Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery (24 page)

Unlike Malcolm and Molly, they'd had a good landing. Their parachutes tangled in the trees, but miraculously, they were deposited in a clearing. Micky detangled the parachutes, knowing that they would be useful. Lily had been most unhelpful. Shocked by the fall, she simply sat shivering under a tree. So it was Micky who'd braved the branches and rescued the bundles of material. While Lily sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, he hunted for shelter and found a cave. He'd laid the parachutes out like sleeping bags. Then they'd sat close together and stared at the dark night, listening to the creatures of the jungle. It was dawn before they fell asleep, and an afternoon sun was high in the sky when they woke.

For the rest of the day, the hot sun shone down on the children's clothes that Micky had put on rocks to dry. Lily sat in her underwear, huddled and scared, while Micky focused his mind. He knew that they might not meet another human for weeks and that it was essential that he find a way for them to stay alive in the forest.

He had read many adventure stories. In fact, he had read both fictional and factual accounts of survival stories, set on mountains and out at sea, in deserts and in the jungle. Even though it was scary to be in such strange terrain, with no knowledge of what plants
around them were poisonous or whether there were dangerous insects or snakes about, he found the whole business quite exciting.

Micky knew that he and Lily might have to eat grubs and insects, and there was fruit on the trees. That afternoon he spent a lot of time foraging and digging.

“Why don't we just walk somewhere and get
help
?” Lily called out from her nestlike place under a tree.

“Walk where?” Micky replied. “We don't know how big this forest is or if we
will
find help.” He pulled an orange tuber out of the ground and, brushing the soil off it, put it on a pile of other roots.

“I am
not
eating that rubbish.” Lily crossed her arms belligerently.

“You might have to,” Micky retorted. “And Lily, you should try to drink as much as you can. It's in the leaves, look, there's tons of it everywhere. You may be getting altitude sickness. You see, we're very high up.” He tapped the altimeter. “We are at about three thousand feet, and that can make some people feel funny.”

“I don't feel funny. But you look funny.”

“Ha, ha. Why don't you come and help me dig for potatoes?”

“No way. I'll get dirty,” she said, taking her clothes from the rocks. “Dry clean only.”

Micky laughed. “Dry clean only? Are they allowed
to go through the washing machine of a whirlwind storm? Come on, Lily, get a grip. Come and help.”

But Lily shook her head and went to sit back under her tree.

That night, Micky lit a fire. He cooked the roots, and though they were black with char, Lily, now starving hungry, helped him gobble them up. The smoke from the campfire kept the insects at bay. And as a modicum of comfort crept back into their lives, both Micky and Lily felt a little bit better.

“Well done for remembering the matches,” Lily said, nodding toward the fire. She reached into her parka pocket and passed Micky something small and silvery. “Chocolate?” she offered.

“You're joking.”

“No, always carry it. Never know when you might need it.” Micky took the chocolate gratefully, and they both unwrapped the sweets. “Mmm. Tastes a million times better here, doesn't it?” said Lily.

“Yup,” Micky said. “Thanks.”

“No, it's me who should say thanks,” said Lily. “I'm really sorry. I'll try not to be so useless tomorrow.”

“Don't worry,” said Micky. “It was the shock of the jump. Crazy, wasn't it?”

“Really frightening.” Lily shivered. “I think we ought to start looking for the others tomorrow.”

“Agreed,” Micky replied, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Do you think they're still alive?” Lily asked. Micky shrugged. Inside he had a strange feeling that Molly and Petula were all right, since they seemed to have a habit of falling on their feet. “If we use our compasses and follow the coordinates to the stones, I'm sure we'll find them. Now let's get some sleep. Yam for breakfast?”

Lily groaned. “Again?” She closed her eyes. “Chocolate croissant!” she murmured dreamily.

“Sausage roll,” Micky replied.

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” Lily suggested.

“Chocolate cupcakes.”

