They followed Theobald Black around the school’s tree-lined square. The rain was pelting down. In the distance, they could still hear police sirens.
“I expect you two will be wanting to meego back to your own bodies,” said Black, pulling up the neckline of his coat to conceal his face as much as he could. “I can teach you.”
“Wow, that would be brilliant,” Molly gasped.
“That would be incredible,” agreed Micky, adding, “It’s amazing how wrong we got you. We had you down as a really bad man.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything people tell you about a person,” Black said gruffly. “You know the old saying—never judge a book by its cover.”
Molly looked up at him. He was unattractive, it couldn’t be denied. His thick, grayish skin was ugly and pitted, but now that Black was looking directly at her, Molly saw that there was a kind twinkle in his eye.
“I’m sorry we thought you were bad,” Molly apologized. “You didn’t deserve it.”
“Hunroe and her friends seemed good,” explained Micky. “They painted you as a dishonest, two-bit slime-ball to fit their story. How much do you know about Miss Hunroe?”
“A lot. I know her very, very well. I went to school with her. She was as nasty then as she is now. Miss Popular, she was, with every teacher thinking she was an angel. She liked to have sycophantic followers….”
“Syco what?” said Molly.
“Sycophantic,” Micky intervened. “It’s when a person blindly follows another person, doing whatever they want like an obedient dog. That’s called being sycophantic.”
Theobald Black nodded. “Hunroe liked her followers exactly like that. They’d all look up to her and behaved as though they hoped some of her Hunroeness might rub off on them. I suppose she was always glamorous. They all wanted to be her and would do whatever she wanted.”
“Sounds like the gang she has now.”
“I’m sure. Miss Hunroe wouldn’t be able to exist without her obedient followers. She had a particularly evil thuggy helper at school called Bartholomew. She used him to do her dirty work, to bully people, to get what she wanted. She hasn’t changed.” They walked under the old arch at the entrance of the school. “And now she’s gotten what she wanted—the book. And she’s gone.”
“But I haven’t!” came a smug response behind them. Black and the schoolboys spun around.
AH2 stood behind them, looking proud as a cockerel. Smiling, he thrust his hand forward. In it was a red box.
“Who on earth is this person?” Black asked Molly.
“He’s an alien hunter,” Molly replied matter-of-factly. “Somehow that gadget of his can always tell where I am, whoever I am. He wants to be my contact on Earth.”
All of a sudden Molly got some inspiration. She was feeling a little guilty about keeping Max from his lessons, since he’d get into trouble for missing them, and she supposed it might be interesting to find out more about AH2. So, quick as a somersault, she morphed into him. As she left Max’s body, she thanked him, and she introduced herself to AH2 before pushing his character down below her.
“I’m Molly now,” Molly as AH2 said to Black and Micky. “And Micky, maybe you should be him.” She pointed to a Rasta man who was walking toward Parliament Square carrying a placard that read WAKE UP: CLIMATE CHANGE IS HERE. Above, a flash of lightning lit up the dark gray sky.
“It certainly is,” Black muttered, adding mysteriously, “and quicker than any of you might suspect.”
“Where to, guv?” asked the cab driver. They were now out on the busy street.
“Blissamore Hotel, please,” Black replied. Above them, another flash of lightning splintered across the sky. Heavier raindrops began to fall. “Good lord, it really has started,” Black said to himself.
They all piled into the cab, dripping from the rain. Molly as AH2, and Micky as the Rasta, whose name was Leonard.
“Wow! Everyt’ing is cool in ’ere!” Micky said, with a Jamaican lilt to his voice, as he settled back into his seat. “This guy listens to a lot of music. It’s flying around his brain like ribbons.” The cab set off.
“I don’t believe it!” Molly gasped as she glanced through AH2’s mind. “This guy shot me with a tracking dart! That’s how he always knows where I am. I remember where now. It was by the pool—do you remember, Micky?”
It was then that she heard the barking. It was Petula’s bark, Molly was sure of it. Forgetting about AH2, Molly wound down the window. She saw Petula with Stanley and Magglorian. They were running alongside the cab in the rain.
“Stop the car!” Molly cried. And in the next moment she had opened the cab door and was on the street, hugging Petula. Behind, other cabs and buses beeped.
“You better get in,” the cab driver suggested. “Or I’ll get a ticket.”
“So has your pet changed into this man now?” Stanley asked Petula, looking at AH2, extremely confused.
“Yes! Thanks, you two. We found her!”
Magglorian sniffed the air and eyed the traffic that was building up on the road behind.
“Talking of pets,” he said, “I’d better get back to mine. They’ll be worrying.”
“Same ’ere,” said Stanley. “Mine’ll be leavin’ the market soon.”
Both dogs barked at Petula.
“Nice meeting you, Petula!” Magglorian said, wagging his tail.
“Good luck, girl!” Stanley added. He dropped a stone into the car. “And there you go, Petula, I’ve been meaning to give you that! A little present. Good-bye.” He gave her a cheeky wink, and with that, the two London dogs scampered away, dodging pedestrians and looking like they owned the streets. Then Petula jumped in the cab, picked up the present of the pebble, and shook herself down.
Ten minutes later, they had arrived back at the hotel where Black had stayed the night before.
“Come on up.” Black led Molly as AH2 and Micky as the Rasta past a gray-suited receptionist toward the hotel’s elevator.
“Is this where you normally live?” Molly asked.
“I live in a few places,” Black said, pressing the elevator button.
The doors pinged open and they all shuffled in.
“Just explain,” Molly said, tilting her head. “Why do you live in a hotel and how?”
“This hotel belongs to my brother. He inherited it from our mother when she died. The deal was, I got the equivalent in cash and an apartment to live in.” Molly watched bright numbered buttons light up as the elevator ascended through the building. “He’s a businessman now. He owns other hotels, too,” Black continued. “And of course the casino. I don’t really approve of that part of his business, but he let me have an office there and it seemed a waste to refuse on principle. I mean, he’ll continue running that gambling house whatever I say, and it’s an excellent location for my charity, so in the balance it’s a good idea.”
They all stepped out onto a carpeted landing. Then Micky stalled.
“Before we go into your apartment,” he said, “I’ve just got a few questions for you, Mr. Black.”
Black nodded. “Fire away. You need to trust me a hundred percent.”
“Firstly,” Micky started, “Miss Hunroe showed us some pictures. In one you were in the park, sitting on a bench with a woman, a woman in a hat with a bird on it, and you seemed to be hypnotizing her with a pendulum. How can you explain that?”
“Oh!” Black exclaimed. “Mrs. Moriarty! She’s an antiques dealer. She was selling me that pendulum. I collect pendulums, you see. She met me in the park because I couldn’t get to Camden, where her shop is. Hunroe is so devious,” he added. “That picture must have made me look really bad. I have the bill for it inside, if you want proof.”