Chapter 3: Checking In

As Seedler sauntered down the main drag of The Woods at dusk, the fireflies were starting to come out. Seedler saw that they made good streetlights, even if they did dart and flicker about. Behemoth trees, with munks filing out and in, lined the path through The Woods, each with some portions hollowed out, and big signs up front. Seedler saw trees that were factories, restaurants, banks, and general offices. Busses started and stopped in front of each tree, munks climbing in and out to go home or to work the night shift. Bats flew overhead on patrol. Alongside some of the trees, alleys were marked “Deliveries”, and sometimes he could see a hawk and munk bickering about how long it would take to unload a harness into a service bay. Within other trees, he could see the nightshifts of various businesses in high office hollows, working by firefly light. Just because it was evening didn’t mean that The Woods weren’t open for business.

Seedler came across a rather large, opulent looking tree with two munks standing at attention outside the hollowed entrance. They both were wearing little munk bow ties, and seemed to be waiting patiently for a chance to do something. Seedler approached one of them and asked, “Excuse me, sir. I was hoping you could help me. I’ve only arrived to The Woods tonight. Do you happen to know where I might find a place to sleep tonight, and perhaps a good place to have dinner?”

The doorman, expressionless, pointed up to a huge sign with lettering provided by firefly-light that blinked, “MAPLE LEAF HOTEL AND RESTAURANT”.

Seedler was slightly embarrassed, and thanked the doorman, who bowed and gestured into the hotel-tree. Seedler entered and saw a long reception desk straight ahead. There was a hallway marked “Meeting Rooms” on the left, and a large archway labeled “The Macadamia Room” on the right. That must be the restaurant, as he could see that the room was full with munk diners sitting at tables, while three or four tuxedoed gophers waited on them.

He crossed the threshold and approached the reception desk. A slender female munk greeted him, “Welcome to the Maple Leaf. Do you have a reservation?”

Seedler was slightly surprised, “Excuse me?”

“A reservation. Do you have one?”

“Ahem…no I don’t. I didn’t realize…”

“Oh, you should be okay, I think we have a few vacancies.”

“Well, great!”

“Did you want a hollow or a burrow?”

“A hollow, please.”

“Let’s see…yes…we have a hollow, and a nice one too, off a really thick branch off 3. How many nights?”

“Er…let’s say a week right now.”

“Very good sir, and did you need help with your bags?”

“No, thank you.”

“Great. That will be twenty-five acorns a night. I think you’ll be comfortable. And local phone calls are free. Nuts or charge?”

“Wh-What?”

“Nuts or charge? How did you want to pay?”

“Oh…of course…Charge, please.”

Seedler took out his wallet and presented his credit card. It was a silver Chestnut Express card.

The receptionist slid the card through a small contraption that appeared to make an imprint of the card on a paper-thin leaf. She filed the leaf in a drawer behind the desk and explained, “we just make an imprint for now. We’ll provide a detailed, itemized bill when you check out. You’re in 318.” She pointed up and to the left. “See it?”

Seedler followed the direction she pointed, “Yes, wonderful”

“Here’s your key,” and she handed him a primitive skeleton key made out of a twig, with an obnoxiously heavy woodchip tied to it that read, “318”. “Sorry about that, sir,” she said, referring to the heavy keychain. “Sometimes our guests walk away them. Enjoy your stay!”

There was no elevator, but Seedler, being a squirrel, climbed up to his door on the third level. It was made of fitted pine bark, “318” carved in the center, and had a keyhole into which he inserted the key. The room was nice enough. There was a bed with a pine straw mattress and pillows, and a nice big redwood leaf for a blanket. There was a washbasin made from imported oyster shells and thin, hollow reeds that pumped in clean water. There was a small painting on the wall of a mountain range. And finally, there was a block of wood next to the bed, upon which sat a firefly lamp and a cricket, asleep.

Seedler settled in, washed his face and paws, and tried out the bed. It was comfortable, too comfortable. He almost dozed off right then. He yawned and muttered to himself, “I’m so tired, I think I’ll skip the restaurant and just have room service tonight.”

The cricket on the nightstand overheard him and woke up. It asked Seedler, “You want me to call down for you?”

Seedler replied, “Yes, that’d be nice.”

He picked up the cricket and talked into it. “Hello? This is Seedler in 318, I’d like to order room service.”

The cricket, listening intently, nodded its head vigorously in understanding. Then it turned away from Seedler, took a breath, and rubbed its hind legs together, letting out a horrible, piercing grind that penetrated the door and travelled down to the front desk, where there was another cricket next to the receptionist. The cricket had been asleep, but awoke in response to the one in Seedler’s room.

“Brrrring, 318…Brrrring, 318”

The receptionist picked up the cricket, who repeated Seedler’s request to her. She replied matter-of-factly, “Just a moment, I’ll connect you.”

Her cricket chirped too, and another cricket, this one in the kitchen, rung for the chef, “Brrring…Room Service for 318!” A gopher in a chef’s hat picked up the cricket.

The network of crickets relayed the response back to Seedler, using their cricket-language of clicks and grinds, but Seedler’s cricket answered him in plain language, “Of course, what would you like, sir?”

Seedler ordered a chestnut and a berry juice, on the rocks, and the crickets relayed the order down to the kitchen using their annoying click-chirp-grind language, much to the dismay of the other patrons and hotel employees. After another exchange, his cricket relayed his total to him—five acorns—that included the tip. He hung up the cricket, and it wiped its brow with one if its antennae and whispered a quiet “Whew!” before going back to sleep.

Thirty minutes later, there was a knock on the door. A pimply-faced munk was there with the order. He thanked Seedler for the tip. Seedler replied with a “you’re welcome,” thanked the young munk for the delivery, and retreated back into the hollow. Tomorrow, he would explore the city.