The Crow Chronicles, page 21
Kaw nodded solemnly.
‘That’s what they want, Craven, otherwise the meeting is off and retribution will be terrible!’ He grinned evilly and beckoned him over. And what he whispered into Craven Raven’s ear made the flinty black eyes of that redoubtable bird widen with pleasure.
‘. . . but,’ Kaw continued in a hoarse whisper, ‘we’ll have to work very fast. Starting right now. Get the crownies ready to scramble immediately. Craven Raven, move it, man!’
‘Yes, sir!’ said Craven delightedly and was off in a blur of ebony.
And at Stinky Tops, Billa and Budhboo had reason to feel satisfied too. Budhboo assessed the situation.
‘The Goonda Billis have been briefed thoroughly?’
‘Absolutely. They know exactly what to do and are raring to go.’
‘Good. The ornithologist has been informed where he should wait and keep watch?’
‘Yes. He says he might bring a large coat or something he could throw over Kaw if the opportunity presents itself or a problem develops.’
Budhboo’s eyes narrowed. ‘It would be better if the fool did not interfere. He knows the price?’
‘Yes.’
‘The Kala Talwar Squadron is ready for take off?’
‘They’re awaiting final clearance!’
Billa was clearly enjoying himself.
‘Messages delivered to both Kaw and Titiri?’
‘Both messages delivered safely. Considerable animation reported from the offices of Did-He-Do-It?’
‘Good. Soon they’ll know what curiosity did—’
Billa tensed.
‘Sorry! Then the traps have been baited.’
‘And are ready to spring.’
Budhboo began to smile.
‘Ah, then, Billa, it means we can look forward to an evening’s entertainment at Python Point, doesn’t it?’
‘Certainly it does.’
And the two animals raised their glasses in a toast.
10
Kaw D’Etat
The moon rose early on the night of the double encounters, full and blood-red at first, then gaining an almost blinding luminosity. Stinky Tops shimmered in the coin-bright night as Achaanak flew swiftly towards it, his heart drumming. There were few birds about at this hour—most had settled to roost long ago. A pair of night herons hurried past, squat silhouettes against the mercury-vapour sky. Below him, the waters of the marshes and jheels glimmered and the occasional harsh laugh of a coot or moorhen drifted up, in response to some bawdy bedtime joke. From the distance came the maniacal ululating of jackals, and once, the lonely haunting cry of a sarus crane jilted by its mate from the lemon-yellow mustard fields that skirted the eastern boundary.
Achaanak remembered the hostile reception he had received the last time he had come here—to warn the Prime Minister about the allegedly diabolical Kaw. So much had happened since. As he landed on the visitors’ perch, he hoped that whoever had tipped off Did-He-Do-It? had not been playing a practical joke. At any rate he would find out shortly. The guards eyed him silently, waiting for him to speak.
‘Good evening!’ Achaanak tried to sound friendly but businesslike. ‘My name is Achaanak. I wish to see Sub-Inspector Ganja-Gali. I believe he is expecting me.’
Wordlessly the Ghouls indicated he wait and one of them went in to emerge a short while later with a paunchy crow-pheasant in tow.
‘Shri Achaanak? Myself Sub-Inspector Ganja-Gali. We were informed of your visit. You have brought the payment?’
Achaanak nodded and looked around surreptitiously. He had never done anything like this before.
‘Do I er . . . pay you now?’ he asked in a low voice. The Ghoul laughed.
‘Of course you can pay here! No problem. They see nothing, hear nothing and say nothing. That’s why they are such good sentries.’
Achaanak gulped. This was it. The moment of truth. If it were a trap he could be arrested.
But he need not have worried. So far not a single bird had been arrested for bribery at Stinky Tops. It was a record the Ghouls were proud of and determined to turn into a tradition.
Achaanak delved under his wing and produced six beautifully speckled russet eggs. They had been procured in the black market at considerable cost.
‘Half a dozen now, half a dozen later,’ he whispered. ‘These are peregrine falcon eggs, imported and pesticide-free!’ The Ghoul nodded, examined each egg carefully and placed them out of sight under his voluminous russet cloak.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘Follow me, but look sharp!’
