The Hats of Marvello

By Amanda Graham and Lavanya Naidu

A delightfully fantastical story for middle-grade readers that sparkles with magic and mystery. Perfect for Emily Rodda fans.

No matter how much Olive longs for a pet rabbit, it's never going to happen. Not when she lives in an Australian country town where most people think they're a pest.

So imagine Olive's shock when she unexpectedly finds not one, but one hundred and one rabbits. And one of them can talk!

How Olive will ever be able to hide and protect the rabbits is going to be her greatest challenge, and all while preparing for the Year 5 play. At least she has her costume ready, although the old top hat she found in the local op-shop seems very odd ...

Perfect for fans of Emily Rodda, The Hats of Marvello is a delightful, magical adventure story that will keep readers spellbound.

' ... children's fantasy at its best - sparkling, funny, clever, original, filled with suspense - and white rabbits! I adored every minute I spent inside the pages of this story.'

- Katrina Nannestad

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Mar 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781460714645

Amanda Graham

Amanda has enjoyed writing and drawing since she was young. In Year Three she wrote and illustrated her first story. It was about a group of adventurous mice who travelled to the moon. After discovering it was made of green cheese, they ate it. Later Amanda wrote stories for children while studying to be a primary school teacher. Her first published book, Arthur, was illustrated by Donna Gynell (Era Publications). Watching Donna bring words to life through pictures inspired Amanda to study illustration and create the artwork for some of her own stories. Amanda lives in the Adelaide Hills, South Australia. When she's not working in her studio, you'll likely find her teaching at a local school, puddling about in the back garden, or rambling somewhere through the bush.

Book preview

1

WILBY’S MAGIC SHOP

At the northern end of the high street in the little-known village of Luddston, England, stood Wilby’s Magic Shop. It was compact and tidy, tucked in between the computer shop and the stone bridge that led out of town. Silver stars hung in the front window, spinning on spidery threads. Behind it was a small, manicured garden, and a meadow that stretched into the countryside.

It was late one spring afternoon and although an icy breeze had kicked up, it was cosy inside the shop. A colourful display of boxes containing ready-made magic tricks filled the back corner. Next to it were several shelves and racks of equipment, such as sets of linked rings, packs of playing cards and silk scarves in a rainbow of colours. Here and there were spinners holding books about magic. All the while, tiny circles of soft light, reflected from the rotating stars, darted about the walls and ceiling.

There was a wide counter to the left of the front door, covered with baskets and sparkling glass jars. Each contained magical trinkets of some kind: dangly rubber spiders, mini extendable wands, or bottles of invisible ink.

Behind the counter was a door which led to a back room. It was slightly ajar. The sign on it read Private. Inside a toasty fire cast orange light across an enormous wooden cupboard that ran along one wall. It was as tall as it was wide and open at the front. Full-length curtains were drawn back on either side of the built-in structure, which looked like an elaborate dolls’ house with corridors and ramps leading to numerous compartments. In each compartment, instead of furniture, was a tiny puffy quilt, each quilt made of a different fabric. And on each quilt sat a small white rabbit.

A man stood by a workbench in the middle of the room. On it was an upturned top hat, cherry red in colour. Wilby bent over it and picked a hair off its brim. He flicked back the reddish-brown fringe that fell across his face and put the hat on. His lively eyes darted sideways to another hat on the floor, identical in every way except its colour — this one was peacock blue. He smiled at the large black rabbit sitting next to it and nodded.

‘Robbit,’ he said to the rabbit, ‘it’s time.’

‘I’m ready,’ said the rabbit.

Robbit closed his eyes and lifted his head. His mouth opened but no sound came, at least not one that could be heard by humans. Only the white rabbits could hear the song calling them. One by one, they began to move. One by one, they descended the stairs and ramps. One by one, they disappeared, quickly and quietly, into the blue hat. Within a minute they were gone. Robbit nodded to Wilby.

The man put his hand up to the red hat, but froze when he heard the tinkling of the shop bell. It was cold and gloomy outside, and he had not expected any customers at this late hour. He chided himself for not locking the door earlier. Now he would need to pause the rehearsal and deal with whoever was out the front.

‘I’m coming,’ he called.

He put the hat on the bench, brim down, and turned to Robbit. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said, slipping through to the shop.

