Toffle Towers 1

by Tim Harris

  ‘Oooohhh.’

  ‘Ahhhhh.’

  ‘We’re flying.’

  ‘I feel sick.’

  ‘That’s because you just ate the serviette.’

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t looking. I thought it was the Turkish bread.’

  The wait staff – each equipped with tight-fitting steel mesh shirts – swam between the tables, taking orders and directing hotel booking enquiries to Lawrence. Mikey and Katie were naturals at balancing and floating between the tables. Even Rufus – who Chegwin had promised free food in return for helping – was concentrating hard enough to avoid any clumsy accidents.

  Lawrence ducked gracefully from guest to guest, returning to the ground only to share some news with his boss.

  ‘Master Chegwin, it seems your idea has paid off. I’m delighted to inform you that we are fully booked tonight. Every table, chair, and now room has been reserved.’

  ‘What about room forty-nine?’ said Chegwin, spotting an opportunity to catch out the butler. If he was in on the secret, he might just slip up in his excitement.

  ‘Ah, not that one as it couldn’t be prepared in time,’ said Lawrence. He didn’t even flinch. ‘But that reminds me – I found the key this afternoon. It was tucked away in the back of the filing cabinet in your office of all places.’

  The butler handed the key to Chegwin and kicked back into the air, his top hat still firmly in place.

  Perhaps Lawrence had nothing to hide after all.

  Chegwin kept a close eye on proceedings in the Gazing Room. He paid particular attention to his parents, who had booked a table for two. He tried his best to lip-read their conversation as they floated around. After a while he could make out two words they kept referring to: right wing.

  The next morning sunlight spilled into Chegwin’s office. He tweaked one of his blond curls of hair, then double-checked the buttons and holes in his striped-blue shirt were appropriately mismatched. He turned on the computer and opened up his emails.

  Ding.

  Ding.

  Ding.

  ‘Lawrence, could you come here a moment?’

  The tuxedo-dressed butler arrived promptly. ‘Yes, Master Chegwin.’

  Ding.

  Chegwin looked between his inbox and Lawrence. ‘Um, I might need your help dealing with almost a thousand booking requests. Would you mind taking over this morning?’

  Lawrence stood slightly straighter – if that were at all possible – and nodded formally. ‘It would be a pleasure.’

  The previous night, word about Toffle Towers had spread like wildfire across the surrounding regions. Everyone wanted to know more about the hotel with gravity-free dining. Word had it the chef had put together a menu that couldn’t be rivalled, and apparently the ten-year-old manager would make the tables fly faster if you asked nicely enough.

  ‘Before you go,’ said Lawrence, ‘there’s something I wanted to say.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Chegwin.

  The butler pulled up a chair behind the oak desk and clicked open the first email. Then he set his gaze on the boy. ‘Thank you. You’ve put Toffle Towers back where it belongs – on the map.’

  Chegwin stepped outside his office. The hotel staff scampered busily around the lobby and restaurant, cleaning up from the night before. Mikey, who was filling in for Lawrence on the front desk, got down on all fours and crawled behind the counter. The young manager stepped onto his back.

  ‘Thank you for staying at Toffle Towers. I trust you enjoyed your visit.’

  ‘Best experience I’ve ever had with the kids,’ said a lady with freckles on her nose. ‘The shuttle bus and gravity-free dining were real highlights. We’ll be back for the Great River Race.’

  The portrait of Terrence Toffle looked out over the busy lobby, his eyes sparkling brighter than ever. His hotel had been brought back to life.

  Mrs Flibbernut waved to Chegwin from the lobby doors. ‘Barry is flying me down to the river. I’ll see you later on for our lesson.’

  The lady with freckles signed off on her checkout papers and then called her children over to the shuttle bus, where they joined Mrs Flibbernut on board.

  Chegwin made his way to the kitchen to run over orders for that evening’s menu with Pepper.

  ‘You really didn’t have to do what you did,’ she said. She gave the boy a tight hug.

  ‘I wanted to,’ said Chegwin. ‘You’ve helped me out so much, it was time to return the favour.’

  Earlier that morning, Pepper had woken up to find a large wad of cash on her dresser. There was a note attached.

