In the Wolf's Lair

by Starobinets, Anna; Bugaeva, Jane; Muravski, Marie

  Mrs. Rabbit pursed her trembling lips. “Are you implying that my harmless bunny Rabbit brought this on himself? That he offended that gray, blood-thirsty monster?”

  “Nothing of the sort…”

  “My bunny probably just peeped at the wrong time or snapped a twig in Wolf’s path. Wolf hated absolutely everything about him. Anything could trigger a wild rage in that monster! Thankfully, he’s confined under the Impenetrable Hill and can no longer terrorize our family. By the way, my lawyer owls think that we, as victims, should be given Wolf’s den.”

  “As victims, you should be given Wolf’s den,” added Starling in an owl’s voice. “We will make sure the authorities of the Far Woods will transfer ownership of the den to you. If you do everything we say, you, as victims, should be given Wolf’s den.”

  “Yes, maybe,” nodded Badger, deep in thought. “You said that Wolf threatened to eat your husband?”

  “Enough is enough!” Ms. Rabbit tossed her ears. “He threatened to eat him and then he did!”

  “But the starling didn’t repeat anything like that. Specifically about the…er…eating.”

  “Then Wolf must have said that outside the burrow, where Starling couldn’t hear him.”

  “It’s possible. Quite likely, even. But let’s try, just in case. ‘Rabbit, I’m going to eat you,’” said Badger clearly.

  “Quite likely,” said Starling in Badger’s voice.

  “I told you,” said Mrs. Rabbit.

  “One more try. ‘I’ll devour you!’” said Badger.

  “One more try,” said Starling.

  “I’ll eat you up, giblets and all,” said Badger without much hope.

  “I’ll eat you up, giblets and all, with great pleasure!” yelped Starling unexpectedly, and Badger realized in horror that the hysterical wail wasn’t Wolf’s. “In fact, rabbit meat is delicious,” continued the bird. “Hee hee hee! We should serve you for dinner in the tavern. I’ll personally eat you up, giblets and all, with great pleasure! In fact, rabbit meat is delicious. Hee hee hee!”

  “Coyote Yote,” whispered Chief Badger. “What in the world is going on?”

  CHAPTER 6: IN WHICH A WITNESS KNOWS SOMETHING

  When the weather was damp, the stripes on Badgercat’s snout quickly faded and he had to constantly redraw them with black paint. That’s where he was headed now—to touch them up in the tavern’s restroom. Three quick strokes of a brush and the stripes were shiny once more. Badgercat stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself. He liked looking at himself. He liked what he saw. More precisely, he liked who he saw: someone elegant, attractive, well-groomed, graceful, and clever, with resilient muscles, agile legs, a fluffy tail, big green eyes, sleek, sensitive whiskers, and shiny black stripes. In a word, he saw a young and strong badger. Let the envious and ignorant harp on that he was a cat. He was a badger. Assistant Chief Badger of the Far Woods Police. He was Chief Badger’s apprentice and practically his son. And everyone knows that, practically speaking, only a badger could be the son of Chief Badger.

  So what if the stripes on his snout tended to fade and if they weren’t touched up they’d disappear completely? It was just a small defect. Everyone’s got some defect or another. That was no reason to call a badger a cat.

  What’s true is that he was a foundling. No argument there.

  When he was just an infant, he was found, cold and hungry, in a box in a clearing of the Far Woods. But who decided that kittens were the ones usually abandoned in boxes? Nonsense. Badgercat didn’t believe a word of it. Any baby animal could be found in a box—a kitten, a coyote pup, a chick, a badger cub. He was a badger cub, for instance. And the simple fact that Chief Badger was the one who took him in only confirms this.

  Also true: he could purr on four different levels of bliss while other badgers couldn’t. So what? Everyone’s got some talent or another. That was no reason to call a badger…

  “Hey, Kitty Cat,” Fox quietly closed the restroom door behind her and stood behind Badgercat. “If you want, I’ll tell you something interesting. About the coyote.”

  “I’m not a cat,” hissed Badgercat. “And I’m not interested in the… Wait. Who? The coyote? You know something?”

  “Oh yes. Something that’d be very useful to the investigation,” said Fox. She admired herself in the mirror. “If I tell you, could you do me a favor in return?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’d like…” She leaned in and began feverishly whispering in Badgercat’s ear.

  “Kill?” Badgercat leaped away from her. “Absolutely not. The law is the law.”