The customer could not have been more different from Bert Wilby if he tried. His frame was tall and slender. Dark hooded eyes made his expression difficult to read. There wasn’t a skerrick of hair on his head and a styled moustache masked his sly smile. He had already seen the thing he wanted when Wilby came through from the back room, but pretended to be still browsing, glancing at the books and boxes of tricks.

‘Good evening,’ said Wilby. ‘How can I help you? Are you looking for a birthday gift, or perhaps you’re learning to be a magician yourself?’

The man turned around. There was a flash of recognition in Wilby’s eyes. The shopkeeper faltered and his smile dissolved. ‘Reynard!’

‘I need a hat, old chap,’ said Reynard. ‘Silly of me to leave mine on the train on such a cool night.’

‘You should try Wesley’s Menswear, a little way down the high street,’ said Wilby sharply. ‘I don’t sell hats.’

‘Ahh, but I think you do. I’m sure I saw one . . . just there,’ said Reynard, pointing through the doorway to the back room. ‘On the bench,’ he said, ‘and twizzle my moustache if it isn’t exactly the dashing red colour I’m looking for.’

‘Not for sale, I’m afraid,’ said Wilby, hurrying towards the back room. Reynard grabbed Wilby’s arm and shoved him sideways.

Robbit heard the commotion — something about a hat. There were footsteps coming his way. He slid the blue hat into a corner and turned it over, brim down. This was no time for the rabbits to wander out and roam around. He was about to leap onto the bench to hide the red one too, but Reynard swept in and snatched the hat before he had the chance. The man checked the label inside.

‘Size, er . . . seven and a quarter. What do you know — just my size! Let’s see. Hmm . . . what . . . about fifty pounds, my dear Wilby? Or an even hundred? Would that be enough to buy this marvellous Marvello? Maybe it’s something money cannot buy? Perhaps I’ll just steal it then.’

Wilby grabbed at the hat but, like a young boy trying to retrieve his stolen cap from a school bully, he bobbed up and down and swiped the air in vain as Reynard held it high. Then in one swift movement the thief dropped the hat onto the bench and bear-hugged Wilby, strapping his arms to his sides. The shopkeeper kicked and wriggled.

‘Let me go! Let me go now!’ he cried.

There was a half-sized door leading to a cellar. Reynard kicked it open and pushed the shopkeeper down the steps. Before Wilby could work out exactly what had happened Reynard slammed the cellar door shut and turned the key.

Clunk! Across went the barrel bolt. Reynard waited a while, expecting some shouting or banging on the door or fumbling at the lock but he heard nothing. Perhaps he had stunned Wilby. Or maybe the little weasel was frozen with fear. Either way Reynard felt rather pleased with himself. He’d handled the situation well, and he had what he came for. He had the Marvello hat.

He went to pick it up, but something caught his eye — a diamond-shaped mirror, hanging on the wall. Reynard walked over to it and took a moment to admire the devilishly handsome face reflected there. Oh, look at its elegant shape and its unforgettable features.

He started to imagine it on billboards, larger than a London bus, and on the balconies of West End theatres, surrounded by sparkling lights. Perhaps I should grow a little beard, he thought, to go with this stunning moustache.

And although Reynard would not know it for quite some time yet, it was this moment of vanity that would eventually bring him down in a tumbling heap. For in this short moment, as Reynard gazed deeply into his own eyes, Robbit, soft and quiet and completely unnoticed, scurried out from his hiding place and onto the bench, and dived deep into the cherry red hat.

Reynard sensed movement behind him and spun around on the ball of one foot. His eyes flicked to the bench. He picked up the hat and peered into it. Nothing.

He paused for a moment then drew a silky bag from his pocket and dropped the hat into it. He blew a kiss to his mirror-image, turned off the lights, flipped the shop sign to CLOSED and left.

2

A HAT FOR A PLAY

Half a world away, near the small town of Mount Dry, Australia, streaks of cloud stretched out above a range of low, parched hills. The town was named after the highest of the hills, but no one was quite sure who, or what, the highest hill was named after.

A wide rocky creek bed snaked between the hills and wandered onto the plain. Ancient eucalyptus trees huddled beside the creek, as if waiting for the autumn rains to come and fill it. Farmhouses were dotted about, surrounded by yellow-white paddocks, and roads that sent up dust whenever a vehicle travelled along them.

