “Today someone stole a hunting rifle from Huntington Farm.”

  “And you didn’t catch the perpetrator?”

  “We don’t have enough dogs!” barked Count. “All our forces are busy guarding birds and sniffing out the Plucker!”

  “And while you’re sniffing him out, he calmly walks into Huntington Farm, takes a rifle, and walks out. Am I understanding you correctly?”

  Count guiltily flattened his ears against his head and didn’t respond.

  “Vulture, from this day forward, information regarding a reward for capturing Badgercat should be transmitted on the radio. And have them report that he is armed and dangerous.”

  “I’m sorry, Super Bat, but I doubt we can do that today,” said Vulture.

  “Why? It’s a direct order!”

  “Because weather doesn’t follow orders. Our radio station, Thunder FM, only works during thunderstorms. But today’s forecast is clear.”

  “Exactly,” yapped Count. “The Great Dog of Thunder doesn’t send thunder every day.”

  “You are living in the stone ages!” screeched Super Bat. “Worshipping great dogs? A radio that only works during storms? In a day and age when normal, advanced super animals, such as myself, have built-in radio systems with more than a hundred stations!”

  “There’s only one Great Dog,” said Count.

  “What?”

  “Well, you said, ‘great dogs.’ But there’s only the one Great Dog. You’ve insulted—”

  “Irrelevant! Are your orders clear, dogs?”

  “Aye aye,” grumbled Count.

  “Vulture and Starling, continue numbering birds and collecting samples of their feathers. Now, goodbye. I’m going to the top. I have a meeting.”

  “What’s my assignment?” asked Chief Badger.

  “Nothing,” said Super Bat frowning. “Your behavior today leads me to believe I can no longer trust you with anything important.”

  Badger hunched over, teetering slightly, and looked down, as if her words had hit him in the face.

  “Maybe I could stay here and clean up?” he mumbled. “The empty cups, the vial I broke, the other trash?”

  “It’s time to retire,” said Starling sadly.

  “Why are you groveling, Chief Badger?” whispered Vulture. “Have some self-respect!”

  “Whispering i
s futile, Vulture!” said Super Bat. “I have exceptional hearing and can clearly hear you. And you”—she turned to Badger—“should, indeed, stay here and clean up. You aren’t fit for anything else.”

  CHAPTER 6: IN WHICH AN ENEMY'S ENEMY IS A FRIEND

  “Why did you let Arctic go?”

  “He’s innocent,” said Badgercat.

  Ratty was silent, his expression deadpan.

  But Badgercat had learned to distinguish the nuances of Ratty’s expressions. His current one was clearly disapproving.

  “Arctic is not the Plucker,” Badgercat added for emphasis. “Although he is despicable. I told him to scram to his Arctic Circle and never show his muzzle here again.”

  Ratty stayed silent. Badgercat didn’t like it when Ratty was quiet for so long. It made him feel uneasy, and he’d start to think that Ratty didn’t exist, that he was all alone.

  “Don’t think I didn’t make sure his story checked out,” continued Badgercat. “I have reliable sources.”

  “I don’t think,” said Ratty flatly. “I know it was a mistake to let him go. He’ll turn you in to the first animal he sees. He’ll reveal your whereabouts. And you shouldn’t have checked his story. Those very sources will also turn you in.”

  “But I couldn’t hold an innocent animal captive!”

  “That sounds emotional. I don’t like emotions. You can do whatever you want. Keeping Arctic would’ve been advantageous for you. But you let him go. That was risky. Taking risks is not advantageous. Now you must flee the Black House at once. I’ll take you to another hideout.”

  “Thank you, friend. But I need a little more time here—half an hour or an hour, tops.”

  “You don’t have that kind of time, Badgercat. The whole area is surrounded. Hunting hounds are behind every corner. There’s a special operation put into effect for the sole purpose of finding you. Weasel approved it herself at an emergency meeting. It’s called Operation Anticat.”