Molly Moon, Micky Minus, & the Mind Machine

by Georgia Byng

  “You trust your dog to show you the way?” asked Micky derisively.

  “Animals,” Molly replied coolly, “have far better senses than us. Petula has got her head screwed on. She’s helped me in lots of dangerous situations.” Molly suddenly remembered her new mind-reading powers. They were so new to her that in the panic of their escape she had forgotten about them. Would they work in the dark? If she could read Micky’s thoughts, she might at least see if he was planning anything nasty. So she sent out a question to him. What are you thinking?

  Immediately a pale blue bubble rose above Micky’s head with a bedroom in it, then a glass of water, then a picture of Molly with ropes tied tight around her, making her look like an Egyptian mummy.

  “I certainly trust Petula,” Molly concluded, “more than I trust you. I expect you are having horrid thoughts about tying me up till I can’t breathe.” She shone the flashlight in her brother’s face and saw his amazed reaction. “Am I right?” she asked.

  “Wr-wrong … weirdo,” Micky stammered.

  “Let’s move.”

  They shuffled down the slope in silence.

  “This passage is freezing. What if it goes nowhere?” Micky taunted. “It might lead to a dead end. Then what? We’ll get hypothermia.”

  “Then we go back and try the other tunnel.”

  “What if I can’t?”

  “Then I’ll pull you back.” Molly answered flippantly, as if pulling Micky would be as easy as pulling a helium balloon. The truth was, she was tired and she didn’t like the very real prospect of hitting a dead end. She was worried that farther on the tunnel might have caved in. The air in it was so stale Molly already felt buried alive.

  The passageway twisted and dipped on and on. Molly even began to doze off as she shuffled. And then, as if the mountain itself was whispering to them, Molly heard noises. Was she asleep and dreaming? She snapped awake. She could definitely hear a swishing noise and she was sure that was a growl too. She, Petula, and Micky froze, and Molly switched off the flashlight.

  Petula’s tongue tasted bitter as fear shot through her. The dogs and snakes she’d smelled before were now horribly clear, as a current of underground air brought their stench to her nose. She doubted that they had picked up her scent yet, for a breeze in the other direction was needed for that. Nevertheless, the dogs and snakes were approaching. She heard the swishing noise too and another growl. Ignoring Molly’s wishes, she turned. Pushing past Micky and Molly, she ran up the tunnel they had just come down, her claws skittering on the damp rocks.

  “Seems like either your dog’s head has come unscrewed or she knows something you don’t,” Micky said sourly. Then he stiffened as he too heard the strange growl coming from the dark ahead.

  “I think we’d better follow her,” Molly said, her hands starting to sweat. She gave Micky a tug. “Come on—I’ll help you.” Frantically Molly scrabbled back up the sloped tunnel. Micky was far heavier than she’d expected him to be, and her feet, slipping on the rubble, sent stones rolling. A shower of mud and flint kicked up behind them.

  Petula paused to try to sense the feeling coming from the creatures behind. How she wished Molly and the boy would hurry up. Didn’t they sense any danger at all? Didn’t they see that they might be breakfast to whatever was back down the tunnel?

  Come on! Petula whined, and as soon as she’d uttered this, wished she hadn’t, for, as if in reply, a howl came up the tunnel.

  WHO’S IN OUR TUNNEL?

  Something’s in the run! another dog snarled. Petula yelped.

  “Crumbs. Sounds like they’ve discovered us!” Molly exclaimed. And with a useless, desperate pull, she lurched herself and Micky another foot up the pitch-black passageway.

  The swishing noise was now really loud, as though a giant broom was sweeping its way toward them. And the growling had given way to a host of enthusiastic barks.

  “We’re dead!” Micky gasped, crippled with fear.

  “Don’t stop here,” Molly begged. “If you stop, we’re definitely done for. For goodness sake, Micky, just try to move.” She was terrified too. They were really close now. In the dark their harsh panting and slobbering sounded as though they were just around the bend. “Oh, Petula!” Molly cried out, fear stricken. “You just run, Petula. Let them get us. You escape.”

