1. Nightingale Farm

As a white van raced across the driveway, the farmer opened the gate to the meadows. All animals stayed where they were, confused. Kuku mooed in surprise: she’d never been allowed outside before.

“Go on! Move it, move it.”

The farmer wore a blue overall, shiny and clean. His black boots shimmered as well.

Kuku recognized the sounds in his speech, but didn’t know what they meant. Ever since incident with the Babblebrothers at the end of the Second Conflict, most animal species were unable to talk to each other anymore. Except for Hess: their watchdog understood everyone.

The farm animals still watched the farmer in confusion.

He repeated the same noises, including something about “stupid creatures” and “glassy eyes”, but it was in vain. His large hands hit a few cows in their behind and a few sheep in their face, until they guessed they were supposed to walk into the meadow.

The white van stopped. Its side showed an illustration of a human, loosely drawn and surrounded by unnaturally happy animals. She held a clipboard, which held a paper littered with green checkmarks. A woman that looked exactly like the drawing stepped outside the van.

Only her paper had no green checkmarks yet—it was empty. She came to inspect the farm.

Her high heels clacked as they traveled the long and noisy gravel road. Her right hand wore a fire-red ring that was comically large and her face was stuck under layers of make-up.

Farmer Harry turned around and ran for the shed. He threw a few bales of hay to cover the gaping holes in the wall.

Kuku walked through the meadow as if she feared stepping into dog poop all the time. Her fur was mostly white, almost pink, with only a handful of black spots. Sometimes her own spots startled her.

Was this what they called … grass? It felt weird beneath her paws. Very weird. She leaned forward and sniffed close to the ground. Yes! Fresh grass! She mooed and bit into it.

Overcome with joy, she smiled at her mother. But she looked serious, angry even.

“Harry always does this. Don’t get used to it.”

The previous inspection had happened before Kuku was even born. A week ago, when the cows learned a new inspection would come, they went wild. Well, Kuku had imagined a bit more than one woman who awkwardly tried to conquer the uneven farming ground.

She’d almost reached Harry. He hastily cleaned the barn and tried to make the piles of poo disappear. This mostly meant throwing it into a different, darker corner. Multiple bottles of air freshener piled out of his deep pockets, and he emptied them all.

The front entrance of the barn had collapsed years ago, when wood lice and rats had nibbled on the two pillars. This had killed two sheep and locked the largest cows permanently inside since then.

Harry had hammered their roof all week to build a new one. The result wasn’t as great as the one by the legendary Bearchitects, of course not. But an inspector would not notice the difference, unless she climbed on top of the barn. That Kuku would like to see.

The collapse, dear reader, wasn’t the only odd occurrence at this farm. The chimney had rolled off the roof without cause. Once, around midnight, half their fences had suddenly fallen down. All the animals were punished; everyone claimed they hadn’t done it.

Regularly, someone erased large patches of their fields of grain. As if they played a game and tried to draw lines you could only recognize from above. All animals were punished; everyone claimed they hadn’t done it. Kuku had never even been allowed to roam freely long enough to discover the fields of grain near the entrance.

“Elize!” yelled Harry across the farming grounds. “Eliiiizeeee!”

His daughter, a young girl with red curly hair, ran towards him.

“I’ll keep that weird woman occupied, child. You must ensure the water trough is filled and that the other barn remains locked at all costs.”

“Locked? But then the animals won’t be able to—”

“Do it!”

Harry kicked the next group of “slow cows” onto the meadow. Elize made a pained noise.

“Don’t bleat like that, child. This is how you treat silly creatures who will not listen!”

Elize nodded and kicked a small sheep who’d lost its way.

“Yes, yes, of course. I know that, dad.”

“Oh, and bring medicine to that sick piglet.”

“Medicine? Where do we keep—”

“I don’t know! Fill a glass of water, write the word medicine on it. Must I pre-chew everything for you!?”

Elize frowned, then hopped to the water trough. She tried to wear the same clothes as her dad. Kuku heard her call herself Farmer Elize whenever friends came over to play. The big difference, though, was that her clothes and boots were already stained with dirt within five seconds, every single day.

Harry plastered a smile on his face and casually approached the inspector.

“Welcome, welcome, at Nightingale Farm!”

He shook her hand with a passion. She wiped off her fingers with a cloth.

“I am Beatrix and I have little time. I’d like to start with your barn.”

“Of course, of course, look around.” Harry’s hands fell on his impressive belly as he laughed. “We have nothing to hide!”

Beatrix was taller than Harry, but thin as a twig.

Kuku grinned. “She looks like a blade of grass compared to fat Harry—”

“Silence! Keep your snout!” mother said.

“He’ll never get those green checkmarks. The barn stinks like … like … Hess’ dog poop.”

Her mother fluttered her ears and mooed softly.

Harry and Beatrix walked into the barn.

They stayed inside for several minutes.

Then they left again, chatting pleasantly.

“Yes, yes, I find fresh air of the utmost importance for animals!” said Harry. “And as much time outside as possible. Look!”

Together they entered the meadows. The woman took only a few steps, because further on the glass grew to a gigantic size. High enough to tickle Kuku’s belly, which only made her more happy and giggly.

