“Actually, I am Mr. Quillson from…”
Mona, however, was distracted. She listened for more shrieking, but it had stopped, so she returned her focus to the new guest.
“…the hotel,” finished the porcupine.
Did this porcupine just say he was from another hotel? Could he be from the new hotel? But that didn’t make sense. Now Mona wished she had been paying attention.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, “but could you please say that again?”
The porcupine pointed to the bottom of the flyer: PRICKLES’S PETAL PASTRIES. “I would like a word with your cook, Petunia Prickles.”
That’s strange, thought Mona. Why would someone from another hotel want to speak with Ms. Prickles?
“I could send a message, if you’d like,” she replied.
“I…um…” Mr. Quillson rolled up the flyer. “Hmmm. What I wish to say is best left to conversation.”
“Should I book you in a room, then?” she asked.
“Yes. I suppose. Thank you.”
As Mona quickly checked him in, she couldn’t help but feel there was something slightly suspicious about Mr. Quillson. Especially when, as he left with his room key, Mona noticed that the porcupine had no luggage with him. No luggage whatsoever.
At last, Mona headed outside. The wind ruffled her fur and tugged at her apron.
In the courtyard, colorful eggs covered the mossy lawn, from tiny to large, spotted to stripy, in rows of pretty baskets. There was even a bucket of water with a cluster of frogs’ eggs floating in it. But where was everyone?
Then Mona saw them, by one of the blackberry walls that framed the courtyard.
Henry was standing between the Robinsons, smiling sheepishly.
Around them, the birds—from wrens to sparrows to a giant pheasant—as well as a few frogs and some lizards, were raising cups of dew in a toast.
“To Henry!” said Mr. Robinson.
“To Henry!” agreed Mrs. Robinson. “He’s an honorary egg.”
Tilly, standing off to the side, saw Mona and waved her over with the notepad she used for judging. “What a disaster! Mona, you should’ve seen it.”
“What happened?” Mona asked.
“It was the wind,” explained Tilly. “Mrs. Robinson attached three leaf umbrellas to her basket to shield her egg, but that wasn’t so smart because the wind caught them and blew the basket over. Her egg began to roll toward the blackberries with their huge thorns! Luckily, Henry was there. He saw and saved it before anything bad happened.”
“Oh,” said Mona.
“Best of all,” continued Tilly, “the birds have finally stopped arguing. They think Henry’s the cutest, and a hero, besides.”
Now Henry wasn’t just good with ideas; he was a hero, too? But he had just ruined the Robinsons’ picture. Did they know that? They must, because Mona heard Mrs. Robinson say, “And don’t fret, Henry, over the picture. We want a new one drawn with you in it anyway.”
Mona couldn’t believe it!
Although she wished it wouldn’t, she felt the grump part of her grow even bigger. She should be happy. Henry had saved the egg. But that’s the thing about feelings. Sometimes you can’t help them, as much as you might want to.
“Henry the hero” kept creeping into conversations over the next week. Henry was getting almost as much attention from guests and staff as from Tilly. But to Mona he was more of a headache than a hero—and became even more so when a firefly troupe, the Fernwood Flares, arrived for the next event, the Tiniest Talent Show.
It was Gilles’s idea. “Now that the twig suites are filled, we need to fill all the six-legged ones, too,” he had said. “We can have a talent show for the insects.”
Henry turned his broken acorn ball into a whistle to help the Flares practice their formations. The whistle made a loud, sharp screech and every time Henry blew it, Mona jumped. But the nesting birds didn’t complain, so neither could she.
Luckily she was distracted by preparations for the event. Although there had been no more news of the new hotel, Gilles still wanted the Heartwood to be the best. And since Mona was a mouse, and the smallest of the staff, her paws were in high demand. Not only was she cleaning most of the bug suites (the millipede’s was the worst—trying to sweep around all his shoes), she even got to help Ms. Prickles in the kitchen. Together, they made small sap strudels and mini muffins of wood rot for the family and friends of the little competitors. “Thank goodness for your help, dearie,” said Ms. Prickles. “You have a knack with your paws, just like your mother.”
