Chapter Six – Suspicion at the Nationals
The morning sun melted through the cracker curtains of the family’s hotel room. A sweet buttery smell lingered in the air, drifting from the croissant bakery downstairs.
Wensley was already up, his cheese-curled tail wagging furiously as he padded in excited circles across the crumb-carpeted floor. His wedge-shaped body trembled with anticipation — today was no ordinary day. Today was the first full day at the Nationals.
Clarabelle bustled about the room, handing out neatly pressed rehearsal sashes in the Cheese Family colours.
“Let’s look sharp,” she said firmly. “This is no village hall. This is the Biscuit Ballroom.”
The family stepped into the lobby, blinking at the explosion of glitter and noise that greeted them. Chandeliers made of sugar crystal sparkled from the ceiling. Walls shimmered with edible sequins. Everywhere they looked, food-based contestants were warming up or showing off.
A trio of breakdancing blueberries spun across the polished fudge tiles leaving faint streaks of juice.
A pair of salsa-dancing spring onions leapt gracefully through the air, their green tops whipping like flamenco skirts.
In the corner, a marshmallow formation team practiced synchronized squishes, their fluffy bodies bouncing in unison before sticking together with squeaky determination.
“Welcome to the worlds crumbliest competition,” Eddie muttered, tucking his glitter cannon carefully under one arm. He cast wary glances at the marshmallows. “One wrong step and they’ll fuse themselves into a mattress.”
Mini Mozzarella and Babybel trailed behind, eyes wide as saucers.
“Do you think we’ll see the Funky Fungi?” Mini whispered.
Babybel’s grin stretched ear to ear. “If they’re here, we have to get their autographs.”
The tannoy crackled overhead, cutting through the hubbub.
“Rehearsals for Heat One begin in Studio A. All dance partners to the floor.”
The Disco Twins straightened immediately.
Monterey Jack Flash adjusted his golden bell-bottoms with practiced flair, while Halloumi Belle stretched her star-patterned boots in perfect rhythm beneath the soft shimmer of a disco ball.
Clarabelle fussed over their collars, smoothing stray sequins. “Remember — your sparkle, not just your steps.”
Wensley padded to the edge of the polished floor. His nose twitched. Once. Twice. Then again. A faint oily scent curled beneath the sweet butter air. Not cheese. Not biscuits. Not anything familiar. He lowered his wedge-shaped head and sniffed deeper, hackles lifting. Suspicious.
Just then, there was a faint crack.
One of the stilts beneath the mirrored floor shuddered ever so slightly.
Wensley gave a warning growl low in his throat.
“Wensley?” Eddie looked up briefly from tightening the glitter cannon’s nozzle, distracted. “What is it, boy?”
Before Wensley could bark again, a familiar cackle rolled down the corridor like a wave of mouldy blue cheese.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the dairy darlings,” sneered a voice.
One Stilton Sister appeared in the doorway, feathers cascading from her shawl. Her sister slinked behind, her grin sharp as a cheese wire.
“We just popped by to wish you luck,” said the first, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You’ll need it.”
Clarabelle stepped forward, hands firmly on her hips. “Leave your games at the cheeseboard. This is a family competition.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” said the younger Stilton, voice dripping with false innocence.
“We wouldn’t dream of interfering. Again.” She dragged the word out like a bad aftertaste before both sisters swept dramatically into the shadows, their laughter echoing in the hall.
Moments later the far doors burst open in a blaze of sequins. Melba Toast and Cherry Bakewell made their entrance, glitter trailing in their wake. Melba’s jacket shimmered with flecks of cracker dust, while Cherry’s scarlet velvet gown glittered with sugar crystals.
“Darlings!” Cherry trilled, twirling beneath the chandelier. “Let’s make today delicious!”
Melba raised her mic high, her smile wide. “And remember, the judges are watching every step!”
As if on cue, the first of those judges strode in. Tall, sleek, and slightly sour, Judge Pearée glided across the floor. His body gleamed with jewel-coloured swirls, like layers of berry and mango folded into a single form. His gaze was cool, unreadable, until it locked with Sir Blue Vein’s.
The air seemed to chill.
“Well,” Sir Blue Vein said quietly, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t think you’d still be stirring the spoon.”
judge Pearée inclined his head ever so slightly, lips pressed thin. No words, there was just unfinished business.
Wensley gave a short boof, breaking the tension. Something was brewing, and it wasn’t just the fondue bubbling in the green room.
By late afternoon, the rehearsal stage was buzzing. Contestants milled about in glittering groups, warming up under the flashing lights. The Cheese Family gathered at the wings, ready to watch the Disco Twins take the floor.
Monterey Jack cracked his knuckles, sparks of glitter falling to the ground.
Halloumi Belle adjusted her boots, eyes locked on the mirrored floor.
Their movements were precise, their confidence unshaken.
“Final act of Heat One,” boomed Melba’s voice across the tannoy. “Give a warm Biscuit Ballroom welcome to… the Disco Twins!”
The crowd roared. Lights spun. Music throbbed.
The twins launched into their routine — funky spins, dazzling twirls, a back-to-back glide that shimmered like liquid gold. The audience clapped in rhythm, stomping feet echoing through the hall.
But Wensley wasn’t watching the twins. His nose twitched again. That same oily scent — stronger now, sharp and bitter. His gaze shot to the glitter cannon set at the edge of the stage.
A wire dangled loose. Sparks danced along its edge.
Wensley barked once, twice, louder, leaping toward Eddie.
“Not now, Wensley,” Eddie muttered, eyes locked on the twins. “It’s their big moment.”
The cannon hissed. A wisp of smoke curled. The sparks flared.
In a heartbeat Wensley bolted, his paws skidding across the polished floor. His ears streamed behind him, his wedge-shaped body a blur of motion.
The crowd gasped as he launched himself into the air, soaring across the stage in what felt like slow motion.
His teeth clamped down on the loose cord with a snap and a sharp tug, he pulled it out of the power socket.
The glitter cannon fizzled. Sparks died. Silence fell.
Then, with perfect timing, the Disco Twins struck their final pose: back-to-back, arms high, sequins blazing. The audience erupted into applause, whistles, and stomps. A fondue fountain fired cheese into the air in celebration.
Halloumi Belle glanced down at Wensley, still gripping the cord in his teeth. She winked. “Saved by the sparkle hound.”
Melba bounded onto the stage, mic raised. “Darlings! What drama! What dazzle!”
Cherry Bakewell fanned herself with her pastry lid. “And what a finale! The Biscuit Ballroom has never seen such sparkle — or such a heroic hound.”
The judges scribbled their notes.
Judge Pearée raised a single eyebrow, then glanced once more at Sir Blue Vein. No smile, no frown — only the promise of hard scoring ahead.
In the wings, the Stilton Sisters watched from the shadows, their expressions thunderous.
“Foiled again,” hissed the elder.
“For now,” muttered the younger. “But the night is still young. And our tricks are far from over.”
They slunk away into the corridors, feathers trailing, their laughter echoing faintly behind them.
Blind Man Makes 