Molly Moon Stops the World (15 page)

“Sing the magpie song,” she said.

Billy Bob’s caramel-coated voice rang out.

“Where did Cell hypnotize you?”

“In—the movie—room,” said Billy Bob Bimble.

“Where’s that?”

“Downstairs.” He pointed to some stairs at the far end of the conservatory.

“Outside in the croquet garden,” said Shaggy Hair. The girl nodded.

Molly instructed them not to remember meeting Rocky or her and released the musicians from their trance. Then they left them to their strumming and went to find the movie room.

It was a fabulous private cinema-cum-theater with armchair-sized reclining seats. Plush silk curtains were drawn back from a huge screen on which two very fast Ferraris were chasing each other along a cliff-top road. A young man with a serious face was showing a film he had made to an old producer.

Reluctantly Molly and Rocky returned the way they had come.

“We won’t be able to find any clues in there,” said Molly.

“Wish we could just party and watch movies all night,” said Rocky as they made their way outside again. Beside a small croquet lawn surrounded by outdoor heaters, they found Tony Wam, the karate star,
and two other famous actors from big TV soap operas. They were talking about fan mail. Petula sniffed at their trousers. Molly went to eavesdrop on two women who were sitting talking under a lemon tree. An old actress was giving a pretty young girl some advice.

“To be frank, dear, you should have your cheekbones enhanced—they’d just put a bit of extra bone under the skin—it would make all the difference to your face. And a few nice Botox injections in your forehead would be good, because then you could say good-bye to those nasty frown lines that you’re getting. I’ve had Botox. Look at this—I’m frowning now but you can’t see I am, can you?”

“No, there aren’t any lines.”

“Exactly.”

“But don’t we need lines? How does the audience know you’re frowning, or angry or sad?” asked the young actress.

“I don’t know, darling, but I’m not going to grimace just because some
part
demands it. I’m not ruining my face for that.”

Molly checked these two out and found that they too were loyal to Primo Cell. She also made the first significant discovery of the evening.

“Where did Primo Cell hypnotize you?” she asked the Botoxed woman.

“Up—stairs—in his—private rooms,” she replied.

“How do you get to them?”

“You go up the front stairs and follow the landing to the right, past all the pretty bedrooms.”

“They’re so beautiful—I stayed there once.” The young actress sighed.

“You walk along to the end until you come to a special door ….”

“A dreamy door …”

“It leads up some more stairs….”

“Exquisite stairs …”

“If you are lucky, you may go up there with Primo and have tea.”

“Oh, it’s paradise up there….”

“You will see Primo’s
wonderful
private rooms—his workrooms and his library and his study. He’s a very interesting, intelligent …”

“He’s a brilliant man. He ought to be president.”

“The man is a genius….”

“That was where he spoke to me.”

“And me.”

Molly looked at Rocky, who had joined her. They had to go upstairs.

Molly, Rocky, and Petula waited in the main hall for an opportunity to get to the upstairs corridors without being seen. Partygoers were still arriving, and the stairs were busy with people coming and going. The security guards kept a watchful eye on the scene. Eventually they were distracted by a journalist who was trying to gate-crash. As quick as a couple of chipmunks scrambling up a nut-laden tree, Molly, carrying Petula, and Rocky shot up the stairs and turned right. In a moment they were panting behind a pillar, halfway down the corridor. For a minute they watched the landing to make sure they hadn’t been spotted. Then, with their hearts knocking in their chests, they sneaked down the hall and round a corner. Seconds later, they came face to face with a security guard, but Molly
soon zapped him, and they walked on.

They found endless bedrooms—all of which seemed to be occupied, as the different clothes laid out on the beds testified.

“He obviously likes having guests,” whispered Molly, touching an embroidered silk bedspread. “This place is like a castle, isn’t it?”

“Not as cold, though,” said Rocky. “And I hope it doesn’t have a dungeon.”

