out of earshot, Baloo grumbled to Kit, “Wish she didn’t have so much say-so.”
Half Hour Later
Sea Duck
The sun was no more than a pale pink smudge on the eastern horizon when Rebecca was overseeing the loading of the Sea Duck from inside the dark cargo hold.
Shining her flashlight on the clipboard, she murmured to herself, “Electric blankets. Check. Napkins. Check. Mosquito netting. Check. Ace bandages. Check.”
Baloo carried the last crate into the cargo hold, set it down, then sat down on it with a tired sigh. “Where’s all this stuff goin’, anyways?”
Matter-of-factly, Rebecca reeled off: “Blankets to Tundra City, napkins to Lhasa Apso, mosquito netting to Malaria, and the bandages to Mondobobo. We’re going to Malaria first.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense if we went to Lhasa Apso first?” Baloo said through his millionth yawn of the morning. “It’s on the way to Malaria.”
Without thinking, Rebecca blurted out, “No!”
Baloo shot her a suspicious look.
“I mean...th-these are scheduled to be delivered first.”
Baloo flipped the lever to close the back hatch, then headed towards the cockpit, mumbling, “Whatever, lady. Don’t pay me no never mind. I’m just the pilot. Only been ‘round the world more times than you’ve been ‘round the corner, but what do I know?”
“What did you say, Baloo?” Rebecca asked, glaring at his back as she stepped into the cockpit right behind him.
Hastily, he said, “Oh, nuthin’, Becky. Nuthin’.” The big bear plopped down into the pilot’s seat. “Ready to pull chocks, Li’l Britches?”
“Roger that,” said Kit from the navigator’s seat.
“I roger that, too.” Molly was sitting beside Kit, directing the flashlight’s beam on the map so that the boy could plot their course.
Baloo chuckled and patted the little girl’s head. Noticing the sketchbook lying on her lap, he said, “Brought your book along, huh, Pigtails?”
“Yup. We need it,” the little girl replied with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Before her daughter could elaborate, Rebecca said quickly, “She means that she needs something to do on this long flight.”
“But I’d rather help Kit with navigating,” Molly said, eagerly eyeing the sextant that the boy was walking across the map. “Kit, can you show me where we’re going? Kit, can I hold your compass? I’ll fold the map for you, Kit.”
Kit sighed as Baloo flipped the switches to start the engines. “Miz Cunningham was right. This is gonna be a long flight.”
Three Hours Later
Itchenscratchen, Malaria
Bordered by Bulgaria and Hysteria, Malaria was a small country known chiefly for its abundance of swamps. The only thing that outnumbered the swamps were the mosquitos, which suited the amphibious inhabitants perfectly as they considered the insects a delicacy. However, to outsiders, the mosquitos were nothing more than buzzing, biting bugs.
Molly shooed away a mosquito that had landed on her nose and gazed around at the Itchenscratchen airport, which was bustling with activity - and frogs. What was so intriguing about all of the frogs was that they were lapping mosquitos out of the air with their long, red, sticky tongues.
The client who was talking to her mother was no exception. “So...” Snap went his tongue as it shot out and snagged an insect. Slurp went his tongue as he drew it back into his mouth. He swallowed with a loud gulp. The whole process took less than a second and was as natural as breathing to him. Without missing a beat, he continued in his thick Malarian accent, “What did you think of the new Hetty Hopper movie?”
Rebecca paused in signing her name on the clipboard. “I’m afraid that I haven’t seen it yet.”
“It would be,” snap, slurp, gulp, “too bad to miss it. My wife and I had a jumping,” snap, slurp, gulp, “good time.”
“I’ll make a note to see it when it comes to Cape Suzette, then,” Rebecca said politely. Suppressing the impulse to gag at his repulsive eating habit, she handed the clipboard and pen back to him. “That should do it, Mr. Bounding.” She glanced over to where Baloo and Kit were carrying a large, long roll of mosquito netting from the Sea Duck to a waiting truck.
Baloo was saying, “Keep your end up, Kit. It’s saggin’ in the middle.”
Rebecca thought, So are you, flyboy. Aloud, she said, “My flight crew will help you with anything else that you need.”
“Thank you, Ms. Cunningham.” Snap, slurp, gulp. “Are you sure that you and your,” snap, slurp, gulp, “flight crew won’t have breakfast with me?”
Rebecca looked slightly ill. “No, thank you. Maybe some other time when we’re not so buzzy, er...busy.” She shook his hand and forced herself to smile, even though her stomach was churning. “A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Bounding.”