  “But any law can be…carefully sidestepped… Especially if а police officer is willing to meet a poor little fox halfway…”

  “I am Assistant Chief Badger of the Far Woods Police. Are you suggesting I engage in misconduct?”

  “No, no, of course not!” Fox took a step back. “You’re absolutely right. The law is the law. It’s best I don’t tell you where coyote Yote was at the time of Rabbit’s murder.”

  “But…he was here in the tavern. Right?” said Badgercat, surprised.

  “Of course. Exactly. It’s best the assistant chief Badger thinks that Yote was here, rather than engage in misconduct and allow a poor little fox to…”

  “Where was he?”

  “So I can carry out my modest wish?”

  “Oh, go on,” Badgercat gave in. “But be careful. Now tell me.”

  “I was here last night,” began Fox with a smile. “I was enjoying a mothito. They make a great one here…”

  “Get to the point!” interrupted Badgercat.

  Fox flattened her ears against her head and wrapped herself up in her tail, offended.

  “No need to yell. Anyone is capable of being mean to a poor, helpless, fluffy young fox. I just thought that any small detail might be important. Anyway, at 8:00 p.m. I decided that I’d had enough mothitos and it wouldn’t hurt to have a bite to eat. So I called over Yote and ordered a grilled chickadee. Of course, here at the tavern, the chickadee is actually made of vegetables, but it’s at least shaped into the form of a drumstick…”

  “Is this relevant?” Badgercat couldn’t help himself.

  “Yes, this is relevant. I waited for my chickadee for half an hour and still Yote hadn’t brought me my order. At 8:30 p.m. I set off for the kitchen to hurry Yote up and to check on how golden my chickadee had gotten. But no one was there. No Yote, no chickadee. No one.”

  “And where…?”

  “And where has he gone off with my chickadee? I’d thought. So I went outside and began to follow his trail.”

  “The chickadee’s?”

  “No, Yote’s. He went in the direction of the scene of the crime. That’s to say, in the direction of where the crime was later committed. I heard him speaking to himself and laughing. It was so scary.”

  “Scary?”

  “Yes, it’s scary when coyotes laugh. And talk to themselves. And say such horrible things.”

  “What was he saying?”

  “He was saying, ‘You’re done, Rabbit.’ He was saying, ‘You’re a goner.’ He was saying…”

  Badgercat pushed Fox out of the way and lunged into the dining room. Yote wasn’t there. Badgercat ran into the kitchen, but Yote wasn’t there either. Badgercat opened the tavern door and looked out into the fall darkness.

  “Where’s Yote?” he yelled. “Has anyone seen coyote Yote?”

  “Where’s Yote?” panted Chief Badger from the darkness. “Son of Badger, did you really let him get away? There’s serious incriminating evidence against him—a starling recording.”

  “I’ll find him,” said Badgercat, diving into the shrubs.

  “Wait!” Chief Badger went after him, gasping and wheezing. “This extra weight…” He tried to run but couldn’t catch his breath. “I’ve got to lose this extra weight…start counting calories…”

  A droplet of rain fell on his dried-out nose. Chief Badger stopped and looked up at the
moon—pale and yellow, like the sleepy eye of a cat. It’s time to sleep, he thought. I’m so sleepy. What I’d do to just forget about everything and go into hibernation. Someone else can search for insane coyotes in the night rain. It’s getting cold. Winter is on its way. Someone else can catch the coyote. Me, I think I’ll sleep… Badger closed his eyes. I won’t be able to catch anyone anyway. I can’t smell anything—not Yote, not Badgercat, nothing. The rain has washed away all the scents… The dampness, the badger years… They’ve stifled the scents… It’s time for some peace and quiet…”

  “No peace and quiet!” someone yelled right into Badger’s ear. “What an outrage! Are you the police or not? Can you instill some order?”

  Chief Badger opened his eyes. In front of him was an outraged weasel. He had a limp, his red eyes glinted, and the fur on his scruff was puffed up.

  “I’m an invalid! I’m a rare, fur-bearing animal! I’m a veteran of the Forty-third Woodland Hunt! And what? I don’t deserve a good night’s sleep?”

  “Go on and sleep,” said Badger drowsily. “No one’s disturbing you.”

  “What do you mean, ‘No one’s disturbing you’? What about the noise? The unbearable, awful noise? Who authorized the nighttime renovations? Did the police authorize it?”