‘Are Shri Billa and Shri Budhboo here?’ asked Achaanak, knowing that often the duo spent the night at Stinky Tops.
The Ghoul shook his head. ‘They have an engagement elsewhere. But you will have to hurry. They may return at any time. They never say where they are going or how long they’ll be.’
The pair ducked and weaved through the labyrinth of spiky branches and brittle twigs until they were deep in the heart of Stinky Tops. No one was around, though often the sharp, slivered moonlight cast deceptive shadows, making the two birds shrink back and freeze. At last the Ghoul stopped outside a thickly meshed door and fiddled with the lock. The door swung open.
‘This is it. Shri Budhboo’s private office chambers. Now be quick. I can only give ten minutes. And you are not to remove anything from the office. I’ll be searching you before you leave.’
Achaanak nodded. He knew exactly where to look—the tip had been very precise. The Ghoul shut the door behind him and locked it. He lounged about outside, examining his eggs. If questioned later on, he could now honestly say that he had not seen anything suspicious take place inside the office.
Achaanak went straight to the magnificent mahogany desk behind which Budhboo had sat, smiling greasily at him the last time he had been here. One by one he began opening the drawers. He found what presumably he had been sent to find in the bottom drawer.
Doodhraj’s magnificent tail feathers reposed under a pile of documents, wrapped carefully in cellophane like a bouquet of pressed flowers, but forlorn and somewhat macabre. They had been carefully placed there the previous evening by a crownie who had come to deliver the last instalment to the Keoladeo fund.
Achaanak gasped. He touched the cellophane lightly and drew back. There could be no doubt. They were Doodhraj’s plucked feathers that the whole of the park was looking for. Here, in Budhboo’s drawer! Which meant . . . the full impact of what it could mean began to sink in.
It was dangerous, very dangerous.
‘Oh my God!’ he whispered. ‘Billa and Budhboo must be members of the Pakshi Virudh Samiti. I’ll have to call Kaw and the crownies into this. They’ll be able to handle it. Hopefully!’ He looked around. There was still a little time before the guard escorted him out. Frantically he began rummaging through the papers in the other drawers.
And then Achaanak made the discovery that was to banish his charming naivete for all time to come.
It was a single sheet of paper, nestling inside a file cover emblazoned TOP AND MOST UTTERLY SECRET.
It was the report on Kaw’s background which had been filed by Budhboo’s agent at the BNHS.
Achaanak scanned it, his eyes getting rounder and rounder, his heart falling down a deep black well.
Kala Kaloota was not the bird he had claimed to be.
He was a mafia don.
A dangerous, ruthless killer.
Now here with a private army of thugbirds.
And he, Achaanak, and all the rest of them had been royally deceived.
Conned into believing that this evil white crow was a benevolent social worker, highly disciplined and motivated to improve the lot of birds in the park.
Birdshit!
And Kaw was probably in cahoots with Budhboo and Billa, never mind how anti-them he had pretended to be.
His first instincts about this whole thing had been right. And now it was too late.
Achaanak’s mind raced, the questions tumbling over each other in a virtual stampede, none of which seemed to have a sensible answer. Who had sent them the tip-off? In fact, there had been two tip-offs—the second one Titiri was probably investigating at this very moment at Python Point. And where were Budhboo and Billa now? What was going on?
It was vital that he discovered as much as was possible while he was here. Apart from it being a story to end all stories, the very future of the park was at stake. Rapidly he photographed Doodhraj’s stolen glory and the incriminating evidence on Kaw. Then he looked around, his throat palpitating with excitement. In one corner of the room stood an alcove, with a door . . .
The door was locked. Achaanak broke off a large keekar thorn and jiggled it expertly in the keyhole. Unprotestingly, the door swung open.
And in the tiny annexe before him lay the latest instalment to the Keoladeo National Park Trust Fund.
There were necklaces and bracelets, brooches and watches, hanging everywhere from the acacia thorns. From every corner, diamonds sparkled at him in the bright moonlight.
It was like the larder of some Midas shrike.
