The Plucker: A Beastly Crimes Book Read online

  Melissandra gave a silent nod and walked out of the tavern.

  CHAPTER 25: IN WHICH THE MANIAC IS CAUGHT

  Mr. King Ping pulled on his night-vision goggles (two big round jellyfish mounted in a delicate frame made of dried-out sea sponge) and walked out on to the grounds of Hawks Without Borders.

  Strictly speaking, the goggles were more for sensing than for seeing in the dark. The jellyfish obscured the dark night world from the nearsighted Mr. King Ping, making the vague outlines of his surroundings completely indistinguishable from one another. However, if they were properly moistened (and Mr. King Ping always moistened them properly, typically in the salty, seaweed-green water left in pools after the tide had gone out, and now in the absence of the ocean, in a scum-covered woodland puddle), the jellyfish were superpowerful devices, able to detect the approach of any danger. Once they sensed danger, be it a storm, thunder, the spinning blades of a motorboat, or a maniac shark, the gelatinous lenses would vibrate in alarm. King Ping was almost certain that a lurking Plucker, even if it was a dead hamster, would set off his jellyfish.

  The only thing King Ping wasn’t certain about was if he had come in time. Too many minutes had been wasted at the police station, chatting and fine-tuning the covert operation. If the Plucker was already on the clinic grounds, then he, King Ping, wouldn’t have the upper flipper. Not to mention, Doc Hawk could be in danger.

  * * *

  Fluffing up his feathers to keep warm, Doc Hawk paced around his office at Hawks Without Borders. He knew the covert operation was thoroughly planned out and the Far Woods Police wouldn’t let him come in harm’s way. Yet he still felt uneasy. He would’ve preferred to be somewhere far from here at this moment. In a crowd of animals. In some beastly loud, happy place. With two or three guard dogs. He would’ve preferred not to be pacing around his office in solitude in the dark, waiting for the Plucker.

  Yes, yes, he knew that the penguin would lead the Plucker away from him, but he couldn’t see the penguin. And if he couldn’t see the penguin, how would the Plucker see him?

  Doc Hawk walked over to the window yet again and carefully parted the curtains. No penguin in sight. But there was a giant shadow, distinctly black in the light of the full moon. Oh, this shadow—Hawk could’ve picked it out of a million shadows. With its huge cheeks. Its hungry, insatiable cheeks.

  The shadow of a dead hamster.

  It turned and headed toward the clinic entrance.

  * * *

  The jellyfish lenses immediately vibrated at full strength. Normally, it began with a light trembling, a barely noticeable quiver. Normally, the jellyfish warned King Ping of any threat in advance, giving him a few minutes to ready himself for his maneuver. But this time it was as if the threat had come from underground. A second ago everything was calm and then suddenly the jellyfish were convulsing in their elegant frames.

  The penguin purposefully tore off his goggles and looked danger right in the eye. A giant shadow, distinctly black in the light of the full moon, jerked and headed right at him. And in the shadow’s wake emerged its owner, the maniac. He was considerably smaller than his shadow, but his eyes were cold, lifeless, and frightening. King Ping had never seen such terrifying eyes before. For a few seconds the penguin just stared, unable to move a muscle, as if he’d been hypnotized. But then he shook off his daze, reminded himself that he was a professional of the highest caliber, and took off in the direction of the barely visible bushes, where he knew the police badgers were lying in wait.

  The plan was for King Ping to lead the Plucker in the direction of the bushes and make the agreed-upon clicking sound with his beak and allow the maniac to grab him. The police badgers then jump out from hiding and catch the Plucker red-handed at the scene of the crime.

  But something didn’t go quite as planned. The bushes were far away. The maniac was a fast runner. And the penguin wasn’t. King Ping saw himself, as if watching a movie, as if viewing from the sidelines, waddling cumbersomely with his webbed feet slipping out from under him, awkwardly swinging his useless flipper wings. He saw how the distance between him and the maniac quickly diminished. He saw a tree. An old, craggy tree right in his path. He veered left, so he wouldn’t run into it. But the roots. He’d forgotten about the roots sticking up from the ground. There weren’t any roots in the familiar ocean off his native coast. There was only water, in which he moved as fast as a shark. There was only snow and ice, on which he slid so effortlessly.

