chapter 4

Errand Runner?

Olive poked her whiskers around his bedroom curtain. “Time to get up, Twig!” she said cheerfully. “Peppermint tea and dogwood berry pancakes.”

Twig stretched a morning stretch, his tail and paws curling. For a moment he lay staring at the ceiling. Another day of dealing with school; at least Lily would be in both of the day’s classes.

He splashed cold water on his face at the basin and combed the white whiskers. He studied himself in the mirror. His eyes held no sparkle. Today he would have to deal with Basil, who was very good in Metal Craft; there would be Basil’s showing off, Basil’s belittling comments.

Instead of attacking the berry pancakes with his usual gusto, Twig picked at his breakfast. Olive eyed him worriedly.

“Anything on your mind?” she asked, wiping a dish dry.

He poked at the plump red dogwood berries that popped from his pancake. “School . . . Basil . . . everything,” he said simply.

“Well, your job is to do your best in class. Concentrate on what you’re learning. And ignore Basil. He’s not worth worrying over.”

Twig ate one more bite of pancake and then slung his leather tool bag across his striped back. “Easier said than done, Mom,” he sighed, and he headed off to Welding.

Down the path his ears perked up when he discovered Beau, sitting on a tin can, paws on his cane. Beau had been a teacher, in fact had taught both Olive and Mullein when they were youngsters. Now, as the eldest member of the Hill, he was the well-respected head of the Council. He had been like a grandfather to Twig after the loss of Mullein.

Beau’s eyes were closed as he sniffed the morning air, smiling absently, enjoying the beginnings of a spring day. Twig was reluctant to interrupt Beau’s peaceful moment but wanted to say hello to the old raccoon.

“Good morning, Beau,” he said quietly, rolling up another tin can.

“Ah! Twig, my boy,” he said warmly. “Heading off to school? Too sweet a morning to be shut up in a classroom, eh?” He scratched behind his ragged ear.

“I’ll say,” Twig replied.

“What do you have? Electricity? Wood Carving?”

“Worse. Welding.”

The raccoon gave a little barking laugh. “I know how you love that one.”

Twig poked a stick into the soft ground. “Were you good in school, Beau?”

The raccoon looked up into the trees thoughtfully. His eyes were dark and watery. “See that bird, Twig? Way up there? That was me. Always exploring, poking around . . . paying no mind to anyone.”

Twig squinted up into the trees. “Did you get into trouble for that?”

“Well,” Beau replied. “The truth is, I don’t remember. But I was happy poking around and exploring. Learned a lot. The thing to do is be happy with what you are, whether it’s a Metal Crafter or a Welder . . . or an Errand Runner.”

Twig sat thinking.

Beau tapped his cane on the ground. “Found a new storybook for you, Twig,” he said. “Lots of pictures of magical creatures. Yours anytime.”

Twig smiled, feeling better. “Thanks, Beau. I should get going.”

“Make it a good day,” the raccoon barked as Twig trotted down the path, his tail flicking. “And tell that Lily I said hello,” he added, grinning.

WELDING STARTED OUT WELL ENOUGH. EVERYONE COPIED down the usual take-home assignment from the slate board before beginning the laboratory experiment. Professor Dunlin stood in front of the class, holding a wooden pointer. Dunlin was a barrel-chested badger with huge, wiry eyebrows. He was a Master Welder for the Hill. His leather apron was blackened and speckled from a history of burns and sparks.

“Does everyone have a partner for our lab exercise?” he asked.

Twig smiled and exchanged a quick glance with Lily, who sat next to him expertly sketching the diagram from the Bellows Instruction Manual into her notebook.

“Ah . . . the bellows,” Professor Dunlin said. “You must keep the flow of air steady and at just the right volume. Air in here as the handle is pulled up; air out here through this funnel when the handle is pushed down. Air in, air out . . . like breathing . . . till the coal burns white hot.”

Twig reached over and drew flames engulfing Lily’s bellows drawing. Lily giggled.

“Twig . . . Lily . . . a question?” Professor Dunlin asked sharply, his bushy eyebrows raised in an arch.

