Bollywood Burglary (Geronimo Stilton #65) Read online

a

  t

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  t

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  A

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  ,

  h

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  .

  h

  e

  w

  a

  s

  f

  o

  r

  s

  a

  k

  e

  n

  !

  ”

  I thought of

  Ratna

  and sighed. She

  was my friend. I couldn’t abandon her! So I

  scampered

  into the theater.

  All the lights were off except for the

  spotlight on the

  stage

  , which was shining on

  a group of dancers. They were all

  singing

  in chorus:

  Besides the

  DANCERS

  , there were

  dozens of other rodents in the theater,

  busily

  scurrying to and fro. Poirat pointed

  out each one to me.

  “That’s the

  director

  ! And that’s his assistant!

  That mouselet is the

  costume designer

  . . .

  that’s the

  makeup

  artist, and that’s . . .”

  AssistAnt

  director

  Film

  director

  Film

  producer

  costume

  designer

  lighting

  designer

  Actress

  hAir

  stylist

  speciAl

  eFFects

  coordinAtor

  cAmerA

  operAtor

  composer

  music

  supervisor

  mAkeup

  Artist

  director

  oF

  photogrAphy

  Artistic

  director

  cAsting

  director

  publicist

  screenwriter

  production

  AssistAnt

  cinemAtogrApher

  set

  designer

  Actor

  dAnce

  instructor

  property

  mAnAger

  extrAs

  cAmerA

  operAtor

  Welcome to India,

  Mr. Stilton

  “

  Welcome

  to

  India,

  Mr.

  Stilton!”

  someone behind me squeaked.

  I turned and saw a mouse with an

  extremely long braid. “I’m

  Vandana

  Ratkita

  ,

  the casting director*

  for

  Restless Hearts,” she said in a

  gentle tone.

  She

  LOOKED

  me

  over from the tip of my

  ears to the tip of my tail. “Now,

  Mr. Stilton, you are playing the

  prince of Mysore: You’ll be

  amazing

  —

  PERFECT

  —

  incredible

  !”

  * The casting director selects actors for all the parts in a film.

  Whaaat?

  What

  do

  you

  mean?

  He

  doesn’t

  know

  It

  can’t

  be!

  Holey

  cheese!

  Why?

  how

  to

  dance?

  Vandana pushed me toward the stage.

  “Let me see how you dance, Mr. Stilton!”

  I turned

  redder

  than a cheese rind.

  “Erm, I don’t know . . . I mean,

  I haven’t

  got a clue how to, um, dance!”

  The dancers turned to stare at me. Then

  they began murmuring, “Did you hear that?

  He doesn’t know how to dance!

  ”

  Suddenly, the theater was so quiet, you

  could hear a cheese slice drop. The director,

  HE

  DOESN’T

  KNOW

  HOW

  TO

  DANCE!

  Dev Mousepali

  , slapped me on the back so hard

  my tailbone rattled. “So what if he doesn’t

  know how to dance? He’ll learn!” he cried.

  “

  Mrs. Ratel

  will teach him!”

  Everyone let out a

  sigh

  of relief.

  “Yeah, Mrs. Ratel will take care of him.

  She’ll teach him everything he needs to

  know.

  He better learn, or

  . . .”

  “Or what?” I cried, twisting my tail. “I

  need to know. Tell me!”

  HE

  DOESN’T

  KNOW

  HOW

  TO

  DANCE!

  But they ignored me and went back to

  their

  dancing

  . They

  leaped

  here and there to the beat of the music. They

  were so graceful! I knew I’d never be able to

  dance like that . . .

  Hercule

  dragged

  me away to my trailer.

  “

  Sleep

  tight

  , my dear Stilton!” he told

  me. “You need your rest. Tomorrow you’ll

  be shaking your tail and prancing your paws

  off!”

  Ack!

  Cream for the

  Calluses

  The long trip from Mouse Island had worn

  me out. I closed my

  EYES

  and fell deeply


  asleep . . .

  At dawn the following morning, Hercule

  woke me up by shrieking directly into my left

  ear. “

  Wake up, my dear Stilton!

  Shake

  a paw! It’s time to get your tail moving!”

  My

  paws

  had barely touched the floor,

  when Hercule poured a scalding

  cup

  of

  tea down my throat. It was so hot it burned

  my gullet! Then he shoved a handful of

  candy

  into my snout.

  “Here’s some hot-pepper candy. I added

  Like

  it,

  Gerry

  kins?

  Cough!

  CougH!

  Eat

  these

  candies!

  Drink

  this

  tea!

  Cough!

  more

  HOT PEPPERS

  to give it extra

  zip.

  he demanded.

  “Aaaarghhh!” I screeched.

  The hot-pepper

  candies

  had gone down the

  wrong way, and I almost

  choked!

  “A quick shower will

  perk you up. It’ll help you

  move those

  paws

  to the

  beat, Stilton!” squeaked

  Hercule, pushing me

  into a

  cold

  shower.

  “

  Heeeelp!

  You’re

  going to freeze my tail

  off!” I cried.

  So he turned the

  faucet

  ,

  What

  a

  mess!

  I

  washed

  my

  fur

  WITH

  TOOTHPASTE

  I

  brushed

  my

  teeth

  WITH

  SHAMPOO

  and instantly the water became boiling

  hot

  !

  “Noooooo!” I screeched. “Now you’re

  scorching the fur right off my back!”

  “

  Come on, Gerrykins

  , why do you

  have to be so difficult?” he complained.

