The Plucker: A Beastly Crimes Book

by Anna Starobinets

  “How dare you insult a victim of plucking?” an outraged Doc Hawk yelled after her.

  “Very strange,” mumbled Chief Badger. “According to the ballad, the next victim ought to be Hawk. Or Warbler. Or, at the very least, the raven. There aren’t any penguins in the poem.”

  “The penguin probably just ran off, so he wouldn’t have to pay his bill at the Tree Knot Tavern,” suggested Barbara, forcing a giggle.

  “Why are your paws behind your back?” asked Badger, looking at Barbara. “Did I forget to take off your pawcuffs? Silly me!”

  “No, I simply like holding my paws like this,” said Barbara turning, so Badger couldn’t see her paws.

  “What are you hiding?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re lying again! Show your paws at once!”

  “Fine,” Barbara whimpered. “I’ll show you. But I didn’t steal it! I found it fair and square! Look!”

  * * *

  Chief Badger stared at a singed piece of birch bark. A very long time ago, in a past life, Badger had commissioned a talented bird to peck out a family portrait: him and his wife. Apparently it had survived the fire. Well, actually, Badger had been burned off, but the image of his wife remained intact.

  “Bar . . . Bar . . . Barbara. Why do you want that picture?” Chief Badger asked, his lips trembling.

  “Because it’s a picture of my mother, Melissandra! Mama is the most beautiful honey badger in the world. There’s no way I wouldn’t recognize her. The rest of the picture is burned, but you can see a male paw. That’s my father! I am sure that’s my father! If I find a professional restoration artist, he can re-create the missing piece and I’ll know what he looked like! I’ll finally see my father.”

  “You don’t need to re-create the missing piece to see your father,” said Badger barely audibly. “Badger logic: you’re looking at him . . . at me . . . right now.”

  “How moving! What wonderful news,” Magpie waxed poetic. “Chief Badger has a daughter! I’ll spread the news to all the woods!” Magpie stood up, staggered, and dreamily spread her plucked wings.

  “There will be none of that,” said Hawk sternly. “You need to take it easy, Magpie. I’ve prescribed you bed rest. Besides, without any flight feathers, you won’t be able to take off.”

  “Beds are for hamsters.” Magpie waved away the doctor. “My life-blood, my oxygen, is fresh news! I spread news! That’s just the way it is. So, Barbara, do you have anything to say? About finding your father?”

  “Traitor! How could you abandon Mama and me?” Barbara stared at Chief Badger, her eyes filling with tears, and ran out of the Black House.

  CHAPTER 14: IN WHICH A BOW TIE IS REQUIRED

  “Pluck and burn!” mumbled Badgercat and abruptly opened his eyes.

  He was curled up in a ball, his breathing shallow and uneven. His nose was covered in sweat, his fur stood on end, and the clods of dirt on his tail trembled like dried-out berries on a thorny bush. The rising sun peered into his eyes through the grate of the sewer cover. His new hideout was bathed in a checked shadow, like a prison cell.

  Another nightmare. The same one as always.

  “The same nightmare again?” Ratty was leaning over him. “You dreamed that you were the Plucker? Here, chew on this catnip. It’ll help.”

  Badgercat nodded and put a bit of catnip under his tongue. He rubbed his swollen eyes with his paws.

  “Something is wrong with me, Ratty,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid I have an evil side.”

  “What?” asked Ratty.

  “I mean: what if I really did something awful? And then forgot about it? My nightmares—they must mean something.”

  “There’s no such thing as sides,” said Ratty calmly. “You’re just very tired. And you’re alone against the world. That’s why you’re having nightmares.”

  “I’m not alone. I have you, Ratty. You’re my only friend.”

  “Now you must start relying on yourself, Badgercat. Only yourself,” said Ratty dully.

  “Now? What are you talking about? Are you leaving? You’re abandoning me? Hey! Where are you going? You never comb you whiskers! And why do you have a bow tie on your tail?”

  “When you’re called to Madame Weasel’s office, there’s a strict dress code. A bow tie is required.”

  “You’re going to see Weasel?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’ll be back. Right?”

  “I hope so,” said Ratty. Badgercat detected something very akin to fear in his voice. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Are you afraid Weasel will bite your head off?” asked Badgercat nervously. “Don’t go! Please don’t go!”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” said Ratty proudly. “What doesn’t kill a rat, makes it grayer.”

