The next morning, when the sun was already up, Molly felt a stick being prodded gently into her back. She turned to see Wildgust standing on a branch beside her prison. He put a finger to his mouth to indicate that she should be very, very quiet, and he pointed to the far end of the cage. Here, Molly saw, he’d pried the bars apart so that there was a slightly wider gap. Molly took out her earplugs and carefully crawled through to the outside of the tree house. Micky stirred but slept on, curling back up into a croissant shape.
Wildgust reached in and moved a pillow to where Molly’s body had been, pulling the sheet up over it to make it look like she was still there. Then he bent the bars back into place before silently lifting Molly under his arm and flapping down to the ground.
When they arrived at Tortillus’s hut, the old man was waiting with some toast and a cup of tea. Best of all, Petula was there to greet Molly.
“Oh Petula,” she said, crouching down to give her a proper hug. Petula leaped up at her knees. Then Molly pulled herself upright and took the toast.
“Cor, I’m so hungry,” she said. “You should have seen what the professor had on the menu.” Wildgust settled down into a chair in the corner, saying nothing.
“Big day today,” Tortillus said, smiling. Molly nodded, munching. “The crates of zoo animals will be airlifted this morning.”
“So let’s get going,” said Molly, wiping her hands on her jumpsuit. “I’m ready. Which crate are we going to hide in?”
Tortillus turned and pulled some strange objects out of a bag. One was a hard, curved piece of yellow plastic. Then there were what looked like two black furry, floppy socks, and last, four yellow rubbery things that reminded Molly of washing-up gloves. “This is what Petula should wear. I don’t think you’ve seen our quogs. They are dogs mixed with ducks. They don’t bark—they quack. They’re normally bigger than Petula, but I think with these long black ears and this elasticate beak and these webbed feet, she will look like a small quog. Do you think she will wear them?”
“She may need a bit of persuasion,” Molly answered. Tortillus produced a brown furry body suit and a ratty mask. “And that’s for me, I suppose?”
“Yes, I thought you could go as a sabrerat. Three other sabrerats will be going too but I won’t put you in a cage with them as they aren’t the friendliest of animals.”
Molly raised her eyebrows and inspected the suit. “It’s going to be hot,” she said.
“The sabrerat cages are always air-conditioned and cool.”
“And will my cage be near the quog cage?” Molly said, working the snaps on her furry suit.
“Near enough.”
“I get it,” Molly said. “So first, we get up to the palace. Second, Petula hypnotizes the guards. Third, we make our way to the mind-machine room—”
“I was thinking differently,” Tortillus interrupted. “Petula could come onstage with the quogs. She can quietly make her way to Princess Fang’s seat and, as soon as her eyes lock on to the princess’s, hypnotize her.”
“But if Fang spots Petula’s not a quog,” Molly pointed out, “then Petula will be caught. It’s so dangerous. Because anyway, even if she manages to get to the princess to look her in the eyes, she may not be able to hypnotize her.” Molly frowned. “If she can’t, she’s—she’s dead!”
“You’re right,” Tortillus murmured. “We’ll do it your way then.” He rubbed his eyes. “Let’s hope we get dealt some good cards.”
Molly stroked Petula. She’d played lots of poker in the orphanage and remembered quite a few games where she’d been losing badly and then had had a run of luck. “Maybe Petula will be our ace in the hole,” she said.
A short while later, Tortillus led a furry sabrerat and a small quog out of the hut. Petula waddled along slowly in her new flappy feet. She was very anxious.
I can’t do this, you know, she confided to the mynah bird.
You can only do your best, her new friend replied.
And so Petula followed her mistress toward the loading area of the zoo. Once there, she looked into the quog crate and studied the animals suspiciously. They seemed peaceful. She sent polite greetings out to them, wondering whether they would understand dog and whether they would reply in a friendly way. Tortillus opened the cage door.
Come on in, came the thoughts of the biggest quog. We’re not going to eat you.
Petula glanced across at Molly in her sabrerat cage. She took a deep breath, picked her feet up, and gingerly stepped inside.
The sky began to rattle with noise as big flycopters descended upon the zoo. Wildgust raised blue flags, indicating that the machines could prepare to lift the crates. Chains and heavy-duty canvas straps were lowered.
