Squirrel smothered a grin; he knew that Des thought that by copying Khoy’s way of speaking, the mouse would understand him better.
“Very hungry,” Des continued to grumble until the waitress came up to their table, her arms balancing five trays. Quickly she arranged the stone platters on the table along with wooden knives and forks.
“Enjoy dinner,” she said with a small curtsy before scampering off.
“Yum, this looks amazing,” said Squirrel, digging into the colorful dishes before him.
He dipped corn in butter and gnawed at it until nothing was left but green husk. He helped himself to a pomegranate and orange salad, dripping with herb dressing. Nibbling wedges of cheese, he savored their nuttiness. He sucked the slippery worm with barley mince dry and gobbled the mixed nuts and berries, relishing the salt and chili pepper.
With a belly full of bliss, Squirrel licked the last morsel of food from his stone plate. He decided to try to make these dishes for himself when he returned to Bimmau. His own cooking was fine, and perhaps almost good, but this food was new and tickled him. Perhaps, if he ever got his freedom from Bacchu Banoose, he could cook this for others in Bimmau . . .
Squirrel’s happy thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Des’s face. The dog was wearing a deep, disappointed scowl.
“Des, what’s wrong?” asked Squirrel between mouthfuls. “You didn’t like the food?”
“Well, it is all very good, but nothing here is cooked. I wanted something hot,” said Des, his voice getting whiny.
“We no cook here,” said Khoy with a chuckle.
“What do you mean?” asked Des, his blanket dropping off his shoulders.
“We no cook. You need fire to cook. We don’t have fire,” answered Khoy simply. And, after dropping that bomb of information, the mouse got back to chewing his raw dinner.
“So . . . you have no heat. Or light?” asked Azulfa, pointing to the sky, which was already a deep navy blue. The only light came from the large-faced moon and the glowing stars.
“How do you manage at night?” asked Squirrel.
“We survive,” said Khoy with a pleasant smile.
“So you’ve never had fire?” asked Azulfa.
“Oh, we had fire. But it went away,” said Khoy.
“And where did the fire go?” asked Squirrel, utterly confused.
“When I was younger, we have fire. We used to have Flame Flints of Rodentia. They were two stones that gave us fire. In middle of Rule of Rodentia, our parliament, we have big stone basin for fireplace. Every day, Micetros rub stones together and make fire. All mice go and get fire on their torches from there.
“One day, suddenly, the stones disappear. We never knew where the stones go. But, after that day, no more fire. No more light. No more heat. No more cooking. And no more visitors. Darling become like old days again,” finished Khoy.
“Someone stole your fire?” asked Des, beginning to cough.
Khoy just nodded, blinking sadly.
“That’s terrible,” said Squirrel, shaking his head. These mice were so friendly, so hardworking, and they lived in a difficult climate. How could any heartless creature steal their source of warmth and comfort?
“Does not matter now. We do fine,” said Khoy, pulling himself together. “Now you all finished dinner?”
“Yes,” they chimed, and Khoy waved at the waitress. She came over carrying their bill.
Squirrel saw the small piece of paper and panicked. He had been so busy eating that he had not even considered how he would pay for their meal. What if they did not accept gufflings, bizkits, and gromms in Darling? What would he do?
“Uhm, Khoy, how much is it? I have gufflings. Do you think they will accept . . .”
Khoy looked horrified. His thin, wispy eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and his large muscular jaw stuck out. “You no pay!”
“What do you mean?”
“You no pay! None of you pay. You are first visitor in Darling since fire go away. I treat!” said Khoy, rattling around in his patched pocket.
“You must let me pay,” protested Squirrel. “I have money. I can give you—”
“No! Now you no talk of this,” said Khoy. With that, Khoy opened his wallet, shook out every last coin in it on the table, and bought Des, Azulfa, and Squirrel dinner.
“So all the mice families live in their own burrow?” asked Des, yawning loudly.
