by Georgia Byng
Nineteen
If Gerry, Rocky, and Petula had thought that Molly was worried about them, they were wrong.
After the success of her TV appearance and her phenomenal live show, her old friends were as insignificant to her as caterpillars to a steamroller. Molly was intent only on her own forward movement. She didn’t care what was flattened by her progress. And so, after coming off the stage at the Tokyo Dome, Molly ordered Miss Sny to put the next part of her plan into action.
“I’ll need an Internet site for fans, and you have to arrange other venues. But not just in Japan . . .”
Molly wanted to conquer the world. She figured that it would take four tours. Miss Sny, since she saw Molly as practically a goddess, and since she was also a brilliant organizer, was the perfect person to set these up. The first tour would cover Russia and Europe. The second would take her to North and South America. The third would be for Africa and the Middle East. The last would take her to China, the rest of Asia and Australia and New Zealand.
Molly went back to the apartment tired and faintly satisfied. For a while she put up with Chokichi’s and Hiroyuki’s fawning and flattery. Then she told them that she wanted to be alone. Eager to please her, they both went off to bed.
Molly sat on the sofa. She swung her legs up and put her arms behind her head. She lay there staring at the ceiling, from which hung a delicately balanced mobile. It bobbed about in the slight breeze that was coming through the apartment window.
And then Molly saw something on the balcony.
Someone was definitely out there again. A man. She was sure of it. She sat bolt upright. It was a man in a tweed suit. And he was wagging his finger at her like some sort of vision from a nightmare.
Panic and suspicion and fear shot through her. The person—whoever he was—was out to get her. She was sure of it.
The figure vanished. Molly dived for the lamp and switched it off to see outside better, then ran to the window. But the balcony was empty. For the first time it occurred to Molly that perhaps the person out there was a time traveler. The suspicion didn’t last long. If they were, why would they only appear on the balcony? A time traveler who wanted her coin would be able to arrive in the room right beside her. There must be another explanation. She would tell Mr. Proila the next day and have security tightened.
Just as Molly was relaxing again, she glanced behind her and got another shock. On the back wall of the apartment, near the grandmother’s shrine, scores of white-faced dolls were hung. Each of the dolls only had one eye, and every single eye seemed to be staring straight at Molly.
She shuddered. “You old witch!” she said, knowing that somewhere back there the old lady was watching her. Staring hatefully into the darkness under the stairs, Molly walked quickly past it and into her bedroom.
Molly woke to the sound of Miss Sny’s fingernails tapping on her bedroom door.
“May I come in, Miss Moon?”
“Yes.”
Miss Sny slipped into the room as quickly as she knew how. She was carrying a breakfast tray with orange juice, croissants, and coffee. Molly rolled over grumpily.
“You asked me to wake you at t-ten and b-bring you any feedback I’ve had,” Miss Sny simpered. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait till later? I can always sit outside.”
“No, no . . .” Molly sat up, and took the tray. “By the way,” she said, “what are those weird one-eyed dolls hanging on the wall near the old bat’s hideout?”
“Oh, oh, don’t worry about those,” Miss Sny assured Molly. “They are just daruma. The old lady has painted one eye on each doll to make a wish, and the idea is that when the wish is granted, the other eye will be painted on, too. She must want something very much!”
“Huh,” Molly grunted. “She’s mad. So, what have you got?”
Miss Sny perched herself on a stool and tapped on her laptop. “It’s extremely exciting,” she began. “Our contacts in the West have been able to watch the footage we sent of you—and your fabulous show . . .” At this point Miss Sny sighed and paused to gaze adoringly at Molly.
“Get on with it,” Molly snapped.
“Oh yes, yes, well, the response has been amazing. They all want you: Moscow, Mumbai, Rome, Paris, Helsinki. Everywhere, Miss Moon, is desperate to have you perform.”
“Well, I can’t possibly do all of them now,” Molly declared, taking a bite of her croissant. With her mouth full she grumbled, “Warm my breakfast next time.”
Miss Sny looked crestfallen. “Yes, Miss Moon.”
