‘I knew it,’ said Chegwin. ‘We’ve arrived at the staffing quarters. We must be inside the wardrobe of an unused bedroom.’ He stepped further into the closet and pressed against the door, which opened up to reveal a spare room.

  The bedroom was fairly bland and dated, having not been in use since the hotel’s heyday.

  ‘But how did you know it would bring us here?’ said Amy.

  ‘The bronze,’ said Chegwin. ‘Look.’

  Amy stepped out of the closet to see what Chegwin was pointing at. The mirror on the door of the wardrobe was framed with golden-brown metal.

  ‘Oak to oak and bronze to bronze,’ said Chegwin. ‘The secret passageways are connected by material. There is no other oak used in the entire hotel, and it must be the same with the bronze. It’s like the special materials are signposts.’

  ‘Well, cover me with feathers and call me a rooster,’ said Amy. ‘I think you’re right.’

  The pair had a quick look around the empty room before returning to the industrial fridge.

  ‘I tidied all the blueberries,’ said Rufus, as he watched his friends squeeze back through the bronze trapdoor.

  ‘Tidied or ate?’ said Amy.

  ‘Maybe the second one.’

  As the trio left the kitchen, Chegwin told Rufus about their discovery. He explained how the second passageway had also been linked by a particular material.

  ‘I see,’ said Rufus. ‘I wonder if there’s a list of everything the hotel was built with. You could match up the things that were only used twice. There might be more passageways. Imagine the fun we could have exploring them all!’

  Amy clutched Rufus’s shoulders. ‘You may be clumsy and eternally hungry, but you’re a genius – of course!’

  ‘I’ll get right on it,’ said Chegwin. ‘Our caretaker might have a list like that.’

  Amy and Rufus gave each other a high five.

  ‘Lawrence,’ said Chegwin, as he led his friends through to the lobby, ‘could you please ask Barry to come and see me in my office.’

  ‘Must I really?’ said the butler. He clomped down the wall to the floor. ‘You know how much he bothers me. He’s in a foul mood. His Tigers haven’t won a game in months.’

  Chegwin pointed to the door. ‘It will only take you a moment.’

  Lawrence took off his magnetic boots and sighed. ‘Very well. I’ll fetch Barry. But I can’t guarantee we’ll both make it back in one piece.’

  Barry delivered in spades when Chegwin asked him about the building materials used to construct the hotel.

  ‘Yeah, I reckon I have that list tucked away, mate,’ he said with a snort. ‘But I can do you one better than that. I have an album of photos that were taken when Toffle Towers was built. The pictures are old, but they might help with your research.’

  ‘Thanks, Barry.’

  Chegwin and his friends spent the rest of the afternoon poring over the list in their secret hide-out. They scattered the old photos on the rug and methodically sifted through them.

  ‘Here’s a picture of your great-uncle Terrence,’ said Rufus. ‘He looks just like he does in the portrait in the lobby.’

  ‘Speaking of the lobby,’ said Chegwin, ‘this is the staircase before it was covered in carpet. Look – that floorboard must be the squeaky one.’

  Amy, however, had made a more riveting discovery. She gasped and picked up a photo from the middle of the pile. ‘Chegwin, it’s your look-alike!’

  Chegwin’s mind flashed back to a small slide he kept in his office drawer. He and his friends had discovered the photo when they first explored the right wing of the hotel. It was the picture of a boy who looked identical to Chegwin – curly blond hair, blue striped shirt, mismatched buttons and all.

  And here the boy was again, smiling at the camera as he stood proudly in front of a bustling Toffle Towers.

  ‘Did Terrence have any children?’ said Amy. ‘Maybe it’s his son.’

  Chegwin remembered one of his lessons with Mrs Flibbernut. ‘Apparently he did have a son. The personal records got murky in regards to the family, but this might be him.’

  ‘The resemblance is uncanny,’ said Rufus. He picked up the list of building materials. ‘Red jasper was only used twice. Once in room twenty and once in –’

  ‘My office!’ said Chegwin. ‘There is a red jasper handle on my filing cabinet.’

