by Georgia Byng
Eleven
The Jack Russell barked ferociously down into the well of the sewer. It snapped with a terrible fury, ready to tear any rodent to pieces. Miss Hunroe and Miss Oakkton fled up the drain. Molly and Micky pushed their backs up to the cold, wet wall of the sewage gully.
“Run!” Micky cried, and turned tail. Molly started to follow Micky. Then she saw that behind the Jack Russell was a white-faced bulldog, and behind him, amazingly, a black pug! She gasped. She’d recognize that velvety face anywhere.
“I don’t believe it!” Molly the rat squeaked. “Micky! Micky, it’s Petula!”
As Micky stopped, so did Miss Hunroe and Miss Oakkton. Molly knew that time was against her. Hunroe and Oakkton were coming back. “Quick, morph into the white dog,” she whispered to Micky. “I’ll take the Jack Russell.”
And so, slinking flat to the wall to avoid the snapping jaws of the Jack Russell, Molly and Micky focused on becoming two of the canine creatures above.
Molly landed in the Jack Russell’s body with such an intensity that as soon as she arrived, his personality was flattened. Magglorian was overwhelmed.
Sorry, sorry, sorry, Molly thought to him. Please let me borrow you just for a bit!
Molly became aware of Magglorian’s brawny, nimble hunting body. His sense of smell was hers now. She was confronted with the stench of the sewer as the Jack Russell smelled it, reading so much more from its foul odors than she had as a rat. And, of course, she smelled rat.
Recognizing Miss Oakkton, Molly as Magglorian the Jack Russell growled as though to kill, and then, with hate-fueled determination, she bit. Molly caught Miss Oakkton’s filthy rat ear between her teeth, and she tugged. She pulled the rat off the ground and shook it like a rag. Then she tossed Miss Oakkton sideways so that she flew, legs splayed, through the air into the stream of pooey water that rushed through the gutter.
Molly dug deeper into the drain. With a sharp bite, she got a nip of the rat that was Miss Hunroe. Then the two rats screeched and scurried away.
Molly barked viciously after them, watching with satisfaction as Miss Oakkton’s tail disappeared up the sewage pipe. With it, Molly realized, had gone the secret of how Molly and Micky might morph back into themselves.
Then Molly turned to see Petula looking at her.
Petula stared at Magglorian. She frowned and put her nose in her paws. Now she was feeling that Magglorian had become Molly. It must be the stress of the situation. The pressure was getting to her. She shut her eyes and shook her head.
Then a very peculiar thing happened. Magglorian said, “Petula. I know this is going to sound very strange, but this is me, Molly.” Petula opened her eyes wide and edged backward. “Don’t be scared,” Magglorian continued. “I’ve learned how to change shape—it’s called morphing. And Micky’s learned it, too. Look, he’s morphed into the body of your friend.”
Petula was stumped. She hadn’t told the two London dogs Micky’s name, so this must be true—Molly, her lovely Molly, was in the body of the Jack Russell.
“Molly?” she said unsurely.
“Yes, it’s me.”
This really was very strange for both Molly and Petula. For though Molly, with her human mind-reading skills had, on a few occasions, managed to decipher some of Petula’s thoughts, and Petula, with her dog-given extrasensory skills, had been able to detect Molly’s moods and whereabouts, neither had been able to properly understand each other and speak to each other.
Now, though, because they were both dogs, they could communicate in dog speak. They looked at each other, stunned. But there was no time to start talking now. Explanations would have to wait.
Molly’s eyes shot to the entrance of the Glitz Restaurant. Black had gone, but with her amazing sense of smell, she could tell where he had been standing. He smelled of ink and books and pinecones. And leather. Then Molly spotted Miss Teriyaki and Miss Suzette arguing on the pavement, and she caught a whiff of the hypnotism book again. Though it was far away, its smell lingered in the air. The book had the meego secret of how she and Micky might morph back into themselves. They had to get it before Miss Hunroe did.
“Petula, we’ll fill you in later,” said Molly. “At the moment, the most important thing in the world is that we follow that smell of pinecones and leather and the cab that’s carrying it!”