“I’ll start with Moscow and Rome, then Berlin, Paris, and Madrid, because I’ve never been to those cities. I’ll tour the other places later.”
Miss Sny tapped her laptop. “Are you sure you want to do a nonstop tour, Miss Moon? It will be very tiring.”
Molly held her knife in the air as she considered this.
“Yes,” she replied. “I am. The sooner the whole world knows about me, the better. And we should leave on Monday.”
“That will mean the designers will have to be called in today. It’s the weekend, so they . . . er . . . might not be able to—”
“Did they see the show?” Molly interrupted.
“Yes.”
“Then they’ll come. On the trip I’ll need hairdressers, costume people, makeup.” Molly eyed Miss Sny and considered her. “You can come. I’ll need an assistant. I’ll tell Mr. Proila that if he wants me to be super-successful, I’ll need you. He’s got other assistants who can do sign language and stuff, hasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he can use them while you’re away.”
“Yes! Oh, thank you!” Miss Sny clapped her hands in blissful delight.
“But you’re not coming if you do irritating things like that,” Molly said stonily.
Miss Sny immediately stopped and dropped her eyes subserviently. “Sorry, Miss Moon.”
Twenty
Molly stroked a white fox-fur hat and coat that had been ordered for her from the best furrier in Tokyo. She put them on and admired herself in the mirror.
“Better on me than on a fox,” she said to herself. “Perfect for chilly Moscow.”
Her bedroom door opened quietly and Hiroyuki and Chokichi stood there.
“Are you off soon?” Chokichi asked sadly.
“Yes.”
The boys fidgeted. Molly ignored them.
“We’re really worried,” Hiroyuki said. “Yesterday Gerry and your friend Rocky left the apartment early and didn’t come back. Do you think they went back to England? They didn’t say good-bye.”
“No idea!” said Molly nonchalantly.
“Toka’s been looking everywhere for them,” said Chokichi, shaking his head.
“Oh, don’t worry about them. Really. They can take care of themselves.”
There was an awkward pause as Hiroyuki and Chokichi watched Molly zipping up her case.
“Toka wanted me to thank you,” Chokichi said.
“Oh yes?” Molly said, putting on a pair of furry ankle boots.
“Yes. Because of you, Mr. Proila lost some of his interest in us. So Toka can leave the band. He hate being pop star so this is good for him and we are happy that he can follow his dream—join sumo wrestling school. Sobo is old friends with sumo wrestling master.”
“Sobo?” Molly asked distractedly.
“Our grandmother. We’re very happy Toka is happy,” Hiroyuki said. “Chokichi and I fine just the two of us. So thanks, Molly.”
Molly shrugged. The boys could become sewage workers for all she cared. She grabbed her case. “Bye!”
Hiroyuki faltered for a moment, wondering where the warm Molly he had known had gone. But he was so infatuated by Molly’s music that he just smiled. He passed Molly a handful of tiny little origami animals. “I made these for you.”
Molly nodded as she took them. “Pretty!” she said.
On her way through the sitting room Molly saw the dark shape of the grandmother lurking in the shadows under the stairs.
Molly winked at her and gave her a hard, cold smile.
Molly’s whistle-stop tour began.
She flew by private jet to Moscow, arriving late at night. She stayed in a beautiful hotel on the Moskva River and woke to wonderful views of the capital—its grand old buildings topped with brilliant onion-shaped domes, some gold, others colored and stripy like raspberry ripple ice cream.
That day, Molly was driven around Moscow past impressive bridges and across ancient squares. Her day finished with a performance in the famous Bolshoi Theatre. The theater was gold inside, with comfortable velvet seats and a wealthy audience. Molly thought this suited the first stop of her great tour perfectly.
As expected, her concert was a huge success—so much so that the next morning she had breakfast with the president of Russia. Then she was taken to the airport, where a private jet waited to fly her to Italy.
Gerry, Rocky, and Petula sat in the bare room of a derelict fisherman’s cottage. Rocky stared out of a tiny slit window at the open sea beyond, watching seagulls circling and diving. Gerry was making a mark on the grubby wall. It joined three other marks, showing that they were on their fourth day in the filthy cell. He gave Petula a hug.
