The 91-Storey Treehouse Read online

  ABOUT THE 91-STOREY TREEHOUSE

  Join Andy and Terry in their latest mind-blowing

  ever-growing treehouse. Go for a spin in the

  world’s most powerful whirlpool, take a ride in a

  submarine sandwich, get marooned on a desert

  island, hang out in a giant spider web, visit the

  fortune teller’s tent to get your fortune told by

  Madam Know-it-all and decide whether or not

  to push the mysterious big red button ...

  Well, what are you waiting for? Come on up!

  ANDY GRIFFITHS

  The 91-STOREY

  TREEHOUSE

  ILLUSTRATED BY

  TERRY DENTON

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1 The 91-Storey Treehouse

  CHAPTER 2 Madam Know-it-all

  CHAPTER 3 Little Big Noses

  CHAPTER 4 Whirling and Sinking

  CHAPTER 5 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea

  CHAPTER 6 Marooned!

  CHAPTER 7 Banarnia

  CHAPTER 8 Stuck!

  CHAPTER 9 Smarter and Smarterer

  CHAPTER 10 WARNING!

  CHAPTER 11 The Turbanator!

  CHAPTER 12 Pop-Pop Pops!

  CHAPTER 13 The Last Chapter

  CHAPTER 1

  THE 91-STOREY TREEHOUSE

  Hi, my name is Andy.

  This is my friend Terry.

  We live in a tree.

  Well, when I say ‘tree’, I mean treehouse. And when I say ‘treehouse’, I don’t just mean any old treehouse—I mean a 91-storey treehouse! (It used to be a 78-storey treehouse, but we’ve added another 13 storeys.)

  So what are you waiting for? Come on up!

  It’s got a tent with a fortune teller called Madam Know-it-all,

  a submarine sandwich shop that serves sandwiches the size of actual submarines,

  the world’s most powerful whirlpool,

  a mashed-potato-and-gravy train,

  a spin-and-win prize wheel,

  a trophy room,

  a human pinball machine,

  an air-traffic control tower,

  a 91-storey house of cards,

  a giant spider web (with a giant spider!),

  a desert island,

  a garbage dump (with a mysterious old wardrobe on top),

  and a big red button (which we’re not sure whether to push or not because we can’t remember what it does).

  As well as being our home, the treehouse is also where we make books together. I write the words and Terry draws the pictures.

  As you can see, we’ve been doing this for quite a while now.

  Sure, it’s easy to get distracted when you live in a 91-storey treehouse …

  but, somehow, we always get our book written in the end.

  CHAPTER 2

  Madam Know-it-all

  If you’re like most of our readers, you’re probably wondering what that big red button is for.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that too,’ says Terry. ‘What does it do, Andy? I can’t remember.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I can’t remember either.’

  ‘Then let’s push it and find out!’ says Terry.

  ‘No!’ I say. ‘For all we know it might be one of those buttons that blows up the whole world!’

  ‘But then again,’ says Terry, ‘it might be one of those buttons that makes a rainbow come out of your nose.’

  ‘Well, yes, maybe,’ I say, ‘but do you really think it’s worth the risk of blowing up the whole world just to see if a rainbow comes out of your nose?’

  ‘Um,’ says Terry, ‘let me think about that for a moment … um …

  um …

  um …

  um …

  um …

  ‘Yes?’ says Terry.

  ‘NO!’ I say. ‘That’s the WRONG answer! Whatever you do, DO NOT push that button.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No!’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘No!’

  ‘But I really, really, really want to know what it does!’ says Terry. ‘Please let me push the button, please, please, please, pleeeeeeeeeeease!’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’ve got a better idea. We’ll go and ask Madam Know-it-all what will happen if we push the button. She’ll know.’

  ‘Who’s Madam Know-it-all?’ says Terry.

  ‘You know!’ I say. ‘The fortune teller.’

  ‘Of course!’ says Terry. ‘I knew that … at least I thought I did. What did you say her name was again?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say. ‘Just follow me.’

  We begin the long climb up and then down to Madam Know-it-all’s level.

  We finally reach Madam Know-it-all’s tent and go inside. It’s dark and kind of spooky. Madam Know-it-all is sitting at a small round table gazing into her large crystal ball.

  ‘Greetings,’ she says, without looking up. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

  ‘You have?’ says Terry.

  ‘Of course,’ says Madam Know-it-all. ‘I knew you were coming. And I know why you’re here. I know all there is to know—past, present and future!’

  ‘If you already know why we’re here,’ I say, ‘then can you tell us the answer to our question?’

  ‘Of course I can,’ she says. ‘I am Madam Know-it-all. I can tell you the answer to every question. I know all there is to know—past, present and—’

  ‘We know!’ I say.