  But the roots . . . King Ping tripped over a root, fell, and rammed his beak right into the unfamiliar, hostile ground. Or maybe he fell, without any roots, just standing there. The particulars weren’t important anymore.

  Something cold touched his back. He felt himself losing consciousness, swimming away into a quiet ocean . . . The sound of approaching paws, the barking of dogs, and the yells of Chief Badger cut in.

  “Get him! Grab him, Mr. King Kong! Don’t let him go!”

  “No, no!” the maniac squealed into his ear.

  King Ping gathered up his last bit of strength, forcefully jerked his beak out of the ground, and snapped hold of the maniac. The maniac felt like an eel and writhed like one too.

  Thunder rang out, causing the maniac to jolt in panic and go limp. The dogs howled wildly. King Ping had studied the local beliefs and knew that some woodland animals believed in the Thunder Bearer and thought that he sent thunder and lightning down on to the earth as punishment for their bad behavior. These animals had no idea it was actually the Celestial Emperor Penguin honking at his Celestial Penguin Chick because he’d either trampled all over the clouds with his dirty feet or pecked away at the stars. Sometimes he honked so loudly that the Mad Shark would rise from the depths of the earth to—

  Another clap of thunder and the Mad Shark’s fin violently slashed the night sky with lightning. And in that sudden, piercingly bright light everyone saw in the most minute detail who King Ping was clutching.

  It was Sneaky Sal, with rude, evil eyes and a missing tail.

  CHAPTER 26: IN WHICH THE HEART OF THE MATTER IS PECKED AT

  “After the midnight hour, tune in for the owls!” “What?” asked Chief Badger.

  “Welcome to Owl Radio Hour on ThunderFM with your favorite host, eagle owl Al! Let’s hoot together!”

  “Why do you assume you’re my favorite?” asked Chief Badger. “I didn’t come here to hoot. I thought you wanted an interview.”

  “Oh, don’t pay any attention. I wasn’t speaking to you. I have to hoot out that introduction every time.” Al raised the multicolored feathers above his eyes. “And now, silence in the tree hollow!”

  “This isn’t a tree hollow. It’s the clinic Hawks Without Borders,” said Doc Hawk.

  “Fine. Silence in the clinic! Good evening, dear listeners! I’m eagle owl Al, your favorite host. And I’m coming to you live from the scene of the action! From the very place where the terrifying maniac, the Plucker who has been wreaking havoc in our Far Woods, was caught only an hour ago! It turns out it was Sneaky Sal! And now, Chief Badger of the Far Woods Police will say a few words about this intriguing case. Chief Badger, you’re live on the air! Please tell us how you were able to catch such a dangerous and unpredictable maniac?”

  “First of all, I’d like to stress that Sneaky Sal hasn’t been found guilty yet . . .”

  “Whoo! How dull!” Al rolled his bright orange eyes. “How about you tell us something interesting about the perpetrator. How did you track him down? Rumor has it you had the help of a famous shark baiter?”

  “You didn’t understand. Sneaky Sal hasn’t been found guilty yet, so you should refer to him as a suspect, not a perpetrator . . .”

  “Whoo whoo! Duller by the minute!” interrupted Al and flew off to the side. “Well, though Chief Badger wasn’t particularly eloquent, he does keep our woods safe and knows all the laws by heart. A police badger probably ought to be a curt, humdrum, rigid, and persnickety animal. Next, I’ll interview someone who isn’t a wall
flower. There—I see someone gregarious. She’s zooming right overhead, moving at the speed of lightning! It’s the special agent Super Bat! Tell us about this incredible case! Rumor has it you first thought the Plucker wasn’t Sal, but Badgercat!”

  “No comment!” squealed Super Bat. “I do not give interviews!”

  “Yes, I was the first suspect,” said Badgercat loudly. “I was forced into hiding. But now my clean reputation . . .”

  “Rumor has it, you even went insane?” Al hungrily flew to Badgercat’s side. “Tell our listeners what it feels like to be insane. Did you have an imaginary friend? Did you dance around naked?”

  “No comment,” said Badgercat frowning.