  “You’re never happy!”

  The

  STEAM

  in the shower was so thick

  I couldn’t see my paw in front of my snout.

  I felt around for the shampoo, toothpaste,

  and fur-gel. But the shampoo wouldn’t

  lather

  , the toothpaste tasted worse

  I had washed my fur with toothpaste,

  brushed my teeth with shampoo,

  and combed my fur with callus cream!

  SQUEAK!

  And

  I

  combed

  my

  fur

  with

  CALLUS

  CREAM!

  I

  definitely

  STARTED

  THE

  DAY

  ON

  THE

  WRONG

  PAW!

  SIGH

  !

  SIGH

  !

  than day-old tuna, and the gel matted my

  fur

  like a mangy marmot!

  “Ha, ha, ha! At least you won’t have any

  calluses in your fur!” Hercule

  giggled

  .

  The day had started out

  all wrong

  . . . I

  was afraid to think about how it would end!

  Mr. Stilton’s

  Dreadful Day

  I’m

  on

  it!

  Priya Moushi

  , the costume designer,

  brought me my costume: a

  silk

  tunic, a

  pair of bright green pants, and a marvemouse

  turban

  with a jewel.

  Once I was dressed, the

  makeup artist

  came to put on my makeup. After she was

  finished, she led me into a big room with

  wooden floors. Waiting for

  me there was my

  dance

  teacher,

  Siddhi Ratel

  .

  Mrs. Ratel was an elderly

  rodent with snow-white fur

  gathered into a tight

  bun

  .

  She wore a pink

  sari

  *

  and

  held a wooden stick in her paw.

  *

  A sari is a garment worn by many Indian women made

  of a long cloth wrapped around so one end forms a skirt

  and the other goes over the shoulder.

  Squeak!

  Try

  on

  these

  Put

  this

  on!

  I’ll

  put

  on

  trousers!

  your

  makeup!

  Bend

  your

  right

  leg

  .

  I

  SAID

  THE

  RIGHT!

  Now

  try

  to

  raise

  your

  arms.

  .

  .

  NOOOO!

  NOT

  LIKE

  THAT,

  CHEESE

  BRAIN!

  .

  N

  !

  N

  o

  w

  b

  e

  n

  d

  y

  o

  u

  r

  l

  e

  f

  t

  l

  e

  g

  .

  Y

  O

  U

  R

  L

  E

  E

  E

  E

  E

  F

  T

  !

  N

  o

  w

  b

  e

  n

  d

  b

  o

  t

  h

  l

  e

  g

  s

  .

  .

  .

  N

  O

  ,

  N

  O

  ,

  N

  O

  !

  T

  i

  m

  e

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  o

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  w

  i

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  l

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  .

  .

  N

  O

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  I

  K

  E

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  H

  A

  T

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  L

  e

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  D

  o

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  .

  .

 
T

  h

  r

  e

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  l

  e

  a

  p

  s

  .

  .

  .

  N

  O

  O

  O

  O

  !

  CLONK!

  CLONK!

  She had a very

  SEVERE

  expression on her

  snout.

  “Mr. Stilton, my name is

  Siddhi

  , which

  means ‘

  perfection

  ,’” she squeaked sternly.

  “And I expect you to learn how to dance

  perfectly

  !” Then she rapped

  me on the

  tail with the stick.

  “Now for your first dance lesson, Mr.

  Stilton! One . . . two . . . three . . .

  What

  are you doing?

  Are you sleepwalking?

  Mr. Stilton, you’re about as graceful as a

  goat

  !”

  “Mrs. Ratel, I must warn you. I’m a truly

  lost cause,” I told her. “

  I can’t dance!

  My

  Aunt Sweetfur always says I was born with

  two left paws.”

  Mrs. Ratel didn’t listen. She just

  clonked

  me on the tail again.

  CLONK!

  It’s

  impossible

  to

  teach

  you

  to

  dance!

  Um . . .

  actually . . .

  well . . .

  squeeeak!

  “Young mouse, I’ve been teaching for the

  last fifty years. There’s no such thing as a

  lost cause

  . Come on, hop to it!

  One . . . two . . . three!”

  Every time I

  messed up

  a step, she

  whacked me on the tail.

  “

  YEE-OUCH!

  ”

  I yelled.

  After hours and hours of (useless) practice,

  Mrs. Ratel

  gave

  up

  . She broke her

  wooden stick over her knee in frustration.

  “I tried all day, but he’s

  a lost cause! He can’t learn!

  And if I can’t teach him,

  I don’t know who can!”

  “You’re right, Mr. Stilton. You’re truly a

  lost cause. I give up!

  It’s impossible to

  teach you to dance!

  ”

  Everyone on the set — from the

  DIRECTOR

  to the costume designer

  to the

  LIGHTING

  designer — was

  horrified.

  “Are you sure? He can’t be taught how to

  dance?” the director gasped.

  Mrs. Ratel shook

  her snout.

  “Uh, so what can I do? Can I

  go

  home

  ?” I said hopefully. “Can I pack

  my bags? Should I book my plane ticket?”

  ratna

  thE

  raviShing

  She’s

  beautiful!

  She’s

  unique!

  She’s a

  star!

  What an

  actress!

  So

  charming!

  Wow

  !

  That’s when I heard a sweet

  voice squeak, “Don’t worry,

  Geronimo! I’ll teach you

  to

  dance

  . It’s me, your

  old friend

  Ratna