A Predator's Rights Read online

  Other Dover Books by

  ANNA STAROBINETS

  In the Wolf’s Lair

  Claws of Rage

  The Plucker

  A PREDATOR’S RIGHTS

  BOOK 2

  ANNA STAROBINETS

  Translated by

  Jane Bugaeva

  Illustrated by

  Marie Muravski

  Dover Publications, Inc.

  Mineola, New York

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 by Anna Starobinets

  Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Clever Publishing

  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 Clever, Moscow, Russia, in 2016.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Starobineëtìs, Anna, author. | Muravski, Marie, illustrator. | Bugaeva, Jane, translator.

  Title: A predator’s rights : a Beastly crimes book / Anna Starobinets ; translated by Jane Bugaeva ; illustrated by Marie Muravski.

  Other titles: Pravo khishchnika. English

  Description: Mineola, New York : Dover Publications, 2019. | Series: Beastly crimes ; book 2 | “This Dover edition, first published in 2019, is a translation of an unabridged republication of the work originally printed by Clever, Moscow, Russia, in 2016.” | Summary: Chief Badger and Badgercat investigate when a missing chicken, destined for the soup pot, disappears from Huntington Farm, causing the guard dogs to start a Hunt in the Near Woods.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018029284| ISBN 9780486829517 (hardback) | ISBN 0486829510

  Subjects: | CYAC: Criminal investigation—Fiction. | Murder—Fiction. | Badgers—Fiction. | Chickens—Fiction. | Dogs—Fiction. | Forest animals—Fiction. | Mystery and detective stories. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Animals / Dogs. | JUVENILE FICTION/Animals / Farm Animals. | JUVENILE FICTION / Humorous Stories.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S738 Pre 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018029284

  Manufactured in the United States by LSC Communications

  82951001 2019

  www.doverpublications.com

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1: In Which Everything Is Done to Save the Victim

  Chapter 2: In Which a Triumphant Anthem Is Sung

  Chapter 3: In Which There’s a Hunting Hound

  Chapter 4: In Which Scars Decorate an Animal

  Chapter 5: In Which There’s a Murder

  Chapter 6: In Which Everyone Feels Very Sorry for the Bird

  Chapter 7: In Which Undercover Work Becomes Dangerous

  Chapter 8: In Which a Hunt Is Declared on the Far Woods

  Chapter 9: In Which It’s a Dog Eat Dog World

  Chapter 10: In Which There’s a Runaround

  Chapter 11: In Which You Can’t Trust a Soul

  Chapter 12: In Which Dreams Come True

  A PREDATOR’S RIGHTS

  CHAPTER 1: IN WHICH EVERYTHING IS DONE TO SAVE THE VICTIM

  “She’s not breathing,” said Doc Hawk. “I’ll try beak to beak resuscitation. It’s a long shot, but I’ll fight for her life with everything I’ve got.”

  Doc Hawk turned away, spread his wings, inhaled deeply, and began fighting for her life. He pressed his curved, steel-gray beak against her pointed, yellow, lifeless one. For a few seconds the only sound was Hawk’s rhythmic breathing—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale… The victim didn’t move. She was lying on a soft, snow-white rug made of poplar fluff, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Her eyes were glazed over, staring blindly at the ceiling intricately lined with oblong black river stones and the red petals of wild roses.

  After another minute, when they’d all but lost hope, she suddenly stirred and they heard a hoarse, muffled clucking.

  “Who am I? Where am I?” whispered the chicken. “Is this a cloud? Is this heaven?”

  “She’s alive,” exhaled Chief Badger, relieved, having watched the whole ordeal. He turned to the chicken, “This isn’t a cloud. This is Fox’s den. I’m so happy you’re alive.”

  “Who am I? Where am I?” repeated the chicken, overtaken by a fit of coughing.

  “Chickens are very resilient,” Badgercat spoke up. “And stupid. I heard you can bite their head off and they’ll still run around for a while, because they don’t understand that they don’t have a head anymore…”

  “I ought to bite your head off for such anecdotes,” said Hawk. “Yours, too,” he turned to Fox, “for almost killing her. Chickens are frail, vulnerable animals. Their lives are priceless! But so easy to take! In fact, the situation was quite hopeless—”

  “Where’s my head?” The chicken rose and, swaying, took a couple of steps on the poplar fluff rug.

