by Georgia Byng
A large garden lay before them, with a green lawn and borders full of flowers. Inside the building they heard a shout. It was Zackya’s rusty voice. “Sound the alarm. The prisoners have escaped!”
Molly, Rocky, and Forest dashed across the grass, with Petula behind them. They could see the entrance of the fort through a colonnade at the end of the garden. Drums sounded and peacocks roosting in the trees began to screech.
Four turbaned guards emerged from behind the columns ahead and unsheathed their swords.
Molly grabbed the red crystal from her pocket.
“Okay, quickly—Forest, hold my shoulder; Rocky, hold Petula, and put your hand on my shoulder, too. Whatever you do, don’t let go!”
“Hurry up, man!” urged Forest, hopping from one foot to the other, starting to giggle hysterically. “Those guys are coming and they don’t exactly look as if they’re gonna ask us to dance.”
“Forest, just shh, okay?” Molly pleaded. “Try to pull yourself together. I’ve never taken off with other people before, so if you want to get out of here alive, just be quiet a minute.”
Just then, the door from the white and blue corridor burst open and Zackya emerged.
Taking a sudden U-turn decision, Molly felt for the clear crystal that hung around her neck and, with swift expertise, froze the world.
Zackya felt the moment and resisted the freeze. In a second, the two of them were standing in a still landscape. The soldiers looked like giant toys, stiff and immobile. Forest’s and Rocky’s expressions were set, flushed with panic. The screeching of the peacocks ceased and silence reigned.
Zackya avoided Molly’s eyes. Molly hid the red crystal from him. She realized that he had no idea that she had some time-travel crystals. She also saw that he was nervous of her hypnotic powers.
“You can’t escape me,” he said.
“But I can delay you, Zackya.”
“Oh, yes? And for how long? Time stopping is exhausting, even for a seasoned hypnotist like myself. So for you, it won’t be long before you collapse from the cold.” He kicked a stone and it bounced toward Molly. She shrugged. She didn’t disagree, even though Zackya had completely misjudged her capabilities. Instead, she lied.
“I am feeling tired and cold. But I’d rather faint than give in to you.”
Zackya laughed and kicked another stone. Inside, he felt uneasy. He didn’t want a competition to see who could bear the cold, still world the longest—already he could feel his rheumatic knee aching. Nor did he want to try hypnotizing Molly.
“What’s the password to free the hypnotized maharaja?” Molly demanded.
Zackya shook his head. He really didn’t like this. He wondered what would make Molly give in and stop the freeze. Then, an idea dawned on him.
“I don’t know the password, but I will strike a deal with you,” he said. “If you unfreeze the world, I will tell you something about the hypnotized maharaja.”
Molly pretended to look unsure. “Why would I agree to that?”
“Because, Miss Moon, you will have to give up, eventually. This way, at least when you are caught and imprisoned again you will have something new to think about.”
Molly made a sour face and then she nodded.
And so Zackya, extremely pleased to have caught Molly, and very relieved not to have to tell Waqt that he’d lost her, started to spill the beans about the lonely man inside. His first impulse, though, was to put the record straight about himself.
“Before I start, I want to explain my relationship with Waqt,” he began. “You may think that Waqt hates me. He may call me a dog and spit on me, but you should understand that I am the closest thing he’s ever had to a friend. And, although I was once an untouchable from the lowest caste, at least I was never an outcast like him. You see, Miss Moon, Waqt’s royal parents chose to cast him out and to lock him up like a mad person.” Zackya pointed to the building behind him. “That man in there is Waqt’s younger brother. When he was a boy he lived the life of a prince while his elder brother, the giant, was left to rot.” Zackya’s face went strangely soft, and then his mouth twisted as though he’d tasted something bitter. “Waqt’s father and mother thought that if they locked their monstrous child up they could pretend that he and his fits of temper didn’t exist. All those childhood years I spent with him, I saw him spurned and I saw his hatred grow. He went through fifty-seven nannies and even more tutors. He was impossible. No adult could cope with him.”
“Where did Waqt learn about hypnotism?” asked Molly. Zackya answered as though his thoughts were far away.
