Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery

“Oh, yes, it will be,” said the Chinese tourist.

“Are you alone, dear?” asked Miss Suzette, smiling.

“Alone? Oh, yes, I am,” said the young woman, completely trusting the sweet-looking, chiffon-collared lady.

“You speak very good English.”

“Oh, yes,” the Chinese woman replied. “I have spent ten years at school learning it.”

“Lovely!” Miss Suzette replied. There was a pause as the young woman took another photograph. Then, like a horrid, fat, poisonous spider, Miss Suzette swung her web.

“I say, could you check my eye? I seem to have a speck of dust there—can you see anything?”

The innocent Chinese woman turned. She gazed into Miss Suzette’s piggy eye. And before she knew it, she was hypnotized.

Thirteen

“I’ll be the butler,” Micky twittered. “You can be the queen.”

“The queen? Are you joking?” The feathers on Molly’s head stood up on end.

“Come on,” Micky coaxed, “she’s only another human being.”

“But I don’t know if I can behave like the queen!” Molly tweeted.

“Of course you can. Just be ever so royal and polite. Listen, you’d be helping her.”

“But I can’t see her face, so I can’t imagine her as a child,” Molly objected. “So how can I morph into her?”

“Your work’s been done for you,” Micky pointed out. “That portrait there with the girl holding the puppy is of the queen when she was about six.”

Molly and Micky began staring at the edge of the green-and-white carpet beside the floorboards near the window. It had a pattern of leaves and flowers that twisted around one another. Soon Molly had captured an image of a strange cottage with a tall spindly roof. She immediately turned her attention to the portrait of the young princess. Micky had been right. The picture was so good it made Molly’s task very easy, and within seconds she had harnessed the cottagey image, linked it with the princess’s face, and, as though these pictures were magical charms to pull her, Molly was at once shooting out of the blackbird’s body straight for the queen’s.

Like a rolling tsunami wave, Molly crashed into the old lady’s mind, overpowering her personality like a breaker overpowering an unsuspecting swimmer. Part of Molly felt apologetic and rude to be pushing into Her Royal Highness’s mind, but she knew she mustn’t show weakness, for if she did, the queen’s character might get the upper hand, and that would be disastrous.

So Molly took charge, and as she did, she apologized to her. I’m so sorry, she thought to her. Erm. Your Majesty. It’s for your own good.

Molly was overwhelmed by the queen’s memories and her knowledge. Molly saw giant ships that the queen had launched, swinging bottles of champagne at their hulls. She saw private yachts and huge stables filled with the queen’s racehorses. She saw wonderful palaces with parks around them where the queen lived and went on holiday, and she saw memories of all sorts of parades and celebrations that had been given in the queen’s honor. This was mixed with an unexpected ordinariness of character that made the queen feel just as normal as the other humans Molly had morphed into. Molly saw how she loved her family, her grandchildren, her dogs, her horses, and her friends. She saw how she was wishing the butler had brought her a chocolate muffin.

“Cor!” Molly found herself saying. Her accent as the queen was extremely posh.

“Is there anything wrong, ma’am?” Black asked; something in the queen’s tone put him on edge. Molly wondered whether the queen had been hypnotized by Black. She didn’t think she had been, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Everything is perrrfect,” Molly the queen replied, trying desperately to get a grip on herself. “Cor is the nickname of one of my corgis—the big scruffy one. His full name is Cor Blimey. It’s Cockney, don’t you know. He was just being naughty. You didn’t see it, but I did. Ha, ha. Oh, dear!” Outside, the sergeant was shouting his commands in the changing of the guard. The marching of the soldiers was perfectly synchronized as their feet hit the ground with precise rhythm. “Isn’t the marching comforting?” Molly said. On the ground by her feet, three corgis turned to look up at her quizzically. The big scruffy one began growling. “Be quiet, Cor!” Molly tutted.

“You were saying?” Black began.

“What was I saying?” Molly asked unsurely, picking up her teacup and sipping at it. Clumsily she spilled some on her lap. “Oh. Ah, um, butler! Have you got a napkin?”

Black watched suspiciously as the royal butler came toward the queen brandishing a linen cloth. Black eyed the queen and her snarling corgis. Instinctively, he picked up his leather bag with the hypnotism book inside it.

“There you go, My Highness,” said Micky the butler, mopping away at the queen with the napkin. Molly pushed him away, knowing that a butler would definitely not start rubbing the queen’s knees. Two of the corgis began to bark.