There was only one bird who could have possessed such a treasure.
Kala Kaloota!
Achaanak heard Ganja-Gali rattle the door. Swiftly he took half a dozen photographs and slipped back into the office. As a precaution he removed the film from his camera and replaced it with a fresh roll.
Ganja-Gali slipped into the office. ‘Come on!’ he said urgently, his nerves beginning to give. ‘You are taking too long. Have you got what you wanted?’
The shikra, still reeling from the shock of his discoveries, could only nod dumbly.
And as they closed the office door behind them, they paused in the silver-striped corridor. Faintly but distinctly, they could hear the cawing of crows and the sound of wings flapping in a constrained space. And even as they stood there, the sounds got louder and closer.
Achaanak had, of course, been completely unaware that his visit had been closely monitored by Craven Raven and the crownies who had been assiduously ‘patrolling’ the surrounding areas while taking care to remain out of sight. Craven Raven had briefly wondered why Titiri had not accompanied Achaanak, but eventually dismissed the question with a shrug.
Now he gave the order, and the crownies grouped around him. Leading them in wedge formation, he winged swiftly towards the gates of Stinky Tops, where the Ghouls on duty lounged and loafed. The arrival of the crownies jolted them to attention and they eyed the black squadron uneasily. Craven Raven addressed their leader.
‘My name is Craven Raven,’ he said in his pleasant baritone. ‘I have orders from Shri Kala Kaloota to search these premises. The matter is in connection with the terrorist organization called the Pakshi Virudh Samiti. That is all I am at liberty to vouchsafe.’
The leader of the Ghouls blinked in astonishment, not quite believing what he had heard.
‘I am sorry. No one is permitted inside without clearance from the Ghana Ghouls secretariat. This is a top security area. Now kindly leave or I shall be forced to take action.’
Craven Raven smiled indulgently, and behind him the crownies sniggered. They were enjoying themselves.
‘Look, mister,’ said Craven Raven in the same pleasant voice. ‘We are in charge of the investigation into the Samiti and have been issued a carte-blanche by the government to search any place we want without hindrance from any quarter. (This was a lie.) Now you are a hindrance, so will you kindly remove yourself and let my crownies get on with their work?’
The Ghana Ghoul in charge gaped at Craven Raven’s audacity. Birds had had their necks wrung for so much less!
‘I’m afraid, sir, I do not know anything about a carte-blanche or for that matter a carte-noir,’ he said, trying to keep his temper. ‘Now kindly vacate the premises or I shall be forced to arrest you and your crownies for trespassing on a high-security area. The minimum penalty for that is five years in solitary at the Ghana Ghouls Ghonsla. Now get out!’
Craven Raven’s signal to the crownies, an infinitesimal flick of his wing, was virtually invisible. Before they realized what had happened, the six Ghouls and their leader had not only been overpowered, but expertly gagged and shackled as well. The crownies had sprung so swiftly and silently that not a feather had been raised against them and not a feather of any bird ruffled. Now, the beak of a crownie rested lightly on the nape of each Ghoul’s neck.
‘Come on, move it! We’re going in!’ Craven Raven shoved the commander of the Ghouls in front of him as they entered the twiggy labyrinth. ‘We start by searching the offices of Shri Budhboo and Billa. Are they on the premises?’
The pressure of the beak increased perceptibly and the hapless bird shook his head.
‘Good, that simplifies matters. For the time being at least. Now let’s get on with it!’
And as the procession stumbled around the last corner, it almost bumped into Achaanak and the sub-inspector as they pressed themselves against the corridor wall.
Craven Raven feigned surprise, and Achaanak, who had expected them to be a platoon of Ghouls coming to arrest him, nearly fainted with shock.
‘Achaanak!’ exclaimed Craven warmly. ‘What a surprise! And what brings you here in the dead of night?’
Miraculously, Achaanak found both his vocal cords and his wits. He laughed negligently though a trifle unconvincingly.
‘Ah, hello, Shri Craven. As I am the investigative journalist here perhaps I should be asking you that. And why are those Ghouls tied up like chickens for the market? What’s going on here?’
