down here for funds, I can tell. He’s run out of money again, hasn’t he?”
“Not exactly,” Leo said, and then he completely spilled the beans about the taxes and owning the hotel, right up to the part about the other things they would need. He didn’t get that part out, because Ingrid huffed and interrupted.
“Giving you the hotel is just the kind of ridiculous nonsense he’s always doing! Is it still standing?”
Remi came to Leo’s defense. “Of course it’s still standing. Leo is the best second-generation maintenance man in the whole city of New York. And I’m the best bellboy.”
Remi beamed, but Ingrid just rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe the most secretive, the most important, the most amazing hotel in the world was owned by the kid sitting in front of her.
“Go on,” she said wearily. “What else did he tell you?”
“He gave us a list of things to bring back,” Leo began. “And a certain amount of money he was hoping to get. Not for us, for the taxes.”
“Right, for the taxes.” It wasn’t clear to Leo and Remi whether she entirely believed them.
“It’s, uh . . .” Leo trailed off. “Well, it’s seven hundred thousand dollars. That’s how much he needs.”
Ingrid had one of those stony, hard-to-read expressions on her face. She betrayed no emotion. Surprise,disgust, relief? Leo and Remi had no idea how to read the immovable object that was her face.
There was a cigar box on the table, and she flipped open the lid, which made Remi recoil in his chair. He’d lived in a building where the superintendent smoked cheap cigars all day long. Whenever the man had showed up at the crummy door to his crummier apartment, he’d blown smoke in Remi’s face and laughed as Remi gagged. Remi had grown to despise them. If Ingrid could burp like a sailor, maybe she smoked giant stinky cigars, too.
Ingrid fished around in the box with her hand, searching for something. She took out a brown paper bag and shut the cigar box.
“Did I mention I have asthma?” Remi said, fake coughing for effect. Leo looked at him sideways as Ingrid uncrumpled the top of the bag and pulled out two objects: a pad of paper and a pen. Remi let out an audible sigh of relief and looked back at Loopa, wishing she could come inside. She was hanging from the top of the door by her long tail, swinging back and forth like a ball on a string.
“Take this to the tax man,” Ingrid said as Remi turned back around. She had written something on the paper and was ripping it off the pad. Ingrid looked up, smiling, as she began putting things away. “I thoughtyou were going to ask for a lot more. Anything over a million and we’d have to involve the Realm of Gears. You don’t want to go down there unless you have to. Very dangerous.”
“What’s the Realm of Gears?” Remi asked, but Ingrid waved his question away as if it didn’t matter, since they weren’t going there anyway.
Leo took the piece of paper in his hand. It was official, that much he could tell by the gold leaf edges, the Bank of New York symbol, and the guarantee signed by the sitting president of the Federal Reserve.
“Is that a real signature?”
Remi leaned in close.
“Whoooooooooooa,” he said, drawing the word out in a long whisper.
Ingrid pushed her tiny round glasses up on her nose and nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Now,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows, “what about that list of things you needed? Let’s hear it.”
Leo pocketed the note for seven hundred thousand dollars and began to feel a lot better about how this was going.
“I got this,” Remi said, putting an arm in front of Leo just as he was about to speak. Leo wasn’t so sure after all the joking Remi had done about the list, but he let it pass.
“Merganzer asked us to bring him . . .” Remi stopped for dramatic effect. “He asked us to bring him four Floogers, a zip rope, the iron box, and a bottle of Flart’s Fizz.”
“Wait, that’s not
“Not exactly,” Leo said, and then he completely spilled the beans about the taxes and owning the hotel, right up to the part about the other things they would need. He didn’t get that part out, because Ingrid huffed and interrupted.
“Giving you the hotel is just the kind of ridiculous nonsense he’s always doing! Is it still standing?”
Remi came to Leo’s defense. “Of course it’s still standing. Leo is the best second-generation maintenance man in the whole city of New York. And I’m the best bellboy.”
Remi beamed, but Ingrid just rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe the most secretive, the most important, the most amazing hotel in the world was owned by the kid sitting in front of her.
“Go on,” she said wearily. “What else did he tell you?”
“He gave us a list of things to bring back,” Leo began. “And a certain amount of money he was hoping to get. Not for us, for the taxes.”
“Right, for the taxes.” It wasn’t clear to Leo and Remi whether she entirely believed them.
“It’s, uh . . .” Leo trailed off. “Well, it’s seven hundred thousand dollars. That’s how much he needs.”
Ingrid had one of those stony, hard-to-read expressions on her face. She betrayed no emotion. Surprise,disgust, relief? Leo and Remi had no idea how to read the immovable object that was her face.
There was a cigar box on the table, and she flipped open the lid, which made Remi recoil in his chair. He’d lived in a building where the superintendent smoked cheap cigars all day long. Whenever the man had showed up at the crummy door to his crummier apartment, he’d blown smoke in Remi’s face and laughed as Remi gagged. Remi had grown to despise them. If Ingrid could burp like a sailor, maybe she smoked giant stinky cigars, too.
Ingrid fished around in the box with her hand, searching for something. She took out a brown paper bag and shut the cigar box.
“Did I mention I have asthma?” Remi said, fake coughing for effect. Leo looked at him sideways as Ingrid uncrumpled the top of the bag and pulled out two objects: a pad of paper and a pen. Remi let out an audible sigh of relief and looked back at Loopa, wishing she could come inside. She was hanging from the top of the door by her long tail, swinging back and forth like a ball on a string.
“Take this to the tax man,” Ingrid said as Remi turned back around. She had written something on the paper and was ripping it off the pad. Ingrid looked up, smiling, as she began putting things away. “I thoughtyou were going to ask for a lot more. Anything over a million and we’d have to involve the Realm of Gears. You don’t want to go down there unless you have to. Very dangerous.”
“What’s the Realm of Gears?” Remi asked, but Ingrid waved his question away as if it didn’t matter, since they weren’t going there anyway.
Leo took the piece of paper in his hand. It was official, that much he could tell by the gold leaf edges, the Bank of New York symbol, and the guarantee signed by the sitting president of the Federal Reserve.
“Is that a real signature?”
Remi leaned in close.
“Whoooooooooooa,” he said, drawing the word out in a long whisper.
Ingrid pushed her tiny round glasses up on her nose and nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Now,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows, “what about that list of things you needed? Let’s hear it.”
Leo pocketed the note for seven hundred thousand dollars and began to feel a lot better about how this was going.
“I got this,” Remi said, putting an arm in front of Leo just as he was about to speak. Leo wasn’t so sure after all the joking Remi had done about the list, but he let it pass.
“Merganzer asked us to bring him . . .” Remi stopped for dramatic effect. “He asked us to bring him four Floogers, a zip rope, the iron box, and a bottle of Flart’s Fizz.”
“Wait, that’s not
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