“He found a book. He was always reading. Then we escaped. We went to China, where he learned about time travel from an old warrior. Eventually we returned.” He paused. “Some people say that revenge is a dish best tasted cold. Well, by the time we returned, the past was cold, but Waqt never forgot how his parents had treated him. His hate still burned like a furnace inside him. That is why he hypnotized his brother and seized all his power.”
“What about you? Do you hate his brother and his parents?”
Zackya’s eyes narrowed. The cold, still world was getting to him now. The tip of his nose felt numb. “You’re getting a little more explanation than you deserve, Molly Moon. I think it is time for you to honor your side of the bargain and unfreeze the world.”
“No, tell me more first. Do you hate his brother and parents?”
Zackya growled. “Very well. One more slice then, Miss Moon. His parents are dead, but I still hate them. Because of the monster they created, I live in fear every day of my life of Waqt hypnotizing me. And I am chained to helping him source his precious crystals because, as you can see, if we don’t get to the Bubble at the beginning of time, our skins will drop off us. Time travel makes the skin go scaly.
“Of course, one day Waqt will reward me with my freedom. By then, I will have traveled to the Bubble of Light. My skin will be glowing and youthful. And, by that time, Waqt will own every fort and every palace in India. He will give some to me. So, I will be young and I will be powerful. This is what I wait for.” Zackya spat on the ground. “And now, Moon, you must let the world move.”
Molly felt Rocky’s and Forest’s still hands on her shoulders. She checked that Petula was under Rocky’s arm.
“I don’t like to break promises,” she said to Zackya, “but I do like to be free.” With that, Molly simultaneously focused on the red crystal and let the world defreeze.
As their surroundings sprang into action, she sank her mind into the red crystal.
“Whoa, okay, I’ll be quiet,” said Forest.
Molly willed warm time winds to envelop them. In a second there was a BOOM and they were moving.
Thirteen
“So, said Waqt. “I am letting you out of your trances for an hour or so. I hope you are pleased.”
The ten-year-old Molly blinked up at the huge, scaly man in front of her and cast her eyes over his equally reptilian assistant, who had just arrived with a notebook and a pen.
“You’re late, Yackza,” the giant snapped. Molly tried to work out whether she was dreaming. Had she really just met an eleven-year-old version of herself? And an older Rocky? The small girls beside her huddled close, hiding their eyes in the silk of the strange new dress she had on. Were they younger versions of herself? All this was impossible. She must, she concluded, be dreaming. And yet she felt so wide awake. As though the moment was real. Molly looked around the room. It was a beautiful room, with colored marble embedded in the walls and golden chairs to sit on.
“Who are you?” she asked. “And why are we here?”
“The only reason you are here is to show me thumsing of what this baby’s character will be when it grows up.”
The ten-year-old Molly decided not to argue with him. “Why are we dressed in these Indian clothes?”
The giant ignored her question.
Molly shook her head. She felt completely disoriented and confused. Was she mad? Maybe she was actually sitting i
n Hardwick House imagining all this. Perhaps the giant in front of her was a distorted Adderstone, the orphanage mistress.
“Is this another one of your punishments, Miss Adderstone?”
At this, the huge man in front of her let out a demented laugh. “Ooooooohhhhhhh, how amuuuusing,” he declared. “You really are entertainment, Miss Moon!”
Molly shook her head. “It wasn’t me who overflowed the bath, Miss Adderstone. This isn’t fair. Whatever you’re doing, please stop.”
“Overflowed the bath! Overflowed the bath! HA! Ha ha ha!” Waqt wailed with laughter.
“Let me put you out of your misery. I am not Miss Adderstone. Ha! I am the Maharaja of Waqt. Born 1835. Prone to fits. Tall, hark, and dandsome—don’t you think? Cooped up by my own parents for fifteen years. Imagine that! Well traveled, to put it mildly. Europe, Africa, China, the future, the past! But enough of myself. We are here today to analyze you. You will now show me thumsing about yourself. We want to see what sorts of talents the maby Bolly has inside her.” He put his hands on his hips and nodded to a servant at the door.
