by Emily Rodda
The music box kept playing. It played on and on, for much longer than usual.
But it hadn’t broken. It hadn’t. And somehow that fact made Leo even angrier, because it made him feel like a timid idiot.
Don’t be stupid, he told himself, forcing his breathing to slow. You should be glad that everything’s okay. And it’s that girl who’s the idiot. How did she know that the music box wouldn’t break? That fourth turn really might have made the spring snap. Then she’d have been in big trouble!
He turned away from the door. His room was full of moving light and shadow as the sun filtered through the leaves of the tree that grew outside the window behind his desk. Two small, bright blue butterflies with black spots on their wings were fluttering above the music box. They danced in the air as though attracted by the music, which was slowing down at last.
Leo looked at them curiously. They seemed oddly familiar to him, though he’d never paid much attention to insects, despite his father’s urgings.
‘How did you get in here?’ he said.
The butterflies fluttered aside as he went to the desk. He leaned over and pushed the window up as far as it would go. But by the time he’d straightened up and stepped back, ready to shoo the butterflies out through the gap, they were nowhere to be seen.
Leo looked around, frowning. They’ve hidden somewhere, he thought. Well, at least my door’s closed so they can’t leave my room. They’ll start flying around again eventually. I’ll get them out then.
He shut the window and sat down at his desk. The music box had stopped playing long ago, but he didn’t even think of winding it up again.
Mimi could hear the music through the wall. If he only wound the box three times, she’d know. If he wound it four times she’d know that too.
Either way, she’d get that infuriating, superior look on her face. The same look she’d had when she said she couldn’t see the wolf. Just the thought of it filled Leo with rage.
But he hadn’t been able to see the wolf either, the second time he’d looked. Could he possibly have imagined it?
No! Leo thought. He closed the music box’s glossy black lid with a little snap and picked up the magnifying glass. He frowned through the glass at the place where he knew, he just knew, the wolf had been – in the trees right behind the man stacking firewood.
For a long moment he could see nothing but bushes and shadows. Then he moved the glass a little to the left.
And there it was! The crouching, shaggy grey body, the gleaming, hungry eyes. The beast wasn’t as close to the man as he’d thought. It was, in fact, nearer to the baby and its mother.
Leo fought off a creeping feeling of dread. He also fought off the urge to go and get Mimi Langlander, and make her see the wolf for herself. He wasn’t going to let that girl into his room again.
Determinedly he moved the magnifying glass away from the clearing, catching glimpses of other scenes as they became visible.
There were the firefighters battling the flames. There were the wedding guests drinking from their silver cups, while the bride and groom stood together at the head of the table.
Further on, seven white swans glided serenely on a small lake edged with flowers. Beside the lake, a man in an embroidered robe sat beneath a tree. The ends of his long, pencil-thin moustache dangled all the way to his chest. A grey pigtail hung down his back. His face was very peaceful and his hand was cupped to his ear as if he was listening to something.
Leo suddenly remembered an old story he’d read about an emperor who loved listening to the song of a nightingale. The scene he was looking at reminded him of that story.
On impulse, he began searching the tree branches that stretched above the richly dressed old man. Moving the magnifying glass in and out, he strained his eyes to see between the leaves. Finally he saw a small bird sitting on a twig near the top of the tree. The bird’s head was tilted up, and its beak was open as if it was singing.
‘Yes!’ Leo whispered. This surely couldn’t be just a coincidence! The artist who had painted the music box must have known the story, and had put the emperor and the nightingale into his picture.
Maybe the artist painted characters from other stories too, Leo thought, fascinated. Maybe they’re tucked in all over the place – the artist’s private little jokes.
The idea pleased him very much. It would be like a treasure hunt, finding other storybook characters on the box.
In quick succession he discovered some possibilities: a knight riding a white horse, a green dragon snoozing on a hill, seven small, bearded men tramping through a forest with picks and shovels over their shoulders, and a house so dark and dilapidated that he was sure it must be haunted.