In the centre of Mount Dry, a school bell rang. Shouts and laughter carried across corrugated iron rooftops as children emptied into the surrounding streets, school bags over shoulders and on backs. A dirty red ute pulled up near the front gate of the primary school. Olive Rizzo scooted her bike across a gravel path and called through the open passenger window. ‘Mum, I need to get my costume tonight. I’m the only Year Five who doesn’t have one yet and it’s the dress rehearsal tomorrow.’

‘I know, Olly,’ said Olive’s mother. ‘That’s why I’m picking you up. Throw your bike in.’

The girl put her bike and other gear in the back, under the tarpaulin, and jumped into the cabin. Mum handed over a plastic lunch box. Olive opened it at lightning speed.

‘Can we go to Kool Kostumes, in Crannock?’ she blurted through a cheese sandwich. ‘That’s where everyone else went.’

‘The second-hand shop up the street will be cheaper, and more fun,’ said Mum, ‘and you never know what you’ll find in an op shop.’

Poppy’s Oppy was chock-a-block full of old things that it was hard to believe anyone had ever wanted. There was so much stuff inside it was tricky to find a way through it all. Olive followed her mum down the middle aisle.

On one side there were towering piles of gardening magazines and on the other, stacks of old microwave ovens that looked like they were invented before electricity. An ugly stuffed koala looked down from the top.

Past the microwaves was a table full of old plastic things labelled Tupperware. There were snack boxes, sauce bottles and sandwich containers of all shapes and sizes. Olive noticed a tray to make golf-ball-shaped ice blocks. Maybe Dad would like that, she thought.

Hanging behind the piles of plastic was a piece of wood in the shape of Australia. It was covered with colourful coral and shells. Olive wondered what the shelly Australia would look like on her wall . . . perhaps this stuff wasn’t junk after all.

‘The clothes are over here, in the back corner,’ said Mum. ‘What do you need?’

‘I’m the narrator,’ said Olive. ‘Ms Kim said a smart suit with a bow tie would be good . . . oh, and a fancy hat.’

Mum quickly filed through the garments on coat hangers. ‘Here’s a smallish suit,’ she said. ‘The legs might be a bit long, but we can shorten them in no time. It’ll only take a few minutes on the sewing machine.’

Olive looked at the suit and tried to imagine herself in it.

‘And I think Grandpa’s got an old bow tie,’ said Mum.

‘I can’t see any hats though,’ said Olive.

They stood back and scanned the shop. It was Mum who saw it first.

‘Look! There!’ she said, pointing to a nearby shelf. ‘Right up there. It’s an old hatbox.’ Olive stood on tippy toes and slid the box from the shelf. Musty air escaped when she opened it. ‘Pooh!’ she said.

Inside was an old-fashioned top hat. Once upon a time it had been a rich forest green, but now it was blotchy and dull. Olive reached in and took it out. Small round pellets rolled off the brim and tumbled out and onto the floor. At first, they looked like chocolate-covered peanuts.

‘Grandpa’s favourite!’ said Olive. Then she bent down to take a closer look. ‘Yuck! Rabbit poo!’ she said. ‘Maybe a different hat would be best. Ms Kim would want it to be a bit smarter than this.’

‘This can be smart,’ said Mum. ‘It’s probably just been sitting in someone’s shed for a while. With a bit of soap and a scrub we can make it look brand new. Its hatband is missing, but we can make a new one. There’s some velvet ribbon in my sewing box. It will look brilliant . . . and it’s only five dollars!’

Olive brushed the dust off the brim with her sleeve. She liked the shape of the old hat. Maybe it would be OK.

‘It looks the right size,’ said Mum. ‘Put it on to see if it fits.’

‘Not till we clean it,’ said Olive.

‘So, are we getting it?’ asked Mum.

Olive stared at the hat for a moment, her hand on her chin. ‘Let’s get it,’ she said.

‘We’ll fix it up after dinner,’ said Mum.

3

THE DEEP HAT TRICK

Reynard jumped into his rusting VW Beetle and sped away from the scene of his crime. The drive from Luddston to Darkpool, the village in which he lived, was only three miles. He parked on the street in front of a block of flats and scurried inside one. He threw his coat over the hat rack and locked the front door behind him.

The ground floor flat was tiny, but big enough for someone who lived on their own. A narrow dingy hall led through to the kitchen and bathroom at the back of the place. At the front there was a bedroom on one side of the hall, and a small lounge on the other.

Reynard darted into the lounge and sat down. He slipped the stolen hat out of its bag and placed it on the coffee table. After gazing at it for a