“Yes, we all have own burrow. This is burrow that me and my wife built,” said Khoy proudly, pointing to a round door in the rocky slope of the mountain. He inserted a notched pebble into a hole and jiggled till it clicked. Pushing the door open, he said, “Tonight you sleep here. I help you find richest soil tomorrow.” So saying he led them down a long, dark passage.
As he walked down the narrow stone tunnel, Squirrel breathed slowly, trying to forget his claustrophobia. Luckily, after a few steps, the passage widened into a large den. Two big, circular windows pierced the wall, letting the silver moonbeams stream into the room.
The room was bare and simple; yet, it had the happy smell of having been lived in. A fur rug was strewn across most of the stone floor. Dewy green plants clumped in the corners gave the room the smell of fresh rain. The scent reminded Squirrel of his own tree cottage. Despite the nip in the air, a happy warmth spread inside him.
To the side of the den was another chamber. It had a simple sofa, a coffee table, and a long dining table with twelve seats carved entirely from solid black coal. Sitting at the coal dining table were four young mice, each wearing a pair of old, woven-leaf pajamas.
“Hello, family,” said Khoy, giving each of his four children a pat on the head. A round-faced mouse with big black eyes under her bonnet burst into the room, carrying a large stone cauldron. Khoy ran to her, took the heavy pot she was carrying, and put it down on the table.
“Thank you, my dear,” she said with a sweet smile, giving Khoy a small peck. She took a wooden ladle out of her apron and began to scoop large helpings of green goop into the four stone bowls in front of the children. Only when she was done did she notice that her husband was not alone.
“Oh my!” She dropped the ladle to the floor.
“Cheesewedge, these my friends. They stay with us tonight. We prepare three rooms for them?” Khoy asked his wife.
“Yes, yes! I so sorry. I no see you earlier. Please come here. Sit down. I go bring you drink,” said Khoy’s wife, dropping a quick curtsy to her guests before disappearing into the kitchen.
The four children beamed at their guests and pushed their plates away, obviously happy not to be forced to eat the peapod pulp.
“Friends, sit. I go make bed for you. You all tired,” said Khoy, springing up.
Squirrel sat next to the children. They were looking at him.
“You red,” said one of Khoy’s daughters with a small giggle.
“Yes, yes, I am,” said Squirrel, smiling at the little, whiskered mouse.
“I like red,” said the young girl shyly, hiding her face in her hands.
“Awww . . . isn’t she just the cutest thing ever?” said Des, groping his way toward Squirrel. “Wow, I can’t see a thing!”
Squirrel was surprised—he could see quite clearly. But before he could say anything, a loud crack shook the walls and a bolt of light blinded their eyes.
“What was that?” asked Des, his voice just a bit shaky.
“Thunderstorm,” answered one of Khoy’s sons. “Sky get angry and we have many lightnings and thunders.” The mouse gave a grave nod with his little berry-shaped head.
At that moment Khoy returned, carrying three blankets. He handed one to Azulfa, one to Des, and the third to Squirrel. “Children, today you in one room, okay? It is special day: we have guests. You all sleep in room with the twins.”
“Twins? You have twins as well?” asked Squirrel happily. He loved twins. The idea of sharing everything with someone else, of never being alone, had always amazed him.
“Yes, but they still in cr
ib. You see, newborn mice are blind. They cannot see anything,” explained Khoy.
“Well, I got nothin’ on them,” grumbled Des, who had finally groped his way to the coal sofa.
Khoy’s wife entered the room again, this time carrying a tray with three cups of brownish water. “Hibiscus water?”
Squirrel had a sudden brain wave. He jumped out of his seat and went over to Mrs. Khoy.
“Please let me help you with that,” he said, taking the tray from her. With his back to the others and under the cloud of darkness, he slipped his hand into his pocket and took out the piece of Skullcap that he had used to make the Pretty Piths for Lady Blouse. In a flash he dropped the whole thing into one of the cups and waited a few moments for it to dissolve. He turned around and handed the cup to Azulfa, who drank the tea in one large chug. She would be out for a long time.
Squirrel gulped his water down and then did a pretend yawn. “Thank you so much for everything, Khoy. I think I will go to sleep and we will think of how to find the rich soil tomorrow.”