The strain of peering intently at such tiny detail was making his eyes water. Impatiently he wiped them with the back of his hand and moved the glass away from the distant scenes at the top of the picture, down to the larger figures at the bottom.
These were familiar, and also much easier to see. Quickly Leo scanned the street, the shops, the stalls, the bustling figures, looking for anything that reminded him of a story.
There was the man with the curled black moustache standing outside his art gallery. There was the large building labelled Toy Factory. Beside it, just past a dark little laneway, the happy landlord of the Black Sheep was carrying a tray of foaming tankards to guests grouped around a table outside the tavern.
A little further along the street, a thin, rather mournful-looking man in a long white apron was sitting on a stool behind a tray on legs. The tray was heaped with pies. Leo remembered a rhyme about a pie-man who refused to give his pies away, and looked at the pie-man’s customers carefully. None of them looked in any way unusual.
An old man with a short white beard was standing at the edge of the small crowd around the pie-man. He was holding two little girls by the hands. The girls were dressed alike, as if they were twins, and each of them was holding up a shiny coin. The old man was smiling indulgently at them as they jumped around in excitement, waiting to be served. Behind him, a man in a checked coat had stopped to tie up his shoelace…
Leo gave a short, shocked laugh. The man in the checked coat was stealing the old man’s wallet! He was pretending to tie his shoelace, but all the time he was easing the wallet out of the old man’s back pocket.
There were lots of stories about thieves and pickpockets, but Leo couldn’t think of any one in particular. He moved the magnifying glass on.
The pie-man was standing near a small flower stall with a red-and-white striped awning.
Leo had often noticed the flower stall when he’d looked at the music box at Aunt Bethany’s place. The stall was near the middle of the street scene, in front of a narrow gap between two buildings. It was half-hidden by hurrying passers-by, but it made a splash of bright colour because of the buckets of flowers ranged on a shelf behind the flower-seller, and clustered around her feet.
Leo told himself that there was no real need to look at it again. But it was in his nature to be thorough, so he moved the magnifying glass over it anyway.
He was mildly surprised to see that there weren’t nearly as many flowers as he had remembered. He’d always thought that the stall was packed with bunches of blooms, but in fact many of the buckets were empty, as if the flower-seller had been doing a brisk trade.
Leo shrugged. After all, until now he’d only seen the music box once a year, and he’d never studied it through a magnifying glass before. Then he noticed something else, and frowned in puzzlement.
He was sure that the last time he’d looked at the flower stall, the customer had been a woman – a tall black woman in purple, buying a mass of pink lilies.
But the woman wasn’t there. Instead, the flower-seller was handing a bunch of daisies wrapped in green paper to a bashful-looking young man with curly hair.
Leo’s skin prickled. Then he shook his head. I’m just remembering wrongly, he thought. The woman in purple must be somewhere else on the street.
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He saw a bunch of pink lilies standing in a bucket towards the back of the flower stall. There, he thought. That’s what happened. My memories got mixed up. I saw the woman carrying pink lilies, and I saw pink lilies at the flower stall, and –
Then he froze.
Above the lilies hovered a cloud of small, bright blue butterflies with black spots on their wings.
Leo’s mouth went dry. He dropped the magnifying glass with a clatter.
‘No,’ he muttered to himself. ‘No, no, no!’ Distractedly, he ran his fingers through his hair. Then he stood up and began walking around his room, examining every surface, waving his arms in every corner.
But no blue butterflies fluttered out of hiding. And, really, he’d known all the time that they wouldn’t.
Because now he knew why the butterflies he had seen over his desk had looked familiar. And he knew that they were no longer in his room.
They were in the music box. They were back in the music box.
Chapter 4
Experiment
Leo stood motionless in the middle of his room, his heart beating very fast. He’d seen the butterflies fluttering above his desk. And he’d seen the same butterflies at the flower stall on the music box. There just couldn’t be any mistake.