“I’m really sorry,” he apologized for the hundredth time. “This is all my fault. I didn’t think it through. I didn’t think people could lock children up. Or dogs . . . and then forget about them.”
Petula nudged her nose under Gerry’s chin. She knew things were bad. She wished she could talk and tell Gerry that everything would be all right. But inside she really was not so sure they would be. She knew that the men who had pushed her and the boys into this room were cruel and would do whatever Mr. Proila ordered them to. Yet she knew she must hope. Without hope, this cell would be unbearable. She gave a small encouraging bark.
“I know, Petula,” Rocky said. “I hate it too. But we have to look for signs that things will be OK. At least they’re feeding us.”
“And,” Gerry added, “they take away that bucket when it’s got you-know-what in it. So, at least it don’t smell in ’ere.”
Rocky sighed. “Things could be worse. Just.”
Gerry pulled the small origami, elephant-like animal that Hiroyuki had made him out of his pocket. “I hope this little baku can eat up my bad dreams tonight,” he wished. “It didn’t work last night.”
Thousands of miles away, Molly was living the high life. As Gerry, Rocky, and Petula ate soya beans, she dined on beluga caviar and the finest foods. They knew nothing of her one-night stop in Rome or of the day she spent in Berlin and how crowds went berserk for her everywhere she played.
From there, Molly jetted to France and that night performed at the Paris Bercy Stadium. French traffic came to a halt all over the city as people stopped their cars to listen to Molly’s concert, live on the radio.
Twenty-one
Molly sat in a comfortable armchair in her suite in the smartest hotel in Paris. She had her feet up and was reading a magazine called Celebrity Society Whirl. Faces of people at parties smiled out from the glossy pages. Molly gloated at the thought that soon every single one of them would be desperate to know her.
She slid and tumbled her gold coin along her fingers, thinking how well she’d perfected this movement. The coin seemed almost alive as it snaked its way between her knuckles. She sighed and looked out of the window.
Her suite overlooked the River Seine. Boats moved slowly up and down the water. She could see the famous cathedral of Notre Dame. She already loved Paris, with its beautiful buildings and promenades. She would certainly get herself an apartment here. She wanted one in New York, too. She would be there in a few days.
“I can get a secret apartment in Manhattan,” she whispered to the coin. “Or one in the Statue of Liberty’s head! Will that be good enough for you?” She laughed. “You and me are a perfect pair. The best team ever! Oooh, it’s SO EXCITING!”
Overwhelmed, Molly jumped up. With the coin between her finger and thumb, she whizzed around and around the room like a whirling dervish. “I’m going to have everything I want! My own palaces, my own apartments, yachts, chalets, villas. I’ll own islands and mountains and valleys! It’s all going to be mine—MINE! And nothing—NOTHING—is going to stop me!”
Molly felt a bit dizzy. She sat down and held the gold coin to her chest. For a minute or two she sat there, panting and clutching it. Then she looked about her suspiciously.
She knew the coin had given her her power. There was no way she would have so many people under her influence without it.
Suddenly, as though a veil had been lifted from her eyes, Molly saw its worth. The coin was valuable beyond any price. Nothing in the whole world was as powerful. Molly saw that she owned something people would kill for. Kill her for.
Then again, she thought, how would anyone know she had it? They’d have to know how it worked. And who knew that? Miss Hunroe, the woman who’d owned it before, was no longer around. The Japanese grandmother was so senile Molly doubted she had worked it out. There was Mr. Proila, of course. She’d been foolish enough to let him see the coin, but she doubted he guessed its power. Who else might have seen it without her knowing? There was a small chance that somebody somewhere out there knew about it. Perhaps Molly’s sudden rise to international musical stardom was the sign they’d been waiting for. Perhaps they were coming to get her. Maybe the shadowy figure on the balcony in Tokyo had been after her coin!