  And then it was too late. Molly felt them all around her. She felt smooth, scaly skin, soft, with strong muscle beneath it, running under her hands, past her neck, under her back. It was as if huge tentacles had swooped under her. In fact it was as if she lay on a bed of snakes. And the smell of dogs and their growling echoed down the hollow tunnel. Molly could feel two dogs panting only inches away from her face to the left and the right of her body. Their breath smelled of old meat.

  “Aaargh!” Micky cried as he was scooped up and carried off.

  We’re sorry, Petula barked to the two dogs that she could smell in the darkness near her. We didn’t mean to trespass. We were lost! We meant no harm!

  But the big dog in front of her growled, Keep your mouth shut, you palace Peking. Or I’ll shut my mouth on YOU.

  Petula found herself being lifted by the thick, sinuous bodies of two snakes. The dry scent of them was overpowering. They clasped her around her front and back legs. Then they carried her down the passageway. Seeing that a struggle would be futile, she shut her eyes and let the journey unfold.

  Ahead, exactly the same thing was happening to Molly and Micky. A multitude of dogs growled and barked and snarled.

  “We’ve been caught by a pack of mountain wolves!” Molly screamed. Ahead of her, Micky was yelling too.

  “Aaarghh! SNAKES! Stop! Stop! I’m allergic to reptiles!”

  Now Molly wished that Princess Fang could hear them. Life at the palace was at least life. Here she was going to end up as a pile of bones with every last bit of life chewed off her.

  Down and down the dark spiral slide tunnel they were carried. It was like being on some sort of crazy fairground ride, with the snakes beneath Molly and Micky rippling, carrying them forward and downward with the utmost ease. Molly didn’t dare turn her flashlight on for fear that this would anger the creatures. She tried mind reading their thoughts, but the bubbles were moving about so much as they sped along that she couldn’t see the pictures. And so, like Petula, she shut her eyes and let the nightmare unfurl.

  Finally the slope of the mountain leveled out and the beasts sped along the ground. And then they stopped. The next thing Molly knew, something had opened a trapdoor above their heads.

  Dim light and a strong smell flooded in. It reminded Molly of home—of Amrit the elephant. Strands of straw floated down, catching in her hair. Then Molly’s surprise was swamped by astonishment. As her eyes adjusted to the light she began to make out the shapes of the creatures. They weren’t dogs and they weren’t snakes; they were a mixture of the two. They were giant snakes with Labrador heads. Some black, some rust colored, some sandy. They all had yellow teeth. As Molly was lifted into the dusty space above, she realized she had been riding on a sort of snake chariot.

  Behind her she heard Micky yelp. Then, with a swift movement, they were all carried up through the hatch.

  They were now in what seemed like a giant hutch. The wooden boxlike structure around them had heavy crisscrossed wire spanning the far end of it and a water feeder, like a giant version of the type stuck onto the sides of hamster cages, was fixed to one wall. The floor was covered in straw. Molly felt the scaly creature beneath her squirm and wondered whether they were about to be dumped and devoured.

  Petula worriedly sniffed at the air. An odor of rabbit and elephant was coming from under a large blanket at the other end of the hutch. There were either an awful lot of rabbits there or the rabbits were peculiarly big. The blanket moved. Micky finally found his voice.

  “I think this … is the Yang Yongian Institute of Zoology,” he said in a terrified tone, “and that big thing under that blanket there is an elethumper. I don’t—” The
blanket slid off the massive animal, silencing him.

  Molly now saw what looked like an elephant crossed with a rabbit. The creature had dry gray leathery skin and was as big as an elephant, but instead of a short whiplike tail it had a massive round fluffy one. Its legs were like a rabbit’s, except not furry—leathery. Its ears were like a rabbit’s. Its eyes were large and yellow, but it had no whiskers. Instead of a button nose it had a trunk. This it now waved suspiciously in the direction of the new arrivals, raising its massive body from the ground.

  The dognake closest to Molly barked at it, while another, using its muzzle, busily covered the trapdoor with straw. The elethumper lifted a giant back foot and began thumping the ground. The hutch shook.

  “Elethumpers are very, very d-dangerous,” stammered Micky, his face now ashen with fear. But before the elethumper could do anything dangerous he, Molly, and Petula were once more scooped up by the dognakes and carried through a big dog flap in a gray metal door.

