by Georgia Byng
Each stall had a stone gatepost crowned with a carved elephant’s head. On each entrance pillar a copper placard had a name written on it.
“Ah, what fine stables!” Ojas sighed admiringly. “My father told me about this place.” He walked down the aisle between the giant compartments. For a moment he looked sad and far away.
Molly looked around the elephant stables. Inside each stall were piles of straw and huge iron hoops set in the floor. There were water troughs at the back and enormous feeding baskets for elephant treats like bananas and mangoes. On the ground were large swathes of plants, branches of palm trees for the elephants to strip of their leaves and eat. Petula sniffed the ground, fascinated by the strong smells.
Molly glanced anxiously behind them, wondering whether anyone was coming. At the other end of the stable was a half-open door. Dusky light poured in through big, glassless windows.
They walked toward the view. As they did, a snoring sound echoed around the stables. Immediately they dived behind a post.
Molly whistled super softly to Petula and signaled silently to Ojas. She pointed at the wall and put her hands in a “Who do you think that is?” position. Ojas tilted his head as if listening to the tone of the snore.
“Is it a sleeping guard?” Molly whispered.
“I thought you weren’t afraid of guards,” said Ojas, smiling. Then he crept forward and peered around the post into the next stall. He came back with a wide grin on his face and beckoned them with his finger.
In the next cubicle was a magnificent sight—the very large posterior of an elephant. The elephant’s bottom was painted so that it looked as if it were wearing colorful flowery trousers, and, since elephants have very loose skin over their bottoms and hind legs, its baggy, painted trousers looked as though they were slipping off. The elephant’s front shoulder leaned against its stable wall and its giant back legs were crossed, throwing its hips at a jaunty angle. It wore huge silver bracelets on its ankles. A chain threaded through these hobbled it to the iron hoop on the stable floor. A soft, quilted red pad was slung over its back and on top of this was a guddha, or saddle, made of sacking stuffed with straw. On top of this guddha was a canopied boxlike carriage—a howdah. The whole contraption was strapped on with rope.
“Her name is Amrit,” said Ojas, reading the plaque.
“And who’s that dude?” asked Forest.
“Doood?”
“That man on the floor.”
“Ah—that ‘doood’ is her mahout, but he sleeps now because he has been drinking too much.”
“You mean he’s drunk?” asked Molly.
“Yes, he is well and truly discombobulated!” agreed Ojas, waggling his head and laughing.
The thin brown man sprawled on the straw beside Amrit the elephant was fast asleep. His mouth hung open, emitting a soggy, guttural snore. A large bluebottle flew into his mouth and actually landed on his teeth before taking off again. Ojas tutted.
“A man like that should not be allowed to take care of a creature as lovely as this.”
“Is his elephant asleep, too?” asked Molly.
As if in answer, the elephant opened her small twinkling eyes, leaned her body squarely onto her four legs, lifted her trunk toward her treat basket, and tossed a banana skin back toward her visitors. It hit Forest on the head.
“Man, what did I do?”
Ojas laughed. Then he approached Amrit and casually slipped along her right-hand side toward her silver-hooped tusks. He made some noises in his throat and gently clicked with his tongue and he patted her gray shoulder.
“Good girl.” She in turn sent the pink speckled tip of her trunk to probe Ojas’s head and face. He touched her headdress. “She was obviously supposed to go out with the other elephants. This mahout here has spoiled her day. Why don’t we take her?”
“Us?” said Molly.
“Yes, riding her will be ‘easy-peasy,’ as you say.”
“I never say that,” said Rocky. “I say, a cinch.”
“A cinch, then. Amrit means ‘nectar’ in Hindi. Sweet Nectar! I expect that means she is very good-natured. Amrit will be no problem at all for me.”
“Man, that sounds mammoth!” exclaimed Forest, beaming at his own pun. “But will the lady take all of us?”
