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boat and screwed up his face. "And we'd have to
jump in this cold, murky water and save them."
    I shook my head. "I need a good story to
tell my class when I get home." Before the school holidays, my
teacher had said when we got back to school we all had to have a
good story to tell. The story could be true or false and the class
would guess if the story was true or not. I needed the best, most
unbelievable story. What was the point of helping a Venetian
policeman do his job if I didn't end up with a good story to tell?
"Saving a billionaire from a kidnapper would do." If we rescued a
billionaire, we'd probably get a reward. Then I'd get a story and
lots of money.
    Charlie rolled his eyes. "You can always
make up a story, like discovering that you're related to a mafia
boss."
    Typical Charlie - he was so negative. A good
feeling told me something exciting would happen. It didn't tell me
exactly what, but it wouldn't be as exciting if I knew already.
    The water taxi pulled up at a door and, like
magic, the door opened. The taxi driver and the man at the door
spoke in Italian before we stepped from the boat and in through the
door. It took me a few minutes to realize that we'd arrived at our
hotel. Where else do guests arrive at their hotels by climbing
through the back door?
    A tall man in a dark suit greeted us. He had
a thin black mustache and he was way too serious. On his right
cheek there was a long scar - it might've been made by a knife. He
told us he was at our service and shook our hands in turn. He kept
calling Mom and Dad Mr. and Mrs. McLean as he took them upstairs to
their room while Charlie and me waited. The hotel seemed small, but
it was real posh. The furniture looked antique and the paintings
looked expensive. The place was so quiet, it seemed as though we
were the only people in the hotel. There didn't even seem to be
anybody else working at the hotel. It felt strange.
    The man with the scar appeared and bowed.
"I'll show you to your room. May I call you Charlie and Max?"
    "Sure," replied Charlie.
    Why hadn't we checked in? Didn't they need
our passports?
    He took our suitcase up the stairs and we
followed. The room he showed us was as posh as. Pictures were
painted on the walls, like in Pompeii before it got buried. Our
window overlooked the canal, so we could see boats and gondolas
passing. The strange thing was that the beds were unmade. The
sheets were folded at the end of the bed.
    The door closed behind him as he put our
suitcase down. "You have arrived at a very difficult time. Every
member of the hotel staff, except for me, has fallen ill."
    "The flu?" I asked.
    He shook his head. "A rare illness. They
have a rash and sores on their bodies." His voice sounded cold.
"Very unpleasant."
    "We can go to another hotel," I said. There
was no way I was going to get sores all over my body.
    He stepped closer to us. "No, no, no. Venice
has no other accommodation at the moment. You will be fine.
However, I need your help."
    Charlie and me didn't answer. I didn't like
the sound of this.
    Mr. Scarface pointed to the beds. "If you
could make your own beds and ..." He bent down and pulled out a
feather duster from under the bed. "If you wouldn't mind ... the
room hasn't been dusted for a while."
    We didn't say anything at first. Then
Charlie blurted out, "Sure. We'll make our beds and dust."
    Mr. Scarface bowed again. " Grazie . Thank you. I'll see how your parents are
getting along." He slipped out and silently closed the door behind
him.
    We stared at each other. I said, "I'm not
staying here for a million bucks."
    "Me either. We'll have to find somewhere
else to stay."
    "What's the point of staying at a hotel if
you have to make your own bed?" I grabbed the TV remote, got up on
the bed and began to jump up and down. I flicked through the
channels. "At least we've got cable TV."
    "We'll pretend we're staying until we've got
somewhere else to go." Charlie began to make his bed. "The last one
to make his bed has to