Other Dover Books by
ANNA STAROBINETS
In the Wolf’s Lair A Predator’s Rights Claws of Rage
THE PLUCKER
Copyright
Copyright © 2018 by Anna Starobinets Illustrations copyright © 2018 by Apricotbooks LLC English language translation copyright © 2019 by Jane Bugaeva All rights reserved.
Bibliographical Note
This Dover edition, first published in 2019, is an unabridged English translation of the Russian work originally printed by Apricotbooks LLC, Moscow, Russia, in 2018.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Starobineëtìs, Anna, author. | Muravski, Marie, illustrator. | Bugaeva, Jane, translator.
Title: The plucker : a Beastly crimes book / Anna Starobinets ; translated by Jane Bugaeva ; illustrated by Marie Muravski.
Other titles: Zverskiæi detektiv. English
Description: Mineola, New York : Dover Publications, 2019. | Series: Beastly crimes ; book 4 | “This Dover edition, first published in 2019, is an unabridged English translation of the Russian work originally printed by Apricotbooks LLC, Moscow, Russia, in 2018.” | Summary: “Chief Badger and his fellow officers face their most bizarre case yet: someone is plucking and burning the feathers of birds in the Far Woods. Can the main suspect possibly be Badger’s former assistant, young Badgercat?”— Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019007466| ISBN 9780486829531 (hardback) | ISBN 0486829537
Subjects: | CYAC: Criminal investigation—Fiction. | Assault and battery—Fiction. | Badgers—Fiction. | Bats—Fiction. | Cats—Fiction. | Forest animals—Fiction. | Mystery and detective stories. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Animals / Cats. | JUVENILE FICTION / Humorous Stories.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S738 Pl 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019007466
Manufactured in China by RR Donnelley
829537012019
www.doverpublications.com
CONTENTS
Chapter 1: In Which the Special Agent Gets Things in Order
Chapter 2: In Which Animals Are Insulted
Chapter 3: In Which a Confession Is Made Under Duress
Chapter 4: In Which There Is a Sack, a Shrine, and Some Poetry
Chapter 5: In Which Badger Has No Self-Respect
Chapter 6: In Which an Enemy’s Enemy Is a Friend
Chapter 7: In Which No One Can Be Trusted
Chapter 8: In Which No One Wants to Give a Feather
Chapter 9: In Which a Rifle Is Aimed From
Chapter 10: In Which a Slippery Character Is Missing
Chapter 11: In Which Badgers Lie
Chapter 12: Short but Terrifying
Chapter 13: In Which Everyone Has Their Own Truth
Chapter 14: In Which a Bow Tie Is Required
Chapter 15: In Which a Heart Beats Like a Woodpecker
Chapter 16: In Which Badgercat Talks to His Shadow
Chapter 17: In Which Badger Becomes Bold
Chapter 18: In Which a Psychopath Plays with a Psychologist
Chapter 19: In Which There Is a Confession
Chapter 20: In Which There Is a Death Sentence
Chapter 21: In Which There Is No Pulse
Chapter 22: In Which the Penguin Is Ready to Shine
Chapter 23: In Which a Brilliant Plan Is Worked Out
Chapter 24: In Which Animals Don’t Change
Chapter 25: In Which the Maniac Is Caught
Chapter 26: In Which the Heart of the Matter Is Pecked At
Chapter 27: In Which There’s a Miracle
Chapter 28: In Which Some Are Left Speechless
Chapter 29: In Which Brother Betrays Brother
Chapter 30: In Which the Clues Lead Straight to the Top
Chapter 31: In Which Badger Is Threatened
Chapter 32: In Which Everything Is Done for Safety
Chapter 33: In Which Everything Fits in the Suitcase
Chapter 34: In Which This Is the End
Chapter 35: In Which There Are Screams of Fear
Chapter 36: In Which Idiots Don’t Have a Choice
Chapter 37: In Which Super Bats Don’t Cry
Chapter 38: The Last One
THE PLUCKER
CHAPTER 1: IN WHICH THE SPECIAL AGENT GETS THINGS IN ORDER
Super Bat bolted upward, grabbed on to the ceiling beam with her back legs, and hung upside down in the center of the police station. She could accurately determine the center point of any space and preferred to hang exactly there. It was 6:00 a.m. Sunrise. Time for the morning briefing. Then she could allow herself a few hours of sleep. For Super Bat, sleeping two hours a day was plenty.
