But Chegwin had tuned out. He was dreaming about the things he could do if he transformed into a praying mantis. He would command much respect from the other insects, no doubt. But he would have to be mindful of not getting eaten by a female mantis. Perhaps he could find a section of garden with limited females and –

  ‘What should we do?’ repeated Mildew.

  ‘Right, yes. Sorry about that.’ Chegwin regathered his thoughts. He had to stay sharp in this time of need. He had to show the staff he could handle the situation. ‘It’s clear we are under attack. But we must stay calm and compose ourselves.’

  ‘Compose ourselves?’ said Mildew. ‘As in turn ourselves into a song?’

  ‘No, no, no, silly-billy,’ said Dusty. ‘He means turn ourselves into vegetable scraps for the garden.’

  ‘That’s compost,’ said Katie, ‘not compose.’

  Chegwin signalled for silence. He did this by waving his hands in front of his face and then kicking his leg sideways like a martial-arts fighter.

  The staff were so bemused, they stopped fussing and listened.

  ‘Everyone needs to be on the lookout for two men dressed as commandos,’ said Chegwin. ‘Until we find out what’s going on, I urge you to be careful and report any suspicious activity to me. Otherwise, it’s best we get back to work as we have a full house tonight.’

  ‘Okay, boss,’ said Katie. ‘We’ll let you know if we see anything.’

  Chegwin felt positive about this approach. The logical side of his brain was always reminding him that guests should come first. Business should go ahead as usual, and he’d look into the attacks when time allowed. There was no point in listening to the imaginative side of his brain and panicking about the reverse muggings. That part of his brain could get out of control when unleashed.

  He turned to head back inside but, no sooner had he taken a step, the desperate cries of Lawrence echoed from somewhere inside the lobby.

  ‘Master Chegwin, I beg you to come quickly! I’ve been reverse mugged!’

  Chegwin was surprised to find Lawrence hanging upside down in the hotel’s lobby. The butler didn’t appear to be suspended by any ropes or harnesses, but he was able to walk across the ceiling as though it were the floor.

  ‘Master Chegwin, thank goodness you’re here.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Lawrence took a few steps towards the boy. His top hat was still firmly in place, despite the fact he now dangled from the ceiling like a bat. ‘Two large men forced magnetic boots onto my feet. I can’t seem to take them off. They appear to be interacting with the steel frame inside the lobby roof.’

  Surely there was an easy solution to the problem.

  ‘Have you tried walking down the wall to the floor?’ suggested Chegwin.

  ‘I have,’ said Lawrence, ‘but alas, the magnetic boots seem to be programmed to lock up when I near the wall. I’ve circled the entire roof. There is no way down.’

  What was going on? Toffle Towers was being ambushed by two mysterious commando-men. The staff were under attack, and Chegwin didn’t like it one bit.

  ‘Master Chegwin,’ said Lawrence, ‘this is most awkward for me, particularly as there are guests waiting to check out.’

  Chegwin turned to see a young family standing patiently at the reception desk. The mother was filling in some paperwork and had her purse out, ready to pay the bill.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Chegwin. ‘I’ll deal with it. You can just . . . hang around.’

  ‘Was that meant to be funny, Master Chegwin?’ said Lawrence.

  ‘I suppose it was a bit of a pun.’

  The butler allowed himself a wry smile. ‘Very well played.’

  Chegwin scooted around to the service side of the counter. ‘Good morning. You must be the Taylor family. I trust you enjoyed your stay.’

  ‘It was a wonderful experience,’ said Mrs Taylor. ‘We loved the gravity-free dining and the rocket shuttle bus. But a word of advice, young man, we can’t actually see you when you stand behind that desk.’

  ‘Yeah, we can’t see you,’ echoed one of Mrs Taylor’s three children. ‘We can only see your fuzzy hair.’

  ‘My apologies,’ said Chegwin.

  Under normal circumstances, Lawrence would have crawled behind the counter on his hands and knees so that Chegwin could stand on his back for extra height. It had become an unspoken tradition between the butler and the boy, and as such, Lawrence watched on from his upside-down perch rather uneasily. His young master needed help to be taller.

