stomach. She hated being tested. She knew she wasn’t talented at anything.
“I am not good at art.”
“Oh, pick up the blasted brush,” said Waqt.
Molly leaned forward and tremulously began a picture. She tried to paint a mountain, but it just looked like a lump. Her sun looked like a tennis ball, and her pine tree was like a Christmas tree that a small child had drawn. Instead of a wolf, she painted a stick person.
“Oh!” sighed Waqt disgustedly. “I see the baby won’t have artistic talent.” Then he shouted, “WRITE THAT DOWN, YACKZA.”
Next they moved to the abacus. Here, Waqt tested the ten-year-old Molly’s mathematical skills. Molly wasn’t very good at sums, and because she’d never used an abacus before, it made everything worse. She fumbled with the beads.
“USELESS AT MATHS!” bellowed Waqt. “Write that down, Yackza.”
And so the testing continued. A sitar player wasushered in to try to teach Molly to play on the stringed instrument, but she could hardly play one note correctly. An Indian dancer was called in to give her a lesson. Molly’s attempts at being graceful were disastrous, and Waqt cut her short.
“USELESS!” he exclaimed.
Finally he clapped his hands and two men placed a large, embroidered sack full of colored crystals in front of Molly.
“Do you feel anything for these stycrals?” asked the giant. “You may touch them if you wish.”
Out of breath, Molly picked up a scarred red crystal. “Very nice,” she said, nervously replacing it.
“Is that all you feel for them?” Molly shrugged a yes. “Write that down, Yackza. Before she learns to hypnotize, the stycrals mean nothing to her.” Then he asked, “Is trime tavel something you have ever thought about?”
Molly frowned at the man in front of her and suddenly felt very antagonistic toward him. Who was he to quiz her like this? Angrily, she replied,
“Why
should I tell you what I have thought about or not thought about? I don’t know you.”
“Hmm. Spirited and cautious. Got that, Yackza?” Then he turned to Molly. He bent toward her, expectant of her answer. “You may be a fiery one, but I stillwant to know—is time travel something you’ve ever thought about?” He was so close, she could see residues of makeup that he wore to disguise his walrus skin.
“I think…” Molly racked her brains for what to say. She didn’t want to say this man was mad, she didn’t want to say how frightened she was. She found herself thinking of her friend Rocky and wishing he were with her. She wanted to say that if he was here he’d know what to say. And then, the words of a song he’d once made up sang through her head and, echoing them, the ten-year-old Molly said, “I think… there’s no time like the present.”
The giant squinted at her and smirked. “HA! Poetic. At last, some talent. Write that down, Yackza.” Then he clicked his fingers and Molly was hypnotized. A memory of Rocky’s voice gently rang in her head.
There’s no time like the present,
No present like time
And life can be over in the space of a rhyme.
There’s no gift like friendship
And no love like mine.
Give me your love to treasure through time.
The
eleven
-year-old Molly opened her eyes to check that the others were with her. They were traveling forwardin time. Rocky to her right, with his eyes shut, while Forest’s eyes bulged with pleasure and his mouth glooped open like a surprised goldfish as he watched the swirling colors around him. Zackya’s guards didn’t seem to be chasing them. Molly relaxed and she wondered what they should do next. She decided that stopping for a while at some point in the future would be good, as that would give them time to formulate a plan.
She let her invisible measuring antennae become her leaders, and she judged what she felt might be a hundred years in the future. Then she made them stop.
The sun had moved across the sky. It was a hot morning. The Red Fort’s walls cast short shadows.
“I am not good at art.”
“Oh, pick up the blasted brush,” said Waqt.
Molly leaned forward and tremulously began a picture. She tried to paint a mountain, but it just looked like a lump. Her sun looked like a tennis ball, and her pine tree was like a Christmas tree that a small child had drawn. Instead of a wolf, she painted a stick person.
“Oh!” sighed Waqt disgustedly. “I see the baby won’t have artistic talent.” Then he shouted, “WRITE THAT DOWN, YACKZA.”
Next they moved to the abacus. Here, Waqt tested the ten-year-old Molly’s mathematical skills. Molly wasn’t very good at sums, and because she’d never used an abacus before, it made everything worse. She fumbled with the beads.
“USELESS AT MATHS!” bellowed Waqt. “Write that down, Yackza.”
And so the testing continued. A sitar player wasushered in to try to teach Molly to play on the stringed instrument, but she could hardly play one note correctly. An Indian dancer was called in to give her a lesson. Molly’s attempts at being graceful were disastrous, and Waqt cut her short.
“USELESS!” he exclaimed.
Finally he clapped his hands and two men placed a large, embroidered sack full of colored crystals in front of Molly.
“Do you feel anything for these stycrals?” asked the giant. “You may touch them if you wish.”
Out of breath, Molly picked up a scarred red crystal. “Very nice,” she said, nervously replacing it.
“Is that all you feel for them?” Molly shrugged a yes. “Write that down, Yackza. Before she learns to hypnotize, the stycrals mean nothing to her.” Then he asked, “Is trime tavel something you have ever thought about?”
Molly frowned at the man in front of her and suddenly felt very antagonistic toward him. Who was he to quiz her like this? Angrily, she replied,
“Why
should I tell you what I have thought about or not thought about? I don’t know you.”
“Hmm. Spirited and cautious. Got that, Yackza?” Then he turned to Molly. He bent toward her, expectant of her answer. “You may be a fiery one, but I stillwant to know—is time travel something you’ve ever thought about?” He was so close, she could see residues of makeup that he wore to disguise his walrus skin.
“I think…” Molly racked her brains for what to say. She didn’t want to say this man was mad, she didn’t want to say how frightened she was. She found herself thinking of her friend Rocky and wishing he were with her. She wanted to say that if he was here he’d know what to say. And then, the words of a song he’d once made up sang through her head and, echoing them, the ten-year-old Molly said, “I think… there’s no time like the present.”
The giant squinted at her and smirked. “HA! Poetic. At last, some talent. Write that down, Yackza.” Then he clicked his fingers and Molly was hypnotized. A memory of Rocky’s voice gently rang in her head.
There’s no time like the present,
No present like time
And life can be over in the space of a rhyme.
There’s no gift like friendship
And no love like mine.
Give me your love to treasure through time.
The
eleven
-year-old Molly opened her eyes to check that the others were with her. They were traveling forwardin time. Rocky to her right, with his eyes shut, while Forest’s eyes bulged with pleasure and his mouth glooped open like a surprised goldfish as he watched the swirling colors around him. Zackya’s guards didn’t seem to be chasing them. Molly relaxed and she wondered what they should do next. She decided that stopping for a while at some point in the future would be good, as that would give them time to formulate a plan.
She let her invisible measuring antennae become her leaders, and she judged what she felt might be a hundred years in the future. Then she made them stop.
The sun had moved across the sky. It was a hot morning. The Red Fort’s walls cast short shadows.
Similar Books
