Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery

The dogs now trod stealthily through the undergrowth, following their noses and reading the air. The smoke from a fire became stronger and stronger, mixed with the smell of baking and the stench of dead animals. And then, just like a car stopping unexpectedly at a dead end, Petula and Canis arrived at a rocky outcropping. It was obviously a place humans liked to be, for there was a wooden stool there and, what was more, the smell of mothballs from someone who had been there only shortly before hung in the air. The person had been scared, too, for the odd smell of electric lemon lingered. Down below was a clearing with eight huts. The two dogs surveyed the scene. From four of the huts wafted floral smells of perfume. Nearby was a hut with a water tank over it that Petula supposed must be the bathroom hut. And closer to the ledge that they were on were two more scruffy-looking huts. Outside these were outdoor cooking stoves and ovens and tables with large chopping boards and bowls on them. Tin basins for washing pans and plates lay on the ground. Nearby was a small water tank on wooden legs.

Much farther to the left, segregated from the other huts by bushes, was a hut that was obviously used by hunters. Outside this one were colorful forest birds, green-and red-feathered parrots and cockatoos, hanging upside down in bunches. A rabbit skin was nailed to a board, drying in the sun.

Canis growled.

“I wonder where they are?” Petula pondered.

Just then Miss Speal came out of the kitchen hut with oven gloves on. She opened the oven door and pulled out a hot cake pan. Then she poked at the barbecue fire.

“She must be the cook,” said Canis. “I wonder where the hunters are. Can you smell them?”

Petula sniffed. A mixed odor of sweat and whisky, with an edge of blood, was very dense in the air. Then she smelled the mothball smell very close to her on the ground. She put her nose down and sniffed. The smell led her to a beautiful blue stone. Unable to resist it, Petula picked it up in her mouth and gave it a suck. It felt smooth and cool.

“Gives me the creeps,” Canis was saying. “They don’t smell of anything good.” As he spoke, a cloud began to thicken in the sky above.

Petula nodded. “And is it my imagination,” she said, “or is their scent getting stronger?” Her heart began to pound, and her fur bristled.

“You’re right,” Canis agreed, looking alarmed. “They’re behind us. Getting closer. Quick! Run!” He put his head down and dashed into the bushes.

Petula followed Canis. It was a bad move.

Moments later, a cord caught around Petula’s back foot. This released a trap catch. The cord tightened, and with a yank that practically pulled off her limb, she was tugged up from her paws and swung into the air.

Petula nearly swallowed her new stone from the shock. Her world turned upside down. And then a horrible pain in her leg cut through her. The ground was now ten feet below her, her body hung heavy and helpless from the hunter’s noose. Canis barked up at her.

Minutes later, Miss Oakkton and Miss Teriyaki arrived.

“I don’t believe it!” said Miss Teriyaki. “A wild pug! The Chinese were in South America long ago, so obviously the breed stayed here. How extraordinary!”’

“I hate pugs,” Miss Oakkton replied, her huge face screwing up as she strained to look at Petula. “Ugly things. Can’t tell the back from the front.” At that moment, Canis attacked. He bit Miss Oakkton’s ankle as though it was a bone left over from a Sunday roast. With a scream of anger, she plunged her hunter’s knife down. It struck Canis on the back. Wimpering, he backed off.

Desperate, he barked up to Petula.

“I’ll come back with my master and your Molly.” And then he dived back into the undergrowth and was gone.

Miss Oakkton rubbed her leg and pointed after Canis, bellowing curses. Miss Teriyaki prodded Petula with her bamboo shooting stick.

“Aah,” she said admiringly. “You know, Miss Oakkton, people eat dog in the East. It is a delicacy. I wonder whether pug tastes good.”

“Hah! Well, I’ll let zat be your delicacy, Miss Teriyaki!” said Miss Oakkton, spitting on the ground. “I don’t want to eat anysing zat barks! Disgusting.”

Petula looked at the upside-down visions of the ghastly women. Miss Oakkton’s body smelled of rotten eggs. She came closer and closer. Then, lifting up her knife mercilessly, she cut the trap rope. Petula dropped to the ground with a thud.

For a moment she lay still, winded and unable to breathe, and frightened that she wouldn’t ever be able to breathe again. Then she felt a stabbing pain in her ribs.

Miss Oakkton bundled her into a bag already full of dead rabbits and birds. And, half suffocated by fur and feather, Petula was carried down to the camp.

As though she were something as disposable as firewood, she was unloaded into a small, dark hut. Petula curled up into a ball and, spitting out her blue stone, for the second time that week, she fell unconscious.

Twenty-eight