  “But Weasel kills rats! She bites off their heads and rips out their hearts!”

  “A real rat lives life as if its heart has already been ripped out.”

  “Then think of me, Ratty, if you don’t want to think of yourself! If you aren’t here. . .”

  “I’m not here. I’m your shadow.”

  “I don’t understand, Ratty,” Badgercat said, sighing desperately. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s ancient rat wisdom: don’t have a shadow—be a shadow. You probably can’t understand. Goodbye, friend!”

  Ratty gave a quick wave, turned, and disappeared into the darkness of a sewage pipe.

  “Friend . . . ,” Badgercat quietly repeated.

  Up until now, Ratty had never called him “a friend.”

  CHAPTER 15: IN WHICH A HEART BEATS LIKE A WOODPECKER

  “Wait! Bar . . . bara!” panted Chief Badger as he ran, falling more and more behind the young badger. “I’m bea . . . stly out of shape! I can’t run . . . this fast! Wait! Daugh . . . ter!”

  “Daughter?” Barbara stopped abruptly in a patch of raspberry bushes and turned her angry face toward him. “So now I’m your daughter? Now that Magpie went off to spread the news? Now you’re going to pretend you’re a good father? Otherwise, what will everyone think? You’re known as a kind, fair badger! But don’t expect me to participate in this charade! I’ll tell . . .” Barbara’s face screwed up with tears, and instantly she turned from an angry young badger to a hurt little cub. “I’ll tell everyone that you abandoned Mama and me!”

  “I didn’t . . . abandon . . . you.” Chief Badger collapsed heavily into a raspberry bush. “I was sure that Melissandra. . . that your mother had died! That she’d perished in the fire!”

  “What about me?”

  “You were still in the womb! We were awaiting your arrival in September.”

  “Yes, my birthday is in September. Mama and I always picked mushrooms on my birthday.” Barbara seemed to ease up. “And danced in the rain.”

  “Your mother . . . Melissandra . . . loved to dance in the rain,” said Chief Badger, then summoned his courage. “Did she die?”

  “Why on earth would you think that? She’s alive and well.”

  Chief Badger suddenly felt like his heart had become very heavy and fallen from its usual place down into his stomach—and then stopped beating completely.

  “Mama lives in Underwood. That’s beyond the Near Woods.”

  Badger’s heart jumped back up into his chest and began beating at triple speed. He thought the sound of his heart could be heard through the whole woods, that it was overtaking the sound of the blowing wind, the rustling leaves, the chirping of the cicadas, the morning birdsongs, the renovation work by the team of woodpeckers. . . She was alive. She lived nearby—only a few hours away by foot. She was alive! And he had lived his life without her.

  “How did that happen?” asked Barbara, as if hearing his thoughts. “Why are you living apart? Why did Mama hide the truth from me? Why did she lie about my astronaut father?”

  “It’s my fault.” Badger sighed heavily. “I should’ve protected your mother, but instead I endangered her. That fire was my fault. I don’t
understand how Melissandra survived, but I understand why she decided never to see me again. And to not let you, our cub, anywhere near me.”

  “A fire? So what?” Barbara frowned. “Even if you burned down the burrow, you probably didn’t do it on purpose. Love is more important than a burrow! I don’t understand Mama’s reaction!”

  “I wasn’t the one who burned down the burrow,” said Chief Badger solemnly. “And that wasn’t the problem. The problem was I brought a stranger into our home. And he destroyed everything.”

  “Who?”

  “A very dangerous bird.”

  “A bird? What bird? And why?”

  “I thought it was my duty. It was a crowned—”

  “How sweet! Father badger and daughter badger are catching up” came Count’s bark from behind another raspberry bush. “But I’m afraid I must interrupt. My pack has a lead!”

  “What lead?” asked Badger, sticking his nose out of a raspberry bush.

  “Badgercat!”