“Grilled cheese sandwich…”

 

Miss Speal sat on a little wooden stool in some bushes high above the camp. She liked this place because it was very private, and yet it had a good view of everything that was happening in the clearing below. She pulled out her blue stone and then hugged it to her chest. “Oh, my dear stone. What shall I do without you?” She began to weep. “I shall miss you.” Then she sat up. She'd heard a noise and voices.

“I vill put a nice hidden trap here,” Miss Oakkton was saying. “Then it's not too far to walk to check it.”

“And a pit would be good here,” Miss Teriyaki said, slapping away an insect.

Miss Speal jumped up in alarm. She tried to think whether she was doing anything that she might get in trouble for. She was doing nothing. That could get her into Miss Hunroe's bad books. She quickly shoved her blue stone back into her pocket and, making haste, pushed past the bushes to take the shortcut back to the camp.

The blue stone lay on the ground by the wooden stool. It had not quite dropped into Miss Speal's pocket. The pocket's flap had obstructed its entry, and as the woman had hurried away, the movement had tossed out the stone.

P
etula trotted after Canis, who moved swiftly up the mountain paths. They had been walking since before dawn.

“How much farther, Canis?” Petula called after him. Hearing her panting, Canis stopped.

“We'll rest now,” he said. “Look, there's a nice pool of water in the dip of that rock, if you're thirsty.”

Petula lapped up the sweet cloud-forest water and wiped her muzzle with a wet paw. “We've been gone for hours,” she said. “I wonder whether I should have woken Molly to explain.”

“She never would have understood what you were saying,” Canis replied. “Besides, these people are dangerous. Before you involve your mistress, you must see whether they have anything to do with the
crazy women you told me about.”

“How many of them did you say there were?” Petula asked, scratching her neck where an insect had bitten her just under her collar.

“Two, but I smelled more in the distance,” Canis replied. “And there was definitely a hint of flowers about them. I smelled the scent of rose thorn and orange blossom. And blood. That's how I found them in the first place. I found a rabbit that they'd trapped,” he said, getting even more serious. “It hung by its noosed legs, from the branch of a tree.” Petula shivered.

“Let's hope we don't step in one of those traps ourselves,” she said.

After a brief rest, they set off again, up the mountain path.

Petula decided she would find out for sure whether this lead of Canis's was a good one. Then she would report back to Molly before nightfall.

 

“Smell the barbecue?” Canis asked, sniffing the air with his wet nose. “They must be having a meal.” Petula could detect the whiff of cooked meat—curried cooked meat—on the air. It made her mouth water. Trying to ignore this, she sniffed the wind more, searching for a hint of orange blossom and thorn and rose. She found it.

“It's them,” she gasped.

“Good work, eh?” Canis gave a short
arf
. Petula nodded.

The dogs now trod stealthily through the undergrowth, following their noses and reading the air. The smoke from a fire became stronger and stronger, mixed with the smell of baking and the stench of dead animals. And then, just like a car stopping unexpectedly at a dead end, Petula and Canis arrived at a rocky outcropping. It was obviously a place humans liked to be, for there was a wooden stool there and, what was more, the smell of mothballs from someone who had been there only shortly before hung in the air. The person had been scared, too, for the odd smell of electric lemon lingered. Down below was a clearing with eight huts. The two dogs surveyed the scene. From four of the huts wafted floral smells of perfume. Nearby was a hut with a water tank over it that Petula supposed must be the bathroom hut. And closer to the ledge that they were on were two more scruffy-looking huts. Outside these were outdoor cooking stoves and ovens and tables with large chopping boards and bowls on them. Tin basins for washing pans and plates lay on the ground. Nearby was a small water tank on wooden legs.

Much farther to the left, segregated from the other huts by bushes, was a hut that was obviously used by
hunters. Outside this one were colorful forest birds, green-and red-feathered parrots and cockatoos, hanging upside down in bunches. A rabbit skin was nailed to a board, drying in the sun.

Canis growled.

“I wonder where they are?” Petula pondered.

Just then Miss Speal came out of the kitchen hut with oven gloves on. She opened the oven door and pulled out a hot cake pan. Then she poked at the barbecue fire.