“It’s like an art gallery, too,” observed Molly as they walked quietly along. A series of airbrushed pictures of rabbits in the headlights of cars lined the wall. These were followed by portraits of people whose heads were spinning off their bodies.

“It’s what he dreams of,” whispered Molly, “that everyone he hypnotizes will lose their heads to him.”

“Do you think he painted these?” asked Rocky.

“No. He’s a collector. But these suit him, don’t they? They show what he’s like underneath.”

They had reached the farthest end of this wing of the house. Beside a closed door, a blue neon sign flashed the words A STITCH IN TIME SAVES NINE. They guessed they were about to enter Primo Cell’s quarters.

Rocky tried the door. It wasn’t locked. Behind it, green marble stairs led upward.

Molly felt that this was like some sort of witch’s
tower, where a sinister spinning wheel stood waiting for them. Shutting the door behind her, she followed Rocky up the stairs. They entered a small sitting room with yellow leather walls and a lit fireplace. The burning wood smelled of limes, and the flames made shadows and light dance across the ceiling. It felt as if the room was watching its guests.

Molly went over to the desk, which was covered with paperweights—each one a dandelion flower in a hard ball of clear resin.

“Don’t touch it—it’s probably alarmed.”

“Rocky, we’re not going to find out anything if I don’t.” Molly rattled the drawers of the desk. They were locked.

“This must be where those two Cell worshipers said they had tea with him,” she said.

There were two other rooms. One had file cabinets and wall cabinets in it, but these were also locked.

“Should have learned how to pick locks from Nockman,” whispered Molly. But Rocky didn’t hear her. He was already in the room opposite, eager to get out as soon as he could.

This next room was a small library, lined with wooden shelves from floor to ceiling. There were all sorts of books—novels, encyclopedias, reference books, biographies, art books, plays, and books of
photographs. Two cream armchairs sat on either side of another lit fire. On a low table was a sculpture of a hand trying to grasp a heart that was flying away. Two more strange pictures hung on the walls. One was of a magpie wearing a crown and a blindfold. The other was of a magpie in flight, suspended by strings attached to its wings and tail.

Molly read the words that were woven around the rim of the brown carpet under her feet.

“Knowledge is power Knowledge is power Knowledge is power Knowledge is power.”

She followed the words along the floor. At one point the carpet had an odd bump in it, as if something was underneath. Molly bent down and felt the lump. Smiling, she lifted the carpet to reveal a brass key. Molly looked at the desk. The key was too big for the locks in its drawers—it looked like a door key. Perhaps it was for the door they’d just come through. Then Rocky saw where the key belonged. Silently, he pointed to a spot in the middle of the wall, where some hairline cracks gave away the position of a concealed door. Near the floor was a small keyhole. As quietly as she could, Molly tried the key in the lock and turned it. It clicked smoothly and the secret door swung inward. Whatever they found behind it was something that Primo Cell didn’t want anyone to see.

The hidden room was another library. This one was
a lot smaller than the first. In the middle was a maroon leather-topped desk with a high-backed chair. Molly, Petula, and Rocky crept in.

The walls were completely lined with books. But unlike those in the previous room, they were all the same size and the same thickness. And their bindings were all the same color—maroon. Some were bright, some were faded, but Molly got the impression that all the books had originally been exactly the same color. Molly recognized the color, but she couldn’t quite place it. But when she read the gold writing on the spine of one of the books, she knew, in a horrible flash, exactly why it felt so familiar.

“I don’t believe it!” she gasped.

For there, on
every
single shelf of the room, were copies of the same book—a book that Molly and Rocky knew very well.

H

Y

P

N

O

T

I

S

M

“I thought the Briersville book was the only copy left in the world,” gulped Molly.

“So did I,” whispered Rocky. “But lots must originally have been printed.”

“How do you think he got all of these?” asked Molly. “They must all have belonged to different people.”

“Different hypnotists,” said Rocky.

Something that Molly had thought only happened in cartoons now happened to her. Her legs began to shake so much that her knees actually knocked together.