“Oh yes, this elephant could even take two more with ease.” With the lithe movements of an expert, Ojas began hopping about in the straw, undoing Amrit’s tethers. “We must follow the other elephants.” He picked up a long stick with a double hook at the end of it. “This is an ankush. Don’t worry—it looks alarming, I know, but to an elephant being prodded with this is like you being prodded with a small fork. Sometimes it has to be used more strongly. Elephants can be dangerous if they behave badly, so it’s important to have some form of control over them.”
Molly watched as Ojas peeled the mahout’s uniform turban off his head and put it on his own. The man made comforting myum myum myum noises before curling up like a baby and dropping into an even deeper sleep.
“Ojas is right,” she said. “We must follow the other elephants. The elephants wouldn’t be out all decorated like this for anyone else but Waqt. So, if we want to keep on his trail, this is the best way. We’ll be well disguised.”
Ojas took the drunk’s jacket from a hook on the wall.
“I suppose you’re right,” said Rocky.
Ojas began pushing the elephant’s massive chest so she moved backward out of her stall toward a mounting block. “Peechay, peechay,” he said, adding, “Besides, what else can you do? You can go forward in time and backward in time, but at some point, Mollee, you have to get close, very close, to Waqt. You will have to kill him, Mollee. You do realize that?”
Molly went cold. She stood in the straw in the musky-smelling stable and watched as Ojas kept pushing Amrit. She just watched as if he had said nothing. The impact of his words on her was huge.
The idea that the only way of truly sorting out this situation was to kill Waqt had only faintly suggested itself to her. And the idea was so horrible that she’d pushed it to the back of her mind. Because she wasn’t a killer. She couldn’t kill. How could she live with herself if she killed? But, perhaps, she thought now, unless she killed, she’d be killed herself.
By the time Molly came out of her daze, Rocky and Forest had mounted Amrit. Molly picked up Petula and climbed up, too. She frowned. A poisonous cocktail of feelings was fizzing away inside her.
Ojas clambered up and sat with his legs behind Amrit’s ears. Behind him, a canopy covered his new friends, who sat, half hidden in the howdah, wrapped in warm royal blankets. For a moment Ojas was quiet. He shut his eyes and prayed to Ganesh, the elephant god, to ask for good luck on their journey. His father’s last words before he died filled his mind.
I’ll always be near, watching over you, Ojas. Always believe in yourself, and always remember that I’ll love you forever.
Blinking back tears, Ojas made a clicking noise with his tongue.
Finally Amrit, hearing the voice of her new master—“Agit! Agit!”—stepped out of the stables.
Twenty-two
The view was magnificent and far-reaching. As Amrit walked majestically down the slope from the upper courtyard to the lower courtyard Molly could see the tops of soldiers’ heads. She saw a couple of them horsing around, throwing small packets of Holi dye at each other, as if now that Waqt was away they could play. She saw palace staff hurrying about preparing for the night and she could see over the palace walls to the surrounding countryside.
Ojas was in front, the thick gray neck of Amrit beneath him. The elephant’s ears had a lovely tinge of pink to them and were much softer than the other gray parts of her. She flapped them as she walked. Molly touched the gray leathery skin and discovered that it was covered with lots of coarse black hairs.
Flowery incense burned in the palace’s Hindu temple and from inside they could hear the soft chanting of devotees. Amrit passed quietly under the giant arches, built to allow
elephants through, and down the next cobbled slope.
Below them was the vast palace lake, its square shape shimmering with dusk light. In the distance they could make out the procession of Waqt’s elephants as they walked along a ridge. Torchbearers carried beacons of fire in front of each elephant, so that the advancing party seemed lit by a giant chain of fairy lights.
Molly could make out that the largest elephant, the third along, carried the most enormous carriage. She expected this was Waqt’s.
“Rocky,” she whispered worriedly, “I’m not getting any memories of riding on an elephant when I was ten or six. Don’t you think that’s odd? That’s the sort of memory that a person keeps forever. Why aren’t I remembering an elephant ride? Maybe Waqt has left the other me’s back at the palace.”
“If he’d done that,” Rocky pointed out, “wouldn’t you remember being left at the palace?” He was quiet for a bit. “I think what’s more likely is that Waqt has blocked your memories so that you don’t know where he is.”