  CHAPTER 16: IN WHICH BADGERCAT TALKS TO HIS SHADOW

  “No. Today I won’t travel underground. Okay, Ratty? I’m going to travel above ground. In the light of day. And my evil side will disappear. Why? You want to know why? Simple. Badger logic! Shadows disappear at high noon! No, no, no! I don’t want to hear it, Ratty. You’re a shadow! You’re a shadow with a bitten-off head and no heart! You don’t exist! You never existed! Think about it. Has anyone else, besides me, ever seen you? Could I find a single witness who would confirm your existence? No and no! When Magpie would come by, you’d always be hiding. When I caught Arctic in a sack, you were hiding. When I interrogated Arctic, you were hiding. You gave me the rat poison, but how can I prove it? Obviously, I found the poison myself! I know perfectly well that it acts as a sedative in small doses! What? What are you saying? You helped me hide underground? Showed me the rat tunnels? Don’t make me laugh! I know all the rat tunnels myself. When I was a teenager I’d run away from Chief Badger’s house at night and hunt rats. I’d hunt your fellow rats. Do you understand? What? You told me about Operation Anticat? Don’t give yourself so much credit. I might be insane and have memory lapses, but my reasoning skills are fine! You hear me? My badger logic is fine! Magpie brought me news of Anticat on her tail! What? You can confirm my alibi? You’ll say I wasn’t at the Black House when she was plucked? Really? Well, thanks for that! You’re a real friend, Ratty. The only problem is no one will listen to you. Why not? Because you don’t exist! Then who exists? I DO! The Plucker! I am the Plucker with memory lapses! Arctic told me the truth when he sat on the Hedgy-graph. Of course, I was the one who put on a mask and stole the bird’s milk from him! Sure, I don’t remember doing it, but there’s lots of things I don’t remember about myself. But the logic—badger logic—is undeniable. I probably wanted to return the milk to the police, to the evidence locker, so that I would be reinstated as a police badger. That’s why I ambushed Arctic, caught him, and stole the milk . . . But it smelled so sweet . . . Yes, yes! I think I remember its sweet scent! So I tasted it. And then I lapped it all up! And then . . . Well, it’s obvious what happened next. Robert Forest said it all. Yes, he told the tale of what happens to those who drink bird’s milk. We’re avid readers. Aren’t we, Ratty? Once the cat drank the milk up, in the air he did leap up, flipped three times and turned into a rabid monster through and through. Growling, with an evil grin into the woods he ran . . . That’s exactly what happened to me, Ratty. That’s how I became a horrible monster—very strong, very cunning, and always one step ahead of the police! I brandished my claws, gnawed on tree trunks with my jaws, I grew strong, was back in my prime, but I lost my mind. And in a mad, cackling fit I tore Owl and Cuckoo to bits . . . What did you say? I’m not back in my prime? The opposite: I’m weaker than ever? Well . . . those are just small details . . .”

  * * *

  Badgercat was making his way through the undergrowth, talking to himself and swinging his tail wildly, leaving tufts of fur on thorny branches and paw prints on the damp ground.

  CHAPTER 17: IN WHICH BADGER BECOMES BOLD

  Chief Badger removed the pawcuffs from the oak safe and turned them over in his paws. How many times had he and Badgercat put these on criminal animals? And now he would have to put them on Badgercat. That is, of course, if the dogs really did find a lead. If they managed to chase him down. If they managed to catch him.

  But Badgercat was always one step ahead. Wasn’t he?

  Chief Badger caught himself hoping, deep down inside, that Operation Anticat would be a failure. He knew this was unprofessional. That it was wrong. That no matter how hard he tried to convince himself and everyone else of the opposite, there was just too much evidence pointing to Badgercat. And owl Huck had named Badgercat. And even his badger logic was pointing to Badgercat. But his badger heart . . . his heart refused to believe it.

  Chief Badger sighed, picked up the pawcuffs, and was about to leave the station when he heard a female voice behind him.

  “Some plucked chicken escaped the soup pot and is now cheeping on every woodland corner that a Far Woods police badger has found his long-lost daughter.”

  Chief Badger dropped the pawcuffs. He would’ve recognized this voice out of a thousand—no, out of a million—voices. The voice hadn’t changed one bit—mischievous, gentle, and a bit troubled. Melissandra. Meli . . . Darling . . .

  Chief Badger slowly turned around.