  However, coming from a family who had been in the butler business for seven generations, Lawrence was never short of ideas. He stomped across the ceiling – the metallic boots clinging and clanging – and hovered above the reception desk. ‘Master Chegwin, if you will.’

  Chegwin reached up and took hold of Lawrence’s hands. The butler pulled the boy up so he could see the guests.

  ‘A hotel with trapeze artists,’ said Mrs Taylor. ‘I am impressed.’

  Chegwin performed the checking-out process for the Taylors, swinging gently from side to side as Lawrence strained to hold him in place. ‘I hope you’ll visit Toffle Towers again.’

  ‘We’ll be sure to,’ said Mrs Taylor.

  ‘You’re the final guests to check out for the day,’ said Chegwin. ‘I’ll have our caretaker transport you back to Alandale.’

  Lawrence grimaced as he lowered Chegwin back to the floor. ‘I’ll be here if you need me . . . just hanging around.’

  Chegwin led the Taylor family outside and helped assemble their luggage on the driveway in front of the shuttle bus. He called over to the shed where Barry was working on the plans for room one. ‘Our guests are ready to depart.’

  The unshaven caretaker emerged from the workshop doorway and made his way over to the shuttle bus. ‘Everyone stand back while I fire her up. I’ll load the luggage once the engine’s warm.’ He climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

  ‘This is so cool,’ said one of Mrs Taylor’s children.

  ‘I love rockets,’ said another.

  ‘I want to buy more postcards of Alandale,’ said the third.

  Barry turned the key in the ignition, and the six mini boosters produced their usual flame and smoke. But what happened next was not usual at all.

  A giant balloon inflated on top of the roof of the shuttle bus and it lifted the entire vehicle into the air without Barry even pushing ‘Launch’.

  ‘What in the flamin’ flamingo tails is going on?’ snorted Barry. ‘I can’t control it.’

  The Toffle Towers shuttle rose about ten metres above the driveway. Barry hit the emergency landing switch in an attempt to lower the vehicle, but nothing happened. He flicked off the engines but even that didn’t do anything. The balloon was now fully inflated and it continued lifting the bus into the air.

  Barry and the bus were now twenty metres above Chegwin and the startled family.

  Chegwin pointed to the side of the shuttle and yelled up at the caretaker. ‘Are those tanks supposed to be there? I don’t remember seeing them before.’

  Barry leaned out of the window. ‘Flamin’ parrot fish scales! I’ve been reverse mugged. Those tanks are filled with helium.’

  The shuttle bus continued to ascend until it was about a hundred metres above the hotel. Chegwin could just make out Barry’s frustrated face as he leaned out the window and tried to reach the tanks – but they were too far from his grasp.

  Mrs Taylor sighed. ‘The kids were looking forward to another ride in the rocket bus. How are we going to get back to Alandale with all this luggage?’

  Right at the peak of the commotion, Dean wandered up the driveway, having returned from town. He glanced into the sky and then at Chegwin. ‘What the blazing diesel fumes is going on? The bus shouldn’t be that high.’

  But Chegwin didn’t respond. The imaginative side of his brain was arguing too fiercely with the logical side for him to pay attention to anything else.

  Dean spent the next half-hour on the driveway, attaching wheels to an old fibreglass bathtub. He worked quickly and skilfully, even adding a handbrake so the family could slow down at the sharp turns on the road to town. Thankfully, it was all downhill, although this meant Dean would have to follow the family and push the tub back up to Toffle Towers once the trip was complete.

  Chegwin offered the family complimentary morning tea while they waited and watched. Pepper Perry, the hotel’s brilliant sixteen-year-old chef, had been experimenting in the kitchen and she was more than happy to allow the family to sample her work.

  ‘I recommend the caramel doughnuts,’ said Pepper, delivering morning tea to the driveway.

  ‘Yum!’ cried one of the Taylor kids.

  For Chegwin, it was a chance to catch up with Pepper about the morning. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked his star chef. ‘Some of the staff have been attacked. Two men have been –’

  ‘Two blokes dressed as commandos?’

  ‘Yes! Did they come for you too?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah . . .’ said Pepper casually. ‘But I jabbed each of them in the arm and yelled at them for being in my kitchen before they could try anything. Protection, man. Flicked them on the bottom with my tea towel, too. They ran away, howling like babies.’