She used the claw at the tip of her wing to clean off the echo locators in her mouth and nose—they were immaculate, but some things were just done reflexively to maintain order. She rapped on her ear notches and grimaced: they were in working order. She surveyed her subordinates, the officers of the Far Woods Police: unkempt, dirty, clumsy, lethargic animals. She was going to get this precinct in order.
Chief Badger, Starling, and Crime Scene Investigator Vulture sat down at their desks and looked up. Chief Badger sniffed the air. The dim station was saturated with a thick sour odor of lemons, sweaty fur, crumpled feathers, and beastly discomfort. Badger was certain the smell of discomfort came from Super Bat. She had meticulously eliminated all her naturally occurring odors by covering herself in a buttercup concentrate to the point of complete sanitization—so that she would be imperceptible and untraceable. But, apparently, buttercup concentrate could not eradicate the smell of discomfort. This odor had entered the station on her first day on the job.
At that time, Chief Badger didn’t yet have an inkling that he’d have to devour a dozen lemons a day, so he wouldn’t fall asleep—because Super Bat almost never slept. On that day, the station was enveloped in a constant nocturnal darkness; Super Bat was allergic to sunlight. Maybe the odor of discomfort came from the thick, bear-skin curtains that now covered the windows. Chief Badger naively believed that she would become his new partner. But she quickly put him in his place: “I’m in charge. You’re my subordinate. Those are the orders from the top.”
Super Bat swung from the ceiling beam, rhythmically gesturing with her wings and wordlessly opening and closing her wide mouth. She seemed to be upset and scolding them. It was a terrifying silent performance—as always. And, as always, Chief Badger felt a sharp pain in the back of his head.
He closed his eyes and suddenly remembered their former morning briefings. There was light. There was sun. There was Badgercat playing with the sun beams . . . and now nothing. No Badgercat, no sun, no joy. His headache intensified.
Chief Badger sighed heavily and spoke up.
“Excuse me, special agent Super Bat. We can’t hear anything.”
Super Bat froze for a second with her mouth agape, then grimaced disapprovingly—she was almost always grimacing—and responded in her piercing voice: “I always forget that you aren’t capable of hearing high frequencies.”
Chief Badger wanted to tell her that her voice, even at a frequency they could hear, was practically unbearable, but he kept quiet.
“I repeat for the hearing-impaired: I want a list of all the birds in the Far Woods on my desk today!”
“But we did that yesterday—” began Badger.
“Yesterday’s list wasn’t up to code,” Super Bat cut him off. “The format was clear: bird number, bird species, length of flight feathers, coloring, name.”
“If I may explain, in the Far Woods, birds don’t have numbers,” said Vulture.
“You may not expla
in,” said Super Bat coldly. “No numbers? Then number them!”
“You may not explain,” repeated Starling miserably.
“And we don’t know the length of every bird’s flight feathers because—”
“Irrelevant! If you don’t know, then measure them and you will know. Also, I need a feather from every bird. A fresh feather—not a feather molted a year ago. A freshly plucked feather. Understood?”
“Are you suggesting we pluck our birds?” asked Chief Badger, shocked. “All the birds are already terrified of the—”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. It’s for the sake of the investigation. You do want to catch the dangerous maniac who’s been plucking birds and burning their feathers, don’t you? Theoretically, any bird could be plucked. All birds are at risk, including you.” Super Bat’s eyes darted at Vulture and Starling. “Which means, we need a feather from every bird, for identification purposes. All feathers should be numbered and entered into the directory.”
“All birds are at risk,” peeped Starling.
“Excuse me, but you aren’t saying that I, a member of the Far Woods Police, will also have my feather plucked?” asked Vulture.
“My feather plucked? My feather plucked?” Starling chirped nervously.