“She must be the cook,” said Canis. “I wonder where the hunters are. Can you smell them?”

Petula sniffed. A mixed odor of sweat and whisky, with an edge of blood, was very dense in the air. Then she smelled the mothball smell very close to her on the ground. She put her nose down and sniffed. The smell led her to a beautiful blue stone. Unable to resist it, Petula picked it up in her mouth and gave it a suck. It felt smooth and cool.

“Gives me the creeps,” Canis was saying. “They don't smell of anything good.” As he spoke, a cloud began to thicken in the sky above.

Petula nodded. “And is it my imagination,” she said, “or is their scent getting stronger?” Her heart began to pound, and her fur bristled.

“You're right,” Canis agreed, looking alarmed.
“They're behind us. Getting closer. Quick! Run!” He put his head down and dashed into the bushes.

Petula followed Canis. It was a bad move.

Moments later, a cord caught around Petula's back foot. This released a trap catch. The cord tightened, and with a yank that practically pulled off her limb, she was tugged up from her paws and swung into the air.

Petula nearly swallowed her new stone from the shock. Her world turned upside down. And then a horrible pain in her leg cut through her. The ground was now ten feet below her, her body hung heavy and helpless from the hunter's noose. Canis barked up at her.

Minutes later, Miss Oakkton and Miss Teriyaki arrived.

“I don't believe it!” said Miss Teriyaki. “A wild pug! The Chinese were in South America long ago, so obviously the breed stayed here. How extraordinary!”'

“I hate pugs,” Miss Oakkton replied, her huge face screwing up as she strained to look at Petula. “Ugly things. Can't tell the back from the front.” At that moment, Canis attacked. He bit Miss Oakkton's ankle as though it was a bone left over from a Sunday roast. With a scream of anger, she plunged her hunter's knife down. It struck Canis on the back.
Wimpering, he backed off.

Desperate, he barked up to Petula.

“I'll come back with my master and your Molly.” And then he dived back into the undergrowth and was gone.

Miss Oakkton rubbed her leg and pointed after Canis, bellowing curses. Miss Teriyaki prodded Petula with her bamboo shooting stick.

“Aah,” she said admiringly. “You know, Miss Oakkton, people
eat
dog in the East. It is a delicacy. I wonder whether pug tastes good.”

“Hah! Well, I'll let zat be
your
delicacy, Miss Teriyaki!” said Miss Oakkton, spitting on the ground. “I don't want to eat anysing zat barks!
Disgusting
.”

Petula looked at the upside-down visions of the ghastly women. Miss Oakkton's body smelled of rotten eggs. She came closer and closer. Then, lifting up her knife mercilessly, she cut the trap rope. Petula dropped to the ground with a thud.

For a moment she lay still, winded and unable to breathe, and frightened that she wouldn't ever be able to breathe again. Then she felt a stabbing pain in her ribs.

Miss Oakkton bundled her into a bag already full of dead rabbits and birds. And, half suffocated by fur and
feather, Petula was carried down to the camp.

As though she were something as disposable as firewood, she was unloaded into a small, dark hut. Petula curled up into a ball and, spitting out her blue stone, for the second time that week, she fell unconscious.

M
olly was very, very hot. The heat of the Ecuadorean sun had soaked through the clouds above, turning the forest into a steamy sauna. Bas walked at a fast pace along the tree-lined, branch-covered pathways, and it was exhausting keeping up with him. Cappuccino swung through the branches of trees behind them, stopping occasionally to pick fruit from the trees. The air was thin, with less oxygen to breathe, and so Molly began to feel light-headed.

“Are you okay?” Bas asked. “It is difficult to walk in the high altitude because your body isn't used to it.”

Molly nodded. “I'm fine.” She didn't want to hold up the trip, and so she walked on without complaining. Her body grew damp with sweat, and she was glad
she was wearing cool clothes. She thought back to when she used to go to school and how she'd grumble about cross-country runs. This walk was ten times as hard, yet she was doing it without complaining, doing it because she needed to. The back of her calves and the muscles in her thighs ached, but Molly gritted her teeth and kept going. The sun was starting to burn her skin. But she didn't care. She had to get to Bas's viewing tower.