  ‘I know you know,’ says Madam Know-it-all.

  ‘We know you know we know,’ I say, ‘so can you just tell us?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Madam Know-it-all, ‘but not until you ask me your question.’

  ‘But you already know what our question is,’ I say.

  ‘I know,’ she says, ‘but that’s just how this thing works. You ask a question, I tell you the answer in a cryptic rhyme.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘What we want to know is: what will happen if we push the big red button?’

  Madam Know-it-all peers into her crystal ball and says:

  It’s very large

  And very red—

  All who see it

  Are filled with dread!

  Madam Know-it-all jerks her head back and gasps.

  ‘What is it?’ I say. ‘What did you see?’

  ‘I saw a big explosion,’ she says, ‘and then … DOOM … more DOOM … and then even more DOOM … and then … nothing.’

  ‘Just as I thought,’ I say. ‘Thanks, Madam Know-it-all—we’ll see you soon.’

  ‘Sooner than you think,’ she replies, as Terry and I step out of the tent into the daylight.

  ‘Well,’ I say. ‘Now we know for sure. Pushing the big red button will definitely blow up the whole world.’

  ‘I guess so,’ says Terry. ‘So does that mean we shouldn’t push it?’

  ‘YES!’ I say. ‘I mean NO! We absolutely should not push that button!’

  ‘But why would we have made such a dangerous button in the first place?’ says Terry.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘Me neither,’ says Terry. ‘Anyway, now that we’ve answered the readers’ question, does that mean it’s the end of the book?’

  ‘I guess so,’ I say.

  ‘But we’re only up to page 39,’ says Terry. ‘It seems a bit short.’

  ‘Maybe we can see if the readers have any other questions they’d like answered,’ I say.

  ‘Good idea,’ says Terry. ‘I’ll ask them.’

  ‘Hey, readers! Do you have any other questions you would like answered?’

  ‘I couldn’t understand them,’ says Terry. ‘They were all talking at the same time!’

&n
bsp; ‘They weren’t talking,’ I say. ‘They were shouting! I don’t know what they want to know.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ says Terry, ‘I suppose if I were the reader what I would most want to know is what’s going to happen in this book.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say.

  ‘If only there were a way of finding out,’ says Terry.

  ‘There is,’ I say. ‘We can ask Madam Know-it-all.’

  We go back inside the tent.

  ‘I knew you’d be back,’ says Madam Know-it-all. ‘You have another question, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, we do!’ says Terry. ‘Can you tell us the answer?’

  ‘Of course I can,’ she says. ‘I am Madam Know-it-all. I know … well, I know you already know how much I know, but before I can tell you what you want to know, you must ask me the question.’ ‘Can you tell us what’s going to happen in this book?’ I say.

  Madam Know-it-all gazes into her crystal ball.

  Where once was two

  There shall soon be a few.

  You’ll have an important job to do:

  A very busy man is counting on you.

  If you let him down, this day you will rue.

  I look at Terry.

  Terry looks at me.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ says Terry.

  ‘Me neither,’ I say.

  ‘But it’s perfectly clear!’ says Madam Know-it-all.

  ‘Can you just tell us?’ I say.

  Madam Know-it-all sighs. ‘I can’t just come out and tell you,’ she says. ‘That’s not the fortune-telling way. But I can give you a hint—it rhymes with “spaby-zitting”.’

  ‘Um … is it … fraby-hitting?’ says Terry.

  ‘No,’ says Madam Know-it-all.

  ‘Um … is it … shaby-knitting?’ I say.

  ‘No, of course not,’ says Madam Know-it-all. ‘There’s no such thing as shaby-knitting!’

  ‘What about … babysitting?’ says Terry.

  ‘Correct!’ says Madam Know-it-all.

  ‘Babysitting?!’ I say. ‘But we don’t have any babies.’

  ‘That’s right,’ says Terry. ‘How are we going to be babysitters if we don’t have any babies?’

  ‘You don’t have any yet,’ says Madam Know-it-all, ‘but you soon will. Now go and answer the video phone. You have a caller.’

  ‘No we don’t,’ I say. ‘The phone isn’t even ringing.’

  ‘Wow,’ says Terry. ‘You really do know everything.’

  ‘I know,’ says Madam Know-it-all.

  CHAPTER 3

  Little Big Noses

  We answer the video phone. 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. Madam 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 d’ 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 d’ 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 over qualified 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 said it would be fine,’ says Mr Big Nose. ‘And, more importantly, 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 ga-ga,’ 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 ga-ga,’ 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 offence, 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 Madam Know-it-all to find out what our big red button does. Then Mr Big Nose rang up 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.’