We answer the videophone. It’s Mr. Big Nose, our publisher.
“What took you so long?” he barks. “I’m a busy man, you know!”
“I know,” I say. “Sorry. Are you calling about the book?”
“No,” he says. “I’m actually calling about some babysitting.”
Terry looks at me. I look at Terry. Madame Know-It-All was right again!
“I need you to look after my grandchildren,” says Mr. Big Nose. “They are staying with Mrs. Big Nose and me, but we have tickets to the opera tonight—Il Bignosio di Explodio.”
“Is that the story about the guy whose nose gets longer every time he tells a lie?” says Terry. “I love that one!”
“No,” says Mr. Big Nose, “that’s Pinocchio—just a silly children’s story. I’m talking about opera—serious opera. Il Bignosio di Explodio speaks of matters far above your heads. Art, truth, beauty, exploding noses … in fact, it starts with the most explosive operatic aria of all time! Here, I’ll sing it for you.”
“Oh, bravo, bravo!” says Terry. “That was il magnifico de stupendio!”
“Thank you,” says Mr. Big Nose, taking a big bow.
“Um, about the babysitting, Mr. Big Nose,” I say. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. I mean, Terry and I are not really qualified.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Mr. Big Nose. “You’ve both worked in a monkey house, haven’t you? You’re probably overqualified if anything.”
“Yeah,” says Terry. “Come on, Andy, it will be fun. Besides … what could possibly go wrong?”
“Hmmm…” I say. “Let’s ask the readers.”
“Okay,” says Terry. “Hey, readers, can you see any reasons why our treehouse wouldn’t be suitable for Mr. Big Nose’s grandchildren?”
“What did they say?” says Terry.
“No idea,” I say. “They were all shouting at the same time again.”
“They say it would be fine,” says Mr. Big Nose. “And, more important, so do I. Here are the twins, Albert and Alice …
and here’s the baby—CATCH!”
“Got it!” says Terry, holding the baby in his arms.
“Just as well!” says Mr. Big Nose. “And you’d better take really good care of it—and the twins—because Mrs. Big Nose is very fond of her grandchildren. I want them back in my office, safe and sound, by lunchtime tomorrow, along with your new book … OR ELSE!”
“Bye-bye, Pop-Pop!” say Alice and Albert.
“Goo-goo gah-gah,” says the baby.
The screen goes blank.
Albert looks around, his eyes wide. “I’ve always wanted to visit your treehouse!” he says. “I’ve read every book.”
“Me too!” says Alice. “I’ve always wanted to fight the Trunkinator—I’m going to do it right now!”
“And I’m going to go into the Maze of Doom,” says Albert.
“Me too,” says Alice. “And for lunch let’s have a swim in the chocolate waterfall!”
“I’m not sure we’ll have time to do all that,” I say. “Terry and I have a book to write. You heard what your grandpa said.”
“We know you’ve got a book to write,” says Alice, “but you can keep working while we play. We’re old enough to look after ourselves now. I just turned six.”
“Me too,” says Albert. “And we’ll be careful. We promise.”
“Goo-goo gah-gah,” says the baby.
I turn to Terry. “What do you think?” I say.
“Well,” says Terry, “they are six years old and they have promised to be careful.”
“Yeah,” I say. “And we do have a book to write. So I suppose it’s okay.”
“Yay!” says Albert, grabbing the baby from Terry.
“This is going to be the best day ever!” says Alice as they run off.
“Great,” I say, “now that the kids are occupied, we can write our book. I don’t know what I was so worried about. Babysitting is easy!”
“Yeah,” says Terry, “it’s easier than writing a book. Speaking of which, what are we going to write about? Should we ask the readers?”
“Nah,” I say, “they’re a bit shouty.” No offense, readers. (But you are!)
“Here comes Jill,” says Terry. “We can ask her.”
“Ask me what?” says Jill.
“Any ideas for what we should write about in our next book?”
“Well,” she says, “what’s happened so far today?”