Every so often Bas would stop, and they'd have a drink. He had brought with him a bag of energy-boosting dried fruit, and while they rested, they sat in silence, nibbling the fruit sticks. Cappuccino would sit in the trees a little way off with all his attention trained on Molly.

After a three-hour walk, Bas stopped.

“We're here.”

Ahead of them, camouflaged because it was painted green, Molly saw a metal structure.

“Hope you like heights,” Bas joked. And he led Molly to the crane's steps. They were set like a ladder into it.

Ten minutes later, Molly and Bas were up at the crane's top, standing in a boxlike viewing platform. Cappuccino had nipped up ahead and was already chewing a flower he had found.

“Wow!” Molly said, cupping her eyes with her hand and looking out. “The view is incredible from up here!” She could see for miles and miles over a sea of treetops. She saw far-off mountains that seemed to touch the highest clouds in the sky.

“That's a volcano,” Bas commented, pointing to a beautiful white mountaintop in the distance. He had pulled out his binoculars and was studying the forest. His gaze moved over the distant jungle, swinging back and forth as he thoroughly checked to see whether he could see any signs of life. “There's the plane,” he said.

Molly looked through the binoculars. Far away, she could see a gash in the trees and what looked like a charcoal gray whale parked there.

“We were lucky to get out,” Molly commented. She scrutinized the forest for evidence of parachutes and the others. “I wonder where they landed?” She sighed and sadly put down the binoculars. “Petula can sense where I am. Wish I could feel them. I'm so worried about them, Bas.”

“Cheer up,” said Bas. “Listen, you never know, maybe Petula can feel Micky, too. After all, you are twins. Maybe that's where she went this morning. Maybe she's already found him.”

Bas flapped open a silk flag. “Let's hang this red
warning flag, and if they're up a tree they'll see it. Look at those monkeys,” he said, trying to change the subject. “And those insects.” Then he pointed to the northwest. “And there, Miss Molly, though you can't see them, are the stones you are interested in.”

“Really?” Molly gulped.

“Yes. See those far-off crags shaped like owls' heads?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the stones are under them. It's going to take us the rest of the day to get there. Are you ready?”

Molly gulped again. “I am,” she said.

And so they started walking again, their paths passing over pretty tree-covered humps of land that undulated up and down the sides of the mountain. The cover of foliage and leaves above was often so dense that only spots of the cloudy sky could be seen, and their path was patched with mottled light. It was like walking through a strange forest palace. Sounds were muffled, though every now and then bird cry pierced the air. At other times the forest and mists cleared, and wonderful views of the cloud forest stretched out green and leafy below and beyond. Walking uphill was strenuous, but walking downhill was hard, too. Molly's knees felt like they were going to buckle and bend back on themselves. On and on they walked, with Cappuccino
hopping casually behind them. Molly remembered what Forest, her hippie friend, had once said to her.

“There's an old Chinese saying. Wise man who climb mountain, climb one step at a time. He no look at top of mountain and see how far off it is. He enjoy each step.”
Molly decided to try and do this. Soon she found herself in a walking zone, as though her body was hypnotized to just keep taking steps.

“I will keep walking. I will keep walking,” Molly hummed to herself. “One step at a time.” The forest paths became thinner and overgrown. On and on they walked. Hours passed. The light started to fade. And then Bas tapped Molly on the shoulder.

“This is it, Molly,” he whispered. “There's the owl mountain. See? Now you sit down and eat this.” He passed Molly a snack with some sort of soy curd in it. “Cappuccino's here. Everything is just fine.”

Molly obeyed in an exhausted daze. She ate her food and watched as Bas set about making a shelter.

