Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery

“You were offering,” Black went on, “to make arrangements for me to get to the Tower of London, to put the book safely there.” Now Black did not feel comfortable at all. Lily’s warnings rang loud in his ears.

Molly the queen eyed his bag. She supposed the book was inside it, and she marveled at Black’s cunning. It was very clever of him to be using the book as an excuse to get into the Tower of London, she thought. Why, once he was in there, the riches at his fingertips were immense. The crown jewels were kept there, including the biggest diamond in the world. And she could see in the queen’s memories that she had already been persuaded that the book was very, very precious and dangerous. She already had some knowledge of hypnotism, time traveling, time stopping, and morphing, for Black had been explaining them to her.

So Black’s plan was going well, Molly thought. If he got into the tower, he could use his hypnotism to steal whatever he wanted, and then he could get away with it scot free.

“Hmm. Yes, of course,” said Molly the queen. “I must say, I am very intrigued by the book. May I see it?”

“You saw it just now,” said Black slowly, his knuckles turning pale as he gripped his bag tightly.

“Yes. Yes. Again, I mean,” said Molly the queen, trying to dig her way out of trouble. “Is everything all right, Mr. Black?”

Black examined the queen’s lined face and tried to judge whether the girl who Lily had warned him of had invaded her. There was only one way to see. He would read the queen’s mind. So, concentrating hard, he silently asked the question, What are you thinking?

Molly felt a tickle above the queen’s eyebrows and all over her scalp, but she thought nothing of it. If she’d been aware, she might have been able to think very proper royal thoughts for Black to read from her mind. But she had no idea that Black could mind read, and so she had no idea that a bubble had appeared over her soft gray hair. In it were pictures of Black with the hypnotism book and the queen wrestling Black to the ground. There were other images, too, of the butler joining in, twisting Black’s arm into a half nelson. For this is what Molly was fantasizing.

“To the tower!” Molly the queen said. “Butler,” she added, “please take Mr. Black’s bag.”

At this point, Black got up.

“Oh, no, you don’t. No doubt you’re one of Miss Hunroe’s assistants. You’re interfering where you shouldn’t.”

At once Molly saw that the game was up. Jumping over the corgis—which was quite difficult, as the queen was wearing a straight tweed skirt—she dived for Black’s bag, knocking over the tea tray. Teacups scattered and smashed as they hit the ground. All the corgis began to bark frantically. With a swipe, Molly grabbed at the bag, but as Black dodged, she missed and fell head-first onto the delicate antique sofa, catching a cushion instead and knocking the whole piece of furniture so that it tipped over, throwing Molly on the floor.

“Get him, Micky!” Molly screeched, and Micky the butler leaped for Black. But as he did, Black lunged out and walloped him in the stomach. Micky the butler lay groaning in an armchair. Now Black ran for the door.

“Guards!” Molly shouted. “Stop him, he’s a thief!”

“Aarff! Aarff! Aarff!” the corgis barked in unison.

The staff and the bodyguards outside the room looked about them, confused. One moved toward where the queen was pointing, but he could see no one. It was as if Black had become invisible.

“Who, Your Highness?” the bodyguard asked. The lady-in-waiting beside him looked equally perplexed. A guard on the stairs was just as puzzled.

All the staff had been hypnotized earlier by Black—hypnotized not to see him come and not to see him go.

Meanwhile, Black’s footsteps grew more and more faint as he hurried farther and farther away, down the wide palace staircase to the main entrance. Molly glanced back to Micky, who, as the butler, was now standing up, rubbing his stomach. She ran to the room’s east window and looked out, her breath immediately steaming up the glass of its pane. Below was a view of the graveled palace drive. Two black ravens sat on the windowsill sheltering from the rain. “The ravens,” she said. “Quick!”

In a few seconds Molly and Micky were in the ravens’ bodies, blinking, fluffing their feathers, and stretching their wings. And then they began to look for Black. There he was, walking briskly, though trying not to look like he was panicked, across the gravel forecourt.

“Now!” Molly cawed.

She and Micky dived. Ravens were far more powerful than either the pigeons or the blackbirds had been. Beating their strong wings, they were like trained missiles. In the next moment, Micky tactically flapped his wings into Black’s face. Molly snatched the black bag out of Black’s arms, and then they were flying off over the traffic with it.