Calm down, he told himself shakily. Think it through, step by step.
He took a deep breath. Okay, he thought. You claim that these butterflies came out of the music box. Leaving aside the fact that this is impossible, why haven’t they ever come out before? Did you ever see blue butterflies flying around at Aunt Bethany’s place? No! Were there blue butterflies in your room yesterday? No! So why should they suddenly come out today?
Because today they had time to come out. Because today, for the first time in at least eighty years, the music box key was turned four times instead of only three.
The answer struck Leo with the force of simple truth. He plumped down on his bed and sat there, thunderstruck.
There was a tap on his door. He barely heard it.
‘Leo!’ called a small, serious voice. ‘I’m sorry. I mean – I was sure the music box wouldn’t break, but I shouldn’t have…’
Slowly Leo got up. He walked to the door and opened it. Mimi stood in the hallway. She was clutching Mutt in her arms, hugging him to her chest.
‘It’s all right. You didn’t have to open the door,’ she said, her lips barely moving. ‘I just wanted –’
And suddenly Leo knew what he had to do. He had to find out once and for all if this – this thing he thought he’d seen – was true or not. He needed a witness, right now. And Mimi Langlander was the only person in the house.
‘Come in, quickly,’ he said, pulling the door wider and beckoning her into the room. ‘Something’s happened – something really strange – to do with the music box.’
Mimi’s eyes widened. ‘You mean – it did break?’ she whispered. ‘Just because I wound it –’
‘No, no!’ said Leo impatiently, closing the door behind her. ‘I don’t think the rule about only winding three times has got anything to do with breaking the spring. It was made for another reason.’
Mimi gaped at him. ‘What reason?’ she asked.
Leo led her over to his desk. ‘I’ll show you,’ he said rapidly. ‘But first you’ve got to swear that whatever happens you won’t tell anyone.’
‘I can’t swear that!’ Mimi said, recoiling. ‘What if you’re a serial killer? What if you show me a jar of ears you’ve cut off all your victims?’
Leo stared at her, then shook his head to clear it. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Just swear that you won’t tell anyone if – if you don’t think you really have to. I’m going to do an experiment, and I need a witness. Okay?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Mimi, eyeing him doubtfully.
She carried Mutt to the bed and put him down on the quilt, as if placing him out of harm’s way. ‘Stay, Mutt,’ she said. The little dog yapped defiantly, then suddenly seemed to decide that the bed was comfortable, and curled up to sleep.
Mimi came back to the desk. Leo noticed that she was fingering her horrible pendant. Maybe she thinks it will protect her if I make any sudden moves, he thought, and had a wild desire to laugh.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Now, all you have to do is watch the music box. Don’t take your eyes off it while the music’s playing – especially at the end.’
Mimi’s lips thinned. ‘What am I supposed to be looking for?’ she asked in a flat voice.
‘I can’t tell you that,’ said Leo. ‘It’ll spoil the experiment.’
Mimi made a disgusted sound and turned away from him.
‘What’s wrong?’ Leo exclaimed in surprise.
Mimi looked around, peering at him from beneath her heavy fringe. ‘This is all just some sort of joke to make me look stupid, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘So you can tell all your friends all about it at school tomorrow. I know how it works.’
‘This isn’t a joke, I swear!’ Leo said. ‘Something happened, before, while the music box was playing – or at least I think it did. I need to know if it was real, or if I was just seeing things. That’s why I want you to watch with me.’
He thought he saw a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. He nodded vehemently. ‘Probably nothing will happen,’ he said. ‘Probably I was just seeing things. So that means that if anyone’s going to look stupid after this, it’s me.’
Mimi seemed to consider this for a moment. Then she shrugged and turned back to the desk.
Leo picked up the music box and wound it. One, two, three, four times. Then he put the box down again, and opened the lid.