Molly ran to the door and put a chair across it. She rushed to the hotel window and slammed it shut. But even as she did these things it occurred to her again that a time traveler could easily just pop up right beside her! She put her coin in her pant pocket, then in her jacket pocket, then she hid it in her sock. Trying not to panic, she thought back, flicking through memories to see whether anyone had ever actually attempted to take her coin.
Petula, that smelly beast, had tried. The only human who came to mind was the Japanese grandmother. Molly remembered how she had found the old woman in her bedroom trying to steal it. How had she known about it? Were her senses simply more finely tuned than other people’s?
Molly cast her mind back. The grandmother hadn’t been able to actually take the coin. It had given her some sort of electric shock. It was as if the coin was loyal to Molly.
Then another thought struck her. Miss Hunroe’s musical gift had not been remotely as powerful as Molly’s. She had had her gaggle of obedient followers, but they were not completely devoted in the way that Molly’s were. They weren’t as bewitched.
It seemed that just as Molly had special talents with hypnosis, time stopping, time traveling, mind reading, and morphing, she was also extra gifted with the coin.
She took it from her sock and spoke to it. “Yes, I expect you’re really glad I’m your mistress now, aren’t you? You’ve been frustrated. You’ve wanted to channel your music, but the idiots you’ve been with haven’t been able to make it happen. Luckily, I’m a genius.”
Molly felt much better. She decided that from now on she would be very careful not to flash the coin about. She’d keep her rooms locked and she’d keep bodyguards beside her if ever she went out. A time traveler arriving to snatch the coin was perhaps the worst problem she faced, but she reckoned the coin would repel them, too.
Did the coin repel everyone? Molly simply had to know. She called room service.
“Send someone to collect my lunch tray,” she demanded rudely. Putting the phone down, she placed the gold coin on the tray that was to be collected.
Ten minutes later a waiter arrived.
Molly pointed at the tray. “There,” she said.
The waiter came in to pick the tray up and spotted the coin. Naturally he reached down to pick it up.
“I sink zis is yo—AAAAAAAAAAAARRRGHH!”
Molly was pleased.
“Is zis some sort of joke-shop trick?” the man asked.
Molly shook her head. “No,” she said. She had enjoyed seeing the waiter’s pain. “Don’t be
silly. Pick it up and give it to me.”
The odd thing was that this time when the waiter touched the coin, nothing happened. Before Molly knew it, her precious coin was in his hands and, what was more, a sly look of interest had crossed his face.
“Give it to me, please,” Molly said.
Reluctantly the waiter passed her the coin.
“Thank you.” Molly tried not to snatch the coin back.
The waiter’s eyes lingered on the coin. Molly slipped it into her pocket. That had been a mistake, she realized. It had taught her that if given permission by her, someone could take the coin. She vowed never to invite anyone to take it ever again.
She would hypnotize the waiter to wipe all memories of the coin from his brain.
“I think I’ve got something in my eye. Could you take a look?”
The man frowned, then nodded. He peered into Molly’s eyes. “Which one?”
Molly switched her eyes on.
“Which one?” the waiter asked again.
Molly stared at him. Oddly, nothing happened.
“Er, the right one,” Molly replied. As he studied her eye, Molly focused her mind as she had done countless times before, and really concentrating, she summoned up all the hypnotic strength she could muster to send a pupil-locking stare into the waiter’s eyes. This time it was Molly’s turn to be shocked. Absolutely nothing happened. Molly was stunned.
“Hmm, actually it seems to have gone,” she said. Thinking quickly, she added, “By the way, would you like me to play you something?”
The man looked delighted. “Wow! Wow, yes, zat would be amazing, Miss Moon!”
Molly fetched her guitar. If her traditional mode of hypnotism didn’t work, she’d have to use her musical hypnotism. She would mesmerize the waiter so completely that his desire for the coin would be overshadowed.
As she played, and watched the man’s love-struck face, she was infuriated by how inconvenient it was that her hypnotism hadn’t worked. She recalled the last time she’d used her eyes. It had been on Mr. Proila. They had struggled to work then, too, only strong enough to charm him. It was as if they had gradually been switching themselves off. Perhaps she was working too hard. Perhaps tiredness was to blame.
