Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery

picked up speed. In five seconds, the aircraft had accelerated sufficiently to lift. Malcolm pulled the steering controls toward him, and with a tilt they were up in the air. Molly looked out the side window and watched the land and the glittering yellow, orange, and white lights of Northolt drop away behind them.

The plane shuddered as its powerful engines pushed it upward. Its insides shook and rattled. Then they came to the first tower of rain-filled cloud. The plane bumped its way up through it, like a motorboat setting out over high waves. Bump, bump, the plane bounced on the thermals of air that crowded the sky. But Molly wasn’t too worried. She knew that the bumps were a bit like the uneven ground a jeep had to drive over when it was off-roading. She knew the aircraft was built to fly through bumpy air.

“I once read about pilots who had to fly war planes in terrible weather,” Micky shouted, trying to make his voice heard over the noisy engines, “and land on tiny aircraft carriers in open seas.”

The plane tilted to the right as it turned.

“Are you okay with flying?” Micky asked Molly.

“Yes,” she shouted back. “There’s more chance of me winning a twenty-million-pound lottery than of this plane crashing. If ever I get nervous when I’m in a plane, I just imagine filling in a lottery ticket. I always get that I- couldn’t-possibly-win feeling, and in the same way that I know I’m not going to win the lottery, I know I’m not going to crash, either.” Petula hopped over into Molly’s lap, and Molly hugged her. “Don’t worry, Petula, it’ll be fine.”

This part was fine, Molly thought. She just hoped the weather didn’t turn bad on the journey. Because this plane had to make it. If it didn’t, the world’s weather would be turned upside down and inside out. Millions would probably die. As the plane walloped its way up through the clouds, Molly hung on to this thought. And the idea that she, Micky, Petula, and Malcolm were on a mission to save millions gave her strength and courage.

Finally the plane leveled out, and Malcolm came over the intercom again. His voice was crackling and hard to hear.

“Folks, we’re now cruising at forty-eight thousand feet. The storm is below us and so won’t bother us at all. Relax, get some sleep. I’ll wake you an hour before we arrive at Quito.”

Molly looked at her watch. It was two A.M. She was exhausted. If she fell asleep now, Malcolm would wake them in about nine hours, an hour before they landed. This would be eleven in the morning the next day London time, but of course, because Quito was five hours behind London, it would be six in the morning there.

Molly and Micky undid their belts, and finding their balance as the plane moved, went to the back to sort out their beds. Petula shook herself awake and began to sniff the air. Oddly, as they approached the back of the aircraft, she began to smell popcorn. Before she could give a warning bark, Molly gasped. For there, crouching behind the duvets and pillows, looking pale as a glass of milk, was Lily Black.

“Lily!” Molly exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” Lily got up and nervously glanced toward Malcolm in the cockpit, who hadn’t seen her yet.

“I want to come!” she said determinedly. “I know I can help. And I want to show my dad that I’m not just a useless baby. I am seven and a quarter, you know. And I am brave.”

“Jeepers!” said Micky.

“Please,” Lily went on. “Please let me come.”

“How did you get on board?” Molly asked, amazed.

“Sneaked on when you were checking your equipment, just before the plane stairs were taken away.”

Molly tilted her head. “Pretty good, Lily,” she said.

Lily bit her lip and nodded. “So can I stay?” she asked.

“Your dad will be out of his mind with worry, looking for you,” Micky said.

“Are you going to tell Malcolm to take me back?”

Molly shook her head. “We can’t go back now, because we may not be able to land or take off again if we do.” She gave Micky a look of resignation. “So, Lily, it looks like you’re part of the team.”

“Welcome on board,” Micky said.

Malcolm radioed to ground control to inform Theobald Black that his missing daughter was on the plane to Quito.

Molly, Micky, and Lily laid out their beds on the aircraft’s humming floor. And with Petula snuggled close to them all, they fell asleep.

Miss Hunroe settled down to sleep in her wooden forest hut. Special incense to ward off mosquitos burned in a small hearth so that the air was heavy and perfumed. The door was open to the jungle so that she could see out into the night. The afternoon cloud had lifted, and the sky was a magical canopy above, an inky blackness studded with stars. Owls hooted and nocturnal animals called to one another. Insects sawed the pure mountain air with their song.

Miss Hunroe leaned back on a pile of pillows and patted her silk-enrobed knees. She liked the sound of nature. How wonderful it would be when the world was rid of people, when many more places would resound with only the sound of nature. Sometime soon she would completely master weather control, and she alone would be able to cause chaos just where it was needed. People were ruining the planet with their noise and their filth. Cities were spreading like cancers. The governments of the world were useless at sorting it out. They were lucky that she and her organization were taking matters into their own hands. A handful of typhoons and tidal waves, a score of hurricanes and tsunamis, some droughts and floods, and it would be done.

Miss Hunroe sneered at how many horrid little people lived on the Earth. Six and a half billion people were crowded onto the Earth, she knew. If, by using the weather stones, a few billion could be wiped off, then that was a result! Miss Hunroe could have trillions of acres of it all to herself! Swathes of magnificent countryside! Of course, she’d have to make sure that certain places weren’t disturbed. It wouldn’t do to wipe out all the airports, for instance. For Miss Hunroe wanted to be able to continue traveling to her favorite places, and her jets would need somewhere to land. And she wanted certain cities to be left unscathed. Beautiful, cultured cities like Venice, Rome, Florence, Prague, St. Petersburg, London, Madrid, and Paris.