Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery (23 page)

T
he birds of the forest had been up for hours. And so had Miss Speal and Miss Teriyaki. They stood a little distance away from each other, Miss Speal in a long gray cotton dress that smelled of mothballs, with a white apron on top, and Miss Teriyaki in a short-sleeved white laboratory overall. They were in a cooking area outside the hut that served as a kitchen for them in the jungle. Miss Speal was at a gas cooker stirring a pot of something meaty, with a chopping board nearby laden with cloves of garlic and pots of dried chili and spices, while Miss Teriyaki was at a counter, beating a batter. Miss Teriyaki's face and arms were covered with mosquito bites that had swollen into hard, itchy lumps.

“I've tried morphing into forest birds, then
meegoing back into myself, but these bites are always still on my skin. They're driving me crazy,” she complained, adding cocoa to her cake mix.

“You're already crazy!” Miss Speal observed cuttingly. “Some of those lumps seem to be going septic. Most unattractive. “

“Your stew looks most unattractive,” Miss Teriyaki hissed. “Hope you're not trying to poison us again. That bird was difficult to shoot, so don't waste it.”

Miss Speal gave Miss Teriyaki a hard look. “Oh, I see! Miss Goody Goody! It won't be long before you're in trouble again.” Then she added sweetly. “I have some marvelous anti-itch cream in the bag beside my bed. I can't leave this meat right now,” she hummed with a sigh. “Wouldn't want it to
burn
! But if you want to use the cream, you're welcome to it. It really soothes bites.”

“Really?” Miss Teriyaki put her whisk down. “That's exactly what I need. I can't think why I didn't bring any myself from London.” With that, she wiped her hands on a cloth and walked away, around the side of the kitchen where the water tank and the washing pots were, off toward the main living quarters a little way away.

“You didn't think of bringing it because you're a pleased-with-yourself idiot,” Miss Speal declared
under her breath as Miss Teriyaki disappeared from view. Then, checking all around to see that no one was watching her, and with a malicious look on her face, Miss Speal pulled a glass jar out of her apron.
EXTRA HOT CHENNAI SPICE
, its label read. She walked over to Miss Teriyaki's cake mix, unscrewed the jar's lid, and tipped a good quantity of the brown powder into the batter. Then she gave the mixture a stir. “That should liven things up a bit,” she said, smiling.

 

Miss Hunroe was sitting outside her hut at a table where she had eaten her breakfast. She wore a smart Ecuadorian trilby and a green cape to match it, with lightweight safari trousers and a crisp shirt. Her gold coin was in her pocket. She stroked it fondly, and she smiled across at Miss Speal, who sat opposite her, looking nervous. On the table between them, beside a pot of coffee and a plate with a half-eaten croissant, was a radio.

“Coffee or tea, Miss Speal?” Miss Hunroe asked.

Miss Speal shook her head. Miss Hunroe poured herself a black coffee.

“So you say you can sense the Moon girl?”

“Yes—yes, I think so,” Miss Speal stuttered. “The feelings were weak to start with, but they are getting stronger.”

“And the boy?”

Miss Speal shut her eyes. Then she shook her head.

“No, I don't feel him.”

Miss Hunroe eyed Miss Speal coolly.

“And you're not just imagining it to try to get in my good books? I seem to remember that sometimes your ‘feelings' can be a little misguided.”

“Oh, no, no, no, Miss Hunroe.”

“Hmm. Well, we'll see.”

Miss Speal nodded. “So what are we going to do today, Miss Hunroe? I've cooked a delicious fowl stew for lunch. You—you won't be disappointed, I promise you.”

Ignoring her, Miss Hunroe leaned forward and switched on the radio.

The radio crackled. An American voice became audible. “Yes, it is terrible,” the voice was saying. “The hurricane has caused complete chaos. People have had to leave their homes and stay the night in shelters. Train services are down, traffic has been disrupted. Ordinary folk can't go about their business. But emergency services are doing the best they can, and the army is working flat out to help fix things.”

Miss Hunroe turned the volume down. “Miami,” she said. “The little hurricane we gave them yesterday obviously worked. Hope it's wiped out those horrid
theme parks. What an eyesore those roller coasters are!”

Miss Speal agreed, nodding and twitching at the same time. “Hee hee hee.”

“Hmm. Miss Speal?”

