The Great River Race, page 6
‘Not so fast,’ he said. ‘If I know you, there will be some underhanded fine print in this document. Diddly-bang-boo.’
‘Very well, very well,’ said Savannah. ‘Have a look. You’re right, of course, there is always fine print. But do hurry, I haven’t got all day.’
Chegwin hadn’t considered the fact there may once again have been hidden text, and he tried to defuse the situation. ‘It’s okay . . . I signed because I didn’t want anybody to lose their job.’
The solicitor reached into her bag and fetched a glittery microscope. ‘Such naivety in the youth of today,’ she muttered.
‘I thought you used a magnifying glass to read fine print,’ said Mr Toffle.
‘That’s for the regular fine print,’ said Savannah. ‘This is for the fine, fine print.’
Mr Toffle positioned the microscope over the final full stop in the letter. He focused the lens and zoomed in on the punctuation mark, which was actually a circle of tiny writing.
‘What does it say?’ said Chegwin.
Mr Toffle squinted down the eyepiece. ‘It says . . . Keep zooming in, numbskull.’
When Mr Toffle zoomed in even further, the full stop of this miniature sentence was also a dense ball of text.
‘Aha! What do we have here?’ he exclaimed.
‘Go on, go on, read it quickly,’ said Savannah.
Mr Toffle took a breath. ‘By signing this document, Chegwin Toffle agrees to enter into an exclusive deal with Brontessa Braxton. Both parties shall participate as contenders in the annual Great River Race of Alandale. If Chegwin Toffle beats Ms Braxton across the line, she will stop bothering him with legal matters. If he fails to beat Ms Braxton, however, she will instantly assume ownership of Toffle Towers and its staff, who she shall fire immediately and replace with her own workers. You can give the microscope back now because this is the end of the fine, fine print.’
‘And there you have it,’ said Savannah. She snatched the document and put it in her handbag along with the microscope and pen.
Mr Toffle was usually a patient man, but this sort of deceitful nonsense made him more upset than the time he accidentally left the iron on and burned a hole through one of his favourite T-shirts – a retro souvenir from the band Wishy Washy Hippies and the Fishy Dishes. ‘That’s not very fair,’ he said. ‘You can’t waltz in here and trick my son into –’
But Savannah was off. The sound of helicopter blades whoop-whooping filled the air, and she raced outside. ‘I’ll be seeing you at the Great River Race,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I’ll be there as a legal witness.’
Chegwin and his father followed Savannah outside, just in time to see her secure a rope around her waist. The low-flying helicopter lifted her into the air and hurtled away.
‘Not that way,’ she yelled at the pilot, remembering the last time when she was slapped in the face by one of the pine trees along the driveway.
Terrified of making the same mistake, the pilot overcorrected and slammed the solicitor into the orange wheelbarrow in the main belltower.
Dong!
Savannah glared at the pilot. ‘That’s not very professional!’
‘Never a dull moment, son,’ said Mr Toffle, as the helicopter disappeared into the distance. ‘But more importantly, what are you going to do about the Great River Race with Brontessa Braxton?’
‘There’s only one thing I can do,’ said Chegwin. ‘Win it. But before that, I have to tell the staff.’
After the new guests had retired to their rooms for the night, Chegwin called an emergency meeting with his staff. He asked them to sit around the largest table in the Gazing Room. Lawrence, who had finally taken off his magnetic boots, was the last person to pull up a chair.
Chegwin pressed a button on the restaurant wall labelled ‘Zero Gravity’, before racing over to join the staff. All the tables gently lifted into the air and circled the room in graceful arcs.
‘Thanks for a great job today, everyone,’ said Chegwin. ‘The guests went to bed as happy as Larry.’
‘I prefer being called Lawrence,’ said Lawrence.
‘He’s not talking about you, numbskull,’ said Barry, who enjoyed teasing the butler.
Pepper whacked Barry on the arm. ‘Respect, man. Chegwin wants to say something.’
‘But before he does,’ piped up Katie, ‘there’s something I’d like to say.’
‘Go on,’ groaned the staff, as their table glided past the restaurant’s glassy ceiling.
