flight of narrow steps.
“These steps were built two drunhed and thirty years ago,” the maharaja complained, squeezing his large body up the tight stairwell. “I keep meaning to go back to 1638 to hypnotize the Mughal architect of that time to design them bigger, but I’m too busy.”
They stepped outside into a large, open-topped courtyard with dark red sandstone walls punctuated by arched, glassless windows. Pointed domes of sandstone and white marble crowned the walls, and a flag with a peacock on it flew on a pole that reached high into the blue sky. It was a roasting day, but at this height a cool breeze blew in fromthe countryside around. Molly could see the simple old city outside, with its flower-filled gardens, and the brown, bushy hills nearby. To the west was another red stone building with minarets and domes like onions. In the distance were towers and white gherkin-shaped buildings, as well as smaller, hutlike houses. And in between were palm trees and paved areas, and sunbaked roads where people and animals walked. Sounds drifted up from the city—cries of stallholders selling their wares, shouts of drivers directing their horses or buffalo or camels or elephants. Over this came the hum and buzz of a hive of bees that hung outside one of the rooftop windows, and water splashing as it ran into a pool in the center of the courtyard. Molly noticed a chain of Indian servants quietly passing buckets to one another, the top man pouring the water into some hole up high so that it streamed down the pretty water channel into the central pool. It was arduous work for them.
“So,” said the maharaja, stroking his scaly chin and placing Petula on the top of a stone plinth. “Here is your challenge to save your dog from becoming curried pug. This morning before my bath a ceapock got into this yourtcard and was removed. I want you to go back in time and fetch that ceapock for me.” The giant clicked his fingers and spoke to a servant, who nodded and scurried away.
“But I don’t know how to handle peacocks,” Molly protested. “How do I catch it? Will it bite?”
“Ha! What diriculousness! To be worried about how to net a ceapock! I think you’ll find that the trime taveling is the thing that will stump you. HA!” He slapped his red silk coat with immense amusement.
Molly glared at him, for she knew this was not funny. Zackya slithered out from the narrow stairwell onto the roof courtyard.
“Yackza, pick up the dog and rut a pope around its neck.”
Zackya slid slyly forward and picked up Petula.
“By the way, Yackza, don’t think your incompetence has gone unnoticed by me. I realize that this smelly aminal is here because of you. The only reason I am not punishing you is that you have unwittingly brought me some entertainment.”
Zackya bowed low and gave Molly a hateful sideways look.
The giant clapped his hands and the servant who had rushed off now came back. He was carrying a black velvet cushion on which sat a selection of red and green crystals. Rubies, emeralds—Molly wasn’t sure what they were.
“Green is for traveling backward. Red is for going forward. Pake your tick.”
Molly took a quick look, as though choosing a chocolate. Each colored crystal was a slightly different shade of green or red, and each bore a slightly different fault. A fault like a tiny scar, as if it had once been cut open. None was perfect. Molly decided upon the two brightest crystals. As she picked them up she noticed a faint surge of energy coming from each. She tried not to react. “Now what?”
“Ha! So confident! You just wait. HA!”
Molly was sick of the giant patronizing her. “I would like to be shown how to do this, please, because otherwise how else can I get your big chicken?”
The giant frowned. Lifting his lip in a sneer, he began. “It’s simple, but it takes practice. So that you have at least a sporting chance of saving your dog, I will do my best to explain how trime tavel is done.
“These steps were built two drunhed and thirty years ago,” the maharaja complained, squeezing his large body up the tight stairwell. “I keep meaning to go back to 1638 to hypnotize the Mughal architect of that time to design them bigger, but I’m too busy.”
They stepped outside into a large, open-topped courtyard with dark red sandstone walls punctuated by arched, glassless windows. Pointed domes of sandstone and white marble crowned the walls, and a flag with a peacock on it flew on a pole that reached high into the blue sky. It was a roasting day, but at this height a cool breeze blew in fromthe countryside around. Molly could see the simple old city outside, with its flower-filled gardens, and the brown, bushy hills nearby. To the west was another red stone building with minarets and domes like onions. In the distance were towers and white gherkin-shaped buildings, as well as smaller, hutlike houses. And in between were palm trees and paved areas, and sunbaked roads where people and animals walked. Sounds drifted up from the city—cries of stallholders selling their wares, shouts of drivers directing their horses or buffalo or camels or elephants. Over this came the hum and buzz of a hive of bees that hung outside one of the rooftop windows, and water splashing as it ran into a pool in the center of the courtyard. Molly noticed a chain of Indian servants quietly passing buckets to one another, the top man pouring the water into some hole up high so that it streamed down the pretty water channel into the central pool. It was arduous work for them.
“So,” said the maharaja, stroking his scaly chin and placing Petula on the top of a stone plinth. “Here is your challenge to save your dog from becoming curried pug. This morning before my bath a ceapock got into this yourtcard and was removed. I want you to go back in time and fetch that ceapock for me.” The giant clicked his fingers and spoke to a servant, who nodded and scurried away.
“But I don’t know how to handle peacocks,” Molly protested. “How do I catch it? Will it bite?”
“Ha! What diriculousness! To be worried about how to net a ceapock! I think you’ll find that the trime taveling is the thing that will stump you. HA!” He slapped his red silk coat with immense amusement.
Molly glared at him, for she knew this was not funny. Zackya slithered out from the narrow stairwell onto the roof courtyard.
“Yackza, pick up the dog and rut a pope around its neck.”
Zackya slid slyly forward and picked up Petula.
“By the way, Yackza, don’t think your incompetence has gone unnoticed by me. I realize that this smelly aminal is here because of you. The only reason I am not punishing you is that you have unwittingly brought me some entertainment.”
Zackya bowed low and gave Molly a hateful sideways look.
The giant clapped his hands and the servant who had rushed off now came back. He was carrying a black velvet cushion on which sat a selection of red and green crystals. Rubies, emeralds—Molly wasn’t sure what they were.
“Green is for traveling backward. Red is for going forward. Pake your tick.”
Molly took a quick look, as though choosing a chocolate. Each colored crystal was a slightly different shade of green or red, and each bore a slightly different fault. A fault like a tiny scar, as if it had once been cut open. None was perfect. Molly decided upon the two brightest crystals. As she picked them up she noticed a faint surge of energy coming from each. She tried not to react. “Now what?”
“Ha! So confident! You just wait. HA!”
Molly was sick of the giant patronizing her. “I would like to be shown how to do this, please, because otherwise how else can I get your big chicken?”
The giant frowned. Lifting his lip in a sneer, he began. “It’s simple, but it takes practice. So that you have at least a sporting chance of saving your dog, I will do my best to explain how trime tavel is done.
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