Trill Changes Her Tune

by Gail Herman

  Trill turned toward Strad. The instrument maker sat on a stool, bent over her panpipes. Trill had been trying not to watch. She didn’t want to see Strad’s expression, or the way she toiled over the panpipes. Not seeing made it easy to believe that the panpipes would be fine.

  “Tsk, tsk.” Strad clucked her tongue.

  “Yes?” said Trill. She was so worried!

  Strad touched one long dent that stretched across the top of the pipes. “That’s a major problem right there. Everything else is just a matter of sanding and cleaning. But it will all take time.”

  “How much time?” Trill asked. “Will the panpipes be ready for the concert?”

  Strad shrugged. “Maybe yes, maybe no. I can’t make any promises.”

  Trill pointed to a shelf of panpipes on the other side of the workshop. “What about those? If you don’t finish in time, can I use one?”

  “Use one of these? Ha!” Strad strode across the room and grabbed an armful of panpipes. Then she let them clatter to the ground.

  “They’re all useless.” She picked one up and blew into it. It sounded like a foghorn. Another sounded like an owl screeching. “I just keep them for the day when I finally have time to try to fix them.”

  Strad moved close to Trill. “Besides, your instrument is a beauty. A work of art, if I do say so myself. You need to wait.”

  Wait? Trill swallowed. The Oceanside Symphony wouldn’t wait because of one damaged instrument. She needed her panpipes now!

  Trill had to find Cleff. He should know about my panpipes, she realized. But what would he say? Would he understand?

  Trill hated to tell anyone bad news.

  And this was very, very bad news. Cleff had everything planned, right down to the smallest detail. Surely he’d blame her for the mishap.

  Trill left Strad’s workshop and flew around Pixie Hollow, looking for Cleff. She moved slowly and a little unsteadily. Usually, her panpipes were at her side. Without them, she felt awkward and off balance.

  Finally, Trill heard Cleff’s voice. It was coming from the orange crate that art-talent Bess had turned into a studio. Trill peeked between the slats and listened.

  “I thought we could put up a painting in the tearoom,” Cleff was saying to Bess. “Something that would get everyone excited about the concert. You could paint a portrait. Maybe the musicians at the beach, or—”

  Cleff frowned and lifted a foot. He’d stepped in a puddle of red berry paint.

  Jars and jars of paints and brushes cluttered the studio. Old, used canvases and brand-new ones were scattered along the walls. The room was a mess. Cleff kept glancing around, looking uneasy.

  He’s so particular about things, Trill thought.

  This would be a terrible moment to tell him about the panpipes. Most likely, he felt anxious already, just trying to avoid all the jumble. But time was running out. She didn’t want to surprise him at the last minute.

  “You do know that the flower trumpets are always pink blooms with white stripes?” Cleff asked Bess. “Not white flowers with pink stripes?”

  Bess nodded.

  Taking a deep breath, Trill fluttered into the studio, but she banged her head against the door frame. She ducked lower and blushed. More than anything, she wanted to turn and leave. But she forced herself to stay.

  Cleff and Bess turned to her, looking curious.

  “I—I—I don’t mean to interrupt,” Trill said.

  “That’s all right, Trill,” Bess said.

  “You’re here to see me?” Cleff asked.

  “Yes.” Trill paused. She stared at the floor, then explained everything in a rush.

  Cleff pulled a lily pad out of his pocket to make a note. “Well, Trill. Let’s hope your panpipes are ready in time. But we can only wait and see.”

  Trill sighed with relief. Cleff sounded surprised, disappointed, and a little bit frustrated. But certainly not angry.

  “I’ll fly with you later,” Trill said, turning to leave.

  Swish, swish. Trill froze in place. What was that sound?

  Bess was sweeping a brush across a canvas, showing Cleff an outline of what she could paint. Trill listened harder. What a lovely rhythm!

  The paintbrush was a stick, like a drumstick. What if the percussionists used a paintbrush, with the brush end striking the drum? Would it make a swishing sound, too? And could it make the music more interesting?