  “Apparently no one here is ready to answer any hard-hitting questions. No one!” Al blinked his orange eyes. “This is the very objective of a radio host: to ask the hard-hitting questions. As they say, to peck at the heart of the matter. To peck my way to the truth. Oh, Mr. King Ping, let me express my immense respect for you. As far as I know, you’re a professional shark baiter, and it was specifically thanks to you that the extremely dangerous maniac was caught tonight. If I may ask: why are there no professionals of your caliber here in the Far Woods? Perhaps it is a question of climate?”

  “Yes, the severe climate was instrumental to the formation of my outstanding character. If I would have grown up here in the Far Woods, I may not have been able to catch the maniac as skillfully as I did tonight. I remember how, as a penguin chick—”

  “Enough!” hissed Sneaky Sal. “I’m not a maniac!”

  “Not a maniac? Then who are you?” Al immediately lost interest in the penguin’s childhood and rushed over to Sal with his microphone. “I am here with the infamous Plucker who has been terrorizing our woods and is now giving his first interview! Only today! Only tonight! Only for the listeners of Owl Radio Hour! Who are you, Sal? Tell our listeners why you plucked all those birds. And what about me?” Al’s orange eyes bulged. “Tell me the truth. Do you have a desire to pluck me?”

  “I do indeed,” grumbled Sal. “Because of your idiotic questions. I didn’t pluck anyone! I’m not the Plucker! I only happened to be walking by and stumbled upon this penguin. He was sprawled out on his belly with his beak stuck in the ground. I thought to myself: Is he dead? Maybe he needs help.”

  “Whoo whoo haa haa!” Al’s eyebrow feathers quivered from laughter. “I’ve never heard a more ridiculous story in my life, dear listeners! Our maniac claims that the professional shark baiter was lying around on the job. And with his beak stuck in the ground. Haa haa whoo whoo!” Al winked at King Ping with an orange eye. Mr. King Ping chuckled uncertainly in response.

  “And did you just happen to be walking by the oak too?” Chief Badger asked Sal.

  “What oak? I don’t know any oaks!” said Sal quickly.

  “The oak where the plucked sparrow Ro was found,” clarified Chief Badger calmly.

  “I don’t know any sparrows,” said Sal a bit less sure.

  “This is beginning to get interesting!” Al’s eyebrow feathers fluttered with excitement. “Dear listeners! Only today! Only tonight! Only on Owl Radio Hour! The interrogation of the perpetrator! Live! On air!”

  “If you don’t know the oak or the sparrow, then how did your tail end up there?” Chief Badger narrowed his eyes.

  “What tail?” asked Super Bat and Al in unison.

  “At the scene of the crime of Ro’s plucking, right under the oak, Vulture and I found a salamander tail,” said Badger. “A thorough examination showed that the tail belonged to Sal, and it was shed that very day.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed of these findings?” squealed Super Bat.

  “Because at that point you were convinced of Badgercat’s guilt and would’ve simply thrown out the tail,” said Chief Badger.

  “Because you insisted that my examinations were a waste of time,” added Vulture, looking insulted anew.

  “Seems like there’s a conflict brewing here!” hooted Al delightedly. “What’s going on, Super Bat? There seem to be some teamwork issues in your unit. Why are your subordinates—”

  “Get out!” screamed Super Bat wrinkling her nose threateningly.

  “Who are you talking to?” asked Al, confused.

  “YOU! Get out! Now! There will be no interviews! You’re interfering with police work!”

  “What do you mean, no interviews?” Al’s eyes flashed with disappointment. “The residents of the Far Woods want the truth! To hear the truth on ThunderFM!”

  Super Bat’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

  “What frequency is that?” asked Al, getting worried. “Stop screaming! You’ll ruin my transmitter! Fine, fine. I won’t interfere! Please don’t break my equipment! I’m going!”

  * * *

  “Fine, you’ve got me. I was there, by the oak,” said Sneaky Sal as he sullenly watched Al fly freely in the stormy sky. He jangled his pawcuffs. “I was stealing the cones from the hollow—Arctic’s payment for his ice cream. Then I heard someone approaching, got frightened, and ran away. That’s all.”

  “It’s strange that you happened to be at the oak at the exact time of the crime,” said Chief Badger.

  “I just happened to be walking by. So what? It’s normal. Any animal happens to be walking by something constantly.”

