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  “Unplug griddle, pronto. It’s probably starting to overheat.”

  “Check,” a small voice came back. “Unplugging griddle.”

  Leo wondered who it was, but there was no time for that. Merganzer was already talking again.

  “Leo and Remi have seen inside the top floor of the Whippet. It’s my private library, and I’m very happy to have it here on the grounds at last. It will no longer be the top of a hotel but, instead, the foundation of my very own private hotel. The rest of the floors will be made from the roofs each of you brought with you to the field of wacky inventions.”

  “But they’re all scattered around,” said the dapper Mr. Whitney. “That’s not a hotel at all. It’s just a bunch of hotel floors sitting in a field. And also, I’ve never been inside the top floor of the Paddington Hotel. It’s not possible to get in there.”

  Everyone began to complain about the same problem. The top floors of all the hotels had always been secret floors, floors that could not be entered. None of the floors had windows, only ladders leading to the roof.

  “You all climbed to the roofs of your respective hotels last night for a reason. I wanted you here, with me, so that we could unlock them together. Some of my greatest inventions reside inside these structures, and the time has come to put them all together.”

  Merganzer turned and faced everyone. “We must stack these floors and make a new hotel!”

  “You, Merganzer D. Whippet, are off your rocker,” Mr. Pilf said. “This entire operation is outrageous!”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” E. J. Bosco added. “No one told me I was going to be kidnapped and forced into a dangerous competition when I took the job. I’m a hotel manager, not a superhero.”

  “I know a superhero,” Remi said. “Captain Rickenbacker. He’s got a cape.”

  “Who asked you?!” Bosco screamed, and being the size and shape of a gigantic walrus, it scared Remi a little bit.

  “Please don’t yell at the children,” Merganzer said sternly. “We’ll have none of that, and I won’t be giving any more instructions. I’ll be making myself scarce, because I have big, big things to work on. But for those of you who think this is a fool’s errand, know this: Whoever gets to the top of this hotel first will run all my hotels. I’m expanding into Europe. And Japan. The Ukraine is very promising. Someone needs to run the Whippet Empire here at home, and that someone is going to be one of you.”

  Now everyone — Mr. Pilf, Alfred Whitney, Miss Sheezley, and Miss Harrington — was singing a new tune. Even to the grumpy walrus-man E. J. Bosco, the idea of running an empire of hotels strewn across all of New York City was too enticing for words. It would almost surely mean a huge pay raise, stock options, and a seat at the pinnacle of the travel industry in America’s most important city. It was, as Merganzer was fond of saying, big — very big indeed!

  But Leo and Remi were thinking of something altogether different. They couldn’t have cared less about owning or running more hotels. All they could think about as they looked around the field of wacky inventions was what lay hidden inside each floor and how much fun it would be to stack them one on top of the next.

  “Is this the part where you say the game is afoot?” Mr. Whitney asked with a sly smile. Leo and Remi liked this Alfred Whitney character. He was like Sherlock Holmes and he had an excellent, slow voice that was deep and commanding.

  “I believe you’re right, Mr. Whitney,” Merganzer said. And with that, he turned and wandered off in search of ducks or electric eels or twelve-foot chickens, calling over his shoulder: “The game is afoot! May the best man, woman, or child win!”

  Most of the hotel managers stared awkwardly at one another as Leo and Remi finished their pancakes back inside. It was one thing to have a hotel empire within your reach, another to know how to get one’s hands on the prize. No one seated at the table had ever been asked to build a hotel, and certainly not in the weird way that Merganzer was asking them to do it. No one, that is, except Leo and Remi. They’d already been on two such adventures — one inside the Whippet Hotel and one underground, beneath the very same building.

  “Has anyone else been inside the top floor of your hotel?” E. J. Bosco asked. He was raring to go, but he had no idea where to start.

  Remi began to say yes, of course, he’d been in the Whippet Hotel library lots of times. But Leo felt it was a piece of information best kept secret. He elbowed Remi in the side, but Mr. Pilf with the long face and the longer beard took notice — he could tell Leo and Remi knew something he did not.

