the cameras switched to another newsperson, a dark-haired man in a suit, and his guest, an elderly man with white hair and a bushy beard.
“It’s crazy out there, Professor Cramling. In all your years working at Cambridge University, you say you’ve never seen anything like this?” asked the anchorman.
“No. Never.”
“And how do you explain it?”
Professor Cramling scratched his hairy chin. “I can only assume,” he postulated, “that this weather is the unexpected result of global warming. People expected weather to change—but not this suddenly. Every weather professional that I have spoken to is concerned, alarmed, confused.”
Malcolm flicked channels to look at the global weather and news reports. Lots of other countries were having strange, often fatally dangerous, weather, too. One channel showed a weather map of the world. It showed that Canada, America, Europe, and Russia were having snowstorms and blizzards, and Asian countries were having typhoons. Other countries were suffering from severe wet weather conditions similar to London’s.
“But look!” Micky pointed to the world map on the TV. “Ecuador and other South American countries don’t seem to have been affected at all!”
“All flights from British airports have been delayed,” a newsreader reported.
“Not good news,” said Malcolm, watching the birds’-eye TV footage of miles and miles of traffic stuck in a jam on the motorways to the airports. The massive queue looked like an electrical river, as the thousands of cars in it beamed out their red rear lights into the dark night.
“So what do you think?” Micky asked Lily. Lily narrowed her eyes and then softened, pleased that someone valued her opinion. She knelt down on the floor next to Micky. “You see,” Micky went on, “we’ve got to get here.” He pointed to the atlas page that showed northern Ecuador. “To the top of that squiggly blue line. That’s the Coca River.”
“And it’s definitely the place where the weather can be changed? Where the Logan Stones are?” Lily asked.
“Hope so,” Micky said, making a face. “Because we’re going a long way away for a mistake if we’re not right.”
“It all seems a bit vague to me.” Lily sniffed.
Black, who’d been tapping away at his computer, now leaned back in his chair. “The source of the Coca River,” he announced, “is unknown. But the first signs of it are high, high up in the Andes, high above the cloud forest. At least they give GPS coordinates for this. So we can go there.” Black squinted at his computer. “We have to fly to a city called Quito in Ecuador,” he concluded. “And then drive from there up into the mountains.”
“Or we could get a helicopter,” Molly suggested. “That would be quicker.”
Lily suddenly frowned at her dad. “You’re not thinking of going, are you, Dad?”
Black turned. His face blushed slightly, as though he had done something naughty.
“Well, I had thought, erm, I ought.”
Lily Black’s face now turned red as a temper rose up in her. “There is no way you are going,” she said with a firmness that was a bit scary. “You know what the doctor said. You mustn’t fly. Your heart can’t take it. You will have a heart attack.”
“What?” Micky asked.
“Dad is absolutely not allowed to go on planes,” Lily explained. “If he does, he might have another heart attack.”
Black swiveled around, his face now crestfallen.
“Lily’s right, I’m afraid,” he said. “Molly and Micky, I would love to come, but the condition of my heart just won’t allow it. Firstly, the flight wouldn’t be good for me, and secondly, my doctor has given me strict instructions that I must not go to areas of high altitude. High altitudes are dangerous for people with weak hearts, you see.”
Molly shrugged. “Okay. We’re used to doing things on our own. But it would be good if Malcolm would come. Will you come, Malcolm?” Malcolm nodded. “Thanks,” Molly said, relieved. “Anyway, Mr. Black, we’ll need someone here. Someone who knows what’s going on.”
“We’ll need walking boots and clothes for a steamy climate,” said Micky, his appetite whetted for the trip. “And detailed maps of the area. Actually, who knows what it’ll be like in the cloud forest? We’ll need matches, water-purifying tablets, food rations, bug repellent, penknives, flashlights, a few necessary medicines. How about tents and sleeping bags and mosquito nets?”
“Well, your plans are already over,” said Lily, hoisting herself up onto the back of the sofa and pointing at the muted TV. “The airports are closed.” As she spoke, thunder rumbled overhead. Petula jumped off the sofa and buried her face under Molly’s leg.
“You’re right,” Molly said.
“Hell,” Micky cursed. “If we can’t get out to Ecuador, we’re skewered. This is the end.”
“Mr. Black,” said Molly, “couldn’t we hypnotize people at the airport and then hypnotize a pilot?”
“We
“You wouldn’t have to hypnotize me to do it,” Malcolm piped up. Everyone turned to look at Malcolm Tixley. They stared at him as though he had just announced that he’d laid an egg. “Come on, Molly,” he said, “you’ve been in my head. I’m an air force pilot.”
“Of course you are!” Molly exclaimed. “But…but what about a plane? Can you get us one?”
Malcolm thought. “I know the man to hypnotize to get a plane authorized. I can arrange to meet him at Northolt Air Base tonight.”
“Will it be safe to take off?” Lily asked. “I mean, the weather’s
“Oh, I’ve flown in hundreds of storms before,” Malcolm reassured them. “We just need to get up above the cloud as quickly as possible. Then it will be plain sailing.”
“Airplane sailing?” Molly said with a smile.
“You got it.”
Miss Hunroe was perched elegantly on a green baize stool in a clearing in a rain forest. A wall of rock was the backdrop to where she sat. A thin stream of mountain water gurgled from a crack in the rock there. It filled up a small pool and then drained deep into the earth beneath.
All about were luscious, broad-leaved trees, with vines climbing through them. Bushes and long-stalked ferns covered the ground nearby.
Two huge, teardrop-shaped rocks flanked her. One was a fiery red-and-orange color and the other blue, though not merely one blue. This stone was turquoise and azure, and sparkling blue flashed from deep within it. Two more granite “eggs”—one of these made up of complicated gray tones with flecks of fluffy or wispy white in it, and another a cacophony of greens—were in the clearing, too, completing the circle of Logan Stones. Miss Oakkton, stout as a stuffed cabbage, sat on a low box between the blue stone and the gray stone. Miss Teriyaki sat cross- legged on a brightly woven rug on the ground between the gray stone and the green stone. Miss Speal was on a rough, makeshift, wooden bench between the green stone and the red one.
In the middle of the ring of Logan Stones was an ancient termite mound the size of a giant toy wigwam, with turrets and twisting towers like a mad sandcastle. A mist of low cloud hung in the air above and draped the trees like a silken veil. It filtered the sun’s rays so that the space where the ghastly women sat was filled with warm green sunlight.
Miss Hunroe wore a smart khaki-colored suit and a gauze scarf over her head. Batting flies from her face with a white-gloved hand, she suddenly slapped her neck.
“Blasted bugs! Why is it they always want to eat me?”
Miss Oakkton, cloaked in green, squatting on her box and puffing away at her tortoiseshell pipe, said, “Zay don’t seem to like the smoke of my pipe. Would you like to borrow it?”
“Certainly not,” Miss Hunroe retorted, curling her rosebud lips. “I don’t like your smoke either.”
Miss Teriyaki dug in her pink silk bag and produced a small white canister. “Repellent?”
Miss Hunroe shook her head. “I’m already doused in it. Any more and I’ll be highly flammable.”
The four women were still in silent concentration for a moment. “It’s not as easy as it seemed it might be,”