  ‘That means there are two passageways connecting to your office,’ said Amy. ‘One leads here to our hide-out and the other to room twenty. There may be more.’

  ‘Oh, look!’ Chegwin was so excited he stood up. He clutched one of the photos and waved it in front of Amy’s face.

  ‘Hold it still,’ said Amy ‘What exactly am I looking at?’

  ‘It’s an old picture of room forty-nine! Look – there’s a number on the door and it’s open. You can see inside. I’ve been dying to know what’s behind that door.’

  Rufus leaned across and examined the picture. ‘Looks like the coffee table in room forty-nine is made of black marble. Our kitchen top at home is just like it.’ He looked back at the list of building materials. ‘Black marble was only used twice, too!’

  Chegwin was already pulling the oak bookshelf away from the wall.

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Amy.

  ‘There’s a black marble coffee table in my office,’ said Chegwin. ‘It must be linked to room forty-nine. I’ll finally be able to see inside! This explains how the key was stolen off my desk. Whoever is staying in the room must not want to be discovered – and they know about the secret passages. I have to check it out!’

  Amy was up in a flash. ‘Hold on . . . wait a minute.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You can’t just barge into room forty-nine unannounced. This person might be dangerous.’

  Chegwin remembered the high-pitched voice he’d heard behind the door. It didn’t sound dangerous. It was more desperate. ‘I – I don’t know . . .’

  ‘In either case, I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ said Amy. ‘The fact that there are now at least three secret tunnels linking to your office suggests the place is riddled with them. I mean . . . who knows? The person might be spying on us this very minute.’

  The thought put a shiver down Chegwin’s spine. It must have done the same for Rufus because he shuddered and crossed his arms.

  The three friends stood in silence and stared around the edges of the secret basement. Was it true? Were they being spied on right now? Were there other tunnels connecting to their hide-out?

  The faintest of sounds – on par with the level of noise a piece of paper makes when it is placed on a desk – rustled behind one of the air vents nearest the basement steps.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ whispered Amy.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Rufus, ‘and it wasn’t my stomach.’

  The friends strained their ears. And then they heard it – the pitter-patter of footsteps sneaking away.

  Chegwin set to work in his office early the next morning. Using Barry’s list of building materials, he found a total of seven secret passageways leading out of the room. But Chegwin chose not to explore any. Instead, he sealed off the entrances with wooden panels scrounged from the workshop. He nailed the planks across each tunnel doorway, including the tile under his desk that led to the basement.

  He couldn’t risk the mystery guest sniffing around his office and stealing any more keys. Until he worked out who the person was, it would be safest to meet his friends at Rufus’s parents’ cafe – the Corkindrop.

  Chegwin hammered the final nail into the last of the wooden planks and wiped his hands. It was time to meet Pepper. He locked his office and wandered through the lobby doors, enjoying the crisp autumn air.

  ‘Morning, boss,’ said Pepper, as she stretched her leg against a gatepost on the driveway. ‘Ready for our walk?’

  ‘You bet!’

  The pair headed down the steep driveway towards Alandale. Chegwin could see how much fun guests would have riding a bathtub back to town. Perhaps he could reintroduce the tub as a mode of transport in addition to the shuttle bus.

  ‘I’ve been testing out a few new recipes,’ said Pepper. ‘I’m loving the busy evenings.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Chegwin. ‘It’s great to be fully booked.’

  Pepper slowed as they reached a turn in the road. ‘But happy endings, man. Will it last? I’m terrified . . .’

  ‘Terrified . . . of what?’

  ‘Of losing Toffle Towers, of course. The Great River Race is next week . . . If you don’t beat Brontessa, this whole magical ride of getting back in business will be over . . . for everyone!’

  Chegwin took a deep breath. ‘I won’t let that happen.’

  Pepper always spoke her mind, so it was no surprise she got straight to the point. ‘Why haven’t you settled on a boat design yet? What’s the plan? Barry and Dean are waiting for you to make up your mind, then you can begin training.’