  Miss Sheezley’s huge eyes grew even larger as her eyebrows raised, and she started whispering something to E. J. Bosco. A second later, both of them were up out of their chairs, hastily walking away. They made an odd pair, a walrus and a bug-eyed woman, but clearly they’d struck up some sort of bargain. This seemed to get all the other hotel managers nervous, as if they should be putting together alliances of their own.

  “Shall we make a go of it together, at least for a while?” Miss Harrington asked the dapper Alfred Whitney. They were perfect for each other, like two people pulled out of a black-and-white movie, and Leo expected Alfred to say yes.

  “I’m afraid I’d only hold you back,” Alfred said, lifting his cane ever so slightly. “I’m a little slow on my feet. Football knees.”

  “You played football?” Remi asked.

  “At the University of Oregon,” Alfred said proudly, tapping the golden duck on the end of his cane. “I’m a Duck, through and through. Also a running back.”

  While this small conversation took place, Miss Harrington looked Mr. Pilf up and down. He was the most annoying person in the bunch unless she wanted to partner with two kids or an old man who would surely slow her down. She turned her gaze on Remi, thinking.

  “Don’t look at me,” Remi said, putting an arm around Leo. “I’ve already got a partner, and I’m not trading.”

  Miss Harrington was in mortal danger of going it alone, an unacceptable outcome at this stage of the game. She put all her charms into play, standing as she reached out her hand in Mr. Pilf’s direction. He was not a man who had enjoyed very many dates (work was his girlfriend), and he was obviously smitten with Miss Harrington. He rose to his feet and the two of them moved away, plotting and scheming.

  “Well, I’m feeling lucky,” Remi said, standing as he stretched his arms toward the sky. “And full. Let’s get this show on the road, partner.”

  Leo looked at Alfred, who he’d taken a real liking to. He had a thought just then, that this really was the man for the job. Leo had zero interest in running an empire of hotels, but he sure didn’t want to end up with Mr. Pilf or E. J. Bosco as a boss. That spelled Disaster with a capital D. And so he said what he truly felt, which was something that only a kid would do at a time such as this.

  “Mr. Whitney,” he began.

  “Oh, please, call me Alfred.”

  “Okay, Alfred. I’m not even twelve yet, but me and Remi here have had a couple of Merganzer D. Whippet–size adventures already, and I have to say, we really enjoy having them.”

  “That we do,” Remi agreed. “Nothing like a Merganzer adventure! They’re the best.”

  “And we kind of have our hands full running the Whippet Hotel. It’s our home.”

  Remi could already tell where Leo was going, and he liked it very much.

  “So what I’m thinking is this,” Leo went on. “You seem like a very nice guy, the nicest of the bunch, and we don’t really have any interest at all in running six hotels. We’re happy taking care of just one.”

  “Helps that it’s the best hotel in the world!” Remi added.

  “What are you thinking?” Alfred Whitney asked, rising from his seat and slowly backing away from the stone table.

  “What if we work together — the three of us — with the goal being that you end up winning?”

  “That way we can enjoy this awesome adventure and not end up with more work when it’s done!” Remi said, which was exac
tly what Leo was thinking.

  Alfred looked at the two boys with great affection. He smiled wistfully, shaking his head back and forth a few times.

  “These hotel managers would be quite a handful, wouldn’t they?” he concluded.

  Leo gazed off through the trees, where E. J. Bosco was giving him the evil eye.

  “I believe you’re right,” Leo answered.

  Alfred nodded then, with real determination, and put out his hand.

  “I humbly submit to your plan. And furthermore, I promise to leave you fully in charge of the Whippet Hotel should we meet with success.”

  “For the record, Leo owns the Whippet,” Remi said. “I’m not even sure why we’re doing this.”

  “Fair enough,” Alfred said. “I’ll oversee the rest of Merganzer’s hotels if we win and provide any help you need.”

  Leo looked at Remi and they nodded. Then both boys shook Alfred Whitney’s hand.

  “Let’s get busy!” Remi declared. “We have a competition to win!”