“I wonder where they are now.”

Rocky said nothing.

“Dead?” Molly blurted out in a hoarse whisper like a donkey’s cough. Petula whined in sympathy.

“M-maybe he just made them forget everything they knew about hypnotism and sent them back to where they came from,” said Rocky, not wanting to acknowledge how evil Primo Cell might really be.

“They’re like trophies,” hissed Molly. “They’re like shrunken heads of all the hypnotists he’s overpowered.” Her hands were sweating as if she was in a sauna. “I don’t like this. We’ve got to get out of here.” Cell’s overwhelming collection of the book that had changed her life had completely unnerved her. Her own skills felt like plastic toys compared to Cell’s hightech machines. She pushed away all ideas of searching
for Davina. All she wanted to do was get out of the building safely.

They locked the room, rehid the key, and cautiously made their way out of the terrible house.

Downstairs, Primo Cell was pacing. For him, this was just another power-building opportunity. He liked being the center of attention and being on intimate terms with so many of Hollywood’s biggest stars. They were all people he considered “his,” but their devotion to him made them less interesting. The guests who interested him were those he hadn’t met before, and right now, the person who intrigued him most was that plain-looking child Molly Moon.

In New York she’d been headline news with her part in
Stars on Mars.
Her support could be very useful to him on his children’s channel. He already used the pop star Billy Bob Bimble, but a famous girl would really help Cell win the hearts of American children. It had crossed his mind that the child was a hypnotist. Her sudden rise to fame, her mystery, her ordinariness and yet her stardom—all had the stamp of a hypnotist. It was always a thrill to meet his own kind, although, of course,
adult
hypnotists eventually had to be disposed of.

Cell sighed as he thought of Davina Nuttel. He had planned to have her spearhead a big promotion
campaign for Fashion House girls’ wear. He didn’t understand why she’d been impossible to hypnotize. Worse, it was as if something within Davina had weakened him. Molly Moon would probably be easier to hypnotize—though he’d have to be careful.
She
could be the new face of Fashion House.

Where was Molly Moon? Primo scoured the balcony and the garden below. An owly old screenwriter was standing by the door smoking a cigarette.

“You know that kid star Molly Moon? Have you seen her?” Primo Cell asked.

“Yeahhsssss,” the man replied. “It goes like this. Pan across hall to oaken front door to see girl and friend squeezing through crowd to leave. Close-up on girl’s face. She smiles uncomfortably. Someone has recognized her. Focus on girl’s pug dog. It follows kids through door. Fade.”

“How long ago was that?” asked Primo.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“They’ll be in a cab by now,” Primo said to himself, pressing the pad of his thumb up against his sharp incisor.

“Next time,” suggested the screenwriter, exhaling a column of smoke, “maybe you ought to hire a children’s entertainer.”

Molly and Rocky walked down the drive and out of
Cell’s front gates. They decided that it was simpler to walk all the way back to the Château Marmont.

Primo Cell’s secret library had scared them both badly.

“I mean, why should we have to sort the Primo Cell problem out?” said Rocky. “We’re never going to stop him. He’s too powerful.”

Molly agreed.

“It’s really a job for some sort of trained agent,” she said, looking across the road at a poster for an action movie. “The idea that
I
should be able to do it is ridiculous.”

“And not fair.”

“Not at all fair. Why doesn’t
Lucy
wait until she’s better and then come and do it herself?” said Molly.

“Here we are in one of the most amazing places on earth,” complained Rocky, “and we go to a party that most people would cut their right foot off to go to, but we have to miss the fun and instead snoop about and risk getting caught by Mr. Weirdo. It’s not fair.”

“Or reasonable.”

Grumbling like this, the two friends walked through the chilly night.

Back in their bungalow, Rocky made drinks—proper Shirley Temples. Molly reached into a cupboard for a packet of marshmallows.

“When are you going to call Lucy Logan and tell her you can’t do the job?” asked Rocky.