“Yes!”

“I want to talk to you about the blue stone.”

Miss Speal's smile dropped. “What about it?” she asked, starting to wring her hands.

“I want you to give it to me for safekeeping,” Miss Hunroe said, looking her straight in the eye. Miss Speal shook her head.

“Don't make me, Miss Hunroe. I can't. I need it, you see.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“I do. It's become a part of me.”

“You may keep it for today. But tonight I want to find it in the gold box beside my bed. Is that clear?”

“Y-y-yes, Miss Hunroe.”

“And Miss Speal?”

“Yes?”

“I don't want you wearing clothes that smell of mothballs anymore. Is that clear?”

 

Half a mile away, Miss Teriyaki and Miss Oakkton crouched down low in the bushes. Both were in
camouflage shirts and khaki shorts, though Miss Oakkton's were many sizes bigger than Miss Teriyaki's. On the ground beside them was a burlap bag. A dead rabbit's foot poked out of it. Miss Oakkton gripped the horn handle of a sharp steel knife, while Miss Teriyaki held a bamboo pipe up to her lips. Four fat guinea pigs stood in the shade of a tree, nibbling at the grass on the other side of a clearing in front of them.

“I'll get the orange one,” Miss Oakkton decided, quietly raising her knife and taking aim.

“I'll get the brown one, then,” Miss Teriyaki said. Her nose wrinkled. Then she sniffed the air. “Miss Oakkton, have you done a—a
hmm.
You know.”

“Sorry,” Miss Oakkton apologized. “It was that bean soup Miss Speal served us last night. It's given me a bit of an upset tummy.” As she spoke, the eggy smell drifted over to where the guinea pigs were. All four of the creatures lifted their furry heads and sniffed at the air. Then the orange guinea pig gave a terrified squeak. The others joined in, and in a cacophony of squeaks, they were gone.

“You slab of rotton sushi!” Miss Teriyaki hissed. “Please control your—your butt next time, Miss Oakkton.”

Miss Oakkton lifted her head proudly. “I thought it smelled rarzer good.”

 

At dawn, Molly woke to the sound of Petula's clawed paws clipping across the wooden floor. Molly drifted back to sleep. She woke a few hours later. The sun was still coming up. She drank some water and sat up to see Cappuccino the monkey sitting on her windowsill.

“Good morning, Cappuccino. How are you?” Molly asked. The monkey nodded and then turned to look into the forest. He began to chatter.

“Sorry, I don't understand you,” she said, getting out of bed. Then she went outside. Bas was already dressed, stirring a saucepan on an outdoor fire. A kettle sat beside it.

“Porridge?” he asked. Just then Cappuccino began to shriek and jump up and down, pointing into the bushes.

Something was moving in the undergrowth behind Bas. The leaves swayed and rustled as if something was crouching there, ready to pounce.

“Bas!” Molly called. “Watch out!”

Bas snatched a stick from the fire. Its end was smoldering. “Where?”

Then, in answer, the thing in the bushes let out a cry. A human cry.

“Molly, it's me, Malcolm!”

Moments later, with Cappuccino watching, Molly
and Bas were helping Malcolm up the stairs to the hut. Malcolm's injuries looked worryingly bad. He had a nasty gash in his calf, and his ankle was swollen and raw and pink. His face was scratched as though someone had rubbed it with thorns.

“I landed in a huge spiky plant. That was after I hit a tree and tumbled through it,” Malcolm mumbled as they laid him down on the veranda daybed.

“Bas'll sort you out,” Molly said. “He knows exactly what plants can help you.” Her head spun as a thought occurred to her. “Did you see the others?”

“No,” Malcolm croaked. “I don't know where they are.”

Molly's heart sank.

“Bas, can you fix this?” Malcolm gasped with a look of desperation in his eyes. “My calf looks like it's going gangrenous. I don't really want to have my leg chopped off.”

“Gangrenous? What's that?” Molly asked. Bas wrinkled his nose as he inspected Malcolm's bloody wound.

“It's when an untreated infected wound goes bad,” he explained, “because the swelling, which is something Malcolm's got very badly in his ankle, has stopped the blood flow. So the white blood cells that normally fight the infection can't get there.”

“Can you help him?” Molly whispered.