  Truth be told, Chegwin still hadn’t put too much thought into the actual race itself. Just days out from the event, this was quite an oversight – especially as he hadn’t even organised the boat design. He always relied on spontaneous flitters of imagination to get out of trouble. He was certain he could do it again, but telling someone their fate relies on the whim of a daydream is hardly reassuring.

  Inside Chegwin’s mind, the logical side of his brain was throwing screwed-up balls of paper at the imaginative side. ‘Tell her something! Think of an idea – quick!’

  The imaginative side kicked up its feet and watched a rerun of one of Chegwin’s favourite movies. ‘It’ll be fine. Everything will turn out dandy – it always does.’

  Chegwin stabbed at a stone on the road with his shoe. ‘I’ll work it out.’

  Pepper recognised the look in Chegwin’s brown eyes and wasn’t convinced. ‘Do you even know the three golden rules of the Great River Race?’

  ‘Oh, the golden rules. Mrs Flibbernut mentioned them in one of our lessons but we ran out of time.’

  The teenage chef jabbed her boss in the arm. ‘Research, man. You should have looked up the rules yourself. You’re hardly filling me with confidence. There are three golden rules for the Great River Race.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Number one – no engines are allowed. All boats must be self-powered. But don’t worry, Barry and Dean already have a brilliant solution for this. Number two – exactly three people need to ride in each boat. And number three – this is the weird one –’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Each contestant must wear underpants on their head.’

  ‘Underpants! What?’

  ‘Told you it was weird,’ shrugged Pepper. ‘Beats me what they were thinking when they made the rules. Barry reckons they got bored after the first two.’

  The pair reached town and Pepper pointed out some of the decorations that had begun going up in anticipation of the race. ‘The bunting in the main street is white to represent the imminent winter snow. If you look closely at all the shop windows, there are pictures of the shopkeepers’ favourite boats from previous races. Boats are only allowed to race –’

  ‘Once!’ said Chegwin. ‘After that, they’re never allowed to enter again.’

  Pepper smiled. ‘That’s right.’

  Chegwin could sense the buzz in town. There was an unseen energy, like tiny sparks of electricity zipping between the buildings.

  ‘By the way,’ said Pepper, ‘it’s been a while since we’ve tongue twisted anyone.’

  Chegwin grinned. ‘I was hoping you might say that.’

  Pepper pushed open the florist door. ‘Morning, Mrs Patel.’

  ‘Ah, good morning, Pepper,’ said a woman with dark hair and a vibrant smile. ‘And good morning, Chegwin. Thanks for your recent orders. I’ve been handing out flyers for your hotel to all of my customers. Now, how can I help you?’

  ‘I’d like some roses, please,’ said Pepper.

  ‘What colour?’

  ‘Red.’

  ‘How would you like them arranged?’

  Pepper was already giggling. ‘In a row.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I want really rare flowers.’

  Mrs Patel began sifting through one of the many tubs of blooms behind her desk. ‘Is that all for today?’

  ‘They must be rosy,’ said Pepper.

  Chegwin was biting his lip, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Can you confirm the order, please?’ said Pepper.

  Mrs Patel scratched her head. ‘Sure, you want a row of really rare r-r-rosy red r-r-roses –’

  ‘You’ve been tongue twisted!’ howled Pepper. She doubled up with laughter. ‘That was one of the best yet!’

  Mrs Patel shook her head with a wry smile. ‘Always up to no good . . .’

  Following some more chuckling, Chegwin paid for the flowers using the company credit card, and held the door open for Pepper. ‘After you.’

  The pair walked back to Toffle Towers to prepare for another busy day.

  ‘One last thing,’ said Chegwin as they reached the lobby. ‘Have you noticed anything strange going on around the kitchen? Have you seen anyone sneaking around?’

  ‘Only Mikey,’ said Pepper. ‘He’s constantly nicking my food – says it’s too tasty not to. It’s a nice compliment, I suppose, but I’m not sure why he’s so obsessed with chicken soup. He took another sachet yesterday. Swears he didn’t, but who else could it have been?’