  He wanted to say that she was as beautiful and magnificent as the sun and the moon, as sunrise and sunset, as a fallen star, as a flower that only blooms once every hundred years, as a crystal-clear lake surrounded by cattails, as a fluffy cloud weeping above the woods. . . but instead he just asked bluntly: “What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing?” Melissandra stiffened her whiskers indignantly. “I’m taking my daughter as far away from you as possible.”

  “But she’s my daughter too,” said Badger. “I already love her.”

  “Chief Badger,” she looked him over sadly, “you don’t know how to love.”

  “Yes I do, Meli! I’ve changed.”

  “Sure you have. You’ve gotten fat. You’ve gotten beastly out of shape. You’ve stopped brushing your matted fur. But inside you’re still the same as before. I don’t doubt it for a second. You have one love. Police work. Everything else comes second.”

  “Give me a chance!” said Chief Badger suddenly, surprising even himself at his beastly boldness. “One last chance, Melissandra! You’re like a cloud that’s fallen from the sky, like a star that’s gotten stuck in the cattails, like a crystal that only blooms once every hundred—son of a badger, wait! What I mean is I love you! There, I said it. You’re my one true love, and I want to start over. I promise: it won’t be like before! I will never put you or Barbara in harm’s way. I’ll take care of you. I want the three of us to live together, like a normal family. My job—that’s for the birds! I’m going to retire any day now, with honors! Right after I close my final case . . .”

  “What case?” asked Meli, glancing at the pawcuffs.

  “Ugh, it’s not important. Too boring to even talk about. I only need to finish it up. Simply a formality, really. Then I’m retiring. A happy retirement spent together! Me, you, Barbara . . . and then the grandcubs will come. Please, I beg you, Meli! Think about it. Just think about it. Okay? I don’t need an answer right now!”

  Chief Badger picked up the pawcuffs and with unexpected agility rushed to her side, quickly kissed her smooth fur—which was so warm, so familiar, so pungently sweet-smelling—and darted out of the station.

  CHAPTER 18: IN WHICH A PSYCHOPATH PLAYS WITH A PSYCHOLOGIST

  “You see, I don’t feel whole,” said Sneaky Sal. He was lying on his back on a mat made of soft moss. His eyes were closed, and his stubby tail, which hadn’t fully grown back yet, twitched slightly.

  “I understand. You do not feel like a complete whole,” psychologist Mouse made a note on her birch bark. “How long have you felt this way
?”

  “My whole life. But this feeling has recently intensified. Ever since the Plucker has come to the Far Woods.”

  “You are upset that there is a maniac loose in our woods,” confirmed Mouse.

  “I constantly feel split in two! A feeling of loss! It’s very hard for me.”

  “Yes, it’s always difficult to lose a piece of yourself.”

  “Especially if that piece is your very own tail!”

  “A tail is very important to an animal.”

  “Why do you always repeat what I say?” asked Sal, opening his eyes.

  “To help you understand yourself better, of course. Close your eyes.”

  “I understand myself fine,” said Sal, obediently closing his eyes. “I want you to help me get rid of this feeling: that I’m losing myself.”

  “You want to feel whole again. You want to stop losing pieces of yourself. To do this. . . oh no! No, no, no! Are you here to pluck me?”

  “Why would I do that? I’m not a maniac. Sorry about stealing those cones from you last time. It’s just a nervous habit—all due to my loss of wholeness. I—Ow! Why’d you scratch me?” Sal opened his eyes.

  Standing over his defenseless belly, with his paw raised and his broken claws out, with an evil grimace, fluffed up into a filthy fur ball, was Badgercat. Psychologist Mouse trembled in the far corner of her office.

  “Hi, Sal,” hissed Badgercat. “I’m surprised but happy to see you.”

  “Yes, I’m very happy to see you too,” said Sal, quickly flipping on to his belly and scampering under the moss mat.

  “Tell me, you sneak, who’d you steal the bird’s milk from?” Badgercat held the mat down with his paw.

  “What milk?” came Sal’s muffled squeak.

  “The bird’s milk! The bird’s milk the police confiscated from you a year ago! What bird did you steal it from? Now tell me, you footed snake!” Badgercat roughly tossed aside the mat and grabbed Sal in his paw. “You long-tailed frog!”

  “There it is again,” squealed Sal scampering away, leaving his tail in Badgercat’s claws. “That horrible feeling again!”