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  ANNA STAROBINETS

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  IN THE WOLF’S LAIR

  BOOK I

  ANNA STAROBINETS

  Translated by

  Jane Bugaeva

  Illustrated by

  Marie Muravski

  Dover Publications, Inc.

  Mineola, New York

  Published with the support of the Institute for Literary Translation (Russia)

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 by Anna Starobinets

  Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Clever Publishing

  English language translation copyright © 2018 by

  Dover Publications, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Bibliographical Note

  This Dover edition, first published in 2018, is an unabridged English translation of the Russian work originally printed by Clever, Moscow, Russia, in 2016.

  International Standard Book Number

  ISBN-13: 978-0-486-82762-9

  ISBN-10: 0-486-82762-3

  Manufactured in the United States by LSC Communications

  82762301 2018

  www.doverpublications.com

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1: In Which Everyone Learns of the Murder

  Chapter 2: In Which the Beastly Details Are Discovered

  Chapter 3: In Which the Suspect Howls

  Chapter 4: In Which Somebody Behaves Very Strangely

  Chapter 5: In Which It’s Hard to Live without a Breadwinner

  Chapter 6: In Which a Witness Knows Something

  Chapter 7: In Which It’s Best Not to Be a Pinecone Pincher

  Chapter 8: In Which Assistant Chief Badger Acts Heroically

  Chapter 9: In Which the Police Badgers Lead a Masterful Interrogation

  Chapter 10: In Which the Larvae Are Thought Of

  Chapter 11: In Which a Psychological Profile of the Murderer Is Drawn Up

  Chapter 12: In Which Beetles Have an Ideal Sense of Time

  Chapter 13: In Which the Owls Triumph

  Chapter 14: In Which the Electricity Runs Out

  Chapter 15: In Which Badgercat Doesn’t Believe His Eyes

  Chapter 16: In Which Chief Badger Can’t Hibernate in Peace

  IN THE WOLF’S LAIR

  CHAPTER 1: IN WHICH EVERYONE LEARNS OF THE MURDER

  The Tree Knot Tavern was full to the brim, as always. Those who hadn’t come in time to snag a table were sitting on the floor. Chief Badger glanced disapprovingly at a couple of out-of-town owls who were perched under a nearby table, sipping on murky mothitos. Badger would never stoop so low. Diners ought to sit at tables or, as a last resort, at the bar. But drinking mothitos under a table? That just showed a lack of self-respect. Not to mention, those two shouldn’t be drinking in the first place. If they would have asked his opinion, he would have told them just that. Badger knew a thing or two about mothitos. He knew a thing or two about owls too. The numbingly sweet cocktail made from fermented house moths was a dangerous drink. The owl orders one, then another, then a third… And before you know it he’s warbling his melancholy owl song and his little bird eyes have mindlessly glazed over.

  “What can I get for you?” shrieked Yote. It wasn’t clear whether the waiter was just trying to be heard over the din or whether his nerves were acting up again. Badger always frequented the Tree Knot Tavern on Fridays. Not that there were any other pubs in the Far Woods—there weren’t. Rather, he loved the atmosphere. It was a place where he could relax after a long work week, let his whiskers down, enjoy his favorite splash ’n’ snap tunes, chat with friends, and eat a good meal. His favorite was the house special: Bump on a Log. It was a big, juicy, rotting log filled with sun-cured larva.

  “I’ll have the log…”

  No. No. No. He’d promised himself he’d go on a diet. He needed to lose weight. He felt completely out of shape. How did he expect to chase runaway criminals with all his excess badger fat? So, it would have to be jogging and small portions…of healthy food.

  “The Bump on a Log?” asked Yote gruffly.

  “No, not the log. Make that…”

  “Make up your mind!” yelped Yote, hurling his notepad to the ground. “What do you want? There’s so many of you here, and there’s only one of me! I’m all alone! And everyone wants something! Hee hee hee!”