And so the dogs began to trot. So intent were they on following Black that they didn’t smell the two docile, hypnotized cats that sat dozing in a basket that hung on a hook outside a hat shop’s entrance, waiting for their owners’ return.
Luckily the London traffic was dense on this winter night. So although Black’s taxi had already driven away, its progress was slow, and the dogs were soon able to pinpoint the vehicle and then follow it. It weaved past restaurants, boutique shops, and gallery-lined streets.
As the dogs trotted and ran, Petula told them all about what had happened back at Briersville Park and how Miss Hunroe had stolen Molly’s special time crystals. As Petula barked and yapped and growled, Molly marveled at what it was like being a dog. She could smell so much! It was incredible. The ground beneath her feet told stories of who had been there, from the smells that they left, and the places that they passed all threw up glorious, complex smells that painted pictures. Finally the cab drove into a beautiful square with big white stucco houses surrounding it and a small park in the middle of it.
Here the buildings were very fine, with ornate entrances and tall multipaned windows. Molly as Magglorian, Micky as Stanley, and Petula stopped behind a red pillar box and watched as Black climbed out of his cab. Checking up and down the street to see that no one was spying on him, he walked up the steps of a pretty hotel building with three flags above its stone entrance. A porter opened the brass doors for him and welcomed him inside. Out came a warm smell of roast potatoes and vegetable soup and starched linen and lily-of-the-valley soap.
“Who is he?” Petula panted.
“He’s as bad as Miss Hunroe,” Molly answered. They watched Black through the downstairs window of the hotel. He stood in the lobby talking to the receptionist. Molly and Micky told Petula all about him and Hypnotism, Volume Two: The Advanced Arts. Petula nodded as she took in all the facts.
“That’s about all we know,” Molly as Magglorian finished.
“In fact, it’s really bad, Petula.” Molly leaned her head on Petula’s neck. “If we don’t find out how to do this meego thing, sooner or later we won’t be able to keep going. We’ll get stuck in someone else’s body.”
“I’m scared,” Micky confessed.
“Half of me wants to go back to Briersville Park and make sure everyone is all right,” Molly said, “but—”
“You’re not going to do that,” Petula interrupted with a growl. “Everyone at Briersville Park is much safer than you. This is serious, Molly. You’ve got to get that book.”
Molly as Magglorian chewed her lip, and she looked at Petula. Petula was so very sure of herself and had a sensible quality to her. They watched Black step into the elevator.
“Do you think he’s staying the night?” Micky wondered. Molly bristled her fur against the cold air and shivered.
“We could try and get inside. We could follow him.”
“Dog in an elevator? A bit risky. Trust me,” warned Petula. “Before you know it, that bellboy will call the dogcatchers.”
Then another black taxi pulled up in front of the building. Its door opened, and a girl in a pink furry coat with short, dark curly hair stepped out.
“That’s Lily Black,” Molly told Petula. “We saw pictures of her. Theobald’s daughter.”
As Lily Black stood beside the front passenger window paying her fare, she glanced up and down the street. The dogs could smell that her ordinary smell of popcorn and the scent of strawberry shampoo in her hair was shrouded in a sort of electric lemon. Molly’s new dog instincts told her at once that this meant that the girl was very nervous. As her cab drove off, sending a cloud of exhaust into the air, Lily walked around
to the side of the building, where there was an entrance that led to the back of the hotel. She spent a few minutes checking out the area, and then she came back. Glancing up at the trees with a snarling look on her face, she marched up the hotel’s front steps and went inside.
“Why don’t we go around the back, too?” suggested Molly. “Perhaps there’ll be a fire escape up the back of the building and we can walk up it.”
“No!” Petula exclaimed. “Fire escapes are practically impossible for dogs. They’re made of metal and have holes that your paws slip through.”
“Of course they do,” Molly said. “Oh, Petula, I’m so glad you’re here.”