One by one, large and small crates were hooked up. As soon as each was ready the hawk-man waved a green flag and the crates were pulled up into the air. Petula’s quog cage was one of the first to be hauled away. Her stomach lurched as though she was on a very fast-rising elevator. Through the metal grid she watched the zoo enclosures drop away, and the shimmering lake shrink. She watched the roofs of cottages and lawns of gardens become tinier and tinier until finally she was looking down a precipice of gray rocky mountain.
Why are you dressed as a quog? the biggest quog thought to her.
I’m on a secret mission, Petula explained. The quog’s eyebrows jiggled as he digested this information. Petula wondered if he knew what a secret mission was. She looked at his gray scruffy fur and his real webbed feet and she hoped she would get away with her disguise.
The flycopters hovered over a flat, stony place. Petula peered out of her crate to see what lay below. To the right some very tall metal gates were open. Beyond these were huge passageways that led into the mountain to a showground inside the palace. Guards dressed as toy soldiers with ribbons in their helmets stood about, guiding the aircraft and their loads down. Petula wondered which one she ought to hypnotize first. Hypnotize first? Who was she kidding? Petula knew that her hypnotism was out to lunch. In fact it was out to tea, supper, and breakfast too. Any hypnotic skills she’d ever had had left town.
Tortillus opened Molly’s cage, and attaching a lead to the collar around her neck, patted her fuzzy sabrerat head.
“Good sabrerat,” he said loudly as a guard walked past. “Don’t bite now!” He led Molly toward the cliff edge, where a score of iron rings were fixed to the ground, and he tied her lead to one. “Stay!” he commanded. He returned shortly with Petula.
“Good girl,” Molly whispered to her, very impressed at her pet’s acting. “I can see why that director put you in his movie.” Molly was trying to lighten her mood, for her insides were bumping about with nerves. “It’ll all be done soon, Petula. We’ll do it—you just wait and see. Before you know it you’ll be chasing rabbits in Briersville.”
The guard by the rock turned and then began walking toward them. In the bubble above Petula’s head Molly saw that she was thinking of nothing but the guard. All about him were swirls of silver light and his eyes were swirling too. Molly could see that Petula was preparing to hypnotize him.
You can do it, Petula! she encouraged her silently. The guard came closer.
And so, using all her doggy might, Petula summoned up the tingling electric feeling of hypnosis. Her legs and back became rigid with concentration. Her eyes stared up at the approaching guard’s, daring him to stare back at her.
Come on, come on! Molly urged.
Petula could feel Molly’s encouragement. When the burly man was finally near enough, Petula locked her black pupils on to his and willed him to be hypnotized.
But it was useless. The man was unmoved. Petula wasn’t surprised—no whooshing fusion feeling had rushed though her body—so she knew that the hypnotism wasn’t happening.
Petula collapsed on the floor in a heap. She had let everyone down.
“Zookeeper!” shouted the guard. At once Molly bristled with nerves. Had he seen through Petula’s disguise? Tortillus quickly came over.
“That quog—is sick,” said the guard. “Get rid—of it.” He marched away.
“Petula can’t do it,” Molly whispered hoarsely, fighting back tears of exasperation. “She can’t do it at all.”
“Do you think she might have another go?” Tortillus asked. As he bent down to stroke Petula, Silver fluttered down by her side too.
Oh, cat tails! Petula moaned, with her head in her paws. I’ve only ever hypnotized a bunch of sleepy mice. I wish they understood.
Don’t worry, Silver said. I’ll tell them how it is. And flapping up to Tortillus’s curved shoulder, he cawed, “IM … BOSSY… BELL. IM … BOSSY… BELL.”
“Im bossy bell?” Molly asked Tortillus quietly. “What does that mean?”
“That, I’m afraid, means, impossible,’” Tortillus whispered back.
Molly found her insides being gripped by desperation. She had to come up with a good plan now, or she was as good as dead. And so her inventive mind began to whirr.
“Forget our first plan,” she said, glancing across to Wildgust, who was holding a butterfly-winged mouse. “I think I’ve got a better one.”
And as Tortillus stroked Petula’s pretend beak, Molly whispered her ideas to him.