  Outside it was the start of a bright, sunny day. Temperatures were already beginning to soar. Wide paths leading to the left, the right, and straight in front of them were lined with buildings that housed strange-looking animals. A zebra-striped giraffe poked its head out of one rooftop and blinked at the sky. Beside the door of a nearby pen was a sign:

  BEARUNKEY

  This breed produced by the Qingling Team in 2425

  at the Yang Yongian Institute of Zoology.

  Eats shoots and leaves and anything warm-blooded.

  Extremely ferocious.

  But Molly scarcely had time to read it, for in the next moment they were off again, heading for a giant, low, spreading tree with a complex of huts and walkways built into its many gnarled branches.

  They passed another pen with a sign:

  SABRERAT

  This breed produced by the Qingling Team in 2420

  at the Yang Yongian Institute of Zoology.

  Eats anything.

  Extremely aggressive.

  Desperately Molly looked around for anyone who might help them, but the zoo appeared empty of people. No one was about. At the foot of the tree’s broad trunk one of the dognakes began to bark. Moments later, twenty feet up, a wooden door opened.

  Someone appeared. From where Molly was he looked like a tiny old man with brown skin that was rough and thick and barklike. He wore a dirty loincloth, tied loosely around his waist. His black, shoulder-length dreadlocks were filthy, and his mouth seemed set in a permanent snarl. But the scariest thing about him was his eyes. They were an extraordinary bright green color and were mad and staring. His half-tree half-human looks made him seem like he might also be the result of an experiment done by the Qingling Team wherever they were.

  Micky, who up until then had been quiet and seemingly exhausted, suddenly lurched forward and shouted up at him.

  “HELP! Do you know who I am? I’m the boy from Yang Yongia Palace. She has abducted me!” He pointed frantically at Molly. “Tell these animals to release me and take me to safety. Then report this to the high authorities. I command you with the Yang Yongian power that is vested in me and in the name of Princess Fang!”

  Fifteen

  M olly’s stomach turned and she felt sick. “Please …” she begged the little person up the tree. “Please don’t! Please hide me. I can’t go back—they’ll kill me. I’ll do anything. Please hide me.”

  “GO!” Micky now shouted furiously. “In the name of Princess Fang!”

  But the small leathery man didn’t move an inch. Instead, he clapped his hands together and two of the oddest-looking people Molly had ever seen appeared from behind the base of the tree.

  The first person was a tall, thin, birdlike man. Instead of hair, he had a cockatoo’s crest of white feathers. His pale orange nose was hard and sharp like a beak, and below his small, mean hawk eyes were brown feathered cheeks and a feathered chin. His back was humped and cloaked in brown silk, and he wore a rust-colored waistcoat and orange leggings. His clawed feet were like those of a bird of prey, with talons.

  The man beside him was just as strange. He was ancient—he looked at least a hundred and fifty years old. His scalp, face, and neck were grayish green and scaly, his huge eyes looked out from above creased bags of skin, and his nose was wide and flat. His gray hair hung curtainlike down to his chest, while the top of his head was wrinkled and as bald as a nut. He wore a long, flowing olive-green robe with green, pointed cloth shoes. His neck was stooped so that his hunched shoulders were at the same level as his ears, and covering the whole of his back was a giant shiny tortoise shell.

  “Mu-mutants!” stammered Micky with a gulp, so softly that only Molly heard him. Then he shouted, “Did you hear what I said? In the name of all that is Yang Yongian, call the palace guards!”

  But the strange animal people did nothing. Molly’s instincts told her they were hypnotized but not in the way that Micky obviously expected them to be. Then the wrinkled midget man up the tree spoke—although he seemed to be talking to himself more than to anyone else. His voice was high and childlike.

  “So that’s what she was yabbering on about. And old Fake Face. Saw them both on the screen. ’Bring them back, hypnos, and it’ll be cake for tea.’ So that’s what she’s lost.” He leaned over the wooden balcony. “Where did you get them, Schnapps?” The dognake carrying Molly barked. The little person rubbed his hands together and his wild eyes flashed like a tiger’s. “Aha!”

  “Please, please don’t hand us in,” Molly blurted out. “We’re running away from the palace—we don’t want to go back there. My brother here has been so scared by your dognakes that he’s talking gibberish. He doesn’t really want to go back.”