“Nothing much, really,” I say. “We went to see Madame Know-It-All to find out what our big red button does. Then Mr. Big Nose called and sang us a song about a man with an exploding nose. And then he said we had to babysit his grandchildren.”
“Really?” says Jill. “He wants you to babysit?”
“Yeah, he and Mrs. Big Nose had to go to the opera,” says Terry.
“When are the children coming?” says Jill.
“They’re here already,” I say. “They went off to play.”
“By themselves?” says Jill.
“No, they were all together,” says Terry.
“How many are there?” says Jill.
“Three,” I say. “Alice and Albert and the baby.”
“Baby?” says Jill. “Shouldn’t you be looking after them?”
“We can’t watch them every minute of the day,” I say. “We’ve got to finish our book and Mr. Big Nose will be angry if we don’t get it done.”
“I think he’ll be even angrier if anything happens to his grandchildren,” says Jill.
“But they promised to be careful,” says Terry.
“It doesn’t matter how careful they are,” says Jill. “They could still have an accident. What if they fall out of the tree?”
“That would be bad,” I say.
“Or, even worse,” Jill continues, “what if they fall into the shark tank?”
“That would be really bad,” says Terry, looking worried, “because the sharks haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“But the twins said they were old enough to look after themselves,” I say. “They just turned six.”
“Six?!” says Jill. “That is way too young to be looking after themselves and a baby. We need to find them and make sure they’re safe. Let’s go!”
We hurry to the chocolate waterfall. We can’t see the kids, but it’s pretty obvious they were here. There are little chocolate footprints everywhere.
We follow the trail of footprints to what used to be the 91-story house of cards. But there’s no house … and no kids.
We keep looking. We find a baby’s bootie on the chain saw–juggling level. (Fortunately it’s empty.)
We go to the ice cream parlor, but all we find is a very upset Edward Scooperhands.
“They ate it all,” he says, waving his empty scoops in the air. “Even the invisible ice cream.”
“Did you see where they went?” says Jill.
“That way,” he says, scooping toward the Trunkinator’s level.
We rush to the Trunkinator’s boxing ring.
But there are no kids … just the Trunkinator lying flat on his back.
“Wow!” says Terry. “They must have knocked out the Trunkinator!”
“Poor Trunky,” says Jill. “But where are the children now?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I think we should ask Madame Know-It-All. She will know.”
We climb the ladder up to her tent as fast as we can.
Madame Know-It-All is hunched over her crystal ball.
“I knew you were coming,” she says. “What is your question?”
“Do you know where Mr. Big Nose’s grandchildren are?” says Terry.
“Of course I know,” she says. “I know all and see all.”
“So where are they?” I say.
Madame Know-It-All stares into her crystal ball.
Round and round
And round it goes,
Where it ends,
Nobody knows (except for me, of course, because I know everything)!
We all look at one another and shrug.
“Can you give us a clue like you did last time, please?” says Terry. “We’re in kind of a hurry.”
“I know,” sighs Madame Know-It-All. “All right. Here’s your clue: girl school.”
“They’ve gone to a girls’ school?” says Terry. “But Albert’s a boy and the baby is too young to be at school!”
“No, you fool,” says Madame Know-It-All. “Where they are rhymes with girl school.”
“Um … smirl schmool?” I say.
“No,” says Madame Know-It-All. “There’s no such thing.”
“Um … is it … whirlpool?” says Jill.
“Yes!” says Madame Know-It-All. “I knew you would get it.”
“Do you mean our whirlpool?” says Terry.
“Yes!” says Madame Know-It-All.
“But our whirlpool is the most powerful whirlpool in the whole world!” I say. “It’s totally unsuitable for children.”
“I know!” says Madame Know-It-All.
“Uh-oh,” I say.
“Come on,” says Jill. “There’s no time to lose. We’ve got to get there before they fall in!”
“Too late for that,” says Madame Know-It-All. “They already have.”