Wasting no time, the three dogs ran to the covered alley beside the hotel. This was the hotel tradesmen’s entrance. They trotted through it, sniffing all about them. Halfway along, there were large hatches in the pavement, opening up to the hotel’s basement kitchens. These hatches were used for the kitchen deliveries. Looking down through one of the grilles, the dogs could see chefs preparing food. A mustached man was whisking a batter; a man in a tall white hat was decorating a cake. And the smells coming from there were unbearably good. The aromas of sauces and gravies, of garlic and fried onions streamed up out of the hatch and laced the night air. Even the raw meat smelled delicious to Molly now that she was a dog.
“Oh, I’m so hungry,” she whined.
“Me, too,” agreed Micky.
“Hungry as a wolf!” declared Petula. “We will sort that out later, but let’s track down Mr. Nasty first.”
Leading the way with her nose twitching, she led the twins around to the back of the hotel. They came to a small, manicured garden with bay trees and crocus-filled flower beds. In the center of the garden was a paved area with a pond, and in the middle of that was a statue of a small flying cupid. Water gushed from the winged boy’s stone spear. The whole garden was lit with blue lights that illuminated the lawn and trees like magic outdoor candles.
The dogs stood on the lawn and looked up at the back of the hotel. Its facade was punctuated with French windows and balconies that overlooked the garden. On the left side, a discreet fire escape hugged the brickwork.
“They’re up there, I think,” Petula said, gesturing to a balconied window on the first floor. “You, Molly, should be able to smell them better than me—Jack Russells have far superior noses to pugs.”
“You’re right,” Molly agreed. “I can smell them now—the smell is drifting through those thin cracks of the window. Amazing! He’s pinecones and ink, and now I can smell wine too. He’s drinking red wine. And I can smell the leather cover of the hypnotism book! That’s amazing! And I can smell newspaper. I think he’s reading the papers. And she smells of strawberry shampoo or face cream or something, and popcorn and felt tips. She’s drawing or coloring with them. That’s incredible!”
“Is the human sense of smell so much worse?” Petula asked.
“It’s like two hundred times worse. As a human you can only smell present smells and strong ones. Whereas as a dog, I can smell that a cat was here at about three o’clock and a hedgehog was here last night.”
“And,” added Micky as Stanley, “that smell of cat is so annoying! It makes me want to chase cat. Bite cat. That’s a weird feeling.”
“Most dogs can’t stand them,” agreed Petula. “Personally, if I see a cat, my body sort of takes over, and before I know it, I’m running after it. I’m never fast enough to catch them, though.” Petula smiled. “Now, you two, I think Mr. Bad and Miss Popcorn are staying in this hotel for the night, so there’s nothing we can do about them now. Instead we should get something to eat.”
Petula shook herself off and led the dogs to a garbage bin in an outdoor alcove near the hotel’s kitchens. The contents of the black bags smelled to Molly almost as good as the food in the hotel.
“As humans,” Petula explained, “you would never have considered eating garbage, I know, but you’d be surprised—lots of very tasty morsels can be found in bins.” Petula put her front paws against the bulging sack that, like a coconut in a cup, sat lodged in the black plastic bin. “The only difficulty we’re going to have is getting at it.”
“I’ll have a go,” said Micky. Leaping, he grasped the side of the garbage bag with his teeth and tugged it toward the ground. The plastic bin fell over. Then, with wolfish ferocity, he ripped the bag apart.
Half-eaten steaks and carved-up lamb shanks tumbled out, mixed with the remnants of crepes and cottage pies, strudels and vegetables.
“Yum!” Molly exclaimed. Hungrily the three dogs dived into their supper.
They all ate till their stomachs were tight. Then they heard the kitchen doors opening. A kitchen worker was bringing out another bag of garbage. Quickly the dogs scampered to the back garden.
“Oh, no! I don’t believe it!” they heard the man complain. “Those damn foxes! They’ve been at these bins again.”
The three dogs lapped up a drink from the hotel pond. Then Petula trotted to investigate a gazebolike structure that stood under a horse-chestnut tree at the end of the garden.
The hut had a half-open, latticed enclosure that certainly provided shelter from wind and rain. What was more, jute sacks, the sort that gardeners used to collect lawn clippings, were strewn across its floor.
“This will do nicely,” said Petula, “so long as we sleep close together.”