  ‘Thanks, Pepper, but go easy on Mikey. He’s a big fan of yours.’ Chegwin thought about the mystery guest. He knew it wasn’t only Mikey swiping food from the kitchen. Whoever was taking the chicken soup seemed intent on staying around long-term. But it was time to change his focus. The Great River Race was fast approaching and he needed to work out a plan to win. That, and find a boat to start training in. Oh, and a pair of underpants he could wear on his head.

  Toffle Towers was a flurry of movement in the lead-up to the Great River Race. The staff zipped about the hotel, ensuring guests were comfortable and happy. Lawrence tottered around upside down in the lobby, checking in guests. Dean trimmed the lawns and levelled the gravel on the driveway. Barry taxied guests to and from town in the shuttle bus. Mikey delivered luggage here and there. Dusty and Mildew tidied each suite and replaced the eaten lollies in room one. Pepper plated up dozens of tasty meals, and Katie was in fine form with her bad poetry.

  ‘This is from page three hundred and twelve,’ she explained to a mother and her daughter, as they hovered around the Gazing Room on a floating table. ‘Romeo, Romeo, where art thou today? Romeo, Romeo, I long for you to stay. Romeo, Romeo, your presence is my wish. Romeo, Romeo, it’s time to feed the fish.’

  ‘Booooo!’ The little girl cupped her hands over her mouth and hollered at Katie.

  ‘Not bad at all,’ said the waitress, her dimples igniting as she checked the decibel meter. ‘Thirty-five per cent off the total bill.’

  ‘Yay!’

  Chegwin spent a lot of time in his office, double-checking emails and balancing the books. Now that the hotel was back in full swing, profits were beginning to soar. It was no wonder Brontessa Braxton was intent on taking over Toffle Towers. She must have known Chegwin’s ideas were worth a lot of money.

  The ten-year-old manager was beginning to tire from a heavy workload. But he finally settled on a boat design, opting to convert the fibreglass bathtub that had earlier been used to transport guests to town.

  ‘Ripper choice for a boat,’ said Dean. ‘Barry will be happy. It works perfectly for our plan to help you.’

  Chegwin was pleased with his decision, though rather surprised when Barry showed him a white suitcase.

  ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘These things are incredibly strong,’ said Barry, ‘and lighter than gas tanks. Thanks to Brontessa, we’ve got some leftover helium from the reverse mugging on the shuttle bus. We’ll make some alterations to the suitcase, attach it to the front of the tub, fill it with helium and inflate some balloons to give you extra lift. There are no rules saying you can’t make the boat lighter – she’ll skip across the water quick as a flash.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Chegwin. ‘I couldn’t have thought of anything better myself. Thank you.’

  Amy and Rufus, meanwhile, had agreed to be his co-sailors. While Barry and Dean were the strongest members of staff and best equipped for rowing, Chegwin explained to his friends that lightness was the key for this particular vessel. ‘Barry suggested you two as my helpers. We can’t afford to get bogged down in the water,’ he said.

  ‘I’m so glad you picked me,’ said Rufus, as Amy passed him a paddle. ‘I’ve always wanted to compete in the Great River Race.’

  Dean had gone to great lengths and created ultra-light paddles for the three friends. Each was customised in length and weight.

  ‘Rufus,’ said Amy, ‘did I ever tell you how good you look with underpants on your head?’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Rufus. ‘At least mine fit properly.’

  ‘That’s probably because you wear them on your head all the time.’

  Chegwin would have joined in the banter, but his eyes had glazed over.

  ‘You better not drift off on race day,’ said Amy, gently shaking Chegwin. ‘We need you switched on. Your hotel is on the line.’

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ said Chegwin. He hated the thought of Brontessa taking charge and firing his staff. Daydreaming was the only way to stop thinking about it.

  On the final afternoon before the Great River Race, Chegwin slumped on his office chair and sighed. He was exhausted. The physical exertion had taken its toll but, more worryingly, he was beginning to fizz out emotionally. His brain ticked over at an alarming rate, playing out the worst-case scenario over and over again. What would happen if he lost the race?

  There was a gentle knock at the door. It was Mr and Mrs Toffle.

  ‘May we come in, dewdrop?’ said Mrs Toffle. She was holding another frozen-pea flavoured dinosaur iceblock.

 

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