Craven Raven paused, a little taken aback. Of course he had expected to bump into Achaanak sooner or later, but he had also expected that the shikra would immediately and excitedly disclose his discovery of Doodhraj’s feathers—and in fact eagerly lead the crownies to it. Achaanak was showing no signs of doing that.
Also, there was something that jarred—this bluff bonhomie was not in keeping with the shikra’s earnest character. He placed a comradely wing on Achaanak’s shoulder.
‘Actually, I am glad you are here, Achaanak,’ he said gravely. ‘We received a tip-off regarding the Pakshi Virudh Samiti and are acting upon it. These jokers . . .’ he indicated the trussed-up Ghouls (who now included Ganja-Gali), ‘tried to prevent us from doing our duty.’
The leader of the Ghouls and Sub-Inspector Ganja-Gali struggled against their bonds, their eyes rolling with anger.
Craven Raven chattered on blithely.
‘Ah, yes, you can be an eyewitness and can vouch for our professional conduct, in case these jokers raise a stink later on. But tell me, what brings you here in the first place?’ The question was tossed in quite casually.
‘I er . . . wanted to interview Shri Billa and Bundicoot. Was just waiting for them in fact.’ Achaanak smiled and shrugged. ‘You know how it is with these VIBs . . .’
Craven Raven raised a laconic eyebrow. So the shikra was not even letting on about being tipped off. Or that he had found anything significant.
‘Interviewing them in the dead of night? I realize they’re the sort of characters who ought to be interviewed in the dead of night but . . . And a full moon night at that!’
‘Actually I just needed their verification on certain points for an article. It has to go to press later tonight.’
‘Yes, you can’t be too careful, I suppose.’ They had reached the door to Budhboo’s office. Craven Raven turned to the crownies.
‘Okay, boys. Search the room. Inside out,’ he ordered briskly.
Achaanak shook his head in mock disapproval.
‘Shri Budhboo would be very displeased, I would imagine. Incidentally, what is it you are searching for?’
Craven Raven shook his head disarmingly.
‘We received a tip-off that we should investigate and search these premises thoroughly for incriminating evidence relating to the Samiti.’
The crownies crowded into the office, four remaining outside in the corridor to guard the trussed up Ghouls. As the search began, Craven Raven watched Achaanak keenly, but now it was the turn of the shikra to remain poker-faced.
Within moments one of the crownies had opened the bottom drawer and was holding aloft the beautiful tail feathers of Doodhraj Maharaj.
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Craven Raven in well-simulated astonishment. ‘Just look at that!’
So, obviously the shikra had known about the feathers—only a dunderhead searching the room would have missed them. And yet Achaanak had remained silent. Why? The question troubled Craven Raven and he was determined to find an answer.
‘Good God!’ he said again. ‘This is serious! The implications are grave and far-reaching! It appears that the honourable Shri Budhboo and probably Shri Billa are involved with that notorious group! Unless they can provide a very good explanation as to what these tail feathers are doing in that drawer. And who knows, maybe the Prime Minister is involved too!’
Achaanak, with considerable presence of mind, had begun taking photographs again. He too had his duty to perform. The Ghana Ghouls, shocked by the turn of events, hung limply against their bonds, the fight gone out of them. Craven Raven looked around the ransacked room.
‘Okay, continue the search. But I’m afraid that does it. We’ll have to take over.’ He said it almost regretfully, as though saddened by what they had found. ‘No one is to leave Stinky Tops without my express permission. Crownies, search the rooms and then fan out through the place and neutralize any resistance. You know the procedure. Now move.’
And then Achaanak saw the truth, and realized what was happening. This was nothing but a carefully disguised coup d’etat, and he was meant to have been the catalyst in the scheme of things. The exercise of ‘finding incriminating evidence’ was just a charade, a sham. Probably the feathers had been planted there by the crownies themselves. Which meant that Kaw and the crownies must have been responsible for the defeathering in the first place. That reminded him of one question that had been bothering him ever since he had met Craven Raven.
Where was Kala Kaloota? And why was he not conducting his own coup?