  “You shouldn’t be up!” squawked Hawk. “You’re still very weak. In fact, the situation was quite hopeless! I always fight to the end, always perform beak to beak—”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” said Chief Badger. “This chicken is alive, thanks to you.”

  “This chicken is alive, thanks to my weak jaw,” protested Fox. “And it’s weak because I only eat vegetables, even though I’m a predator… Oh dear! She’s ruining my rug!”

  “Predatory vegetables,” trilled the chicken, her pace quickening.

  “Be careful—that’s custom spun!” squealed Fox, but it was too late. The chicken had wobbled over to the window and rammed her beak into a superfine cobweb curtain, causing the silvery threads to strain and tear. The chicken, all wrapped up in the curtain and its alder catkin tassels, began flapping her wings wildly, knocking over a vase that held a bouquet of juniper branches and maple leaves.

  “I should’ve worked on strengthening my jaw muscles…,” whispered Fox.

  “You don’t seem to feel any guilt,” Chief Badger’s whiskers stiffened indignantly.

  “It’s easy to place blame on a helpless, fluffy fox.” Fox fluttered her ginger eyelashes, and her chin began to quiver. “But what—what am I guilty of?”

  “Of attacking a peaceful animal. And of attempted murder.”

  “Animal?” Fox grew pale. “What are you talking about? I didn’t attack any animals! Just a chicken.”

  “Attack,” said the chicken, floundering in the curtain.

  “And what, a chicken isn’t an animal?” asked Badger, amazed.

  “Of course not! We—you and I—we’re animals. Animals live in the woods. Animals are wild. The law of the Far Woods says that wild animals cannot eat one another. But chickens are domestic birds. They aren’t animals, they’re game. Predators have the right to—”

  “But that’s…” Hawk’s voice trembled. “That’s so beastly! That’s clear-cut game-ism! Separating animals into wild and domestic, into animals and nonanimals! That kind of thinking could be used to justify anything—like saying that all birds, domestic or not, are game! And predators have the right to…” Hawk gulped. “All animal lives are priceless! Why are the police turning a blind eye to this?”

  Badgercat looked down and began thoroughly examining the claws on his right front paw.

  “Game-ism is unacceptable,” said Chief Badger sternly. “Predators do not have the right to kill chickens.”

  “Kill,” said the chicken, shutting her eyes tightly.

  “But there’s nothing about chickens in the laws of the Far Woods,” protested Fox.

  “But there is something about chickens in the laws of Huntington Farm,” said Badger. “It says that theft of rural livestock and poultry by a resident of the Far Woods is punishable by the mauling of that resident!”


  “Mauling?...” Fox grew pale.

  “Mauling,” said the chicken.

  “…and if the authorities of the Far Woods do not turn over the perpetrator, then Huntington Farm sends a pack of hunting dogs to the woods,” continued Badger. “A Hunt—that’s what’s in our future if we don’t turn you over to the farm. Do you understand, Fox? Do you understand what you’ve gotten us into?”

  “So you’re…going to give me up…to be mauled?” Fox began shaking. “A helpless, fluffy fox? Who had no idea…didn’t expect…and besides, she was given permission to kill the chicken…by a police officer!” Fox began sobbing.

  “Kill the chicken, kill the chicken, kill the chicken…,” clucked the chicken.

  “A police officer?” Badger frowned. “Who are you talking about, Fox?”

  Badgercat flicked his tail nervously from side to side.

  “…kill the chicken, kill the chicken, kill the chicken!”

  “The patient is hysterical,” said Hawk.

  “Then do something to calm her down, doctor!” said Badger, annoyed.

  “Please take this soothing sedative,” said Hawk, slighted. He dug around in his bag, producing a large Hawthorn berry. He put it in the chicken’s beak.

  Chief Badger looked at Fox, then at Badgercat.