That made Mona proud. She longed for a moment to look for an entry from her parents in the guest books, but she hardly had time to sleep, let alone read. It didn’t help that Tilly hadn’t even mentioned the books, despite her promise. Mona couldn’t blame her: it really had become as batty as a bat’s birthday party.
In fact, bats seemed to be the only guests who hadn’t shown up. There were plenty of bugs, though. Practicing on the ceilings and rehearsing on the stairs. But not a single small guest had been stepped on—or eaten. Nor would they be, assured Gilles. Not at the most fabulous hotel in Fernwood.
Because of the fireflies’ act, the Tiniest Talent Show was being held after sunset, on the stargazing balcony. The balcony was built on a giant branch, almost at the tip-top of the tree, and except for a cluster of lanterns that would light the stage, it was very dark. It was the perfect place for watching fireflies—and, of course, for gazing at stars.
The night of the show, the stars glimmered like silver leaves, and the forest wrapped itself around the hotel like a blanket of soft shadows. Mona was almost finished bringing up the tiny treats when she heard a loud noise. At first she thought it might be Henry’s whistle. But it wasn’t. It was a CRASH!
“Hello?” Mona called out.
From behind some of the balcony furniture that had been stacked out of the way, against the tree trunk, emerged a large shape. It was the porcupine, Mr. Quillson.
“Excuse me,” said Mona. “You shouldn’t be back there.”
The porcupine jumped. Mona could see his nose was flushed. “Oh—uh, I was just looking for…”
“Looking for what?” asked Mona. “Can I help you?” She stepped toward him.
“Perhaps later,” he said, and hurried away.
How mysterious, thought Mona.
She peered back where the porcupine had come from. What had he been doing? He had knocked over a chair—and something else caught her eye.
There, carved into the tree, was a tiny heart. Guests weren’t supposed to carve things into the tree. Except this looked old. The bark was curled around it, the wood itself weathered.
Could her dad have carved it? He had carved the heart on the hotel door. But why? And what was Mr. Quillson doing looking at it? Mona touched her paw lightly to the carving.
There was a tug on her apron. “There you are. May we have some muffins?”
Mona looked down from the heart to a group of tiny ladybugs. “Of course,” she said, and hurried to fetch some.
Before long, the first contestants assembled to the side of the stage that had been set up, and the show began. In between serving treats to guests, little and big, Mona watched in awe, all thoughts of hearts and peculiar porcupines forgotten.
The ladybugs went first, dancing and singing:
“Hip hip hop, it’s spring.
Hip hip hop, let’s swing.
Bip bip bop, let’s hop.
Bip bip bop, don’t stop.”
They were followed by the millipede, who did the forty-two-toed tap dance, and then a rabbit, who was definitely not tiny but had a tiny talent—painting a whole forest on a single seed. (Though it was hard for him to paint on the tiny stage!)
Three spit bugs showed off their spitting abilities, much to the dismay of some audience members who were sitting close to the stage, and a stinkbug demonstrated how he earned his nickname, “Super Stench,” which he definitely deserved!
Just
as Mona was fanning the air away, Tilly came rushing up to her.
“Mona, help!” Tilly gestured to the side of the stage with her notepad, where the final contestants, the Fernwood Flares, were waiting to go on. The bees were there, too.
“What’s happening?” asked Mona.
“They’re fighting. Really, the bees should be making honey, not criticizing guests. And I’m supposed to be judging!” Tilly threw up her paws. “I’ve had it up to here with all the arguing. And I like arguing. Mona, please. You’re the best one to deal with this kind of thing.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll calm them down,” Mona said, and went to talk to Captain Ruby. The squadron of bees parted to let her through.
The captain was hovering in the air, facing a firefly called Florian, the leader of the troupe. On each of Florian’s see-through black wings was a berry-stained F. When his wings were closed, they read FF for Fernwood Flares. Behind him were the rest of the fireflies.
“Our formations are the best,” Florian was saying.
