Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery

not exactly a cuddly doll, but maybe she’s simply hoarding the book and the stones like an evil squirrel might.”

“I know Miss Hunroe,” Black said. “Believe me, she is as twisted as a person can be. She looks wonderful, like a superstar beauty, but underneath she is as rotten as a gangrenous wound. Underneath she hates everyone. She’s a misanthrope.”

“A misanthrope?” Molly asked.

“A misanthrope,” said Micky, “is someone who hates other people.”

“Yes,” agreed Black. “And Hunroe is that sort of person. When she hates, she really hates. I remember once at school we had a lecturer come to talk to us about the world’s population, about how there were too many people on the planet. And I always remember Hunroe in that class. She must have been about ten. She said, ‘Why don’t governments just poison the water supplies of the major cities?’ She wasn’t joking, though the lecturer thought she was. With the book in her hands, the world is in serious danger.”

“Let’s go back a bit,” Malcolm interrupted. “All this stuff about the stones on the book’s cover— how do they actually change the weather?”

Just then, Dot opened the door and came in with a tray of cups and a tall silver pot. On a plate was a pile of buttered crumpets.

“Hot chocolate and crumpets. You all look like you need it. Don’t mind me,” she said.

“Ooh, thanks!” said both Molly and Micky, helping themselves.

“That is just what the doctor ordered,” said Black as Dot handed out linen napkins. “Hmm. Yes, where were we? Well, the book’s stones, once taken from their places on the book’s cover, can be rubbed, and as I said, the weather about them where they are changes. Each stone represents one of the elements. The blue stone represents water; the orange, fire and heat; the gray, wind; and the green-and-brown stone is earth. Each one of these stones affects the weather, but used in any old place like this the effects are haphazard. For controlled weather changing—to change weather in different countries thousands of miles away—there is a special place where these weather stones have to be taken. And this is where Miss Hunroe will be heading. In the chapter of the book called ‘The Logan Stones,”’ Black continued, “where weather manipulation is explained, Dr. Logan refers to this place. Dr. Logan found the Logan Stones, obviously, for they bear his name. They are great rocking stones, huge things. One is orange, one gray, one blue, one green.”

“Like the chips of stones on the book’s cover?”

“Exactly. Logan describes in the book how the miniature pieces of stone dripped off the big Logan Stones. Apparently the giant stones are hard as diamond. Little pieces cannot be chipped off them. But he managed to cause the rocks to ‘drip’ to produce the little stones for him. I have no idea how. But what I do know is this. In Hypnotism, Volume Two: The Advanced Arts, he states that if you stand in the very center of the ring of the stones, in the very center of the force field that the four big Logan Stones make, with the four colored stones in your hand, and if you rub the stones with your fingers, using your imagination, and going into a hypnotic trance to think up the weather that you would like to see in the world, that new weather will happen.”

“It sounds out of this world,” Molly said. “Amazing that our great-great-grandfather found this place a hundred years ago. It sounds like it’s from the future.”

“Yes, or like some ancient place from the beginning of time,” Black remarked.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Micky asked, with a mouth full of crumpet. “Why don’t we just go there?”

Black looked beaten.

“The book doesn’t hold exact directions,” Black said. “It simply has a clue in it. A riddle.”

“A riddle?”

“Yes. In the back of the book there is a line that says, ‘Where there is a quill, there is a way. Muse o’ life, and you will find.’ Muse means ‘think’ in Old English. Muse o’ means ‘muse on.’ In other words, ‘Muse o’ life, and you will find’ means ‘Think about life, and you will find the answer.’ It could be anywhere.”

“No,” said Micky, wiping his mouth. “It couldn’t be anywhere. That riddle must mean something extremely specific.”

“Yes, well, you’re probably right,” Black admitted. The hopelessness that he felt was evident in his voice.

“And lucky for you, Mr. Black,” said Micky, “I happen to have a fondness for riddles.”

“He does,” Molly agreed, stroking Petula. “Micky’s really into crosswords and word puzzles.” Black gave a halfhearted smile.

“In fact,” Micky went on, “half of the riddle is obvious to me already.”

“What half?” Black asked, perking up.

“The second part.”

“What, ‘Muse o’ life, and you will find’? What does it mean to you?”

“Well,” Micky went on. “I think you’ve got the O wrong. You think it means ‘muse o’ life,’ as in ‘muse on life,’ as in ‘think about life.’ But I think the O means ‘of,’ and it says ‘muse of life.’ And I think muse is short for museum.” Micky bit his lip and smiled. His smile was infectious. “What museums are there?” he asked.

“Art museums,” Molly suggested. “Science museums, history museums…and…”

“And?”

“And natural history museums!”

“Yes. They have the history of the planet, of animals and minerals, and of humans, don’t they? A natural history museum is a museum of life, isn’t it? Yes, I think, ‘muse o’ life,’ Mr. Black, might be the same thing as ‘museum of life.’ I wonder, is it one big coincidence that Miss Hunroe and her horrid cronies hang out in the natural history museum?”