Six men came in with an assortment of apparatus. One placed a Chinese abacus at the side of the room, others set up a low table and put a large pad of heavy paper on it as well as a long black box and some big paintbrushes.
The maharaja sat down cross-legged by the table and bid Molly sit, too. Nervously she obeyed, deciding that if this was a dream she might as well go along with it.
Waqt picked up a paintbrush and opened the box. Inside was a pot of water and a block of dry black ink.
“The art of Chinese painting,” he said, wetting his brush and dabbing it on the block to absorb ink, “is something that comes naturally to people with artistic talent.” With a flourish and with a swishing left and right of his brush, he painted the outline of a scene—craggy mountains and a stormy sky, with a spiky pine tree and a wolf in the foreground. “I have always had the raw talent. I refined it with years of practice in China. Now it is your turn to show me your talent.”
The ten-year-old Molly felt a knot in her stomach. She hated being tested. She knew she wasn’t talented at anything.
“I am not good at art.”
“Oh, pick up the blasted brush,” said Waqt.
Molly leaned forward and tremulously began a picture. She tried to paint a mountain, but it just looked like a lump. Her sun looked like a tennis ball, and her pine tree was like a Christmas tree that a small child had drawn. Instead of a wolf, she painted a stick person.
“Oh!” sighed Waqt disgustedly. “I see the baby won’t have artistic talent.” Then he shouted, “WRITE THAT DOWN, YACKZA.”
Next they moved to the abacus. Here, Waqt tested the ten-year-old Molly’s mathematical skills. Molly wasn’t very good at sums, and because she’d never used an abacus before, it made everything worse. She fumbled with the beads.
“USELESS AT MATHS!” bellowed Waqt. “Write that down, Yackza.”
And so the testing continued. A sitar player was ushered in to try to teach Molly to play on the stringed instrument, but she could hardly play one note correctly. An Indian dancer was called in to give her a lesson. Molly’s attempts at being graceful were disastrous, and Waqt cut her short.
“USELESS!” he exclaimed.
Finally he clapped his hands and two men placed a large, embroidered sack full of colored crystals in front of Molly.
“Do you feel anything for these stycrals?” asked the giant. “You may touch them if you wish.”
Out of breath, Molly picked up a scarred red crystal. “Very nice,” she said, nervously replacing it.
“Is that all you feel for them?” Molly shrugged a yes. “Write that down, Yackza. Before she learns to hypnotize, the stycrals mean nothing to her.” Then he asked, “Is trime tavel something you have ever thought about?”
Molly frowned at the man in front of her and suddenly felt very antagonistic toward him. Who was he to quiz her like this? Angrily, she replied, “Why should I tell you what I have thought about or not thought about? I don’t know you.”
“Hmm. Spirited and cautious. Got that, Yackza?” Then he turned to Molly. He bent toward her, expectant of her answer. “You may be a fiery one, but I still want to know—is time travel something you’ve ever thought about?” He was so close, she could see residues of makeup that he wore to disguise his walrus skin.
“I think…” Molly racked her brains for what to say. She didn’t want to say this man was mad, she didn’t want to say how frightened she was. She found herself thinking of her friend Rocky and wishing he were with her. She wanted to say that if he was here he’d know what to say. And then, the words of a song he’d once made up sang through her head and, echoing them, the ten-year-old Molly said, “I think… there’s no time like the present.”
The giant squinted at her and smirked. “HA! Poetic. At last, some talent. Write that down, Yackza.” Then he clicked his fingers and Molly was hypnotized. A memory of Rocky’s voice gently rang in her head.
There’s no time like the present,
No present like time
And life can be over in the space of a rhyme.
There’s no gift like friendship
And no love like mine.
Give me your love to treasure through time.
The eleven-year-old Molly opened her eyes to check that the others were with her. They were traveling forward in time. Rocky to her right, with his eyes shut, while Forest’s eyes bulged with pleasure and his mouth glooped open like a surprised goldfish as he watched the swirling colors around him. Zackya’s guards didn’t seem to be chasing them. Molly relaxed and she wondered what they should do next. She decided that stopping for a while at some point in the future would be good, as that would give them time to formulate a plan.
