T he laundry chute was a large metal tube angled steeply so that the ride down it was dark and very fast. Molly, with Petula in her lap, landed in a sofa-sized basket of dirty linen, just missing Micky, who had rolled over to the side and was floundering about, trying to get up. With his tied hands he wiped a sock from his head and grimaced at Molly accusingly.
“Don’t you dare look at me like that!” Molly said reproachfully. “You’re not the only one who’s been put on that machine. Imagine what it’s like for me. I only came here to check that you were okay. Now look at me! My best friend has been hypnotized by you; I’ve lost my powers; and Rocky, Petula, and I are stuck in a time that isn’t even our own.”
While Micky stubbornly sat on the floor, determined to make her life as difficult as possible, and Petula sniffed about, Molly began searching for a way out. The laundry room was fairly big, with large white machines along the length of it. Each had a dashboard of buttons with Chinese writing on them. One was switched on, and through its square window Molly saw one of the princess’s frilly dresses. Instead of being tossed in water, the dress was being stretched and cleaned by green light. At the far end of the room was a door. This was locked. Above their heads, long mechanical arms, which Molly assumed sorted the clothes, hung dormant. Molly ran her hands along the surface of the wall. It was completely smooth. There didn’t seem to be a seam line of a door at all. Desperately she pushed trolleys of laundry aside to search. Micky began to laugh. It was a mean laugh and muffled behind the tape on his mouth. Molly ignored him.
The next second there was a thud. Molly jumped as the engines of the room cranked into action. Micky had found the buttons that operated the laundry machines.
The cranelike arms of the sorters began swinging into action. The first made a swoop for Molly. Thinking her a large, unwashed piece of clothing, it dived, claws open, to pick her up. Molly turned, horrified, and ducked for cover. The second went for Petula, who wasn’t so lucky. Rubber clamps embraced her body and lifted her up. She let out a howl of fear, but the machine ignored her. Swiftly it lifted her, making its calculations about which machine to put her into.
“You moron!” Molly shouted at Micky. “Switch it off!” Micky shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. Molly watched aghast as Petula was lifted higher and higher, right up to the beams of the ceiling. Pushing wheeled baskets of laundry out of her way, Molly ran to be directly below Petula in case she was suddenly dropped.
Up above Molly, Petula went stone still with fear. She hated heights. Seeing a beam close by to the right, she forgot her fear of falling and began to struggle. If she could just wriggle out of the sorting claw’s metal and rubber grip and get onto the beam, things would be better. Below, Molly was craning her neck and holding her arms out.
The mechanical arm was now losing its hold on Petula. She could feel herself slipping. If she fell, it would hurt. It would be far worse than the time she fell off the garden wall when she was a puppy. There was nothing for it. The next time the machine moved toward the white beam, Petula made an immense twisting effort. She pulled her body out of the mechanical grip and pushed away toward the beam. Suddenly she was flying through the air like a plump black squirrel, and for a split second she thought she wouldn’t make it. Then her front paws caught the beam and, kicking with her back legs, she was up.
“Oh, Petula, be careful,” she heard Molly saying from below. The mechanical arm moved away, confused but resigned that it had lost its load, ready to pick up another piece.
Petula looked down from her perch. Her world swayed. Determined not to fall off the beam, she stared ahead, but her furry knees quivered as she realized she was stuck. She tried to pull herself together and willed herself not to feel dizzy. If she walked to the end of the beam, she thought, she’d reach a ledge that was wider. She’d be far safer there. So, plucking up courage, Petula pretended she was walking along a thin path on the ground. She ignored the scraping of her claws on the metal beam. She ignored all thoughts of plummeting to the ground. Soon she was by the wall, and so relieved was she that she flung herself at it. When she did, a very unexpected thing happened. The wall gave way.
From below, through the metal of the laundry-machine arms and the sheets that were being lifted and sorted, Molly saw the opening. She marched over to Micky and pulled him up.
“Thanks,” she said, tugging him toward the center of the room so that they were prime targets for the laundry sorters. “You’ve actually just shown us the way out. We have to do what Nurse Meekles said—’ride the pincers.’” Micky looked wide-eyed at the beams high above. As he did, one of the mechanical claws spied what it thought was a tablecloth and swung down to grab it. Molly jumped onto its articulated arm. The machine swung Micky up high and hovered near the beam for a moment as it tried to decipher whether he was linen or cotton. Molly caught the beam with her legs and gripped it tight between her knees. Once she was balanced, she tugged at her brother. He tumbled onto her, and the machine, confused again, went down for more laundry. Micky’s hands were still tied. He was obviously petrified that he might fall.
“Just keep still,” Molly said, trying to be reassuring. Micky was as rigid as a wooden broom. “I’ll pull you over here and you’ll be fine.” She inched backward toward the ledge, dragging him with her. When they got there she kissed and hugged Petula. “Good girl, clever girl!”
Petula was very impressed with Molly’s brave ascent, although she wondered why she had brought the boy up. And she didn’t know how they were all going to get down again. She’d already sniffed at the tunnel beyond. It smelled of damp and old burned-out fire. It wasn’t the sort of tunnel any dog, or person, would want to venture into. So it was with great surprise that Petula found herself being pushed into its blackness.
Molly checked the laundry room for any telltale signs that they’d been there and then carefully she shoved Micky and posted herself through the secret trapdoor. Its hatch snapped satisfactorily shut.