“That is exactly what I’m saying. Both of you will give feathers. There will be no exceptions. No workplace advantages or favoritism. Next, we still have not established the whereabouts of the main suspect, the former Assistant Chief Badger of the Far Woods Police, Badgercat.”
“We are transmitting the Wanted Ad on the root-tube nightly,” reported Chief Badger regrettably. “We’re offering a reward of one thousand cones to anyone who locates and turns the Plucker into the police. And we’re giving a free lunch at the Tree Knot Tavern to anyone who has information regarding the Plucker.”
“And yet this has yielded nothing,” squealed Spy Bat. “How many times has Magpie brought us information about Badgercat’s whereabouts?”
“Three.”
“And how many times did she enjoy a free lunch at the Tree Knot Tavern?”
“Three.”
“And how many times was Badgercat found where Magpie indicated?”
“Not once—”
“So what does this tell you?”
“That Magpie is not a reliable source?” suggested Badger.
“Or that Badgercat is always one step ahead. Regardless, we still haven’t found him. This is infuriating and unacceptable. They won’t tolerate this at the top.”
* * *
The top. Chief Badger shuddered. Super Bat was referring to her superiors: Weasel, who became head of the Union of Mixed Woods last year, and her secretary, Pigeon. Chief Badger had never met Weasel. For him, she was an animal, as Super Bat would say, “of too high a caliber.” It was said that Weasel was very sweet, friendly, and fluffy, but if her underlings—special agent rats and bats—were insubordinate, she sometimes devoured them. So, despite her kind disposition, they respected her. Badger had spoken to Pigeon once. He was a nasty, self-centered, puffed-up bird with a crest. He was accompanied by his bodyguard, a faceless, gray shadow, with small, vacant eyes; sharp, discolored fangs; and a wormy, twisted tail.
At the time, Chief Badger had tried to convince Pigeon to send a different special agent to replace Super Bat. Because on that very first day, Super Bat had named Badgercat as the main suspect in the Plucker case. She had refused to listen to any of Chief Badger’s theories and, more important, was completely uninterested in his badger logic. And his badger logic told him that his former partner, Badgercat, was not the Plucker. He was not a maniac. Despite the fact that he’d threatened to pluck the stolen-goods-dealer owl Huck. Despite the fact that he’d run away right after it was discovered that Huck had, indeed, been plucked.
“Undeniably, Badgercat is a rash, emotional, impulsive animal,” Chief Badger had explained to Pigeon. “He is capable of spontaneous action. He is capable of threats and insults. But at his core, he is kind and brave. He’s even been awarded a Medal of Courage from the Beast Czar! But to pluck all the feathers off a living bird—of that he is not capable.”
“You’re certainly quite defensive of him,” Pigeon had cooed. “Suspicious. Quite suspicious. Special agent Super Bat will remain on this case. And you will continue to be her subordinate. Her line of investigation has been approved by us, the top. Madame Weasel has approved it.”
“In that case, I’d like to speak with Madame Weasel,” Chief Badger had said. Pigeon burst into a fit of cooing laughter, shaking his head.
“Madame Weasel is a very busy animal. She has no time to speak to random badgers. You should be grateful that you were able to speak with me, her secretary.”
“I am not a random badger. I am Chief Badger of the Far Woods Police. If Madame Weasel is unable to speak with me, then I demand a meeting with the Beast Czar!”
“You mean with Lion? Go ahead. He’s old, sick, and senile. The title Beast Czar has long been a formality. All the Woods are overseen by the fairly elected head, Madame Weasel. In the past, such elderly kings were pushed off cliffs or pecked to death. But Madame Weasel is gentle and kind. So Lion has been honorably discharged and put into retirement.”
“He isn’t elderly,” Chief Badger had protested. “Lion and I are the same age!”
“Then it’s off the cliff for you too . . . er, I mean it’s time to retire. But, with or without honors, that’s all dependent on the current investigation. And now please excuse me. I’m very busy. My bodyguard will show you the way out.” Badger would never forget the lifeless, heavy gaze of Pigeon’s bodyguard and the touch of his clawed, cold paw . . .