He pumped her hand. “And you, Ms. Cunningham.” Snap, slurp, gulp, he went as he ate a mosquito that had been buzzing a mere inch from her ear. “Mmm...tasty.”
When he had walked away, Rebecca shuddered with revulsion. “I don’t want to know what he eats for breakfast. We don’t have time anyway.”
“You mean...?” Molly said, her eyes lighting up.
Rebecca nodded, then patted her large purple purse at her side. In it was the sketchbook. “We’re going to the glockenspiel.”
“Yippee!”
A few minutes later, they climbed out of a cab in the old square in the heart of Itchenscratchen and joined the tourists who were gathered in front of the glockenspiel.
Rebecca scooped up Molly and made her way to the front of the crowd where they would have a better view.
As it had done for years, the twice-daily puppet dance began with the tolling of the bells. Several delighted children squealed when wooden figurines emerged through doors that opened on either side of the clock face. Around and around on their well-worn tracks, the elaborately painted wooden figurines - kings, queens, knights, even the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker - moved and sashayed to the music provided by the carillon bells.
Despite the maddening mosquitoes’ high-pitched whining in their ears, despite the snap, slurp, gulp from the frogs, despite the slapping and scratching from the other tourists, the Cunninghams’ attention was focused solely on the glockenspiel.
Suddenly, Molly exclaimed, “There! That little frog doll with the blonde hair and funny red hat shaped like a pancake is carrying a box like the one we found in Cape Park.”
“Now’s our chance,” Rebecca murmured when a yellow bird at the very top of the glockenspiel cuckooed three times, signifying that the puppet dance was over. They made their way through the hordes of people headed for the shops and, giving a quick glance around to make sure they were unobserved, casually slipped through a door at the base of the glockenspiel. Once inside, they hurried up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs, they found themselves on a dusty scaffold overlooking a maze of narrow circular tracks upon which the figurines were lined up one after another, still and lifeless. Their white, vacant, bulging frog eyes gleamed weirdly at them through the musty darkness. Above them, the clock ticked steadily.
“Where is it?” Rebecca said quietly, peering through the dimly lit room.
“Right there!” Before her mother could stop her, Molly ducked under the railing and stepped onto the slender track.
Rebecca felt a little quiver of fear shoot down her spine when she heard the old track creak under her daughter’s feet. She couldn’t help but glance down into the darkness two stories below. “Molly Elizabeth Cunningham, get back here right this instant!”
“Don’t worry, I can get the box,” Molly said confidently. When she came to the first figurine on the track - a lady-in-waiting in a pink gown and pointed hat - she paused for a moment. There was only one inch of track on either side of the doll, which was taller as she. Throwing her arms around the doll, she clung to it as she tiptoed gingerly around it. When she was safely on the other side, she grinned back at her mother. “See, it’s not that hard, Mom.”
Rebecca held her breath as she watched Molly sidle around figurine after figurine, getting farther and farther away, until she reached the page doll.
Molly tried to tug the box out of its hands, but it wouldn’t budge. “It must be glued on,” she called across the echoing room.
“Open it with the key, Pumpkin,” Rebecca suggested.
“Oh, right.” Clinging to the doll for balance, she dug the key that they had found in the Cape Park box out of her overalls pocket, put it into the lock, and opened the box.
Not able to stand the suspense, Rebecca inquired eagerly, “Anything in it?”
“Yep,” Molly replied. “Something really neat!”
Rebecca’s hopes lifted. Visions of jewels danced in her head. Leaning over the rickety railing as far as she dared, she strained to see through the gloom. “What? What?”
“A green and silver marble,” Molly replied, extremely pleased with her find. “Wait ‘til Wildcat sees this one.”
“That’s it? A marble?” Rebecca’s face - and hopes - fell. “We came all this way just for a lousy marble?”
“Nope. There’s also a key and a piece of paper with the number 4 on it.”
“A marble, a key, and a number. Great...” Rebecca muttered sarcastically.
“Yeah, isn’t it?” Molly said enthusiastically as she shoved her newfound treasures into her pocket.
Back at the Sea Duck
As Baloo taxied the seaplane down the runway, he peered through the mosquito-splattered windshield and said, “I know why you wanted to come along today, Becky.”
“Y-you do?” Rebecca stammered. She couldn’t imagine how Baloo had possibly known that she and Molly were on a treasure hunt. She steeled herself for the derision that was sure to follow.
“Ya got the itch to see Itchenscratchen. Am I right?”
“Uh...yes. Exactly,” Rebecca said, relieved.
“We
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