Squirrel lay awake in his coal bed, tucked in a warm blanket. Everything in this dark room smelled of coal. In fact, he was surprised by how much coal he had seen in Darling.
“I shouldn’t get distracted. I need to solve this fast; I have no time,” said Squirrel to himself.
He repeated the words from his memory. “Pluck ten leaves from richest soil; Mix in water, and bring to boil; If you brew this tea, you’ve learned; To give what you have newly earned; Return what has long been stole; For that, my dear son, is your role.”
Squirrel almost started to cry. There was yet another obstacle. His memory had said that he had to boil the water. How could he do this if there was no fire in all of Darling?
Desperately Squirrel rehashed everything he had learned about Darling Tea Hills and the mice. He had to be missing something. He listed everything that had struck him: the friendly mice, their hard work, the tea flushes, the Micetros, the coal, the stolen fire . . .
Suddenly Squirrel’s eyes lit up like two slate-blue torches. He swung his legs, feeling around for the bed. Coal! Fire! The answer was coal and fire! Yes, that was it!
A roll of thunder pealed loudly. Squirrel hopped out of bed and hurtled toward the door. He knew what he was supposed to do.
Let There Be Light
By the time Squirrel got to the Rule of Rodentia, it had stopped raining. He stood outside the circular stone structure, watching the wet tea plantation yawn sleepily as the sun kissed the sky good morning.
Too fidgety to stay in one place, Squirrel decided to take a walk around the stone building.
The Rule of Rodentia was carved completely out of the hill’s weathered gray rock. The rotunda had no roof, and Squirrel could not help thinking that the structure was challenging the elements, standing tall in the face of the sun, the cold, the mist, the hail. Everything about the stone building was strong and true, softened only by the age-old work of moss.
Squirrel hurried around the Rule of Rodentia, hugging himself to keep warm. He checked the sky; the morning sun blinked back at him sleepily. He picked up his pace as he heard voices chatter on the other side of the stone. The first session must be starting in parliament.
Jittery, Squirrel paused and patted his bulging pocket. The two stones from the Bone Tomb with the poem carved on them were carefully tucked away in his belt. He took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.
The Rule of Rodentia was an amphitheater of old days. Stone bleachers ran along the pillars, cracking into rubble. Enterprising blades of grass had spread on the rocky surfaces, providing a soft cushion for the thirteen Micetros settling down around a circular, central pit.
As Squirrel walked down the narrow aisle, he felt thirteen pairs of brown eyes stare at him. Drawing himself to his full height, Squirrel walked onward, trying to introduce a bit of a swagger into his step. He wanted to appear confident. And tall.
He walked up to the Micetros. Not knowing how to greet them, Squirrel bowed.
“Micetros, I have an offer for you,” said Squirrel, reciting the words he had been practicing since he hopped out of bed.
The Micetros broke into squeaky murmurs.
“Who is this red creature?”
“What offer?”
An elderly Micetro, sitting in the middle, cleared his throat. The others went quiet. He rose. He looked at Squirrel for a long time before speaking.
“I am Micetro Tupten. I hear you stay with my nephew Khoy,” he said. His light brown eyes and gentle, crumpled face smoothed Squirrel’s nerves.
Squirrel said, “Yes, your nephew has been an incredible host.”
“We hear that there are strangers in Darling, but we no believe. No stranger in Darling for more than I can remember,” said a female Micetro with a happy clap. “Where you from, stranger?”
“I come from Bimmau County.”
“What is your purpose in our hills? You come from big city of Bimmau. What you need in our faraway tea town?” asked Tupten.
Squirrel took a deep breath. Come out with it, he told himself. He just hoped they would believe him. “I have a proposition for you, Micetros of Darling.”
“What is it?” asked Tupten, looking at Squirrel curiously.
“I have something that you want. Something that will help all of Darling. But, in return, I want you to tell me where your coal mines are,” said Squirrel clearly. While he spoke, he looked each Micetro directly in the eye, holding his neck as firm as he could.