  “Which police officer are you talking about, Fox?”

  “This one,” sniffled Fox, pointing at Badgercat. “He said I could.”

  “You really gave her permission to kill a chicken, Badgercat?” Badger slumped in disappointment, suddenly looking very small. “When you said that to the head guard dog, I thought you were just protecting Fox. But you really did…?”

  “I thought…I just wanted to…” Badgercat closed his eyes. “Fox promised to give an eyewitness account in return for the right to kill…just one…farm chicken… I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal…”

  “I need some fresh air,” said the chicken and promptly fell asleep.

  “What have you done, Badgercat?” said Chief Badger, crestfallen. “It’s one thing if Fox, without thinking, succumbed to her predatory instincts and committed the crime. Then all the fault would be on her. We could’ve worked something out with Huntington Farm. But it’s another thing if her crime was permitted by the police of the Far Woods—as if attacking farm animals is normal to us. To all of us. Now Huntington Farm will consider all residents of the Far Woods dangerous. How could you? You’ve provoked a Hunt! There’ll be bloodshed! A beastly massacre.”

  “If I may,” Hawk cut in politely. “I’m categorically against a Hunt. We must avoid bloodshed! Maybe the fact that I was able to save the injured chicken will be of help in reaching an agreement with Huntington Farm?”

  “I doubt it,” Badger shook his head. “Muxtar said—”

  “Who is Muxtar?” asked Fox fearfully.

  “He’s the head guard dog. He’s some very unpleasant breed, maybe a boxer, or perhaps a wolfhound, or a cross between the two…Doctor, would you happen to have another sedative pill for the detained Fox? Anyway, Muxtar said it doesn’t matter if the chicken is alive or not.”

  “Excuse me?” Hawk gaped. “What do you mean ‘it doesn’t matter’?”

  “He said they were going to make soup out of the chicken, either way.”

  “What horror! How beastly!” Hawk glanced at the sleeping chicken, who looked like a swaddled newborn all wrapped up in the curtain. “Poor bird!”

  “I know!” yelped Badgercat. “I know how to save the Far Woods from a Hunt! We need to get to the station!”

  CHAPTER 2: IN WHICH A TRIUMPHANT ANTHEM IS SUNG

  “Would you like some more pine nuts?” Chief Badger politely asked the chicken. He was actually planning on feeding the pine nuts to Starling—who’d been confiscated from a criminal family of rabbits to serve the needs of the police department and who now lived at the station—but the chicken, upon seeing the food, had immediately flown up to the birdfeeder and gobbled up an entire portion. And then another. Now, with only one portion remaining, Badger hoped the chicken would tactfully decline.

  “Would you like some more pine nuts?” said Starling in Badger’s voice, glumly looking at the pile of nutshells. Starling had an amazing ability of mimicking voices, but the chicken wasn’t the slightest bit impressed.

  “I would,” said the chicken and immediately gobbled up the last portion.

  Absolutely no manners, thought Badger to himself. This is what they call domesticated? In the Far Woods even the wildest animal is more courteous.

  “I hope you’ve remembered your name?” he asked out loud.

  “No, I haven’t. And I won’t. I don’t have a name.”

  “But…how should we address you?”

  “I have a number,” said the chicken proudly. “In our chicken coop everyone has a number. I’m Chicken Four. Return me to the coop.”

  “You like the coop?” asked Badgercat.

  “I love it, and I’m proud of it.”

  “In our chicken coop everyone has a number,” said Starling in the chicken’s voice.

  “Why do you love it?” asked Badgercat. “What are you proud of?”

  “It’s big and beautiful,” said Chicken Four. “Everything is fair there. We are taken care of, we are fed, and we are protected.”

  “By whom?”

  “Muxtar and the other guard dogs protect us. And Nina Palna takes care of us.”

  “What kind of animal is Nina Palna?”

  “Nina Palna isn’t an animal. She’s a wonderful person. She loves chickens. But she’s tough—the coop needs someone tough. She’s kind but fair.”

  “Fair?” Badgercat narrowed his eyes. “Do you know what she does to chickens every Friday?”