“Micky and I will have to take it in turns to sleep,” Molly reminded Petula, “or it’ll be like Miss Hunroe said—if we fall asleep too long, we’ll get overwhelmed by the dogs who really own these bodies.”
“At least they’re nice,” Petula said, finding a white stone on the floor and picking it up to suck.
“Maybe they are, but if we get stuck inside their bodies and under their personalities, maybe they won’t know how to let us out even if they wanted to.”
“I can be a night watchdog,” Petula said, collecting some sacks together. “I can let you both sleep and then wake you up before too long passes.”
So that is exactly what they did.
The three dogs snuggled together and took it in turns to be guard—guard of the hut and a guard of time. Neither Micky nor Molly slept longer than two hours at a time. Then they’d stay awake for half an hour to ensure their control over their dog bodies before going back to sleep again. Petula was the last sentry. When a local church bell struck ten A.M., she woke Molly.
“Time to get up,” she said, nudging her on the shoulder. “You were tired. It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”
Molly yawned and stared at the sky heavy with gray rain clouds. It was cozy and warm now in the dog nest. Molly listened to the sound of Micky’s sleeping bulldog breath and thought how nice it was being snuggled up close to her brother and her friend Petula. And as Molly looked at Petula’s black face, she was struck again by how amazing it was to be beside her pet and to actually be able to talk to her.
“It’s really nice to be able to talk to you, Molly,” Petula said. “You’re just how I knew you would be.”
“I know,” Molly said with a smile. “You are just how I knew you were, too. A little bit cheeky and funny, a little bit bossy and very brave. It was really brave of you to follow us to London, Petula. You are a very good friend.”
“I had to, Molly. That’s what real friends do. They help each other out when there’s trouble.” Petula rubbed her nose in Molly’s fur. “We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”
For a moment the two dogs lay close to each other, enjoying being together. Petula broke the silence.
“So,” she pondered, “all you’ve got to do now is get the book. And when you do get your paws on it, you have to turn into a human in order to read it. Then you can find out how to do the morph back to your own body.”
Molly nodded. “That’s exactly right, Petula. You’ve hit the nail on the head.”
“Or,” Petula replied, “as a dog might say, I’ve knocked the cat on the nose.”
Both dogs sm
iled, then Petula looked serious. “Molly, it’s going to be difficult for me to keep up with you as you follow Black and the book. But I’ll try. I can sense where you are, and I’ll be there for you whenever I can be. Remember these three barks.” Petula gave a short chirpy bark. “That barking means I’m safe. If I howl, that means I’m in trouble or that someone else is. If I bark incessantly and urgently, then that means you have to watch out.”
Molly rubbed her wet nose on Petula’s velvety black ear. “Good plan. Look, in a minute, Petula, we’ll probably change into birds—those two blackbirds on the lawn. We must get to Buckingham Palace for Black’s eleven o’clock appointment with the queen. He’ll be carrying that book around wherever he goes from now on. Magglorian will show you the way. And don’t worry, Petula, we’ll get through this, and after that we are all going to have a lovely time.”
Petula nuzzled into Molly.
“That’s what I love about you, Molly. Your optimism. You always trust that things will work out.”
“They will.” Molly said this far more surely than she felt it. But Petula felt Molly’s fear. It rose from her like electric smoke.
Twelve
Miss Hunroe was in her lavish rooms back at the museum. She sat in a white negligee and a sky blue dressing gown, having breakfast. Flipping her gold coin over and over the fingers of her left hand, she admired the table set before her. It was laid with a priceless Ming tea set of white-and-blue porcelain that she had stolen from the Victoria and Albert Museum. Her maid, Elspeth, who was dressed in a light blue uniform, had brought toast, scrambled eggs, and a dish of wild blueberries. A dark blue flute lay beside them, and Elspeth was pouring Miss Hunroe’s tea. The rhapsody of all the blues about her gave Miss Hunroe the greatest of pleasure. She reached for her cup. As she did so, a crack of lightning lit up the gray morning sky outside, giving Elspeth a shock. Her arm jolted, and the tea spilled. A few hot drops scalded Miss Hunroe’s outstretched hand.
“OW!” Miss Hunroe shrieked. “You clumsy fool!”