Tortillus nodded. “So wait for the sign,” he said and ambled away.
Molly sat down, trying to seem as sabreratty as possible. She looked out over the walled edge of the cliff and kept her eyes glued on the elethumpers. The hours stretched out as though time had taken a sleeping pill. When a palace servant passed, looking a little too interestedly at her, she growled at him, which sent him scurrying.
Then, from inside the mountain, Molly could hear that the show had begun. The sound of a distant brass band floated out of the giant palace passageway. She watched anxiously as the bearunkeys were shepherded into the tunnel and then ten minutes later returned. She saw the giant mice and the deer geese being taken in to perform.
Finally Tortillus said very loudly, “Elethumpers next!”
Molly edged her fingers up to her neck and surreptitiously undid her collar, placing it on the ground beside her. She took off Petula’s lead too. And then the commotion that she’d been waiting for happened. Two enormous male elethumpers went crazy. One began kicking its back legs so furiously that it pushed its crate right up to the edge of the mountain, where it lay see-sawing, half on the mountain, half off. The other was bouncing on the spot, waving its trunk about, trumpeting aggressively at one of the guards. The hypnotized palace servants shrank back to the palace wall. Even Tortillus looked worried. Belsha stood behind the elethumpers, tickling their tails with a feathered stick, which wasn’t helping; in fact, it was making things worse. She winked at Molly.
And then Molly heard a swishing in the air. Wildgust was swooping down on her. Molly felt like a field mouse being hunted by a bird of prey. She grabbed Petula and it was just in time too, for a split second later Wildgust’s sharp talons were hooked under her arms, lifting her up. Instinctively, Molly put her right arm up to hold on extra tight to his leg. Then it felt as if they were falling off the mountain as Wildgust tipped his body and flew sideways and down. Molly looked below. Beneath her was a thousand-foot drop. Her stomach leaped. If Wildgust let go of her, she and Petula would be dead. Would he? Surely not. But Molly couldn’t entirely trust the hawk-man. Quickly taking her mask off and holding it in her teeth, she gripped onto his leg even tighter.
Now Wildgust flew upward, around a shady part of the mountaintop city. His strong wings beat the air. Soon he was nearing the summit of the mountain. Below, Molly saw colorful manicured gardens and the golden roofs of the fabulous mountaintop residences. It was completely deserted. Perhaps everyone was at the circus. Molly hoped so.
Higher and higher Wildgust flew, bringing them closer to Princess Fang’s pinnacle palace. Molly recognized it at once. They were heading toward the large balcony where she had stood only days before.
As welcome as water to a netted fish, the ground met Molly’s feet. Wildgust let go of her shoulders and deftly landed on the balcony wall. Before Molly could thank him, he took off again and was gone.
Down at the zoological institute, in the tree house, Micky was banging on the bars of his cage with his shoulder, shouting through his gag. Through the bars of his prison he could see Professor Selkeem’s laboratory. Glass test tubes and dishes, the discards from the mad boy’s night experiments, lay smashed on the floor.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” the professor said, finally rousing himself from his sleep. “What do you want?” he yawned.
“Uuugh, uuurgh,” Micky grunted urgently, nodding with his head toward the empty cell. The young professor reached his arm through the bars and undid Micky’s gag. “Rockeee!” Micky yelled. “Molly’s gone—to palace! Rockeee!—To the mind—machine. Rockeeeeee! Tortillus and Wildgust—are not—hypnotized!—Molly wants—to give them—their throne back!”
“What? Their high chairs back? Wildgust not hypnotized?! This is sewer-pit news!” The professor started twitching and looking to the left and the right of him in a flurry of panic. Then angrily he shouted, “Fang can’t have them. We must get them! Wildgust must be stopped!”
“I must see … Rockeee!” Micky gasped, as though his life depended on it.
The professor opened the cage door and began dragging Micky along the floor toward the tree-house door.
“We will get them!” he snarled, gathering up a bag full of laboratory equipment as he went. “You will see Rocky. We must catch Wildgust before it’s too late!” Then he gave a commanding whistle, and his four dognakes appeared. “Carry the boy. And follow me!” he shouted. “Head for the mountain tunnels!”