She let her invisible measuring antennae become her leaders, and she judged what she felt might be a hundred years in the future. Then she made them stop.
The sun had moved across the sky. It was a hot morning. The Red Fort’s walls cast short shadows. The garden about them was no longer finely kept and populated with peacocks. Instead, it was dried out, and brown municipal park benches were positioned along its walls. A small Indian child in red dungarees, who was standing with his parents, pointed at Molly and her friends and began to shout.
“Mama. Those people and that dog came from nowhere! Maaaammmmma!”
“Yes, yes,” said his father as he turned around. He patted the boy fondly on the head and laughed as if marveling at his son’s imagination.
“And look at her big diamond, Daddy.”
“This is so cool!” said Forest. “Next time, we could go back and meet the ancient yogis of India!”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” said Molly, removing her crystal from around her neck and putting it in her pocket. Rocky gave her Petula. “Remember, Zackya is a time traveler, too. And there’s something I didn’t tell you about. When I was hypnotized he made me swallow this metallic purple pill thing. It’s still in my tummy. Zackya’s got this special machine that can locate his purple pills—a tracking device. He isn’t that good with it, but he’s not completely useless. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s following us right now. The machine can tell him what time we’re in.”
“Does it show him exactly what street you’re on, too?” Rocky asked. Molly shrugged and wiped her hair from her eyes. It was swelteringly hot.
“There’s a whole load of stuff I did back there,” she said hurriedly. “I stopped the world. Zackya told me all these things about Waqt and that hypnotized man. He’s Waqt’s brother and, oh, there’s another thing. Time travel makes you age!”
“Whoa, it’s the time travel making you wrinkly.”
“Don’t say it as if I’ve won the lottery, Forest!” said Molly. “I don’t want to start looking like an old woman!”
“Shh.” Rocky eyed Molly’s cheek. “I’m sure it doesn’t happen that quickly. I expect Zackya and Waqt have been time traveling for years.”
“Around China,” agreed Molly.
“You’re only going to pop about in time a bit,” said Rocky optimistically, “so it shouldn’t get worse. At the moment it’s only by your ear and it doesn’t really show.”
Molly eyed the Red Fort. It was now a fully fledged tourist attraction, with stallholders outside the gates selling balloons, postcards, souvenirs, drinks, batasha—cotton candy, nuts, and sweets. She was a little at a loss as to what they should do next. But she did know that they ought to at least get away from the fort.
“I’ll tell you more about what Zackya told me in a minute. First, let’s move.”
And so they walked on. To the side of the road two cows stood minding their own business.
“Cows are allowed to wander around freely here,” Forest pointed out as Molly and Rocky led him quickly away from the gates, past the curvaceous white Ambassador taxis that were waiting for customers. “Hindu Indians consider cows holy. Their owners let them meander about and then bring ’em food. Everyone loves cows. On the whole, they don’t eat ’em here.”
“The best thing we can do is get lost in a crowd,” said Rocky, ignoring Forest and tugging at Molly’s sleeve. “Let’s go over there to where it looks like the shops are. The more people around us, the safer we’ll be from Zackya.”
They hurried under an arch where a sign proclaimed “Chandni Chowk. Old Delhi.” Here the crowds thickened and the wide streets were as busy as the inside of a beehive. There were swarms of rickshaws and hordes of carts pulled by strong men. These carts were piled high with things to sell—like firewood, or water canisters, or scrap metal.
People stared at Molly and Rocky in their Western clothes. Even though it was modern India (Molly wasn’t sure what year), the clothes that people wore here in Old Delhi were anything but modern. Some men were in lungis—baggy, wrap-around shorts made from a simple piece of material, a few were in plain trousers and shirts. Others wore long sarongs. The women all wore saris or salwar kameez—a long dress with trousers underneath. A rickshaw man pedaled three children in ill-fitting uniforms, ringing his bell as he passed by. His young passengers pointed at Petula and then giggled madly at Forest.