  ‘The hotel is fully booked for the next two weeks,’ said Chegwin. ‘Expect some big turnouts in the Gazing Room.’

  Pepper jabbed Chegwin in the arm. ‘Awesome, man.’

  Dusty and Mildew poked their heads into the kitchen.

  ‘All our rooms are ready for tonight’s guests,’ said Dusty. ‘Well, every room except number forty-nine, of course.’

  Chegwin put his hand into his pocket and clutched the key Lawrence had given him. ‘Thanks for your hard work, Mr and Mrs Staines.’

  ‘Our pleasure,’ said Dusty. ‘Now, do you mind if we get back to our game of Monopoly?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Chegwin.

  Pepper smiled. ‘What are you going to do now, boss?’

  Chegwin took a deep breath and squeezed the key tighter. ‘I’m going to speak to my parents. It’s time to learn the truth.’

  Chegwin walked across the lawn towards the staffing quarters. Nothing was going to stop him this time. The two sides of his brain – thanks to some constant nudging by Pepper – had come to another agreement. He would confront his parents about their secret.

  ‘Chegwin, bunnykins,’ said Mrs Toffle. ‘Come in. We were just about to head over to the Gazing Room for breakfast. We hoped we might catch you this morning.’

  ‘We’re very proud of you,’ said Mr Toffle. He was wearing a T-shirt by the highly acclaimed reggae group, Polly Gruffin and the Discrete Beats of Seattle Beach. ‘To think the hotel is fully booked! I just got off the phone to the storage company and asked them to ship the last of our belongings. We love it here and we are so pleased you made the decision to come to Alan–’

  Chegwin blurted out the question before he could stop it escaping his lips. ‘Who is Milton?’

  Mrs Toffle gasped. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘Tell me everything,’ said Chegwin. ‘No more secrets. No more sneaking around.’

  Mr Toffle scratched his head. ‘I knew you were clever, son, but I didn’t think you’d be onto us before we had the chance to tell you ourselves.’

  Mrs Toffle’s phone rang and she answered it quickly. ‘NOT NOW, YOU CRUMPET HEAD – I’M TALKING TO MY SON!’

  Mr Toffle stared across the lawn at the busy hotel while his wife hung up. ‘Who was that?’ he asked.

  ‘My mother.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Chegwin, who was eager to get to the bottom of things.

  ‘Well, darling,’ said Mrs Toffle, ‘we have some exciting news to share with you. You’re going to be a big brother. We’re having a baby!’

  Mr Toffle glowed with pride. ‘We wanted to tell you, son … so badly. But we could see you had lots on your mind with the hotel and we didn’t want to distract you from what you were trying to achieve here.’

  Chegwin was stunned. ‘I’m going to be a big brother? We’re having a baby?’

  ‘Yes!’ exclaimed his parents.

  ‘But who is Milton?’ said Chegwin. He put his hand back into his pocket to feel the key to room 49, where he was certain they had been keeping his brother.

  ‘The baby, of course,’ said Mrs Toffle. ‘It’s a nickname. It’s what we called you before you were born – while we were still thinking of your real name. We’re doing the same with Milton Number Two.’

  She reached towards the coffee table and plucked a flower from the vase. She sniffed it deeply, then popped it into her mouth. ‘I can’t hide these pregnancy
cravings any longer. Mmm, mmmmmm.’

  Mr Toffle reached for a photo album on the bookshelf. He turned to the page Chegwin had seen before with Amy and Rufus.

  ‘But there are photos missing,’ said Chegwin.

  ‘They’re your ultrasound pictures,’ explained Mr Toffle. ‘We wanted to compare them to the ones we have of Milton Number Two.’ He retrieved a new album from the shelf and showed Chegwin the first two pages of photos.

  ‘Hello, Milton.’

  ‘Milton’s first wave.’

  ‘Our little boy is growing.’

  Chegwin ran his finger over the ultrasound photos. In the second picture, it looked like he was waving at the camera.

  He studied the photos on the other side of the page.

  ‘Hello, Milton Number Two.’

  ‘We can’t wait to meet you, baby boy.’

  ‘You look just like your big brother.’

  As Chegwin stared at the photos, a warm sensation flowed through his body. He was going to be a big brother! It was the same fuzzy feeling he had when he made the decision to move to Alandale and manage Toffle Towers.