Squeaky mutters rang through the amphitheater. Tupten spread his arms. This time Tupten’s tone was not kind. “Coal mines are our best-kept secret. They are our one richness. It is all we have. We no tell anyone. Specially not outsider.” His eyes did not budge from Squirrel’s face.
Squirrel stared back at the old field mouse. “I’ve an offer you can’t refuse.”
“We no take kindly to blackmail,” said Tupten, his voice beginning to quake with anger.
“I am not trying to blackmail you,” Squirrel said quickly. This was not going well at all.
“Then what?” asked a stern-looking Micetro.
“I want to give you something. Something that was taken from you long ago. In return, I need to know where the coal mines are.”
Silence. Finally one Micetro asked, “Why you need our coal?”
“I don’t need coal. I need tea leaves,” said Squirrel, whistling with frustration.
“Leaves?” asked Tupten, obviously confused.
“Yes, I need ten tea leaves, plucked from the soil where the coal is mined,” said Squirrel. He desperately needed to convince the Micetros that he was not trying to steal their coal.
Tupten considered Squirrel’s words. He asked quietly, “What you have for us?”
The other Micetros jumped up in protest. “We no negotiate.” “We don’t ever tell.” “Never.”
Tupten spoke over the protests, “Friends, I no suggest we tell him. But we find out what he has at least. It called good business.”
The Micetros grumbled, but let Squirrel speak.
“I have the Flame Flints that were taken from you,” said Squirrel boldly, reaching into his pocket and producing the long gray-blue stones. Now he had to hope he was right.
His words were met with shocked silence. All eyes were fixed on the two stones.
Eventually a gray-haired she-mouse spoke, “He lies. There is writing on them. Our Flame Flints were plain.”
Squirrel ignored the angry squeaks of the Micetros and handed the two gray stones to Tupten and said, “Try it, sir.” He was almost sure that these were the flints stolen from Darling. That is why his mother had wanted him to go to the Bone Tomb; that is what she meant by If you brew this tea, you’ve learned; To give what you have newly earned; Return what has long been stole; For that, my dear son, is your role. She had led him to the Flame Flints, because she knew it would allow him to make tea.
With trembling hands, old Tupten struck one stone against the other. A ba
by spark fizzled on the tip of the stone. Excited, Tupten struck them against each other harder. This time a sinewy flame jumped into the cold air.
“These are Flame Flints,” cried Tupten, wonder sketched onto his little, pointed face. “I no believe, but they are Flame Flints. Thank you. You are . . . you are . . . red fire angel.”
Squirrel bowed, humbled. Warmth rushed through his being, and he knew it had nothing to do with the fire. Not only had he fulfilled part of the memory, but he had also given the gift of fire back to an entire community. He was about to ask to be taken to the coal mines again when someone spoke. It was a shriveled little mouse with big yellow eyes.
“How you have this?”
Squirrel was prepared for this one. “I found them on my travels. They were hidden in the earth. And I found instructions to return them here.” It was a vague version of the truth. Then, swerving the conversation, he asked, “Now will you tell me where the coal mines are?”
Tupten looked straight at Squirrel and, without blinking, said the most surprising word Squirrel had ever heard.
“No.”
“No?” cried Squirrel hoarsely. He had been sure the exchange would work.
“No, we cannot. We no give you our biggest secret. But . . .” Tupten held up his hand to quell the protests that were visibly shaking Squirrel’s larynx. “But I have idea to repay debt. I first consult with other Micetros. You go outside, take a look around, and come back. We do voting.”
Squirrel had no choice but to agree. Outside the rotunda, he kicked himself hard. He had given them his secret weapon without securing his part of the bargain. That was the stupidest thing he could possibly have done.
When he was done thoroughly berating himself, Squirrel reappeared before the thirteen Micetros, his face red with anger. But as soon as he saw Tupten’s smile, he relaxed. “We vote and we all agree. We owe you big debt. We shall take you to coal mine and you go pluck your leaves.”
Squirrel grinned like he never had before. He would find the leaves. He looked at the Micetros. They were kindling a fire in the stone basin.
The Tale of a No-Name Squirrel Page 13