Now that Katie had had such a positive experience sharing bad poems with the guests, she didn’t shy away from using her best expression. She recited her next poem with the confidence of a seasoned performer. ‘Muffin, my muffin, I need your berry lovin’. Muffin, my muffin, I’m running for you, puffin’. Muffin, my muffin, for you I dare to toughen. Muffin, my muffin . . . gross! You’re past your expiry date – get away from me!’
Mikey pretended to vomit.
Mildew pretended to clean it up.
‘Thanks for that, Katie,’ said Chegwin. ‘The guests loved you. But now onto other matters. As some of you know, we have been working on plans for an upgrade to room one. I’m pleased to inform you all that Barry and Dean finished the renovations this afternoon. It will be ready for use tomorrow!’
Everyone clapped.
‘Tomorrow, Barry and Dean will start work on something else.’ Chegwin remembered his daydream about being a concert pianist and fiddled with his loose button. ‘I can’t say much at this stage, but it will be another great addition to the hotel.’
‘Can you give us a clue?’ said Mikey.
‘Not just yet,’ said Chegwin. ‘But speaking of clues, has anybody seen the key to room forty-nine? It disappeared from my desk, but it’s been so busy I haven’t had a chance to investigate yet.’
Everybody shook their heads.
The missing key bothered Chegwin. Earlier that evening, he was helping Mikey carry some luggage to room 48 when he heard the distinct sound of feet shuffling around in the next room. To add to that, he was sure he could smell chicken soup wafting out from under the door. But when he knocked, the smell and noises disappeared.
The memory of chicken soup derailed Chegwin’s thoughts. Suddenly he was a chicken. His beak pecked the earth surrounding the chook pen as he searched for a wriggly worm. There was an uncomfortable pressure building in his bowels – the need to push. He focused his energy and pressed down in his body. And out it popped – a beautiful, perfect egg.
‘Begerk! Begerk!’
‘What on earth were you just thinking about?’ said Pepper, who recognised the dreamy look in Chegwin’s eyes.
‘Oh.’ Chegwin was back in the real world, though he didn’t feel like sharing that particular vision.
Dean yawned. ‘Is there anything else you need to tell us, boss? It’s getting late.’
‘Actually, there is.’ Chegwin sat up straighter. ‘The final and most important matter to discuss is the future of the hotel.’
Lawrence’s pale-blue eyes sparkled brightly. The boy had come a long way with his management skills. Here he was, not shying away from the most difficult discussion yet. The butler knew where Chegwin was headed with this – he had been listening in when Savannah Hollis arrived.
‘I was tricked into signing a deal with Brontessa Braxton,’ said Chegwin bluntly.
The staff gasped.
‘What deal?’ said Barry coarsely. The Tigers had lost seven games straight and the strain was showing in his voice.
‘A deal that puts the future of the hotel in jeopardy,’ replied Chegwin. ‘I’m not going to hide it from you . . . You deserve to know the truth. Brontessa Braxton may soon be the owner of Toffle Towers, and if that happens, you will all lose your jobs.’
There was another gasp.
Chegwin was surprised by his own honesty. It felt liberating to unbottle the news, though he didn’t like the furrowed brows around the table. They were all pointed in his direction.
Lawrence cleared his throat. ‘I can assure everybody that Master Chegwin is not to blame. Ms Braxton has been operating deviously. I saw the whole thing unfold and it was most underhanded.’
‘What does the deal involve?’ said Dusty.
‘The Great River Race,’ said Chegwin. ‘I have to enter and race against Brontessa. If she beats me across the line, she will become the new owner of Toffle Towers. If I beat her, she will leave us alone.’
‘This is an outrage,’ snorted Barry. ‘That woman is as blasted as her hotel.’
‘The whole thing is blasted,’ said Dean.
There was a long pause as the staff processed the news.
Eventually, Pepper spoke up. ‘Honesty, man.’ She managed a smile at her coworkers. ‘Remember how angry we were when Chegwin didn’t tell us about the hotel’s finances? Well, he’s learned from that. Now he’s sharing everything with us . . . even when it must be hard to do so.’