  Well, almost.

  ‘Just one last question,’ said Chegwin. ‘Why have you been sneaking around in the right wing?’

  Mr Toffle sighed deeply. ‘Yes, well, we’ve been thinking about buying some new furniture for our room. Your mother’s trading has been doing well, and so have the bands I manage. We thought we might splash out and buy a new bed and lounge. Skeet-bop skeet-diddly-bop. We’ve been having a good look in the right wing for ideas. Some of the furniture there is beautifully designed.’

  Chegwin smiled. ‘Oh, is that all? Sometimes my imagination runs away with me.’

  ‘You’re a treasure, angel face,’ said Mrs Toffle.

  ‘The only thing is,’ said Chegwin, retrieving the key from his pocket, ‘what was the attraction with room forty-nine? How did you even get inside to scope it out?’

  ‘We’ve … never been up to room forty-nine,’ said Mr Toffle, looking confused. ‘We’ve been focusing on the furniture on the ground floor.’

  ‘Oh, but I thought …’ Chegwin looked across the lawn at the hotel, just in time to see the curtain twitch in the far room on the top floor. He showed the key to his parents. ‘Well, if you haven’t been in room forty-nine,’ he said, ‘then who has?’

  Chegwin’s adventures at Toffle Towers continue when, one by one, his staff are ‘reverse mugged’ by two mysterious men. Chaos ensues and it’s Chegwin’s job to get to the bottom of these attacks before Toffle Towers loses all its new guests. Meanwhile, the town of Alandale is preparing for the annual Great River Race – and Chegwin is about to find himself preparing to go head-to-head with rival hotel owner Brontessa Braxton in a race with the highest stakes of all. Is Toffle Towers facing its greatest hurdle yet?

  Coming soon …

  Mr Bambuckle’s first day at Blue Valley School was a most remarkable day. The fifteen students of room 12B straggled in after the bell to find their new teacher balancing on a unicycle, on top of his desk. He was singing in full voice about ‘glorious days’ and ‘magical ways’ and, as the students took their seats, he told them it was a rare Mongolian welcome song.

  The students looked at him in wonder and delight – and a little trepidation. He was clearly going to be far more exciting than the class’s previous teacher, Miss Schlump, who had fallen in love with a helicopter pilot and moved to Switzerland. In fact, the students would soon find out that Mr Bambuckle was the sort of teacher they had only ever dreamed of – young, funny, clever, handsome, full of surprises, and in all ways mysterious.

  Mr Bambuckle was dressed in a dazzling blue suit, which sparkled nearly as brightly as his mischievous green eyes. Draped tastefully around his neck was a woollen scarf that looked so soft the students longed to touch it. He had dark hair, and his caramel tan suggested he had spent a great deal of time outdoors. Either that or he was from a distant overseas country. The students couldn’t work out which. But they could work out they liked him from the get-go.

  ‘Hey, new teacher – what’s your name?’ said Vex Vron, a boy never lacking in confidence but always lacking in manners. Vex had a strong reputation for being a troublemaker, and he wasn’t going to allow good feelings about a new teacher to spoil the fact.

  Mr Bambuckle stepped down from the desk and placed his unicycle in the corner of the room. He flicked his wrists and produced an egg and two rashers of bacon – seemingly from midair – and started cooking them in a frying pan, which was apparently self-heating. Sizzles and pops soon filled the air.

  ‘You got a name or what?’ said Vex.

  ‘Good morning, Vex Vron. I’m delighted to meet you,’ said Mr Bambuckle. His voice was crisp, and it danced with the rhythm of a favourite song.

  Vex frowned, his eyes turning as dark as his black hair. ‘What …? How did you know my name?’

  ‘That’s an excellent question, Vex. I can tell we are going to get on splendidly.’

  ‘Bet you don’t know my middle name.’

  The class sat forward, eager to hear any insight the new teacher might have.

  Mr Bambuckle turned a piece of bacon in his pan. ‘I do believe, dear Vex, your middle name is … Wilberforce.’

  Vex squirmed in his seat, embarrassed his best-kept secret was no longer that. ‘Oh, you do know it.’