“No, sir,” Twig replied weakly. He felt his ears redden.

“To continue. Once your fire is hot enough, you have the power to become a Master Welder! Now, let’s practice with the bellows, taking turns with your partner. Watch the coals; don’t let them get too close to the bellows.”

Small piles of embers glowed and faded, glowed and faded, as Dunlin walked slowly among the novices, watching them practice.

“Too fast, Sorrel . . . slow and steady as she goes. More elbow grease, Iris! You’re not putting enough weight into it!”

Twig watched as Lily took her turn at the bellows first, working diligently and patiently adding to her coal until she had a white-hot furnace going.

“Excellent!” Dunlin crowed. “Lily, you are quite the pro already. You might even be a contender at the Naming Ceremony.”

Lily continued her slow pumping of the bellows. “Thank you, Professor,” she said, blushing. “It’s not too difficult, once you get the rhythm of it going.”

“Quite right,” said Dunlin. He licked his paws and stroked his gray whiskers.

But then it was Twig’s turn.

Lily was a hard act to follow, and Twig was nervous even before he began. A little overanxious, he pushed the bellows so hard that some hot coals blew across the workspace, almost hitting Lily.

“Twig!” she squeaked. “You want to burn the place down? Start off slowly!” She choked at the gust of ash.

Twig could feel the hot coals burn his cheeks. “Slow and steady, slow and steady,” he murmured to himself. Try as he did, his small cluster of coals never progressed. Finally, after accidentally placing the tip of the air intake too close to the coals, and pulling up on the bellows, Twig sucked in some of the hot embers. Soon a stinky yellow-brown smoke began pouring out as the leather began to smolder, then burn. A pungent haze quickly filled the room.

“Open the doors! The windows!” Professor Dunlin screeched.

Coughing and gasping, the students raced outside, with Twig choking from the smoke, and from embarrassment.

Thick smoke billowed out of the classroom window. Several of the teachers could be heard inside, smothering the fire with buckets of sand. Professor Dunlin pedaled a ventilation fan inside, and soon more puffs of the smoke poured out. Twig felt his cheeks burn, sensing the stares of his classmates.

“You’re a complete idiot,” muttered one of the students as they huddled together. “You . . . again! Don’t you ever do anything right?”

Twig glanced over to see with no surprise that it was Basil, glaring at him with sooty black eyes, hackles raised. Everyone heard Basil’s remark, and there were nods and murmurs of agreement. Twig felt himself redden even more. Lily gave him an encouraging, although helpless, smile.

A small crowd of Hill inhabitants had gathered, gawking with curiosity; Twig was relieved to see his mother was not among them. He tried hiding among the crowd of students and prepared himself for what he knew was coming.

“Twig!” It was Professor Dunlin’s voice.

“Yes, sir?” Twig squeaked.

“The whole morning is wasted because of your negligence,” Dunlin said. “You need to pay more attention to what you’re doing!”

“Yes, sir. I’m very sorry, sir.”

Suddenly another voice growled from the edge of the crowd.

“Well, well! What a surprise . . . another failed project from Twig!” The class turned to see Professor Burdock.

His breath smelled of wild garlic and crawfish as he leaned in to Twig. “Tell me,” he said. “Would you like your Failure now, or at the end of the semester?”

The others in the class giggled. Burdock glanced casually over the group with a smug grin.

Twig swallowed, churning with embarrassment on the inside.

“Please, Burdock, next time I will—”

“I doubt very much there will be a next time. It is my intention to suggest to the Hill Council that you be demoted to Errand Runner, permanently.”

Twig’s head was swimming. For the second time in as many days, the threat of Errand Runner had been thrown at him. He looked at Professor Dunlin hopefully, but the old badger’s gray eyes were solemn. “You may go now, Twig,” he said quietly.

Burdock stood next to the badger. “As for the rest of the class,” the weasel snapped, “let this be a lesson to you all: becoming a Master Craftsman allows for no failures or accidents.” He glanced at his nephew Basil and grinned. “The cream always rises to the top.”