  The three of them — Leo, Remi, and Alfred — spoke at length on the maddeningly sluggish walk. Alfred really was slow on foot. They decided that the Whippet was indeed the foundation for the new hotel. Why else would it be the only one without an airship hovering overhead? The Whippet was where they were most likely to discover a clue about how to begin, and so it was there they ventured first.

  It took them almost twenty minutes to walk back to the top floor of the Whippet Hotel, and another five minutes to scale the ladder that led to the roof. There they found Miss Harrington and Mr. Pilf examining the duck elevator.

  “Oh, great,” Leo said. “We’ve got company.”

  “How does this thing work?” Mr. Pilf yelled across the roof. “And where does it go?”

  The door to the duck elevator was closed. Had it been open, they might have been able to ride the small elevator into the library below, but the only thing that would open it was the master key card in one of Leo’s many pockets. Betty, the resident duck, and her string of six obedient ducklings waddled toward Leo and Remi in search of crackers.

  “We should’ve brought her a pancake,” Remi said.

  “Oh, I might be of some assistance there,” Alfred said, digging into his coat, which bore a strong resemblance to a tuxedo jacket.

  “Is anyone hearing me?” Pilf yelled. “How does this thing work?”

  Miss Harrington was sitting on a marble bench by the pond, looking as though she was thinking very deep thoughts. Alfred produced a green plastic package from his pocket.

  “I always carry a few granola bars around, just in case I’m lost on a hike up Mount Everest.”

  Remi and Leo looked blankly at the cane. This guy wasn’t hiking across the street, let alone up a mountain.

  “That was a joke,” Alfred said. “And here are the ducks.”

  Alfred opened the package and broke the first of two granola bars into pieces. The ducklings went mad for the treat, and Betty seemed happy for them.

  Leo took a long look around, hoping to find a clue to what they were supposed to do. Mr. Pilf and Miss Harrington had both moved away from the duck elevator door. It appeared they had no patience for puzzling dilemmas. Leo could have opened the door with his Whippet Hotel key card if he’d wanted to, but he wasn’t about to do that, not until he was sure they should even be going down into the library.

  “Odd,” Remi said. “The golden duck is gone.”

  Leo remembered the golden duck, where the zip rope had been carefully tied in place. It had been sitting on a golden pole in the middle of the pond. Remi was right! The golden duck was gone, or at least it had been moved.

  “Oh, wait,” Remi said, as if it didn’t really matter. “It’s right there.”

  He pointed to the far corner of the hotel roof, and sure enough, the golden duck was standing there, looking like it had never moved. As they walked toward it, the golden duck suddenly dropped out of view.

  “Squirrelly duck,” Remi said.

  “It’s a clue,” Leo concluded with a whisper, putting his finger to his lips as he glanced over his head and watched Mr. Pilf turn their way, curious about what they were up to. Both he and Miss Harrington could smell a clue and began walking toward Leo, Remi, and Alfred. As soon as they did, the golden duck popped up behind them on their corner of the hotel roof. Remi almost spilled the beans, but Alfred poked him gently in the side with his cane, just in time.

  “Oh, right,” Remi whispered as their competitors neared. “It’s a clue.”

  “You two distract them; I’m going in for a closer look,” Leo said.

  Leo rounded the pond in the middle of the roof, acting like he had no idea what he was really looking for, and soon arrived alone at the golden duck. He noticed right away that it was not the same one he’d tied the zip rope to. This duck didn’t have a leg that moved when he pulled on it. Leo tried to twist the golden duck’s head, but nothing happened. Then he pushed down on the tail and it moved. Out of the mouth of the golden duck came a strip of orange ticker tape.

  “I’ve found a clue!” Leo whispered to himself, and just as he did, the golden duck swooshed down, out of sight, the orange strip of ticker tape breaking off in Leo’s hand.

  “What’s going on over there?” Miss Harrington yelled, advancing on Leo rapidly, with Mr. Pilf close behind. Her black hair and his white beard made for a startling combination. Leo turned away from them and read the orange ticker tape. He only had a moment, but a moment was long enough! He took out his special, one-of-a-kind Whippet Hotel key card and pressed a few buttons. Then he turned around as if nothing very special was happening. The duck elevator door opened up — Leo had opened it — and Pilf jumped back as if he’d been hit in the face with a water balloon. There was quite a look of shock on his face, but he gamely covered it by stating the obvious.