  “What renovations?” Badger frowned.

  “Oh, please. As if you don’t know. There’s an awful racket coming from Wolf’s den. Banging, grinding, sawing, drilling, hammering—all night long! It’s impossible to sleep!”

  “But Wolf’s under arrest,” Badger said, his mouth agape.

  “Obviously, he’s under arrest.” Weasel softened his stance. “Of course, I’m not against giving his den to the victim’s family. It’s the right thing to do. It’s fair. But nighttime renovations? Why can’t they do it during the day? Have they no respect for an invalid weasel, a veteran of the Forty-third…”

  “What did you say?” interrupted Badger. “Giving his den to the victim’s family?”

  “Yes, I said it’s fair, but…”

  “No, it’s not fair! Not fair at all. There hasn’t been a trial yet. No one’s been found guilty!” Badger began to jog in the direction of Wolf’s den.

  Weasel’s angry bloodshot eyes followed Badger.

  “Such disrespect.” Weasel bared two long, yellow incisors. “Disrespecting an invalid. Disrespecting a veteran. Disrespecting everything!”

  CHAPTER 7: IN WHICH IT’S BEST NOT TO BE A PINECONE PINCHER

  “You see, the walls here are very damp,” said Desman. “So it’s up to you, ma’am. But, you see, before gluing the wallpaper we need to treat the walls with a woodpecker.”

  “And how much does it cost to treat with a woodpecker?” asked Mrs. Rabbit, narrowing her eyes.

  “Ten pinecones, you see, per square foot.”

  “Ten cones? That’s a lot of money! I’m a poor mother of twenty-five! I don’t have that kind of money…”

  “You do what you want, ma’am. If you’re too poor, then so be it. But, you see, if we don’t treat the walls with a woodpecker I can’t give you any guarantees that they won’t be crawling with larvae after a month.”

  “Larvae?” Mrs. Rabbit grew pale. “What will they do to us?”

  “They won’t do anything to you, you see. They’ll just devour the den. First the walls, then…”

  “Let’s treat the walls with a woodpecker,” said Mrs. Rabbit quickly, glancing at the lawyer owls. The two were sitting in a dusty corner, their feathers ruffled.

  “Good decision,” said Desman approvingly. “You see, we’ll treat with the woodpecker and the larvae won’t do you any harm.”

  “But you should give her a discount for the additional service,” said one of the owls, waving his wings irritably, stirring up a cloud of construction dust.

  “What do you mean, a discount?” said Desman, taken aback.

  “Yes, a discount,” said the second owl sharply. “Your client is an impoverished mother. According to the Animal Protection Law, she is entitled to a discount.”

  “All right,” Desman nodded, his expression sour. “It’ll be twelve cones per square foot, you see, so with the discount that’s ten cones…”

  “You said it was ten cones per square foot!” said the two owls and Mrs. Rabbit in unison.

  “Since then, you see, the price has gone up,” said Desman, spreading his clawed paws. “But I’ll give you a discount. So it’ll be ten cones. Next up, you see, is the floor. Do you want it heated? I can get a mole to run electricity under your floor.”

  “How much does a mole cost?”

  “A hundred cones.”

  “A hundred cones?” Mrs. Rabbit leaned limply against the wall, but instantly remembered about the larvae and recoiled. “Is that with the…?”

  “That’s with the discount,” interrupted Desman.

  “Then we don’t need a heated floor. It’s too expensive.”

  “All right, as you wish, ma’am. But, you see, in the winter the floor of this den will be icy cold. Your kits, you see, will catch a cold if the floor isn’t heated.”

  “Fine,” Mrs. Rabbit nodded warily. “Send in the mole.”

  “And the electric ray, you see.”

  “Electric what?”

  “Electric ray. For the electricity for the heated floor. Of course, you can do it without the ray and just use fireflies…” Desman paused in thought for a moment. “But cone for cone, it turns out to be about the same. Because, you see, you only need one ray, but you’d need about five hundred fireflies…”

  “Five hundred fireflies,” whispered Mrs. Rabbit.

  “One cone per fly,” nodded Desman.

  “What’s going on here?” Mrs. Rabbit sniffled. “Huh, Desman? I thought we agreed on an inexpensive renovation!”

  “As you wish, ma’am. It’s all the same to me, you see. If you want to cut corners, we’ll cut corners. You can have walls with larvae and floors encrusted with ice.”