  “Cleff?” In her excitement, Trill spoke without thinking or worrying. “What would you say to using paintbrushes for drumsticks? It could be something special for the concert. It would add a whole new sound!”

  Cleff was eyeing Bess’s outline, not really paying attention. His elbow grazed a paint jar and it clattered to the ground. He reached to pick it up and knocked over another one.

  “Paintbrushes? Drumsticks?” he said testily. “What are you talking about, Trill?”

  Trill stepped back. “N-n-nothing,” she stammered.

  Quickly, Cleff righted the jars. “Now, will this painting be ready by sunrise?” he asked Bess.

  When Bess said yes, he nodded at both fairies and left.

  “Bess?” Trill said, hesitating a bit. “Can I borrow some of these brushes?”

  “Look at these, Cadence!” Trill said excitedly. Trill and Cadence were in Trill’s room. The windows were flung open, letting in the sounds of Pixie Hollow.

  All around the bedroom, Trill had placed shell-horns and rhythm sticks and rattle-gourds. She even had an old drum she used for a nightstand tucked into a corner.

  Cadence wrinkled her nose. “Paintbrushes!” she said. “You pulled me away from dinner to show me a bunch of paintbrushes?”

  “Not just paintbrushes,” Trill told her. She rolled the drum to the center of the room. “Drumsticks! Try them.”

  Cadence gave Trill a funny look. She struck the drum with the wooden end of the paintbrush. Boom! “So?” She shrugged. “It’s just like using a regular drumstick.”

  “Wait,” said Trill. She took the paintbrushes from her friend, turned them over, and handed them back. “Try it again. Use the brush end.” Cadence tapped the drum. Shh-boom. “Hey!” she cried, delighted. “It has more of a ring. The vibration lasts longer.”

  Shh-boom, shh-boom. Cadence struck the drum a bit harder. “And the sound is softer than using regular sticks, too.”

  Cadence kept playing. “This is great! It’s a whole new sound! I know the other drummers will love it.” She hugged Trill tight. “Do you think we can use these in the symphony?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Trill. “Cleff’s in charge.”

  When she’d suggested the paintbrushes earlier, Cleff had pretty much ignored the idea. But maybe he’d had too much on his mind just then.

  The drum sounds were new and different. And Cadence hadn’t felt sure about the paintbrushes, either—until she’d tried them.

  Just thinking of talking to Cleff made Trill’s heart beat quickly. This wasn’t just any old idea. It was her idea. Did she dare bring it up again?

  Yes! She had to try.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Trill tucked the paintbrushes under her arm and hurried to the tearoom.

  I’ll go talk to Cleff right now, she thought. She felt nervous. But maybe they’d have a nice, friendly discussion over breakfast. And that would be that.

  Trill flitted into the room and took in the sounds. The hiss of the teapots.

  The chatter of fairies. Everyone was talking about the Oceanside Symphony, and about Bess’s new painting. The sketch she had outlined was now a portrait and already hanging on a wall.

  “Great work!” Beck told Bess, flying past the art-talent table.

  “When is the symphony?” a sparrow man asked. “I can’t wait!”

  “I think we’ll use fireflies for the finale,” Fira told another light talent.

  “Let’s try a new pie recipe!” Dulcie called to the bakers in the kitchen. They were already preparing for the feast.

  Just as Cleff had wanted, Bess
’s painting had gotten everyone excited. His idea had been a good one. What would he think of Trill’s?

  At the music-talent table, Cleff was bent over his scroll, scribbling more notes. Trill slipped in next to him and said, “Can I talk to you, Cleff?” It came out almost in a whisper.

  Cleff was concentrating so hard, he didn’t hear. “If the drummers wear red, then the harpists should wear white,” he muttered.

  Trill cleared her throat. She’d have to speak more loudly. But before she could say anything more, Cleff reached for the serving bowl. It was empty.

  Cleff frowned. “What’s going on?” he asked Trill. “We always have sweet rolls with breakfast.”

  “The baking talents are getting ready for the symphony feast,” she explained. “Maybe they don’t have time.”

  Cleff liked things a certain way—the way he was used to. That was clear. Trill crossed her fingers. She hoped he wasn’t too put out. “I’ll bet the serving talents will bring rolls any minute.”

