“But why?”
“Because you”—she forced herself with obvious effort to continue—“are the best detective in all the surrounding woods. I need you in the force. But please get yourself in beastly shape. And now I’m off. I want to thank the whole team for their incompetent, thick-brained efforts . . . I mean”—she made another concerted effort—“for a job well done. I need to fly to the top, at once, with a full report.”
“Who are you going to report to now?” asked Chief Badger.
“Beast Czar. He’s in charge now.”
Super Bat cleaned out the echo locators in her mouth and nose with her claw (they were covered in a layer of dirt and ash), double-checked her ear notches, spread her wings with a crunch, grimaced (her attempt at a friendly smile), and zoomed up straight into the crimson flames.
“She’ll scorch her wings right off,” said Badgercat. “And then I’ll have to drag her all the way to the top.”
“She’ll be fine,” said Badger.
Super Bat changed her trajectory at the last second and, weaving through the smoke, silently disappeared.
“I thought that if I ever returned to police work, I’d be incredibly happy,” said Badgercat. “And here I am, Assistant Chief Badger again, but for some reason I’m sad. How come it’s like that, Chief?”
“Because everything is different now. There’s no Vulture. Who knows how long it’ll take him to recover? And no”—Chief Badger grew quiet, turned away from the other police badgers, and stared at the flames—“no Starling. We’ll never again have a magnificent little bird who can repeat any sound.”
“Papa, are you crying?” asked Barbara in disbelief.
“Of course not. It’s just the smoke.”
“I wonder who Starling is now?” said Badgercat looking up at the sky.
“He isn’t Starling anymore.” Chief Badger looked up too.
“He didn’t even say goodbye . . .”
Suddenly, from beyond the black plume of smoke, beyond the pointy, pine-tree tops, beyond the timid, pinkish flourishes of dawn on the horizon that looked like molted flamingo feathers, came the joyful wail of a police siren—a sound Starling had imitated so well.
“He’s saying goodbye to us now,” said Chief Badger.
The siren’s wail receded and then grew silent, but they all remained staring at the sky for a long time.
THE AUTHOR
Anna Starobinets is an award-winning novelist, screenwriter, and journalist who lives in Moscow, Russia. Best known as a writer of dystopian and metaphysical stories, she is also a successful children’s author of fairy tales and detective stories, including four Beastly Crimes books from Dover Publications. She is the widow of the writer Alexander Garros and is raising two children and a poodle named Cocos.
THE TRANSLATOR
Jane Bugaeva immigrated to the United States from Russia at the age of six. Forever a child at heart, she translates children’s literature from Russian to English. Her translations include Anna Starobinets’s Catlantis and the Beastly Crimes books and Sveta Dorosheva’s The Land of Stone Flowers. Bugaeva lives in North Carolina with her husband, daughter, and two cats.
www.doverpublications.com
The Plucker: A Beastly Crimes Book Page 17