  The waiter began shaking in a fit of laughter. Yote was a coyote with a very volatile temper, whose laughter usually escalated into sobs. It was all because of an unfortunate childhood. He was born into a pack of bandit coyotes who lived in the Near Woods. At the time, Badger had tried more than once to persuade the pack to reform their ways. He’d warned them that a life of crime would never lead to anything good. But he couldn’t do anything more. His jurisdiction didn’t extend into the Near Woods. All he could do was give advice, but the coyotes only laughed dismissively in response. Then one day there was a skirmish between rival bandit packs for control of the lakeside border territory. All the coyotes were slain in one night. All but Yote—only a pup at the time—who had managed to hide. Chief Badger, who had arrived at the scene of the massacre, brought the young Yote back with him to the Far Woods. He made sure that a family of law-abiding citizens took him in, so he wouldn’t go down a crooked criminal path.

  “Hee hee hee! One thing after another!” Yote’s laughter was already turning into whimpers. “First you want the log. Then you don’t. Ha ha ha!”

  The owls had torn themselves away from their drinks and were staring at Yote in shock, their eyes wide. A juicy fermented moth dangled off one of the bird’s beaks.

  “Calm down. Get a hold of yourself,” said Badger. “And what are you two staring at?” he said, turning to the owls. “What? You’ve never seen a coyote before?”

  “Scandalous behavior,” commented one owl, the moth still dangling from his beak.

  “A shocking spectacle indeed,” confirmed the second owl. “We’ve been traumatized.”

  “We’re lawyer owls, and we demand compensation for our psychological damages. A free meal,” concluded the first owl. By now the moth had finally fallen off his beak onto the floor.

  “A free meal?” yelped Yote. “Better yet, I’ll make a meal out of you two! How about Owl Kiev? Or Owl Cordon Blue?”

  “Death threats,” stated one owl.

  “In front of witnesses,” added the other, clicking his beak.

  “As Chief Badger of the Far Woods Police,” interrupted Badger, “I must inform you that in our woods it is illegal to litter in public places. It is punishable by a fine.”

  “We never litter!” the owls hooted in protest.

  “What about that moth on the floor?” Badger pointed out. “But I’ll let it slide since it’s your first offense. We’re friendly here in the Far Woods. So here’s what we’ll do. You’ll pick up that moth, and you”—he turned to Yote—“you’ll bring these owls a Bump on a Log on the house.”

  “Again with the log?” howled Yote. “Log, no log, log, no…”

  “That’s enough from you,” Badger cut him off. “A log for them and a carpaccio of rain worms for me. And I’m expecting a friend. He’ll have the soy mouse paté and…”

  “I’ll have whatever Badger’s having actually!” As always, Badgercat had made his way unnoticed through the crowded tavern and jumped up on the neighboring barstool as if appearing from a parallel dimension. A second ago he was nowhere to be seen and now here he was—with pointed ears, stiff whiskers, his tail tapping to the rhythm of the music, and his snout adorned with two freshly painted black stripes.

  “My young friend,” said Badger, patting him on the s
houlder in a fatherly manner, “that dish isn’t for you. I ordered the carpaccio—just a light snack really—because I’m on a diet. But raw rain worms aren’t suitable for an animal such as yourself…”

  “I’m a badgercat!” protested Badgercat. “Look at the stripes on my snout! A badger’s diet is perfect for me. I’ll have the carpaccio!”

  “He’ll have it all!” Yote started up again, causing both owls to feign choking on their mothitos. “He’ll have this, he’ll have that… He’ll have mice, he’ll have worms… He’s a cat, he’s not a cat…”

  “I’m a badgercat!” insisted Badgercat. “I’m Assistant Chief Badger of the Far Woods Police. And I’ll have the carpaccio.”

  “Two worm carpaccio for table five!” yelled Yote, disappearing into the kitchen. “And a Bump on a Log for table seven on the house…may they choke on it!”

  “The frogs are croaking,” said Badgercat, his triangular ear twisted at an inconceivable angle. “Something must have happened.”

  “Sometimes frogs just croak,” said Badger wisely.

  “Maybe there’s been a serious crime!” Badgercat couldn’t hide the hope in his voice.

  “You want there to be a serious crime in our Far Woods?” asked Badger sternly.

  “No, of course not.” Badgercat closed one eye and nervously scratched at the glistening stripes on his snout.