Molly shut her eyes. “You’re probably right.” She sighed, realizing that the problem had just thickened. And Amrit lumbered quietly on to the main road toward the others.
The journey was a long one. The swaying of Amrit’s body and the chinking of her ankle bracelets as she walked sent Molly to sleep.
She awoke beneath a full moon. She sat up, rubbed her shoulders, and readjusted Petula, who was sitting on her leg.
They were on a tree-lined road, approaching some buildings half hidden by poplars.
“Where are they, Ojas?”
“Don’t worry,” said Ojas, gently prodding Amrit behind the ears with his feet. “You see those fires below? That is where Waqt is. I think he is performing another ceremony. That is Jaipur Observatory. It was built by a very, very clever prince. He wanted to be able to measure the distance of the earth from the sun and the stars. He built another observatory in Delhi. I have seen that one. They are very strange, beautiful places. Once Amrit gets close, you can climb down. You will find some good hiding places in the observatory. What will you do?”
Molly thought. “If I can, I’ll steal Waqt’s crystals. The whole lot. Maybe I’ll get close enough to rescue my other selves.”
“Yes. You will be all right, Mollee. It’s dark and you are dressed like an Indian girl. Waqt won’t be expecting you. He seems obsessed by his peculiar ceremonies.”
“So you haven’t seen a ceremony like the one with the creepy purple men in it before?” questioned Molly.
Ojas laughed. “No, certainly not!”
“What religion do you think it is?” asked Rocky, stirring.
“A new one? One that Waqt made up? I don’t know, Rocky!” Ojas laughed again. But Molly didn’t find it funny. Who knew what strange beliefs Waqt held?
As Amrit walked on, the observatory gradually came into view. Over the wall they could see huge stone staircases that looked like slides without the slide parts. The tallest had a roof place at the top. Molly could see the other elephants close up now. Each had a mahout with his feet resting up on the elephant’s head while the passengers were gone.
When Rocky stood up on Amrit he could see a group of the purple men standing around a fire, their ghostly faces lit up. Wild drumbeats filled the night air. He sat down.
“I’m not letting you go in there on your own,” he said. Molly smiled and she and Rocky slipped down to the ground.
“We’ll be back as soon as you can say ‘curried purple man.’”
“Sounds tasty,” murmured Forest in his sleep.
“If anything happens to us, Ojas, will you look after Forest and Petula?”
Ojas surveyed the sleeping man and wrinkled his nose. Then his eyes fell on Petula. He nodded.
Molly and Rocky crept through the observatory gate.
Petula watched. She didn’t like them going at all.
To start with, she could smell the giant and the kidnaper man. But there was something more. Something ominous. For behind the strong odor of elephants and a bonfire, behind the innocent smells coming from ordinary people, of spices and baking and flowers, Petula could detect the scent of a very frightened animal. The animal was a goat. Petula didn’t like it one bit.
Molly had been to a bonfire night when she was seven and the scene in front of her reminded her of that, although instead of sparklers in people’s hands there were torches, and instead of fireworks, a full moon hung in the air like a ball of milk in the sky. They walked quickly through the crowds, past elephants and past one of the strange flights of stairs, to a place where they could watch the proceedings without being seen. Standing around the crackling fire were Waqt’s cronies in their purple robes, the flames casting demonic shadows on their whiskered faces.
On the right, a more compact circle of ghostly priests stood with their arms outstretched and joined at the fingertips. The material hanging down from their flowing sleeves made a wall of purple silk. The drums beat faster and faster. As the rhythm reached a frantic pace, the circle of men dropped to the ground, revealing Waqt, his face painted white, crouching on a low, cracked rock. Beside him sat the three hypnotized young Mollys. The baby Molly lay on a blanket on the rock. Waqt raised his hands to the moon and waved his arms about like long strands of seaweed. He looked like a devil from a horror film.
Then he picked up the hypnotized six-year-old. The hidden Molly stared in revulsion, hardly daring to think what he might be about to do. The fire raged to the side of him. He stepped toward it with the six-year-old Molly in his arms. Closer and closer and closer to the fire he walked until he turned and actually stepped backward into it. The audience gasped. Waqt had disappeared in the flames.