She knew that tomorrow she was going to need all the energy she could muster. So as soon as the shelter was ready, Molly rolled out her sleeping bag and crept inside. A moment later, before the forest's daytime animals had returned to their nests, dens, lairs, and burrows, Molly was fast asleep.

 

Less than a mile away, Miss Hunroe and her accomplices were finishing their dinner.

“Edible, at least,” Miss Hunroe said to Miss Speal, flipping her gold coin through her elegant fingers. Miss Oakkton surreptitiously wiped her finger across the sauce on her plate and then licked it, eyeing Miss Speal like a dog eyes an unwelcome guest.

Miss Teriyaki bobbed up to fetch her cake, and Miss Speal hurriedly collected the plates, her head bowed. Miss Hunroe tossed her coin and inspected it when it landed in her palm.

“Goodness knows we had worked up an appetite,” Miss Hunroe went on, glaring at Miss Speal. “You really are a Little Miss Butterfingers, aren't you, squealy Spealy?” Everyone stared at Miss Speal, who continued clearing the table with her head low.

Miss Oakkton clicked her tongue in agreement. “Tttut, tttut.”

Then Miss Hunroe snapped. “I cannot believe you were so
stupid
! You make me sick. Can't you feeeeeel where it is, Miss Speal?” she taunted. She sat still for a moment to compose herself. “Think again. Where did you drop the blue stone, Miss Speal?”

“Erm,” Miss Speal spluttered. “I'm—I'm not entirely sure. As I said, I think—I think it was up there.” She pointed to the ledge above the encampment.

“We
know
,” Miss Hunroe hissed. “Miss Oakkton and Miss Teriyaki have been crawling around up there
all afternoon
. Miss Speal, are you sure you are
telling the truth
?” Miss Hunroe pulled out a set of panpipes for the third time that evening and put them to her red lips. She blew gently, and a gorgeous sound like a playful mountain wind blowing through the trees filled the air. The gaggle of women gazed adoringly at Miss Hunroe, and a dreamy look filled their eyes. Miss Speal stared at the panpipes, transfixed.

“Tell me again, Miss Speal,” Miss Hunroe cajoled. “Did you really lose it,
or have you hidden it because you love it so much
?” Above them was a roll of thunder.

Miss Speal sighed. “I have not hidden it, I lost it.” She began to weep. “And I can sense that girl is near.”

Miss Hunroe blew suddenly into her instrument, making it shriek. “The girl may be near, Miss Speal. But she is dead. No one could have survived that plane crash.” She looked distainfully at the skinny, pale woman. “Imbecile.”

Miss Teriyaki stood holding out her chocolate cake. “At least some things are dependable, Miss Hunroe,” she said, worming. Miss Hunroe smiled, watching as Miss Teriyaki cut her a large slice. “You will never guess what we found today,” Miss Teriyaki went on, trying to change the subject. “We found a—”

“Does this cake have coffee in it?” Miss Hunroe asked suddenly. “You know I can't have caffeine at this time of night or I won't sleep.”

“Of course not,” Miss Teriyaki replied, passing her her dessert plate. Miss Hunroe prodded her fork into her cake. Miss Teriyaki continued, “It is a strange variety, but shows what an influence the Chinese had on Ecuador—”

“What
are
you talking about, Miss Teriyaki? Come on, spit it out.” Miss Hunroe raised her fork to her lips.

“Well, we found this—”

Miss Hunroe interrupted once more. “Does it have alcohol in it, Miss Teriyaki? You know I can't abide alcohol in food.”

“Oh, no! Just pure chocolate.”

Miss Hunroe put a forkful of chocolate cake into her mouth.

“We found this—”

“Aaaaaaah!”
Miss Hunroe spat and coughed, and chocolate cake went splattering all over the table. She rose from her seat furiously. “WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO, MISS TERIYAKI? POISON ME?” Miss Hunroe picked up her plate and Frisbeed it away from the table so that it flew through the air and clattered into a tree. “I've had
enough
of this foul cooking.”
She glared at her assembled team. “If there is
any
more of it, the chef responsible will
go
and never, never…” Miss Hunroe's voice dropped a few decibels as her anger raged. “NEVER COME BACK! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Miss Hunroe,” the gathering whispered.