“Formations? I’ve seen your formations, and they will never be up to muster,” said Captain Ruby.
“We Fernwood Flares have been doing light shows for years,” replied Florian, with a flick of an antenna. “We invented the Bye-Bye-Blink.”
“BZZT! Bye-bye, indeed!” muttered the captain.
“How can I expect one such as you to understand?” said the firefly. “True flying is about feeling. It’s a fire that burns in your soul.” He gazed up at the stars.
“Please…” Mona started.
But she didn’t have a chance to say more, for the captain buzzed, “Feeling? The skies are for finely tuned squadrons, not feelings.”
“Then why aren’t YOU taking part in the talent show?”
“We were hired for our honey. But believe me—”
“Exactly! This talent show is not for you. It’s for artists, those with a flame, a flare.”
“How DARE you BE so belittling!”
“Please…” said Mona again. But the bee and firefly weren’t listening!
TWEET! A whistle cut through the air. Henry’s whistle! Mona hadn’t noticed him standing nearby.
“AHA! Our signal!” cried Florian.
“But…” started Mona.
It didn’t matter. The Fernwood Flares burst through the branches, into the sky. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up. Except the bees, who bitterly buzzed off.
Clustered into a tight ball, the fireflies made two spectacular flashes, both at the same time, then suddenly went dark. Mona thought the show was already over, but no. A second later the fireflies began to blink again, this time spiraling out in a pinwheel, until they looked like a giant sunflower in the sky. Then, in a burst, they soared off in a dozen different directions, like scores of shooting stars. The sky went dark again, this time for good. Only the real stars twinkled above.
“OOOO!” Everyone on the balcony gasped.
As the fireflies flew down to the stage, they were greeted with applause.
“Did you see that? Did you? I bet you everyone in Fernwood Forest did!” cried Henry, excited. His whistle dangled on a string around his neck. “They did SUCH a good job! It was time for them to perform, and I stopped the fight. I helped, right?”
“You sure did,” said Tilly, walking over.
“I guess…” said Mona, though she could see Captain Ruby was hovering near the railing. The captain did not look happy.
“The Flares were really good, weren’t they?” said Henry, turning to his sister. “They’re going to win, right?”
“HUSH, Henry, no one’s supposed to know who wins until the finale,” chided Tilly. “And how many of those pastries have you eaten?”
“Only…ten…” Henry looked guilty. “They’re REALLY small.”
“Humph. Come on, it’s time to get you to bed.”
As Tilly ushered Henry away, Mona turned to Captain Ruby, whose stinger was trembling with rage.
“That formation was full of holes,” Captain Ruby buzzed. “It’s unbelievable we weren’t allowed to compete. I must speak with Tilly at once….”
“Tilly is busy,” said Mona. “But the Best Blossom Contest is next. Maybe you could help out some of the guests with that?”
“Flowers?” That seemed to make Captain Ruby even madder. “Is THAT what you think we are good for?”
“I—I…” stammered Mona. “I’m sorry. I just thought…”
“It’s simply that all bees know that the best blossoms grow in the Farmer’s Garden at the far edge of Fernwood. That doesn’t take skill. Formations take skill. You can never train enough. If I had started earlier…” The captain’s buzz wobbled.
“What do you mean?” asked Mona.
“Before I was a captain and a queen, I was a princess. Our hive was destroyed by a bear. I was too small and unskilled to be of help. Never again, I vowed. Since then, I’ve never let my squadron set up a permanent base. It’s safer that way.”
“I’m so sorry to hear of your hive,” said Mona gently. “I lost my home, too. The Heartwood’s my home now, and I’d do anything for it….”
The captain nodded. “You are quite the mouse. I’ve heard of all your heroics. And I saw for myself your bravery with that bear—Brumble, was it?”
“Yes,” said Mona, though dealing with Brumble didn’t seem like such a brave act, since he was so friendly. “Not all bears are bad.” Then she added, after a pause, “Maybe not all fireflies are either.”