This made Beatrix frown. “Tell me again: how often do you let the animals roam freely here?”

“At least 200 days a year.”

“That means nothing. How many hours a day?”

“As long as possible. I’d say 8 hours on average.”

“Then why does the grass look like nobody has ever touched it?”

“See,” Kuku whispered. “She looks in a bad moohd. He’ll fail and then …”

And then? The farm would close? Where would she live then? The barn stank. And she was small. And she was locked up. And the food was terrible.

But if the farm had to close … what would happen to all its animals?

Harry placed a hand on Beatrix’ shoulder; she pushed it away and wiped off her shoulder with the cloth.

“I use an exceptionally effective fertilizer.”

“That’s not allowed. Too much fertilizer will drain the soil until it’s exhausted.”

He forgot to blink. “I meant, of course, that I have amazing pesticides. They keep away insects, so they don’t eat the grass, you see?”

The inspector raised her eyebrow. “Also forbidden as of recently. It’s poisonous and unnatural.”

Harry’s knuckles went white from his nervous grip on the clipboard.

“Sorry, of course, we stopped doing that recently and now we use a secret technique. Once the inspection is done, you may come inside. My balcony has a veggie patch with grass that grows just as tall!”

“Hmm.”

It was true. Across the entire farm, which was a considerable area, all nature grew as if it had entered a race to reach the sun first.

Beatrix decided to put down half a checkmark in several places.

“And how many animals do you keep?”

Harry pretend to count. His large fingers pointed at the animals one by one, as he called them by name. Names which he invented on the spot.

“Forty seven.”

“That’s barely below the limit of fifty for your plot, but acceptable. Then I’d just like to see that other barn—”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s been empty for years, locked up and unused.”

Kuku had joined Harry’s counting, but continued for a little longer. He had nearly a hundred animals. More importantly, her father stood in that other barn. Would he be able to breathe? With everything locked and the holes closed?

She nervously paced through the tall grass, hungrily nipping at everything within reach.

Elize entered the field too. Beatrix watched as the tiny girl carried a large bucket of water, which spilled some of it onto her clothes with every step. A bag was slung around her shoulder and showed the word medicine bag written in childish handwriting.

Beatrix suddenly placed her hands on Elize’s red hair.

“Different plan. I’d like to speak to your daughter. Alone.”

“Elize? Oh, yes, she helps sometimes.” Beatrix had a sour face. Harry shrugged casually. “Ask whatever you want. I’ll make some coffee.”

Beatrix went down on her knees to match Elize’s height.

Kuku walked past the fence, to a different part of the farm. Her heart hammered in her chest and she feared an attack or kick in the behind every second. But Beatrix just looked at the cow for a split second … and did nothing.

Of course! Animals were supposed to walk around freely. She was helping Harry now! Shouldn’t she pretend to be hurt? Should she moo? She hated the fact that animals couldn’t talk with humans anymore.

She walked to the other barn that was locked.

“He takes real good care of our animals!” Elize said cheerfully. “An animal’s best friend. We live off of our own farm and nothing else. Of the eggs, the milk, the meat. Delicious!”

“That … is great. Does he also take real good care of you? How often must you work?”

“Oh, no, I must do nothing. I like helping. They call me Farmer Elize!”

“Ah. And how many animals does this farm have, Elize? Do you know?”

She thought for a moment. Her index finger tapped her chin as the wind played with her curls. “I think fifty or something.”

Elize’s words sounded familiar. Harry had taught these exact noises and intonation to his daughter the past week.

“Hmm. And your father’s secret, mysterious veggie patch? Do you help with that too?”

“Veggie pa—” Elize asked. “Oh that.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Harry calls it that. He is, erm, proud. I think it’s nothing special and have accidentally destroyed it a few times. A veggie slash! A veggie crash—”

Elize’s cheer was contagious. Beatrix smiled too and gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. Kuku wasn’t sure if inspectors were supposed to do that, but it was a kind gesture anyway.

“Come, child, let us take a quick look at the final barn, and then I’ll let you play farmer again.”

Kuku stood at that barn now. From the outside, it indeed looked as if it was used for the last time in the previous century.

“Dad?” she yelled at the wall. “Dad? Everything okay?”

To the inspector’s ears this sounded like regular meaningless mooing, of course.

But her father mooed back from inside the barn. A crying, deafening moo that gave everyone goosebumps.

Beatrix’ eyes shot open. She must have been much stronger than she looked, for she grabbed a piece of metal and forced the lock to break.

Harry ran from the house with a list of excuses. By the time he grabbed her shoulder, though, the lock had already broken and the doors flew wide open.

A merciless odor overwhelmed her. As well as a troop of scared animals who were eager to see daylight. The sick piglet staggered a few times, then fell on its side. A sheep had only been shorn on one half, which looked red from all the little wounds.

Beatrix fell and was trampled by sheep. She rescued herself just in time, though her perfect hairdo looked like an explosion of dry straw.

“The inspection has concluded that Nightingale Farm is in critical condition! I’ll demand it be closed!”

Harry looked at Kuku as if he could kill her.