  “Aha! Look there, the door has opened!”

  “You don’t say,” Miss Harrington said sarcastically. She had no patience for buffoons.

  Betty, thinking that an open duck elevator was an invitation for a duck walk, waddled across the roof, with her ducklings tailing close behind. Comet, the smallest of them all, kept circling Alfred’s feet, searching for more food.

  “Well, well,” Miss Harrington said as she came alongside Mr. Pilf at the door. “You’re more useful than I thought you might be.”

  It was the worst kind of backhanded compliment, but Mr. Pilf melted under the warm attention he was getting from the former beauty queen. She took a long look at the small space as Betty passed by, as sure as any duck could be that she and her ducklings were bound for a walk around the grounds.

  “Oh my, I’ve left my hat on the bench by the pond,” Miss Harrington said to Mr. Pilf. “Be a dear and fetch it for me, won’t you?”

  She watched as Mr. Pilf, like a love-struck zombie, nodded and marched off toward the bench. Never mind that Miss Harrington hadn’t been wearing a hat. She hated hats and never, ever wore them. She crouched down low and squatted in the elevator as Betty honked in her face and the ducklings climbed up and down her expensive leather shoes. It was all supremely unladylike, and by the look on her face she was not enjoying any of it. Still, she managed a smile as she pulled the lever, feeling, it seemed, quite sure she’d gotten the better of all the boys.

  “Ta-ta,” she said as the doors began to close. “I believe this round goes to yours truly, wouldn’t you say?”

  The doors closed all the way shut and Miss Harrington was gone, along with Betty and her ducklings, on their way into the Whippet Hotel library.

  Mr. Pilf was crestfallen. For the briefest of moments he’d forgotten all about the possibility of owning an entire empire of hotels. He’d been bitten by the love bug, but how fleeting it had been. He slumped onto the bench and stared at the pond, despondently pulling at his long, thin beard.

  Alfred Whitney didn’t seem to have the heart to let him suffer so. Limping over with the help of his cane, he offered Pilf a granola bar from his
tuxedo pocket.

  “You know, it’s a complicated game,” Alfred said. “Not this silly competition. I mean this business with the ladies. They are very complicated. But I have to tell you, I saw a twinkle in her eye.”

  It was possibly a white lie, but a nice one, and for that reason alone excusable to Leo and Remi.

  Mr. Pilf perked up, taking the granola bar in hand and biting into it with gusto.

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Well, of course I am,” Alfred replied.

  A sound, like the weight of something tremendously heavy being lifted into the air, drifted across the field of wacky inventions.

  “I think this hotel is about to get a second floor,” Leo said. He passed the orange note to Remi, who read it with great excitement. It was a Merganzer D. Whippet message, the kind Leo had become very good at figuring out.

  Open the door and send the duck.

  If you go down you’re out of luck.

  “Nicely done, Leo,” Remi said. “I’m not sure I would have figured it out that fast.”

  “I hope she’ll be all right,” Alfred said, looking at the duck elevator door, which remained closed. The fact that it was now moving down with Betty inside appeared to be the trigger that had set the next floor in motion.

  “It’s safer inside than it is out here,” Leo said. He was looking overhead, where the floor of a hotel was descending toward them. There was very little time to get off the roof of the Whippet Hotel, and Mr. Pilf was rapidly losing his nerve. He was not good under pressure.

  “We’ll be crushed!” he yelled, tossing what was left of the granola bar over his head as he ran for the ladder.

  It was then that Leo realized there was one little duckling that hadn’t followed all the rest into the duck elevator.

  “Guys, we have a duck problem,” Leo said, trying to keep his cool as Mr. Pilf looked on from the edge of the hotel. Leo pointed at Comet, who was trying with all his might to swallow a chunk of granola bar bigger than his head.

  “Comet!” Remi yelled. The duckling with the white racing stripe of fur down its back stared at the pond like he was getting ready to make a run for it.