  “But I don’t want floors encrusted with ice,” whimpered Mrs. Rabbit.

  “Good. That’s what I thought. And what are we putting on the floor? Grass bedding, leaf bedding, bark, or evergreen branches?”

  “Which is the cheapest?”

  “Grass bedding. If you want to cut corners, get that. But, you see, it’ll rot pretty fast—by the middle of winter. So if you want a proper floor, I’d get the bark and under that a layer of spruce branches.”

  “What if I just get the bark without the branches,” squealed Mrs. Rabbit. “Can I save a bit of money that way?”

  “Oh I can help you save some money!” came Chief Badger’s voice from behind her. Mrs. Rabbit winced and turned around.

  “You can save one hundred percent of your money,” Badger continued. “You won’t spend a cone!”

  “Really?” Mrs. Rabbit smiled hesitantly.

  “Really. Because there won’t be any renovations. I’m canceling them in the name of the law. I order everyone who does not reside in this den to immediately vacate the premises. And that’s”—Badger looked around the room at Mrs. Rabbit, Desman, and the lawyer owls—“everyone here. Everyone out. I’m going to seal off this den.”

  The owls spread their wings menacingly, surrounding themselves in a thick cloud of dust.

  “What’s going on here, ma’am?” Desman sneezed, his fur standing on end.

  “This isn’t her den,” said Badger. “This is Wolf’s den. And Wolf is under investigation.”

  “What do you mean, Wolf’s den?” asked Desman dumbfounded, turning to stare at Mrs. Rabbit with his small beady eyes. “I dragged myself all the way from the Near Woods to do the renovations. And the guys, you see, they’re all on their way—Woodpecker, Mole, electric Ray, you see. You said it was your den.”

  “Yes, exactly,” the lawyer owls spoke up. “The den is practically hers. According to the laws of the Far Woods, a family that loses their breadwinner—in this case Rabbit—have the right to obtain ownership of the den of the murderer of th
e breadwinner. In this case Wolf’s den.”

  “Wolf hasn’t been found guilty yet,” protested Chief Badger.

  “But it’s just a formality!” squeaked Mrs. Rabbit.

  “Wolf hasn’t been found guilty,” repeated Chief Badger, his tone icy. “Wolf is not the only suspect.”

  “Who else is a suspect?” asked the lawyer owls.

  “That’s confidential,” said Badger. “And, anyway, I’ll be the one asking the questions here.” He turned to Mrs. Rabbit. “I’d like to know why you tried to obtain Wolf’s den before the trial?”

  “The thing is”—Mrs. Rabbit glanced uncertainly at the owls, who nodded—“all the court proceedings, the paperwork, the proving of Wolf’s guilt—it’ll all take two or more weeks. Right? And winter’s on its way… You have to understand, Mr. Police Officer, I’m a poor animal, a mother of twenty-five. I need to finish renovating the den before winter.”

  “I understand. And what about these two,” Badger nodded in the direction of the lawyer owls. “Why did they show up here in the Far Woods, on the day of your husband’s murder? You didn’t, by chance, invite them in advance? You didn’t, by chance…”

  “Objection!” shrieked the owls. “She doesn’t have to answer your questions.”

  “…know, in advance, about the forthcoming tragedy?”

  “Me?” Mrs. Rabbit clutched at her heart. “Know in advance?” Her huge eyes reddened, filling with tears. “You think that I killed my poor bunny Rabbit?”

  “I think that your behavior is suspicious,” said Badger.

  “Whoo whoo!” hooted the lawyers. “Whoo, objection! You’re supposed to catch criminals, but instead you’re reproaching our helpless client. Meanwhile, Yote got away. You thought we didn’t know about the coyote running off? We get all the latest news delivered straight to our croak accounts! What do you have to say about that, Chief Badger?”

  “Er…” Badger was taken aback. “The coyote will be found and questioned to the full extent of the law.”

  “We sincerely hope so. That coyote seemed highly suspicious to us from the start. In our opinion, Yote was in cahOOTs with Wolf. They were accomplices. They killed Rabbit together, then divided up and ate the breadwinner…that’s to say, poor Rabbit. And since Yote is also to blame, we demand that as compensation for the loss of their breadwinner, the victim’s family not only get Wolf’s den but also a year-round supply of vegetable dishes from the Tree Knot Tavern.”