  “Yes, I’m not arguing it isn’t normal. But how did you know there were cones in the hollow? And that they were put there specifically by Arctic? Specifically as payment for ice cream?”

  “Confess you legged-snake!” Badgercat butted in. “A confession can reduce your punishment! If you confess, Weasel will probably show mercy and snap your head off quickly in one bite.”

  “Former Assistant Chief Badger, do not interrupt questioning!” Chief Badger ordered.

  “Why not? He’s right,” said Super Bat unexpectedly agreeing with Badgercat. “Confess, Sal!”

  “But you . . . you . . . super you . . .” Sal quickly looked at Super Bat out of the corner of his eyes and then his gaze nervously darted all about the room. “You know I’m not the Plucker.”

  “Me? I know you aren’t the Plucker?” asked Super Bat menacingly and what seemed to Chief Badger to be quite theatrical. “How would I know that?”

  “No, you . . . I mean all of you. All of you here know I’m not the Plucker.”

  “And how do we know that?” asked Chief Badger.

  “Because the Plucker is a dead hamster. You were just discussing it. Doc Hawk saw a dead hamster, and the raven said the same thing. But since you can’t catch the dead hamster, you’ve caught me instead. You want to pin it all on me.”

  “The dead hamster hasn’t been found guilty yet,” said Chief Badger. “And with regards to the late raven’s statement, it may not have been in reference to the Plucker.”

  “Then what was she talking about?” asked Badgercat, surprised. “You said that she whispered ‘mad hamster’ right before she died.”

  “Yes, but I was thinking because she was a librarian, she may have been referring to the book I was holding, not to the maniac. It was Robert Forest’s collected works. She just recognized the book.”

  “What about Doc Hawk?” said Sal. “Hawk saw a huge dead hamster!”

  “I can show you who Doc Hawk saw,” said Chief Badger, smiling cryptically.

  “We . . . we’re going to call up the ghost of the dead hamster?” asked Badgercat, simultaneously terrified and amazed.

  “No. We’re going to conduct an investigative experiment. Mr. King Ping, do you mind putting on your night-vision goggles and going waaay over there by that tree?”

  “I’m afraid my jellyfish have dried out and are in no condition to sense anything.” The penguin spread his flipper wings apologetically.

  “That’s all right. Your jellyfish don’t need to sense anything right now. Just go over there.”

  Mr. King Ping obediently pulled on his goggles and waddled in the indicated direction.

  “Be careful. Don’t
trip!” yelled Badger after him.

  King Ping nodded on the go, which caused him to teeter and almost fall over, but he caught himself and was able to safely make it over to the tree.

  “Now what?” asked Super Bat, annoyed. “What is he going to do now?”

  “He’s going to stand. And we’re going to look.”

  “Look at what?”

  “Wait.” Chief Badger looked up at the sky. “We need the moon to come out from behind that cloud. Or for lightning to strike.”

  “Oh no.” Badgercat flattened his wet ears against his head, making him look like a frightened kitten. “I had a feeling the hamster ghost came to life during a full moon—”

  “Or when the Great Dog of Thunder punishes someone with lightning,” whined the dogs.

  A gust of wind blew the storm cloud off the moon, already fading in the predawn sky. And at that very second a lightning bolt flashed.

  And in the light of the moon and the lightning, they all saw the shadow of a dead hamster. A motionless hamster with two huge, insatiable, blood-thirsty cheeks.

  “The mad hamster!” whispered Badgercat and shut his eyes.

  The dogs tucked their tails and began howling loudly.

  “Not a mad hamster, but a diligent penguin,” said Chief Badger smiling. “Take a closer look. It’s only Mr. King Ping’s shadow. The moon and lightning distort the proportions. A penguin’s teardrop body shape is similar to that of a hamster, and the round jellyfish goggles appear to be big cheeks. This is the shadow that Doc Hawk and Barbara saw outside the clinic. Mr. King Ping told us he always surveys the surroundings before his covert operation. That’s what he was doing. And inadvertently confused Hawk and Barbara.

  “What about the smell?” asked Badgercat. “That horrible, gravelike, rotten smell that Barbara said came from the hamster?”

  “Just smell the penguin’s goggles once he’s moistened them, Son. The jellyfish have been moistened, dried out, and moistened again a hundred times over in standing water. They reek of a thousand dead hamsters.”