  But of course he did. He desperately wanted someone to finally commit a real, beastly crime in the Far Woods. Yes, he knew how important a safe, calm, mutually trusting life was to the residents of the Far Woods. But the fact of the matter was that his workweek was filled with mindless petty crimes, and he was sick of it. A stolen pinecone, uncleared dung, a plucked tail feather…how boring! Those crimes took no imagination, no nerve, no cold-blooded deceit! These weren’t the criminals Badgercat dreamed of catching when he had joined the Far Woods Police.

  Yote appeared with the carpaccio, slamming the plates down so forcefully that pieces of raw worms spewed all over the table. They began slowly crawling in different directions in futile hopes of escaping.

  “A serious crime is always trouble,” said Badger. He glanced disapprovingly at Yote and skillfully snatched up all the crawling pieces, popping them into his mouth. “It’s someone’s tragedy, someone’s loss, someone’s death. Do you understand me, Badgercat?”

  “Yes, I understand.” Badgercat sullenly looked at his plate. He really didn’t want to eat worms. He lazily clawed at the carpaccio, picking a worm that looked a bit more alive than the others, dropped it on the table, and began batting at it with his paw.

  “Don’t play with your food,” ordered Badger, then checked himself. “Sorry, Son. You’re all grown up now, and I’m still trying to discipline you. Eat as you wish.”

  The croaking escalated.

  “They aren’t just croaking,” said Badgercat, his fur standing on end. “They’re transmitting information using FrogBook Messenger. It’s an embarrassment that the Far Woods Police doesn’t have a FrogBook croak account. We’re always last to hear the news!”

  “I don’t like all these new-fangled technologies,” said Badger, furrowing his brow. “If there’s actually some important news, Magpie will bring it to us on her tail as usual. Look around. No one here has a croak account. Good ’ole Tree Knot Tavern. Nothing’s changed since I was a young…”

  “Ribbit!” Two spotted brown frogs burst into the bar and hopped under the same table as the owls. The birds were staring at the Bump on a Log with such soured expressions, you’d think they were being served a chunk of their familial oak.

  “Ribbit! Murdered! Ribbit! Murdered!” croaked the frogs.

  “Who?” asked Badger and Badgercat in unison.

  “Who?” asked the panicked patrons.

  “Ribbit! We won’t tell. No, ribbit. You didn’t sign up for a croak account, ribbit. We’ll only tell the owls, ribbit!” And they whispered something to the owls.

  “In the name of the law,” said Badger threateningly, “I order you frogs to state what you know. Immediately.”

  “Murdered!” came Magpie’s familiar crackling voice. “Beastly murdered!” Magpie toppled into the tavern breathing heavily. She shook her tail, and a tuft of gray fur fell onto the floor. Badger somberly examined the fur, the underside of which was moist and red. He took a sniff. It was blood.

  “Please give your report, informant Magpie.”

  “Rabbit was murdered,” said Magpie, choking back tears. “Beastly, brutally murdered. And not just murdered… He was ea—ea—eaten!” For a few seconds the tavern was completely silent. Then the owls shakily made their way out from under the table, spread their wings, and began their mournful owl song.

  We’re owls, owls, owls!

  We’ll go on the prowl

  to find who’s afoul.

  And we’ll sue, sue, sue,

  all for you, you, you!

  “Who did it?” whispered Yote, his lips pale. “Who killed Rabbit?”

  “We’ll find out,” said Badger. “The murderer will not go unpunished.”

  “He certainly will not,” added Badgercat. He was already regretting that he’d hoped for a real crime. Losing Rabbit was a pity; he was a good guy.

  CHAPTER 2: IN WHICH THE BEASTLY DETAILS ARE DISCOVERED

  “E veryone scram! This is a crime scene!” yelled Chief Badger. “You’ll trample the evidence! Beat it. Scoot. Skedaddle! Everyone, step back!”