The sweet, chiming music began. Leo stood rigidly, waiting. Once he glanced at Mimi. She was standing as still as he was, her eyes fixed on the box.
The music went on and on. Nothing happened.
Leo’s eyes began prickling. He heard Mimi sigh, as if she was very bored, and suddenly the whole experiment seemed ridiculous. His face grew hot.
Probably nothing will happen, he’d said. Well, of course nothing was going to happen. He’d had some sort of waking dream, that’s all. And then he’d lost his head and told Mimi about it – Mimi Langlander, of all people! Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut?
Mimi’s arm moved and she made a small sound, like a squeak. She’s yawning now, Leo thought sourly, glancing at her again.
Mimi’s hand was pressed over her mouth, but she wasn’t yawning. She was staring, wide-eyed, at the music box.
Leo’s stomach lurched. He looked back at the box and his own jaw dropped.
A scrap of bright blue was peeling away from the box’s painted surface. It was as flat and flimsy as a shape cut out of paper, and was coloured on both sides. As it curled away from the box, it grew larger, till Leo could see that it was painted to look like a blue butterfly with black spots on its wings.
‘I don’t believe it!’ Mimi squeaked. ‘Is this –?’
‘Yes!’ Leo whispered. His heart was thudding wildly.
The butterfly shape separated itself from the surface of the music box, leaving no trace behind. It wavered in the air for a split second. Then, abruptly, the black body thickened, the blue wings moved… and there before their astonished eyes was a real, living butterfly.
Mimi gave another muffled squeak.
Leo felt numb. This is true, he kept telling himself. This is real. But his mind just couldn’t accept what his eyes were seeing.
The butterfly fluttered up to the top of the box and settled on the edge of the open lid, gracefully opening and closing its wings.
‘It’s one of those butterflies that hang around the flower stall in the middle of the street,’ Mimi murmured. She didn’t sound numb. She didn’t sound scared. She just sounded deeply fascinated.
Leo glanced at her. Her eyes were startled and shining. Her cheeks were flushed bright pink. She drew a sharp breath. ‘Look!’ she breathed.
Leo looked. More flat, black-spotted blue shapes had begun peeling from the
music box like large flakes of paint. In moments a second butterfly was flying up to join the first. A third and a fourth soon followed it. And others were on their way.
‘How many came out last time?’ Mimi whispered.
‘Two,’ said Leo.
‘So they’re learning!’ Mimi clapped her hands softly.
‘Learning?’ Leo shook his head in confusion. Then, suddenly, he thought of an answer to everything. Immediately he felt better.
‘They must be holograms – you know, three-D images,’ he said. ‘There must be a laser beam in the box, triggered by the music –’
‘Don’t be crazy!’ Mimi snorted, as he started peering into the polished interior of the music box, looking in vain for tiny holes and lights. ‘Those butterflies aren’t holograms! You can see they aren’t. And anyway, how could there be a laser beam in something that’s hundreds of years old?’
She paused. ‘Unless it was left on earth by aliens,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘That would make sense.’
Leo closed his eyes. This was too much. This had to stop. He opened his eyes and stretched out his hand to the circling butterflies. His stomach turned over as a soft wing brushed his fingers. He snatched his hand back hastily.
‘Okay, they’re not holograms,’ he said. ‘You can touch them. They’re real.’
‘Told you,’ said Mimi smugly.
By the time the music box began to run down, nine butterflies were fluttering around the lid like flower petals tossed by the wind. There were only three painted butterflies left hovering over the pink lilies at the flower stall on the front of the box. And Leo’s mind had begun working again. The terrible, paralysing numbness had lifted.
I guess this proves you can get used to anything, he thought, watching the butterflies dance. Once the shock has worn off …
‘The music’s slowing down,’ Mimi said. ‘Quick! Wind it up again.’
Leo shook his head. ‘I have to see what happens when the music stops,’ he said. ‘I have to see if –’