Mildew nodded. ‘Very true.’
‘He is being honest,’ said Mikey.
‘Home is where the heart is,’ said Katie. ‘But more importantly, home is where the fridge is.’
‘Huh?’ said Mikey.
‘Sorry, that was another one of my poems.’
The dining table slowly drifted towards the floor. Chegwin slid off his chair and flicked the zero-gravity button. The furniture returned to its resting place and the staff were able to put their feet on the ground.
‘We’ll work this out together,’ said Chegwin, though his eyes were beginning to glaze over. ‘You make a great team – the best team. My mother once taught me . . .’
‘Yes?’ said Dean.
‘What I believe Master Chegwin was going to say before his fantasy took hold,’ said Lawrence, ‘is that until the Great River Race, it’s business as usual. We must stay dedicated to the hotel while he works out a plan to beat that blasted Brontessa in the race.’
‘I may already have something in mind for the race . . .’ said Dean.
‘Let me know if I can help,’ said Barry.
‘We’ll all help,’ said Lawrence.
Over the next few weeks, Toffle Towers was a hive of activity. With so many short-term guests booked in to experience the Gazing Room, the staff were kept on their toes.
Despite being busy, Barry and Dean set aside some of their spare time to devise a plan that would give Chegwin the best possible edge once he settled on a boat design. The caretakers relayed this information to Lawrence, who worked overtime to order some of the materials they required.
Unaware of the staff rallying behind him, Chegwin reopened room one, which was now a king-sized suite made almost entirely of lollies. The room was filled with musk sticks, gobstoppers, chocolate balls, liquorice straps and gummy bears. Everything was edible – even the furniture.
The bathroom featured one of Toffle Towers’ famous milkshake baths – something Chegwin had dreamed up when he accidentally ordered too much milk. Though for room one, he also added a bonus milkshake shower.
The lolly room was a huge hit with the children who stayed. Though it didn’t immediately win over their parents.
‘There are no beds in room one,’ complained a man who had booked in to stay with his seven-year-old daughter.
Chegwin shrugged his shoulders. ‘Of course not. Do you think you or your daughter will sleep after consuming that much sugar?’
The man could see the logic here. ‘No . . . I suppose not.’
‘Well, that’s why there are no beds,’ said Chegwin. ‘But trust me, you and your daughter will sleep like babies when you get back to your place. It’s all part of the service here at Toffle Towers.’
The Alandale weather began to cool as autumn set in. The guests – armed with expensive cameras and lenses the size of small trumpets – took to strolling the wooden boardwalks alongside the Gladberry River, snapping photos of the flame-coloured deciduous trees that lined the opposite shore. Postcard sales in town were at an all-time high.
There was no sign of Brontessa Braxton or her two butlers, who Chegwin had guessed were the commandos behind the reverse muggings, but the staff remained on high alert. Chegwin figured his rival was keeping a low profile until the Great River Race. This theory was backed up when Amy shared a snippet of inside information.
‘Dad stayed back at work late the other evening. He said he overheard Brontessa’s butlers boasting about their vessel for the race. Apparently, they’ve been testing it out in secret and it’s been breaking all types of speed records. Now that Brontessa has tricked you into signing that document, she says she has you right where she wants you – dead in the water.’
‘I’ll save the hotel,’ replied Chegwin, though his voice sounded somewhat hollow. He had no idea how he was going to win the boat race, especially as he didn’t even own a boat. Though he also had no idea that Barry and Dean had been doing their own testing in secret. The entire staff, in fact, were working harder than ever to support their young manager.
There was also the mystery of room 49 to solve. Chegwin continued his search for the missing key, but was growing more and more frustrated with the situation. He had reached the point where he knew someone was staying inside the room. He had enough evidence, he just didn’t know who it was and why they were there.
One particular morning, he tried using a piece of wire to pick at the lock. He was certain he heard someone call out ‘Go away!’ in the process. He also slipped a piece of paper under the door with ‘Who are you?’ scrawled over it. The paper shot back out with ‘None of your business!’ written in black ink.
Chegwin tried shouldercharging the door to bust it open the way police officers do in the movies, but all he got was a bruised arm.