  ‘Oh.’ Chegwin was a little perplexed. Though he was hardly surprised. Pepper was known for her fieriness, and Mikey was often on the receiving end of her kitchen-defence antics. ‘Did you get a good look at them?’

  ‘Not much to describe,’ said Pepper. ‘Black commando outfits. The guys were huge. I thought they were guests at first – didn’t realise they’d been attacking the staff. Would have bopped them a good one if I’d known.’

  ‘Yes, they’ve been reverse mugging everyone,’ said Chegwin. ‘I might need to schedule a meeting to talk about it.’

  Dean wiped his hands on a rag and called everybody over. ‘The bathtub is ready for its maiden voyage to Alandale.’

  The Taylor family cheered and took their seats in the tub. They positioned themselves in a neat line, with the youngest child at the front. Mrs Taylor sat at the rear, where she could control the handbrake.

  Dean joined a makeshift trailer – which comprised a plastic crate on wheels – to the back of the tub. He stacked the suitcases on the crate and secured them with ropes.

  ‘Everybody ready?’ said the assistant caretaker.

  The family nodded.

  ‘Hold on tight,’ said Mrs Taylor.

  Her children clutched the rim of the tub and squealed in delight.

  Dean gave the bath a nudge and it began to roll down the gravel driveway. He walked closely behind, pointing this way and that to ensure the family could control the steering with their weight.

  ‘Lean to the left,’ instructed Dean.

  Mrs Taylor and her children tilted left and the bathtub followed the curve of the driveway.

  ‘Lean to the right.’

  The tub gained momentum.

  ‘Left again,’ said Dean.

  ‘Woohoo, this is fun!’ cried one of the children.

  The bathtub on wheels – followed by Dean, who was now jogging to keep up – continued picking up speed, the trundles squeaking as they bumped down the driveway.

  ‘Well, that’s one way to get back to town,’ said Chegwin as the tub disappeared behind the row of pine trees that surrounded the hotel. ‘Now, it’s time we had a meeting to talk about these reverse muggings.’

  Chegwin gathered his staff in the lobby, as it was the only place Lawrence could attend due to the magnetic boots on his feet.

  ‘What are you doing up there?’ said Pepper.

  Lawrence looked to Chegwin. ‘Do you mind if I use your pun again?’

  Chegwin shrugged. ‘Go for it.’

  ‘Just hanging around, Miss Perry.’

  ‘Where is Mikey?’ said Chegwin. ‘I know I gave him some time off, but it’s important he’s here for the meeting. He might still be over at the staffing quarters . . .’

  ‘Perhaps you could try clicking,’ suggested Lawrence from the ceiling.

  ‘Of course!’ said Chegwin, snapping his fingers.

  Within a second, Mikey popped up from behind the service counter, the brown shirt still stuck to his own. ‘You called?’

  Chegwin shook his head in amazement. ‘You’re so fast. Every. Single. Time.’

  ‘It’s what I do,’ said Mikey. ‘I’ve been trained in the art of speedy response.’

  Katie put her hand in the air. ‘Sorry to interrupt everyone before the meeting starts, but I need to say something.’

  Chegwin gave a thumbs up. ‘You’re as much a part of the hotel as anyone, Katie. Be our guest.’

  The young waitress cleared her throat. ‘As some of you might know, I have this thing where I can’t start reading a new book until I finish the book I’m on. Well, I have this other thing, too. I have to regurgitate what I read.’

  ‘Disgusting,’ said Mildew. ‘I don’t like cleaning up vomit.’

  ‘Not that sort of regurgitation,’ said Katie. ‘It’s more that I have to share what I’ve been reading. Otherwise, I won’t process it properly.’

  ‘So, what are you telling us?’ said Dusty.

  ‘I have some poems to recite to you. The commando men forced me to start reading a book – The Worst Poems in History – and now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. But the problem is, I have to share what I’ve read.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Lawrence. ‘This could get ugly.’

  Katie stepped forward. ‘Roses are red. Violets are blue. Most poems rhyme. But this one doesn’t.’