Molly knew where he was and what he was doing. In the next instant she experienced the most horrific memory.
A loud voice had shouted, “WAKE UP AND REMEMBER THIS! FOLLOW ME IF YOU CAN, MOLLY MOON!” Molly realized that these words were directed at her now.
She remembered being six and suddenly waking up to find the mammoth man she’d met before holding her at arm’s length above him. His face was painted powdery white and he was laughing like a demented clown. She remembered screaming and crying, “I want to go home!” And the fear of the young Molly filled Molly now.
Waqt suddenly appeared out of the fire.
“How did he walk into the fire like that?” gasped Rocky.
The six-year-old Molly was crying loudly and the puppy Petula was howling. Waqt placed the small girl on the ground. The puppy Petula bounded up to her and the child clung to her black velvet form, sobbing.
“He just stepped out of time,” Molly explained. “It looked like he was in the fire, but he wasn’t. He was hovering out of the time of the flames, so the flames couldn’t hurt him.”
“His priests are impressed,” said Rocky.
“Let’s try to find his collection of crystals.”
They crept closer, their eyes searching for a bag or a cushion or a box. Then Rocky pulled at Molly’s sleeve and drew her attention to a low staircase near Waqt. Zackya slid out from behind it and sidled up to the giant. He was clutching his silver time-travel gadget. He stood on a block so that he could reach his master’s ear and, panting, he whispered something and pointed to the crowd near to where Molly and Rocky were hiding.
Waqt cuffed Zackya around the head and laughed into the audience. Molly was sure that his laugh was directed at her. Then, as if testing her, Waqt turned to accept a long, bone-handled knife that a priest was offering him, and he steadily began mounting the tallest set of steps. The train of his green robe trailed behind him like long, iridescent peacock feathers and the blade of the knife flashed in the moonlight.
At the top of the steps a purple-robed man held a white goat. Its bleats could be heard above the beat of the drums. It was obvious now what Waqt was going to do. The drums reached a cacophony of rhythm, and his priests began to chant.
“Oohhhh Dahla… OOOhhhhlaa Deahliea.”
Waqt crouched over the def
enseless goat.
“Oohhhh Dahla… OOOhhhhlaallaa Deahliea.”
Silently Waqt slit the animal’s throat. The knife clattered down the steps.
A priest carrying a silver bowl scurried to Waqt’s side. Blood splashed into the bowl.
Waqt descended the stairs and walked over to the flat, cracked rock. He picked up the sleeping baby Molly. He plucked a peacock feather from his cloak and solemnly dipped it into the bowl of blood. With great panache and a flourish of his hand he used the drenched feather to wipe the fresh blood on the peaceful baby’s head. “Tonight, little Waqt, we shall see how many more crystals you can draw from the earth.”
Molly and Rocky watched in horror. Neither knew that the cracked rock was a crystal fountain, nor that Waqt was using the baby to draw the gems from the earth. When Molly spied Zackya’s familiar purple turban winding its way through the crowd toward them, she knew it was time for her and Rocky to disappear.
“That gadget seems to be giving him your exact location,” Rocky said. Molly took his hand and gripped her red crystal. There was a BOOM.
Molly whisked them very, very slightly forward in time, but she didn’t land. The warm time winds washed about them, and the world was a misty apparition moving in slow motion.
“This is too weird for words,” Rocky said. “Look, there’s Zackya walking about in the crowd looking for us, and Waqt doing his thing.”
For a moment, they could think. Ojas’s voice rang in Molly’s ears. “You will have to kill him, Mollee. You do realize that?”
If she wanted to, she could get really close to Waqt now. She could walk through the time-hover air toward the knife that lay on the ground. She could appear, take the knife, then disappear again. She could move through the time-hover air until she was right behind Waqt. And do what? Kill him? Molly could never kill a person. And, anyway, how could an eleven-year-old girl thrust a long carving knife into an old, sinewy giant like Waqt? Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t have the first clue where to stick the blade. She’d make a mess of it. She’d just graze him. And then he’d turn around and chop her into little pieces.