“Luckily for you, Malcolm,” said Bas, licking his lips as though he was really excited, “I have some special little friends that
can
help you. I began cultivating them yesterday as part of an experiment.”

With that, Bas hurried off to his hut. Molly took Malcolm's hand.

“How did you find me?”

“The tracking device…it's in my pocket. I've been crawling day and night. I knew I had to get to you. Had a feeling you'd have been lucky.” Malcolm smiled.

“I'm very glad to see you, Malcolm. You flew that plane brilliantly, by the way.”

Malcolm grinned. “It was a bit hairy.” Then he frowned. “I wonder what happened to the others.” Molly shook her head.

“I don't know. I just don't know.”

The door of Bas's hut swung open again. Armed with all sorts of medical supplies, he hurried back to them. As he passed the fire, he picked up the kettle off it. “Perfect timing,” he said. “Just boiled.”

Molly sat on a chair beside Bas and watched. First of all, he washed his hands in the rainwater tap. Then he disinfected them with some medical alcohol that smelled sharp. Next, he set to work on Malcolm's leg. He took wads of cotton gauze, and using first
hot water and then the alcohol, he cleaned Malcolm's gash. Malcolm winced and bit his lip. Then, when the wound was clean, Bas lifted a shallow plastic container out of his bag.

“What's that?” Malcolm asked, worried. Bas nodded.

“This is going to surprise you.” He peeled back the lid of the container. To Malcolm and Molly's horror, there in the container was a mass of little white maggots.

“Maggots!” Malcolm gasped. “They'll eat me alive!”

Molly's tongue stuck out as she felt sick.

“Don't be alarmed,” Bas assured them both. “Maggots are
brilliant
with gangrene. You see, they like to eat rotten flesh. They don't eat good healthy flesh. So, what we do is put them on your wound, and the little fellows will eke out all the nasty gangrenous stuff and the bad bacteria and then, when their work is done, I will put them back in their container to, erm, well, to digest!”

“You're joking,” Malcolm said, his eyes wide. “They're revolting.”

“I'm one hundred percent serious. These are your friends.”

At these words Molly found herself giggling. The
idea of Malcolm having a party and all the little maggots being invited because they were his friends had occurred to her.

“Sorry,” she said, knowing that it wasn't very tactful to laugh. But still she kept laughing.

“Don't worry,” said Malcolm. “You're just a bit hysterical. It's because this is so odd. We're in the middle of the jungle and my leg looks like something out of a sci-fi film and Bas here, who is like a wild man of the woods, is about to put wriggling maggots onto me. It is quite funny, I suppose, in a macabre kind of a way.” He waved a finger at the maggots. “Be good now, maggots!” he said, breathing out heavily.

“Whoa!” whispered Molly as Bas began to prod the wriggling maggots into Malcolm's wound. At once, like things that had been starved, the maggots began tugging at the rotten flesh there. “Does it hurt?”

“Not at all,” Malcolm replied. “Just got to get over my squeamishness. It's the idea of it that's freaky.”

They all sat marveling at the miracle maggots until Malcolm croaked, “I'm a bit hungry. Don't suppose you've got any food?”

As they had breakfast, they decided that while Malcolm rested, Molly and Bas would go to the lookout tower and see if they could spot Micky and Lily. Bas brought Malcolm a pair of his clean underpants,
shorts, and a flower-patterned shirt. They left food by his side and water to drink and blankets to keep him warm if he got the shivers, as well as a book about cloud forest wildlife.

“I'll probably just sleep.” Malcolm yawned. “By the way, have you got a radio?”

“A broken one. If you get a moment, you could see if you can fix it.”

“Sure thing.” But before Bas could explain where it was, Malcolm had shut his eyes and gone to sleep.

Molly whistled for Petula.

“She's off with Canis,” Bas said. “Come on, Molly, let's go. Two down, two to go. We need to find your brother and Lily.”

 

Across the cloud forest, a few miles away, Micky and Lily were waking up. Their bed had been the hard ground of a shallow cave. They were bundled warmly under their green synthetic-silk parachutes. Unlike Molly, they had avoided the eye of the storm. Lily had lost her grip on Micky and Molly in the initial part of the fall, but then, once her parachute had opened, Micky had been swinging under his parachute just ahead. Seeing her in the moonlight, he'd steered close by and shouted instructions to her as they parachuted down.