  Next to Cleff sat Ariette and Lyra. At the same exact moment, they picked up their teacups and took a sip.

  Trill gathered her courage and went on. “But in the meantime…” She held out the paintbrushes. “C-c-could you listen to Cadence play the drums? Using these? Then you can hear how it sounds.”

  Ariette and Lyra both turned to Trill. “Playing the drums with paintbrushes!” they said together. “How—

  “—fascinating!” said Ariette.

  “—strange!” said Lyra at the same time.

  Cleff set his fork and knife next to his plate so everything lined up perfectly. “No one’s ever played the drums with paintbrushes,” he said. “And there must be a good reason.” He shook his head. “It’s just not done.”

  More music talents were joining the table now. They all seemed interested.

  Trill gazed down at her lap. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. What should she do? This could be important!

  Finally, Trill looked up. Across the table, Cadence nodded. “B-b-but why not try something new?” Trill’s voice was low. “Experiment?”

  A serving talent placed fresh sweet rolls next to Cleff. “Ah! At last!” he crowed. He wasn’t even listening.

  “Why not experiment?” Trill said loudly.

  Cleff stared at her, his hand stopped in midair as he reached for a roll. Trill’s glow flared, even in the bright sunshine.

  “I—I—I mean, maybe we can experiment,” she said more quietly. “We can try new sounds. Maybe even new instruments.”

  Trill lowered her eyes. In front of her were some cups. They were filled with different amounts of tea.

  “Look!” Trill placed the cups in a row. Then, taking a knife, she struck them one by one. Each cup rang out with a different note. Bong, bing, bing.

  “That’s like a xylophone,” Prilla called out from across the room. “I’ve seen Clumsies play them!”

  “How about adding this to the concert?” Trill asked Cleff.

  Together, the twins said, “That would be—

  “—great!” said Ariette.

  “—ridiculous!” Lyra said at the same time. She glared at her twin.

  “I wouldn’t call it ridiculous.” Cleff leaned back in his chair. “But we have our own ways here. Traditional ways. And we don’t use cups for instruments!”

  The notes are so lovely, though, Trill thought. They’d blend so well with the music. She wanted so much for fairy music to be meaningful…for everyone to be moved.

  Trill opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. She couldn’t disagree with Cleff. Not in front of everyone!

  Just then, Tinker Bell flew in through an open window. She carried two saucer-shaped steel pots.

  “New pots coming through!” she yelled. “Watch out. Dulcie needs these right away!”

  A sudden thought struck Trill. If she could use teacups for instruments…what about pots?

  Before she even realized it, she was fluttering over to Tink. “Can Dulcie wait just a minute?” she asked.

  “What?” Tink said, surprised. Trill felt surprised, too. She’d never spoken up like this before—especially to a fairy as strong-minded as Tink.

  “P-p-please?” Trill added. She held out her hands for the pots. Still taken aback, Tink gave them to her without a word.

  Fairies turned in their seats to watch.

  “If we just do this…” Trill’s voice trailed off. She placed one pot on top of the other, open ends together. The pots formed a cylinder.

  “Ta-da! A new kind of drum!” Trill struck the pots lightly. A sweet ringing tone swept across the room.

  “Hey!” cried Cadence. “Do it again!” Cadence beat the table with a spoon while Ariette tapped the xylophone of cups.

  A music talent named Jango grabbed two knives and used them as rhythm sticks. Another musician poured salt into two teacups and rattled them like maracas. Someone else banged trays together for cymbals.

  Trill moved in time to the music. It was all spur-of-the-moment. The music wasn’t planned or studied. And it was beautiful.

  “I’ll make more pots for you!” Tink offered.

  “They would be great for the concert,” Cadence added.

  “No, no, no!” Cleff’s voice rose above the others. Everyone stopped. A hush fell over the tearoom.

  “Whoever heard of a steel-pot drum? Or paintbrush drumsticks? Or a. . . a”—Cleff stood and pointed to the xylophone—“whatever you call that thing! I say the concert will go on as it always has. It will be the classic Oceanside Symphony. And it will be unchanged.”