“Wake up!” Super Bat squealed hysterically, switching to ultrasound out of frustration.
Chief Badger shuddered, snapping out of his daydream. Super Bat’s triangular mouth moved wordlessly, and her lance-shaped snout quivered rhythmically. They had nicknamed her Flying Rat.
“We can’t hear anything, special agent Super Bat,” said Badger wearily.
Super Bat abruptly shut her mouth, let go of the ceiling beam, and began falling. Now this was something Chief Badger could never get used to: her habit of falling off of something and only at the last second, when it seemed that she was about to slam her nose into the dirt ground, rocket upward at a completely unpredictable and inconceivable angle.
Super Bat zoomed about the station in a soundless gray blur. Then having calmed down, she resumed her post, hanging in the center of the room, and continued the morning briefing.
“What’s the status of the first victim?”
“The plucked owl, Chuck, has been in a coma for the past two months,” reported Chief Badger. “Doc Hawk continues to fight for his life.”
“Hawk should continue the fight. And massage Chuck’s beak daily so that he is able to speak if he regains consciousness. The testimony of the first victim will be extremely valuable. What is the status of the other victims?”
“Chuck’s twin brother, owl Huck, also was attacked by the Plucker, but he was able to fight him off and escape. He is still at Huntington Farm, under protection of the guard dogs. His plucked wing is already showing signs of feather regrowth and . . .”
“Irrelevant! What about the cuckoo?”
“Lady Cuckoo, who was plucked two weeks ago, finally agreed to give her testimony yesterday.”
“Why wasn’t I informed of this?” squealed Super Bat.
“Because her testimony was a bit . . . off topic. Clearly, she’s still in a deep state of shock.”
“What did she say?”
“She spent the entire time predicting how long Vulture and I had left to live. We were unable to engage her on any other topic.”
“And how long do you have left to live?”
“Vulture has a long life ahead of him. She couldn’t say exactly how long—she kept losing count—but clearly until a ripe old age.”
“And you?”
“According to her, I don’t
have much time left. Only a few days.”
Starling ruffled his feathers and stared alarmingly at Chief Badger.
“A few? How many exactly?” asked Super Bat indifferently.
“Well, three days, to be exact. But you and I are educated animals,” Badger’s voice didn’t sound very confident. “We don’t believe in cuckoo tales, do we?”
“Statistically speaking, cuckoo predictions about life expectancy are accurate 99 percent of the time,” answered Super Bat coldly. “And, by the way, there is no ‘we.’ There is you, an average woodland animal, and there is me, special agent Super Bat with outstanding super abilities. Anyway, you’ve gotten me off topic. Let’s return to the victim Lady Cuckoo. Is she in contact with her relatives?”
“Lady Cuckoo doesn’t have any relatives.”
“At all?”
“She’s a foundling. Her adoptive mother, Mrs. Warbler, died a long time ago. She has an adoptive brother, barber Warbler, but they’ve been estranged since childhood.”
“They’ve been strange since childhood?”
“Estranged. He doesn’t consider her his sister and refuses to share the ancestral nest with her. After she was attacked, he did not visit her. She did not ask about him either.”
“Interesting.” Super Bat swung from side to side; it helped her think. “Very interesting. Adoptive brother . . . Chief Badger! Go to barber Warbler. Question him. Assign him a full-time guard dog—preferably one that isn’t too dim—who stays in the shadows and doesn’t bark for no reason. In my experience, most maniacs show a keen interest in the family members of their victims. By all indications, our Plucker is no different. He already attacked the twin brother of the plucked owl. It is likely he will attack Lady Cuckoo’s brother too. Even if he isn’t her brother by birth. Meanwhile, Vulture and Starling will work on the list of birds. Is everyone’s assignment clear?”
“Aye aye,” answered Vulture and Starling despondently.
“Crystal clear,” said Badger. He knew this answer would drive Super Bat crazy, and he couldn’t deny himself this little bit of pleasure.
“Respond by protocol!” screeched Super Bat. “I didn’t ask about the clarity of crystal!”
The Plucker: A Beastly Crimes Book Page 1