‘I’ll find out who you are,’ Chegwin said through the door.
‘No, you won’t,’ replied a high-pitched voice.
Chegwin left it there. He would have to find another way in later.
Despite the fact that the Great River Race was looming closer each day and he still had no boat or plan, Chegwin settled back into the rhythm of life in the busy hotel. Most mornings would start in the Gazing Room with his parents over breakfast. He would then spend a few hours in his office checking emails and corresponding with guests. When Mrs Flibbernut arrived for their lessons, his day would take a theatrical turn. Marching up and down the oak desk, his elderly teacher explained leadership strategies, investment funds, the hotel industry and countless other subjects most ten-year-old children would find completely irrelevant.
‘That’s enough teaching for today,’ Mrs Flibbernut would say, draining the dregs of her coffee. ‘I’m off to watch the Scandinavian yodel-while-you-ascend rock-climbing contest on television.’
Chegwin would wait for Mrs Flibbernut to gather her things and leave, before locking his office door from the inside. He would then crawl beneath his desk, remove the loose tile and slip into the secret passageway.
Amy and Rufus would make their own way to the hide-out and meet him there. Chegwin had hidden a key beneath an upturned pot so his friends could let themselves in via the unused storeroom in the right wing.
‘There must be other tunnels,’ Amy said one day. Her green eyes flickered with curiosity. ‘I’ve studied people like your great-uncle Terrence, and they never do things in halves – always to the max.’
‘I prefer to study food,’ said Rufus. ‘Got any snacks?’
‘I’ve been thinking the same thing about the tunnels,’ said Chegwin, ignoring Rufus’s stomach. ‘There’s a small trapdoor in the industrial fridge. I noticed it last night when I was helping Pepper in the kitchen. I wonder if it leads somewhere, too?’
‘Only one way to find out,’ said Amy. ‘Let’s go exploring!’
Rufus didn’t need much convincing. ‘Did you say fridge?’
‘Doc will have to stay behind,’ said Amy. ‘He’s too loud to bring along.’
‘Honk!’ said Doc.
Chegwin led his friends back through the passageway to his office. From there they tiptoed to the kitchen.
It was Pepper’s scheduled time off before the evening rush, so the trio had no trouble sneaking around the pantry. Chegwin opened the door to the coolroom and pointed to the opposite wall. ‘See the trapdoor – it’s behind the crates of milk.’
‘I see it,’ said Amy. She glanced at all the fresh produce inside the fridge. ‘I think it’s great that you order your supplies from the locals. It keeps the businesses in town healthy.’
‘In return, they let me advertise for free,’ said Chegwin. ‘It’s been good for bookings.’
Amy stepped forward and pushed the crates of milk aside to examine the door. ‘It looks to be made of bronze.’ She reached for the handle and pulled it open.
‘It is another secret tunnel,’ said Rufus. In his excitement to look inside, he crashed into a shelf, spilling blueberries all over the floor.
‘I’ve never understood your clumsiness, pot pant,’ said Amy. ‘You’d better pick those up.’
‘Why blueberries?’ complained Rufus. ‘There are thousands of them – why not watermelons?’
‘If it were watermelons they would have crushed your toes,’ said Amy. She took off her knitted cardigan and gave it to Rufus. ‘This will keep you warm while Chegwin and I explore. We’ll be back as soon as we can.’
Amy took the lead, crawling through the tight entrance. Unlike the tunnel between the storeroom and Chegwin’s office, this passageway wasn’t carved into stone. This one had been constructed from polished timber, but it was lit with the same yellow globes.
‘It’s a lot warmer in here than in the fridge,’ said Chegwin.
The pair had to crawl on their hands and knees a short distance, but the tunnel soon opened up and they could stand again.
‘We seem to be moving in a straight line,’ said Amy.
‘I think I know where it’s taking us,’ said Chegwin, as they reached the end of the tunnel.
Some of the wooden panels at the end were nailed together. Amy tugged at a handle fixed to one of the planks, and a door in the wall swung open. It revealed what looked to be the inside of a wardrobe. ‘Cool.’