  Every fairy in the room looked at Trill to see what she’d do next.

  The music talent felt the familiar heat of embarrassment deepen her glow. She stepped back into the shadows.

  Come on, Trill! she urged herself. You can do it! You can answer him!

  If Trill didn’t say anything now, Cleff would have his way. The symphony would continue in its ho-hum, already-been-done fashion. She had to speak up.

  “Why c-c-can’t there be new instruments?” Her voice wavered, but she went on. “And why can’t there be new ways to play our old ones? Music is part of all our lives. We should let it change and grow. We should try new things!”

  “We should take these pots to the kitchen!” said Dulcie, bustling out.

  Everyone laughed except the music talents. Trill stood silently on one side of their table, Cleff on the other. And neither one planned to move anytime soon.

  SHE WANTED TO sit by the river and think.

  “I can’t believe I spoke up like that!” she said out loud as she flew through the courtyard. “In front of everyone!”

  Was Cleff angry? Surprised? Trill didn’t know. After Dulcie took the pots away, breakfast had ended. Fairies and sparrow men had scattered. Trill hadn’t had a chance to talk to Cleff—even if she’d wanted to.

  “Trill!” Cadence called out. She flew to her friend’s side. “It’s Lily’s Arrival Day,” she whispered. “All the music talents are going to her garden to surprise her. Can you come?”

  Trill nodded. Of course she could! Sitting by the river could wait. No matter what else was happening, she didn’t want to miss Lily’s Arrival Day song.

  Together, the friends flew to the garden. Trill saw that Cleff was already there, hiding behind a raspberry bush with Ariette and Lyra.

  Trill pointed to a patch of daisies—far away from Cleff. “Let’s hide there,” she whispered to Cadence.

  They waved to Fira, Beck, Prilla, and the other fairies, who were peeking out from plants and flowers all around the garden.

  Everyone ducked back into hiding when Lily and Tink flew overhead.

  “Let’s try out this watering can right now,” Tink was saying.

  “Were you able to fix it?” Lily asked.

  “I think so. I replaced the spout with a tin from a Clumsy can. The label said ‘Peas Soaked in Water.’ Now it should pour just fine.”

  The two fairies landed by a patch of silv
er bells. “My favorites!” said Tink. She and Lily bent down to smell the flowers. Behind Lily’s back, Tink signaled to the hiding fairies.

  Tiptoeing, the fairies and sparrow men crept from their spots.

  Lily stood up. “Well, should we try the watering—”

  “Hooray, hooray for Arrival Day!” all the fairies sang together.

  Lily jumped, startled. The music talents pulled out their instruments from pouches and leaf-packs. Cadence rolled out her drum, which was hidden behind a shrub. Cleff held a mini-harp.

  Then Beck waved to a group of crickets to whistle along. Everyone circled around Lily.

  With a pang, Trill remembered she had no instrument. Her panpipes, her beloved panpipes, couldn’t accompany the others.

  All the fairies and sparrow men launched into the song:

  “Hooray, hooray for Arrival Day!

  Hooray, hooray for Arrival Day!

  You are born from laughter

  And a Never fairy ever after.

  From the first sprinkling of dust,

  You’ll have magic you can trust.

  Hooray, hooray for Arrival Day!

  Hooray, hooray for Arrival Day!”

  The song was so beautiful! Trill’s fingers were itching to play. She couldn’t just stand and listen. She needed an instrument. Any instrument! Then she spied a patch of clover just outside the garden hedge.

  Clover! Trill remembered a field of clover not far from the river. Every time a breeze blew, the wind whistled through the flowers. It was music, pure and simple.

  Would just a few sprigs make the same kind of sound?

  Trill darted over to the patch and plucked some clover from the ground. Quickly, she fashioned a whistle.

  TWEET! The sound was so surprising, everyone stopped singing.

  All eyes turned toward Trill, who was still holding the clover to her mouth.

  “Stop!” cried Pluck, a harvest-talent fairy. “What are you doing, Trill? That plant has three leaves. It’s itchy ivy!”