  ‘I know everything,’ said Mr Bambuckle.

  Vex clenched his jaw. He couldn’t let this intriguing new teacher get the better of him so early in the game. ‘But what’s your name?’

  Mr Bambuckle walked over to a girl sitting near Vex and shook her hand. ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Scarlett Geeves. My name is Mr Bambuckle.’

  Scarlett smiled.

  And just like that, Mr Bambuckle answered Vex’s question without answering it at all.

  ‘I suppose you would like to know a bit about your new teacher,’ said Mr Bambuckle. ‘Feel free to ask any questions. Just don’t ask me to show you my Indian spark-maker beetle.’

  All fifteen students thrust their hands in the air.

  ‘Too many questions for politeness,’ said Mr Bambuckle. ‘You’ll have to call out.’

  ‘Where did you get your unicycle?’

  ‘Lithuania.’

  ‘How did you learn to sing like that?’

  ‘My cousin is an Icelandic rockstar.’

  ‘Why are you wearing a blue suit?’

  ‘It’s rather dashing, don’t you think?’

  ‘May I please have some bacon?’

  ‘Be my guest.’

  ‘May I see your Indian spark-maker beetle?’

  ‘Uh-uh, it’s far too dangerous.’

  ‘What kind of name is Bambuckle?’

  ‘What kind of name is Vex Wilberforce Vron?’

  The students were in awe. Mr Bambuckle was easily, by far, without doubt, incomparably and unquestionably the most interesting teacher they had ever had.

  A sharp knock at the classroom door disrupted the good feeling. It was Mr Sternblast, the school principal, and he was frowning – something the students saw all too often. ‘Bambuckle, I take it you found the classroom.’

  Mr Bambuckle swung stylishly around and smiled at Mr Sternblast. ‘Thank you, dear Mr Principal, for your kind concern. Indeed, I have. Though I wasn’t expecting the numbering to go 11, 12, 12B, 14?’

  Mr Sternblast went red and coughed. ‘Humph. Yes, well, we can’t have people thinking this room is unlucky. Those incidents were all just … accidents.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mr Bambuckle. ‘In any case, I think 12B has a rather lovely ring to it.’

  Mr Bambuckle’s Remarkables

  is out now!

  Tim Harris is the bestselling author of several laugh-out-loud series for kids, including Toffle Towers, Mr Bambuckle’s Remarkables and Exploding Endings. His first ever book, Exploding Endings: Painted Dogs & Doom Cakes, was awarded Honour Book at the 2017 KOALAs. Tim’s second series, Mr Bambuckle’s Rema
rkables, contains his trademark quirkiness, mixed with a touch of poignancy. The lead book was awarded a CBCA Notable in 2018, and the series was shortlisted for the REAL Awards in 2018 and 2019. His books have been published in Australia, the USA, Poland and Turkey.

  A former primary school teacher of 15 years, and advocate for creativity and short stories, Tim’s presentations and workshops are dynamic and entertaining. He is a sought-after presenter, having worked in hundreds of schools across Australia.

  Tim lives in Sydney with his wife and three young children.

  James Foley is a children’s author and illustrator. He makes picture books, comics and middle-grade novels. Besides the Toffle Towers series, James’s books include The Last Viking, Brobot, Dungzilla, Gastronauts and My Dead Bunny. James also illustrated Total Quack Up!, an anthology of funny short stories edited by Sally Rippin and Adrian Beck, with proceeds going to charity.

  James is an ambassador for Books In Homes and Room to Read Australia. He is a massive Marvel movie nerd, and comes from a long line of queuing enthusiasts. He lives in Perth with his wife, son and labrador.

  Books by Tim Harris

  Mr Bambuckle’s Remarkables

  Mr Bambuckle’s Remarkables Fight Back

  Mr Bambuckle’s Remarkables Go Wild

  Mr Bambuckle’s Remarkables On the Lookout

  Toffle Towers 1: Fully Booked

  PUFFIN BOOKS

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  India | New Zealand | South Africa | China

  Penguin Random House Australia is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

  First published by Puffin Books, an imprint of Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd, in 2019

  Text copyright © Tim Harris 2019

  Illustrations copyright © James Foley 2019

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted.