move.”
Molly felt Rocky’s and Forest’s still hands on her shoulders. She checked that Petula was under Rocky’s arm.
“I don’t like to break promises,” she said to Zackya, “but I do like to be free.” With that, Molly simultaneously focused on the red crystal and let the world defreeze.
As their surroundings sprang into action, she sank her mind into the red crystal.
“Whoa, okay, I’ll be quiet,” said Forest.
Molly willed warm time winds to envelop them. In a second there was a BOOM and they were moving.
Thirteen
“S o, said Waqt. “I am letting you out of your trances for an hour or so. I hope you are pleased.”
The
ten
-year-old Molly blinked up at the huge, scaly man in front of her and cast her eyes over his equally reptilian assistant, who had just arrived with a notebook and a pen.
“You’re
late,
Yackza,” the giant snapped. Molly tried to work out whether she was dreaming. Had she really just met an eleven-year-old version of herself? And an older Rocky? The small girls beside her huddled close, hiding their eyes in the silk of the strange new dress she had on. Were they younger versions of herself? All this was impossible. She must, she concluded, be dreaming. And yet she felt so wide awake. As though the moment was real. Molly looked around the room. It wasa beautiful room, with colored marble embedded in the walls and golden chairs to sit on.
“Who are you?” she asked. “And why are we here?”
“The only reason you are here is to show me thumsing of what this baby’s character will be when it grows up.”
The ten-year-old Molly decided not to argue with him. “Why are we dressed in these Indian clothes?”
The giant ignored her question.
Molly shook her head. She felt completely disoriented and confused. Was she mad? Maybe she was actually sitting in Hardwick House imagining all this. Perhaps the giant in front of her was a distorted Adderstone, the orphanage mistress.
“Is this another one of your punishments, Miss Adderstone?”
At this, the huge man in front of her let out a demented laugh. “Ooooooohhhhhhh, how amuuuusing,” he declared. “You really are entertainment, Miss Moon!”
Molly shook her head. “It wasn’t me who overflowed the bath, Miss Adderstone. This isn’t fair. Whatever you’re doing, please stop.”
“Overflowed the bath! Overflowed the bath! HA! Ha ha ha!” Waqt wailed with laughter.
“Let me put you out of your misery. I am not MissAdderstone. Ha! I am the Maharaja of Waqt. Born 1835. Prone to fits. Tall, hark, and dandsome—don’t you think? Cooped up by my own parents for fifteen years. Imagine that! Well traveled, to put it mildly. Europe, Africa, China, the future, the past! But enough of myself. We are here today to analyze you. You will now show me thumsing about yourself. We want to see what sorts of talents the maby Bolly has inside her.” He put his hands on his hips and nodded to a servant at the door.
Six men came in with an assortment of apparatus. One placed a Chinese abacus at the side of the room, others set up a low table and put a large pad of heavy paper on it as well as a long black box and some big paintbrushes.
The maharaja sat down cross-legged by the table and bid Molly sit, too. Nervously she obeyed, deciding that if this was a dream she might as well go along with it.
Waqt picked up a paintbrush and opened the box. Inside was a pot of water and a block of dry black ink.
“The art of Chinese painting,” he said, wetting his brush and dabbing it on the block to absorb ink, “is something that comes naturally to people with artistic talent.” With a flourish and with a swishing left and right of his brush, he painted the outline of a scene—craggymountains and a stormy sky, with a spiky pine tree and a wolf in the foreground. “I have always had the raw talent. I refined it with years of practice in China. Now it is your turn to show me your talent.”
The ten-year-old Molly felt a knot in her
Molly felt Rocky’s and Forest’s still hands on her shoulders. She checked that Petula was under Rocky’s arm.
“I don’t like to break promises,” she said to Zackya, “but I do like to be free.” With that, Molly simultaneously focused on the red crystal and let the world defreeze.
As their surroundings sprang into action, she sank her mind into the red crystal.
“Whoa, okay, I’ll be quiet,” said Forest.
Molly willed warm time winds to envelop them. In a second there was a BOOM and they were moving.
Thirteen
“S o, said Waqt. “I am letting you out of your trances for an hour or so. I hope you are pleased.”
The
ten
-year-old Molly blinked up at the huge, scaly man in front of her and cast her eyes over his equally reptilian assistant, who had just arrived with a notebook and a pen.
“You’re
late,
Yackza,” the giant snapped. Molly tried to work out whether she was dreaming. Had she really just met an eleven-year-old version of herself? And an older Rocky? The small girls beside her huddled close, hiding their eyes in the silk of the strange new dress she had on. Were they younger versions of herself? All this was impossible. She must, she concluded, be dreaming. And yet she felt so wide awake. As though the moment was real. Molly looked around the room. It wasa beautiful room, with colored marble embedded in the walls and golden chairs to sit on.
“Who are you?” she asked. “And why are we here?”
“The only reason you are here is to show me thumsing of what this baby’s character will be when it grows up.”
The ten-year-old Molly decided not to argue with him. “Why are we dressed in these Indian clothes?”
The giant ignored her question.
Molly shook her head. She felt completely disoriented and confused. Was she mad? Maybe she was actually sitting in Hardwick House imagining all this. Perhaps the giant in front of her was a distorted Adderstone, the orphanage mistress.
“Is this another one of your punishments, Miss Adderstone?”
At this, the huge man in front of her let out a demented laugh. “Ooooooohhhhhhh, how amuuuusing,” he declared. “You really are entertainment, Miss Moon!”
Molly shook her head. “It wasn’t me who overflowed the bath, Miss Adderstone. This isn’t fair. Whatever you’re doing, please stop.”
“Overflowed the bath! Overflowed the bath! HA! Ha ha ha!” Waqt wailed with laughter.
“Let me put you out of your misery. I am not MissAdderstone. Ha! I am the Maharaja of Waqt. Born 1835. Prone to fits. Tall, hark, and dandsome—don’t you think? Cooped up by my own parents for fifteen years. Imagine that! Well traveled, to put it mildly. Europe, Africa, China, the future, the past! But enough of myself. We are here today to analyze you. You will now show me thumsing about yourself. We want to see what sorts of talents the maby Bolly has inside her.” He put his hands on his hips and nodded to a servant at the door.
Six men came in with an assortment of apparatus. One placed a Chinese abacus at the side of the room, others set up a low table and put a large pad of heavy paper on it as well as a long black box and some big paintbrushes.
The maharaja sat down cross-legged by the table and bid Molly sit, too. Nervously she obeyed, deciding that if this was a dream she might as well go along with it.
Waqt picked up a paintbrush and opened the box. Inside was a pot of water and a block of dry black ink.
“The art of Chinese painting,” he said, wetting his brush and dabbing it on the block to absorb ink, “is something that comes naturally to people with artistic talent.” With a flourish and with a swishing left and right of his brush, he painted the outline of a scene—craggymountains and a stormy sky, with a spiky pine tree and a wolf in the foreground. “I have always had the raw talent. I refined it with years of practice in China. Now it is your turn to show me your talent.”
The ten-year-old Molly felt a knot in her
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