“BZZT!” Captain Ruby’s tone changed. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Right now, all I see are those fireflies exposing our flank.” With that, Captain Ruby buzzed into the darkness, leaving Mona to wonder what exactly “exposing our flank” meant.
Was the captain saying that some kind of danger was coming?
She gazed into the night. The shadows felt sharper than soft now, and Mona couldn’t help but shiver.
The next few weeks were so busy, Mona forgot all about Captain Ruby’s warning. Most of the birds’ eggs had hatched, and every morning (and much of the day, too) was a rush of room service bringing meal trays to their suites.
Actually, Mona didn’t mind. She liked seeing the baby birds, even if they were more wrinkly than cute! Still, it often meant she missed her own breakfast—and there was definitely no time for reading guest books.
So Mona was surprised the morning of the Best Blossom Contest to see Tilly in the hall, with a guest book in her paws. Mona felt a surge of happiness.
“You remembered!”
Tilly frowned. “Oh, this one is blank. Gilles wanted me to fetch it. There’s a meeting in the lobby. Our other one was full already. It’s some kind of record. I haven’t forgotten about the guest books, really. It’s just…”
“I know,” said Mona, frowning now, too.
“Maybe this will help?” said Tilly, slipping her a seedcake from her apron pocket as they headed upstairs.
It wasn’t the same as reading the guest books, but the seedcake was good to munch on, and she gave Tilly a smile.
When they got to the lobby, the other staff were already there. Gilles was standing in front of the fireplace, adjusting his bow tie and looking pleased with himself. Every day, he seemed to be turning a brighter shade of green. Today he was as green as a grasshopper and just as jumpy.
“Aha, there you are!” Gilles flicked his tongue. “Put the book on the front desk, Tilly, and we can begin.”
“What’s going on?” Mona asked.
“Another contest!” said Henry.
Another contest? Mona and Tilly rolled their eyes at each other.
“Gilles is nuts,” whispered Tilly. “Not the tasty kind. The crazy kind.”
“The finale is tomorrow,” said Mona.
“I know!”
Clearly the rest of the staff felt the same.
“Gilles, I must return to the garden,” said Mr. Higgins. “I’m not finished setting up the stage.”
“And I need to go
over the schedule for tomorrow,” added Tilly.
“If you must do something, Gilles, why not decorate?” suggested Mrs. Higgins.
“Yes, yes! That’s EXACTLY what I was thinking!” said Gilles. “We have a full hotel. The band has practiced—the famous Bluegrass Bandits. What a booking! And the fireflies are primed. What talent! I was so impressed with their performance, I’ve hired them to perform tomorrow night. Most guests are out now finding blossoms, and I thought: Why should the guests have all the fun? Why not make it a competition for the staff, too? Surely the other hotel would never let their staff participate in a competition. But the Heartwood treats everyone the best. It will get us even more energized and in the mood for the grand finale. And we can use the blossoms to decorate. I want to cover the entire tree.”
“So if one of us wins, we get the prize?” asked Maggie, one of the laundry rabbits.
“Yes, yes. Whoever finds the best blossom—guest or staff—wins a free stay in the penthouse suite. Once the Splash is over, of course. You can invite anyone you choose to stay with you.”
Everyone was instantly excited. That was a good prize. Henry began jumping up and down. “Can I play, too? Can I?”
“You’re not staff, Henry,” said Tilly. “And you’re not really a guest either. I’m not sure. I AM sure that I can’t. Humph. It’s not fair. I wish I could look, but I have to be the judge.”
“Come on, Tilly. Please.” Henry tugged on Tilly’s apron. “I’m good at smelling! I can find the best blossom!”
The best blossom…
Mona remembered what the bees had told her. The best blossoms were in the Farmer’s Garden. She knew where that was. Long ago, before coming to the Heartwood, Mona had stayed in the barn at the edge of the forest. It was far away, but she could get there. She was “quite the mouse,” after all. Which everyone seemed to have forgotten. But if she won the best blossom…
“I’m going to participate,” said Mona. “I—”
Heartwood Hotel Book 3 Page 3