  ‘Er, thanks for that,’ said Chegwin.

  ‘There’s one more,’ said Katie. ‘It’s a love-hate poem.’

  ‘Go on,’ said the ten-year-old manager, though rather reluctantly.

  ‘I love your smile. I love your hair. I love your eyes, into them I stare. I love your table. I love your chair. I love your dining room – I love everywhere. But one thing I hate is a thief somewhere. Give me back my teddy bear.’

  ‘Um, okay . . .’ said Mikey.

  ‘I’m so terribly sorry,’ said Katie. ‘I truly can’t help it. It’s the worst reverse-mugging gift ever!’

  ‘Which brings us to why we are here now,’ said Chegwin. ‘This morning, the hotel has been under attack. Two large commandos have been . . . they have been . . .’

  ‘Yes, Master Chegwin?’ prompted Lawrence.

  The young boy had wafted into a beautiful daydream. He was a concert pianist, playing to a crowd of thousands. His fingers danced over the keys and the audience cheered. The music was sweeter than –

  ‘Master Chegwin,’ said Lawrence, ‘your full attention is required.’

  ‘I just had an idea,’ said Chegwin, snapping out of his reverie. He made a note to revisit the daydream later.

  ‘You were saying something about those nasty commandos,’ said Mildew.

  ‘Yes . . . Yes, I was,’ said Chegwin.

  Then, without warning, he leapt onto the reception desk. He had given a dramatic speech to the staff once before, and it was time to do so again. His teacher – and the inspiration behind his rousing speeches – Mrs Flibbernut, would be proud of him. But it was not the time to think about her now. It was time to pull the staff together via a theatrical address.

  Chegwin marched along the top of the reception desk. ‘You, the staff of Toffle Towers – my good and faithful people – have had a morning you would rather forget.’

  Dusty agreed. ‘Too right we have.’

  ‘We are under attack,’ said Chegwin, throwing punches into the air before adding a karate kick for good measure. ‘I’ll say it again . . . We are under attack . . . We.’

  ‘Does he need to go to the toilet or something?’ said Mikey.

  Chegwin jumped down to the floor and crawled along the red carpet, commando style. ‘But we must be sneaky to find out who is behind the attacks.’

  Mildew lifted a foot so Chegwin could crawl past.

  The boy stood back up and mimed like a street performer. ‘And we must be careful to keep it under our hats. We can’t let word get out that the hotel is a target.’

  ‘True, true,’ said Katie. ‘We don’t want to lose any bookings, especially as we only just got back in business.’

  ‘Was that one of your poems, Katie?’ said Mikey. ‘Because if it was, it was worse than awful. There was no rhythm or rhyme or anything.’

  Katie raised an eyebrow. ‘Um, how about a big fat “no”. I think you’ll find it was a comment.’

  Chegwin pointed to the bickering pair. ‘Can’t you see it? This is what the attackers want. They want to divide us. They want to distract us. They want to stop us being . . . us!’

  ‘I think he’s right,’ said Dusty.

  Chegwin took a breath to compose himself. ‘Not two days ago, Toffle Towers ran out of money.’ He held out his hands like a pauper. ‘The funds were drained and we were on the brink of closing our doors forever.’

  ‘Good way to keep the draught out,’ said Mikey.

  The young manager ignored the comment. ‘We need to work as a unit. Tonight is the second night in a string of six weeks’ worth of full bookings. This is a time of celebration, not frustration. Reverse muggings or not, there is work to be done and Toffle Towers needs us at our best.’

  ‘Well spoken, Master Chegwin,’ said Lawrence, who was dangling nearby.

  Chegwin opened his arms and waved everyone in. ‘Group hug time.’

  The staff, who had once again been won over by a dramatic address, willingly obliged. They circled around Chegwin like a clump of penguins keeping each other warm in a blizzard.

  Lawrence reached down from the roof and joined the huddle with his outstretched arms.

  ‘This reminds me,’ said Katie from somewhere in the jumble of people. ‘I have another poem to share . . .’

  The staff yelled out in unison.

  ‘NO!’

  Chegwin retreated to his office for his morning lesson with Mrs Flibbernut. It was always one of the highlights of his day.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9