“Yes, Miss Hunroe,” Miss Teriyaki whimpered. She lifted her eyes dolefully. As she did, she caught the eye of Miss Speal. Miss Speal's small brown eyes seemed to be laughing, as though what had just happened was the funniest thing in the world.

 

The next morning Molly was woken at dawn by a giant, long-beaked toucan squawking in a tree near her shelter. It had started to rain. Above, the sky was gray and rumbling with thunder again. Cappuccino the monkey chattered at her from a nearby tree, as if to say good morning. Bas was already up. When he saw Molly stir, he came over and put his blanket around her shoulders.

“You'll need your energy today,” he said. Then he went to his rucksack. Taking a large, leathery, bowl-shaped leaf, he put something from his bag into it. He added some sort of juice from a bottle and then came back with this forest bowl full of sticky, cold porridge. Molly ate her stodgy breakfast. Bas watched her like a
teacher might watch a precious student. Molly knew that he believed everything she had told him about Miss Hunroe. It now seemed to her that, as though she was a prizefighter about to enter the ring or a warrior on whose victory many people's lives depended, he was treating Molly with the utmost respect.

“I'm ready,” she said.

“Good.”

Bas led Molly to a clearing in the trees. Ahead and above them, magnificent in the morning light, were the owl-shaped crags. Molly's insides began quivering with nerves. She swallowed hard. She knew that soon she would be facing Miss Hunroe. Molly had no idea how many of the other horrible women were with her, or what the challenge ahead was. Molly's mind raced. She hoped Miss Hunroe was not expecting her. Molly felt like a person on some sort of twisted, dangerous TV challenge show, except of course this was real and there was no getting away—no calling up the producer of the TV show and saying, “Stop! I've had enough.”

“I hope I
can
sort this out,” she said to Bas. “There's—there's a good chance that I won't be able…” Molly's voice trailed off as the immensity of the task ahead sank in.

“It's amazing that you're trying,” Bas said reassuringly.
“I think you are very brave.” He put his arm around her shoulders.

They headed directly for the crags. Bas led Molly down the slope toward a wall of bushes. He helped Molly climb a tree, and they both peeped over the top.

“There they are,” he murmured.

As if transported from a dream and glistening in the rain, glowing red, gray, green, and blue like alien objects, were the four vast weather rocks, the Logan Stones. They stood in a circle, huge, majestic, and utterly beautiful. One was orange, with red flecks in it that glowed as though the sun burned from within it. Another was shot with an array of tropical greens. The third was cloudy gray, with white flecks in it, as though both dark storm clouds and the lightest, fluffiest clouds inhabited it, and the fourth was blue—bright turquoise like Caribbean waters and deep blue like the ocean.

“And the rock behind the stones,” Bas whispered, “with the water gushing out of it? That's the spring of the Coca River. And that giant mud mound that looks like a sandcastle in the middle of the stones? That's a…” He fell silent.

What Molly saw next was like a vision from a nightmare. Miss Hunroe and Miss Oakkton stepped out from behind the mud mound and into view. They
stood in the rain, in the center of the stones. Molly and Bas shrank back. Molly could hardly believe it. She had to pinch herself to make sure she was awake. To have come all this way, to be in the middle of the wilderness, and to be actually looking at Miss Hunroe in a khaki jungle suit and Miss Oakkton in a tentlike robe was surreal. Both of them were soaked to the bone, their clothes and hair sopping wet. Neither held the hypnotism book. They simply stood beside the stones, staring at their hands.

“Oooow!”
Miss Oakkton suddenly boomed, and as fast as genies disappearing into a bottle, the two women vanished, leaving two piles of clothes on the muddy ground.

The area was completely still. Molly scrutinized the space between the stones. She was
sure
that Miss Oakkton and Miss Hunroe had just morphed. How else could they have disappeared like that? Yet where had they gone? What had they turned into?