  The animals reluctantly took a few steps back, and Badger and Badgercat were finally able to make their way into the center of the clearing. A few bones, gnawed clean, some tufts of fur, and a bloodstain on the withered grass were all that was left of Rabbit. There hadn’t been such a brutal murder in the Far Woods in a long time. Chief Badger sniffed the air. The ripe, nutty smell of autumn filled his nostrils. He surveyed the surroundings. The tree tops were covered in reddish-gold leaves, as if the spotted hide of some magical creature had been thrown over them. The beauty was breathtaking! Meanwhile, animals were murdering each other. Badger suddenly felt tired—very tired. To heck with it all! Maybe he ought to go into hibernation right then and there. It wasn’t such a crazy idea. It was only natural, and winter was on its way. He’d go into hibernation and then straight into retirement and never have to come back. Let them kill one another and trample the evidence. He wouldn’t care. He’d be asleep…

  “Chief! Is something wrong?” whispered Badgercat.

  “I’m fine, Son.”

  “But you were just standing there with your eyes closed, rocking from side to side,” Badgercat’s eyes suddenly flashed with alarm. “You weren’t about to go into hibernation, were you? We’ve got to arrest Wolf. Right? You don’t expect me to catch him all by myself. Do you?”

  “No, no, I wasn’t going into hibernation. Just got lost in thought, that’s all,” said Badger warily. “And as for Wolf, we’ve got to determine if he’s guilty first. Don’t accuse animals willy-nilly, Son.”

  “But it’s obvious that Wolf ate Rabbit!” protested Badgercat.

  “Obvious!” came a shout from the crowd.

  “It was Wolf!” came a few others.

  “Yes, yes, Wolf!” squawked the rest of the crowd.

  “I understand your distress,” Badger spoke to the crowd. “Wolf will be punished to the full extent of the law—that is, if he is found guilty. And now Assistant Chief Badger of the Far Woods Police will rope off the scene of the crime and Vulture will proceed with the investigation.”

  “Copy that,” said Badgercat, who reluctantly began hammering in small wooden stakes around the perimeter of the clearing. Vulture carefully examined the red stain on the grass, plucked at the tuft of fur with his beak, pecked at the bones, paced back and forth, and finally flew over to the edge of the clearing.

  “Rabbit had gone out for a walk,” began Vulture, “when suddenly…”

  “The victim,” said Badger.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Please call him ‘the victim.’
”

  “If you say so.” Vulture was taken aback but didn’t let on. “The victim had gone out for a walk. Like so…” Vulture proudly strode from the edge of the clearing to its center. “And then he was attacked by Wolf…”

  “The assailant,” said Badger, frowning.

  “Pardon?”

  “Victim. Assailant. That’s how we’ll refer to them.”

  “As you wish,” said Vulture, growing more annoyed. “The ferocious assailant ravenously plunged his teeth into the helpless victim, like this…” Vulture chomped down menacingly with his beak. “He was slain right here.” Vulture began tracing Rabbit’s outline on the ground with his talon, beginning with the long ears. “Traces of the victim’s blood indicate that he was eaten. Actually, if I may say so myself, devoured. The assailant committed the act quickly, showing no mercy. Time of death was around 9:00 p.m.—more specifically between the hours of 8:30 p.m. and 9:30 p.m. The assailant then fled the scene of this heinous crime. Here are his tracks. Take a look.” Vulture triumphantly spread his wings. “These tracks lead away from the center of the clearing, in the direction of the thicket. And these tracks belong to—and you’ll have to excuse me here, but I can’t find an alternate word for this—a wolf. The tracks of the assailant are wolf tracks.”

  “Thank you, Vulture,” said Chief Badger, nodding. “Yes, these are wolf tracks. I can see so myself. However, there are lots of other animal tracks here as well. The whole scene has been badly trampled. How can you tell that these tracks in particular belong to the assailant?”

  “Well…it’s obvious,” protested Vulture. “Or would you like to accuse one of us of the murder?”

  “I don’t wish to accuse anyone,” sighed Badger, scanning the residents of the Far Woods. “But while the investigation is ongoing, everyone is a suspect.”

  “My darling buuunnyyy!” came a cry from the crowd. “Oh, oh, oh! My Rabbit! Let me see him!”

  “Mrs. Rabbit,” whispered Badgercat, horrified. “What a shock this must be for her. And they’ve got children if I’m not mistaken.”