  “Every Friday she picks the best chicken in the coop and takes it to her kitchen,” reported Chicken Four.

  “So you know…,” said Badgercat, shocked. “You know what happens to the chicken next?”

  “A wonderful person. She loves chickens,” said Starling in the chicken’s voice.

  “I know everything,” said Chicken Four confidently. “In the kitchen, Nina Palna gives the best chicken a seat at the family’s dinner table. She feeds her, pours her some tea, brushes her feathers, and then lays the chicken down to sleep in her own bed. All the best chickens stay to live with Nina Palna in her house.”

  “So that’s the big lie,” said Chief Badger thoughtfully.

  “What do you mean—lie?” Chicken Four tensed up. “It’s the truth.”

  “Every Friday, Nina Palna takes a chicken into the kitchen and chops off its head with a cleaver. And then she makes soup out of it!”

  “Chops—what? With a—what?”

  “Its head off. With a cleaver.”

  “And makes—what?”

  “Soup. Chicken soup.”

  “Oh, you’re joking,” chortled Chicken Four.

  “No, we’re telling you the truth,” said Badgercat seriously.

  “Lies!” shrieked Chicken Four. “Foes of the coop! You’re spreading lies about Nina Palna. And even if she wanted to make soup out of us, the loyal guard dogs would come to our rescue!”

  “Nina Palna gives them the giblets and bones,” said Badgercat. “If they came to your rescue they wouldn’t get any dinner.”

  “Gib-b-b-b-lets?” Chicken Four choked out. “B-b-b-bones? Lies!”

  “We have proof—a starling recording of our conversation with Muxtar,” said Chief Badger. “One minute, I’ll find it,” he picked up Starling. “Rewind to this phrase: ‘Dead or alive, I couldn’t care less.’”

  “Dead or alive, I couldn’t care less,” Starling growled menacingly in Muxtar’s voice. “It’s Chicken Fourrrrr—Nina Palna was planning on making soup out of her this Friday. So if you don’t want a Hunt, return her to us in any condition. But we want the fox and kittyraccoon alive—live animals are always more fun to maul—”

  “That’s enough,” interrupted Badgercat. “The rest isn’t relevant.”


  For a minute Chicken Four stood silently, her beak agape. Her blood-red wattle trembled.

  “The horror,” she said finally. “And we lay eggs for her. Last week I gave Nina Palna all my eggs—every last one!” Her round eyes filled with tears. “And that’s how she repays us? I don’t want, don’t want, don’t want to be made into soup!” Chicken Four burst into tears.

  “We can protect you,” said Chief Badger. “If you agree to cooperate.”

  “Would you like me to lay you an egg?” she offered willingly.

  “We don’t need any eggs, thank you.”

  “But I can’t lay anything else!” admitted Chicken Four.

  “She’s too dumb,” Badgercat whispered in Badger’s ear. “I’m afraid she won’t be up to the task.”

  “Are you capable of memorizing a few lines?” Chief Badger asked the chicken.

  “I’m the smartest chicken in our coop!” said Chicken Four proudly. “I’ve memorized all three stanzas of our anthem.”

  “How many stanzas did the dumbest chicken memorize?” asked Badgercat.

  “None of the chickens in our coop are dumb,” huffed Chicken Four. “Some are just less smart than others. The ones who are less smart can only memorize and repeat the first four words of our anthem: ‘Hail to the coop!’ Our anthem, by the way, is lovely. Listen,” and she began singing:

  Hail to the coop! Hail to the roosters!

  Hail to the eggs and the hens!

  We chickens are glorious nesters

  Who lay again and again!

  We chickens are the proudest breed

  And spread our wings in awe

  To celebrate heroic deeds

  We proudly cluck hurrah!

  O’er mountains and meadows

  May we chickens keep soaring…

  “Yes, may you keep soaring,” interrupted Chief Badger. “Thank you for sharing, but that’s enough.

  We see that you have a very good memory. And you’re very gifted. I’m sure you’ll be able to help us.”

  “I’d like to finish our anthem,” said Chicken Four stubbornly and started up again.