  “I DO!” Micky bellowed. “In the name of Princess Fang, tie this girl up at once and call the Lakeside guards.”

  “He’s frightened out of his wits!” Molly continued.

  “I’m NOT!” Micky screamed. “Don’t believe her!”

  All this squabbling was far too much for the midget man up the tree. In a high pitch he screeched, “BE QUIET! Or I’ll feed you to the dognakes.” At once both Micky and Molly were silent. “So,” he asked threateningly, pointing a tiny dirty finger at Molly, “who are you and why are you on the run?”

  Molly took a deep breath.

  “Well, it’s a long story really, but in nutshell it’s this: I’m called Molly … er … Molly Moon. And, you may not believe this, but I come from five hundred years ago. I came here to find my brother. You see, he was taken from the hospital when we were born—we are twins, you see. Well, I traveled here but it’s all gone wrong. The princess up there put me on her mind machine and she took all my hypnotic powers away so now I can’t—”

  “You are a hypnotist?”

  “Er … yes, but NO.” Molly gulped. “I was, but I’m not now.”

  “Bad,” said the midget man darkly.

  Molly panicked. “But I come from a different time,” she explained. “This place and all the hypnotism here has got nothing to do with me. Nothing. I’ve come from a time of … of smelly car engines and oil, a time before hydrogen engines, before all the weather changed. In my time Mont Blanc was still covered in snow and this place was called Switzerland and people used to come here to ski. Look at my old-fashioned sneakers,” she gabbled desperately.

  But the midget man up the tree wasn’t listening. He was pacing up and down his rickety balcony.

  “Tasty,” he was saying. “Well, keep them under lock and key. Have to pack them away before the hypnos start coming in. Snarlers’ pit? Too dangerous. Bearunkeys’ cage? Don’t be stupid. We want to save them for me. Sabrerats? No. No, no. Ah, now there’s an idea. Worm pit. WORM PIT.” Now he leaned down and called out, “Job for you, Wildgust and Tortillus. Take them to the worm pit.”

  “Yes—Professor—Selkeem,” the hawk-man, Wildgust, said. Picking Molly up, he tucked her under his arm. Then he reached out for Micky too.

  “You can’t do this!” Micky objected, the cord
of his now-dirty blue dressing gown dragging on the ground. “I’ll c-catch something. I’m fragile. Princess Fang will …” But his words were ignored. And up in his tree, the midget professor was talking to himself again.

  “Nearly opening time. No, I can’t put them in the cooking pot here. She’ll sink her fangs into them if I do.” He glanced up at the mountaintop. “Fank you, Pwincess Fang. I’ll sink my fangs into them instead. Take them now, Wildgust! To the worm pit!”

  With that, the small mad professor stepped back into his tree house and shut the door. As he did, the dognakes slithered up the tree trunk into its branches. A plume of nasty green smoke wound its way out of a chimney up into the leaves above and the sky beyond.

  The last dognake let go of Petula and she found herself on the ground again. Shaking herself, she saw with horror that Molly and the palace boy were being carried away. At once she set off after them.

  Up at the mountaintop palace, Princess Fang was in her nightclothes—a floaty, white chiffon nightie with pink rabbit fur along its hem and mother-of-pearl buttons up the front. She was pacing back and forth in front of a picture window, sucking on a yellow-and-white stick of rock candy. Outside, the shark’s-tooth-shaped mountains quivered in the morning light, and miles and miles below the great lake shimmered. The sky was a cornflower blue.

  The six-year-old princess flung her sweet on the floor and stamped on it as though killing a scorpion. Her grasshopper chirped madly from its cage. Miss Cribbins sat silently on a half-invisible purple stool in the corner, dressed in a gray night robe. She stroked her pet cat-spider.

  “HOW DID SHE DO DAT?” the princess shouted furiously. She pointed a pudgy finger at Miss Cribbins. “Dat Milly Moon girl turned de camewas off! Minus must have shown her.” She narrowed her eyes accusingly. “He was too weak, Cwibbins. He was easy meat for her! She obviously got de better of him.” She picked up a long-legged doll by its ankles and, venting her fury, beat the ground with it. Then she said darkly, “Dat was a foolish oversight of yours, Cwibbins, not to twain him to be tougher. Foolish! Foolish!” And she began to chant: