Chapter 3. In Harmony
Ryan badly wanted to tell someone about the pen. He tried telling Jason and Michael, a couple of the boys in his class, about it.
‘My aunt gave me a magic pen for my birthday. Everything I write comes true.’ Immediately they challenged him to prove it, but no matter what he wrote it didn’t work.
Jason sneered at him.
‘Pull the other one, it’s got knobs on,’ while Michael muttered, ‘pathetic,’ and shook his head sadly. Ryan felt embarrassed and wished he hadn’t said anything.
After school it was orchestra practice. By this time Ryan was feeling extremely annoyed. What was the use of a pen that would only work sometimes? He threw his schoolbag down in frustration as he took his place and a freckle-faced boy in the next seat grinned at him. Ryan smiled back.
‘Oh, hi, are you new? My name’s Ryan.’
‘I’m Andy. I’ve seen you around. You play cricket, don’t you? My mother insisted I join the orchestra. I’ve been taking violin lessons for ages. I’m not much good though.’
Andy set out his music as Ryan, who was in charge of the cymbals and triangle, assembled his music stand.
Ryan had mixed feelings about the orchestra. He had disappointed his parents by being totally non-musical. Tracey played the flute and the piano, and was talking about taking up the saxophone, but Ryan couldn’t even sing in tune. He had grudgingly joined the orchestra and had to admit he enjoyed crashing the cymbals together but it didn’t happen very often. He mostly sat, for what felt like hours, through long boring pieces of music and only occasionally got to ding the triangle or clash the cymbals.
‘Count boy, count,’ roared Mr Mayerhoffer, pointing a long bony finger at him. Ryan did his best. He started with enthusiasm but by bar thirty-nine he was bored and his attention wandered. Andy was a bit better off. The five third violins had fairly undemanding parts to play and he could always listen to what the others were doing or see when it was time to come in. After a while, Ryan hissed at Andy to get his attention. Andy rolled his eyes back at him.
‘What do you want? This is pretty boring, isn’t it?’
‘Hey, I had a birthday on Saturday and my old Aunt Agatha gave me a pen. Guess what? It’s magic,’ Ryan whispered to Andy.
Andy looked suitably impressed
‘Yeah? What does it do?’
‘Anything I write comes true,’ said Ryan. ‘I turned the curtain cords into snakes last night and they wriggled round the room and everything.’
‘Awesome! What else have you written? Can you turn people into millionaires or superheroes or something cool like that?’
‘Um, it hasn’t actually worked again,’ confessed Ryan. ‘I tried to write that I was a millionaire last night, but nothing happened. I haven’t done anything with it today yet.’
‘Great! Hey, perhaps it only works once a day. You know, like wishes in those dumb stories my kid sister reads.’
‘That might be right.’ Ryan cheered up. The pen had disappointed him by only doing the snakes and he had been harbouring a suspicion that perhaps it would only work on scary things. He certainly wasn’t in any hurry to repeat the snake experience.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ whispered Andy, as Mr Mayerhoffer glared in his direction. ‘Turn old Mayerhoffer into something.’
‘What sort of thing?’
Andy thought for a few minutes, watching Mr Mayerhoffer’s arms stretch and soar as he encouraged the orchestra to keep time.
‘A bird,’ he said in sudden inspiration.
Ryan grinned. Mr Mayerhoffer did look a bit like a bird already with his curved beak of a nose and his arms flapping like wings. He turned his music over and wrote firmly on the back.
Mr Mayerhoffer raised his arms. To his surprise, they turned into wings. In fact he was now an eagle. He soared into the air and flew out of the window towards the sun.
Ryan and Andy looked up expectantly but nothing had happened. The third violins started to play energetically and with a disgusted look Andy joined in.
‘Not much of a joke, Ryan,’ he muttered.
‘But it isn’t a joke, it was true. I did make the curtain cords into snakes,’ protested Ryan unhappily.
This particular afternoon the orchestra was rehearsing a piece from some obscure Hungarian composer who had died young.
‘Not young enough,’ scowled Ryan, when he discovered he had to wait one hundred and forty three bars before he clashed the cymbals twice.
Three times he lost count and missed his cue and three times Mr Mayerhoffer stopped the orchestra to tell Ryan off. The third time he strode over to the Percussion section.
‘Look, two clashes,’ he said. ‘One two. Surely even you can count to two. Here, give me that pen and I’ll mark them for you.’
Stretching out his hand, he plucked the pen from Ryan’s unresisting grasp and firmly drew in two black notes.
‘There,’ he said, and strode back to the podium. ‘We’ll go through this one more time with the cymbal clashes.’
Miserably Ryan picked up the cymbals and stared counting.
‘Fifty six, fifty seven…’ he gulped, and stared at his music in amazement. The two notes that Mr Mayerhoffer had drawn were moving.
As Ryan watched, they swayed on their long thing stalks, back and forwards, back and forwards.
‘Psst, Andy.’ Ryan tried to get Andy’s attention but the third violins were up to a difficult pizzicato passage and Andy was concentrating on his own music.
Ryan tried to concentrate.
‘Ninety one, ninety two…’
The notes swayed more and more and Ryan was sure that if they had faces, their eyes would have been closed in bliss. He kept his eyes on them firmly, not sure whether he was imagining it. He knew that after his cymbal clashes there was a long rest while the flutes played a solo and decided he would show Andy then.
‘One hundred and forty one, one hundred and forty two...’
Ryan brought the cymbals together and gave two mighty clashes as Mr Mayerhoffer pointed to him. The notes both jerked with fright, then scurried off to the edge of the music where they hung quivering for a moment before slipping between the pages. Ryan frantically turned the pages trying to find them. There they were, two pages later, huddling at the bottom entwined together.
‘Psst Andy. Look at this,’ Ryan pointed to the notes.
‘So what. Is that when you play next?’ whispered Andy. ‘I have a page and a half without stopping, soon, and I’m sure to get it wrong.’
‘No, look! It’s the notes! Mr Mayerhoffer wrote them with the pen Aunt Agatha gave me. They’re alive! Look!
Andy peered more closely. The notes had decided the soft flute music was more to their liking. They crept slowly along the page, waltzing together dreamily.
Andy’s eyes widened.
‘Wow,’ he breathed. ‘I thought you were making it up. They look like they’re doing aerobics,’ he sniggered, as the notes curled and stretched in time to the music. A sudden blare from the trumpets alarmed them and they scuttled to the edge of the music stand. Ryan held out his open hand and the notes trotted trustingly onto it.
‘What do they feel like?’
Andy was fascinated. The two little round dots on stalks were amazingly lifelike.
‘It tickles,’ gasped Ryan. The notes began a stiff-legged walk over his palm as the orchestra launched into the next movement of the piece.
‘Oh help, it’s me next. Don’t lose them,’ said Andy. ‘We’ll play with them after practice. Perhaps we can get them to have races.’
He picked up his bow and tucked his violin under his chin and started to play again as Mr Mayerhoffer glared at him.
Ryan held out his finger and the notes climbed up it. He gave his finger a flick and they sailed back onto the music page where they began marching importantly along the lines. Ryan giggled as he watched them. This was the most fun he’d had in months at orchestra practice. He picked up his triangl
e. He knew this next bit. The orchestra went ‘oompa oompa’ and he had to go ‘ting ting ting.’
He hit the triangle quietly so he didn’t upset the notes but by this time they had become quite adventurous and were balancing on the top of the page. As he watched in increasing delight they bumped into each other and promptly began to wrestle. The winner chased the loser across the page. Up and down and across they went. There was a sudden silence
‘Ryan Hughes,’ thundered Mr Mayerhoffer. ‘One cymbal clash to finish. Is that too much to ask?’
‘Oops, sorry,’ said Ryan and quickly picked up the cymbals.
‘Sorry is not good enough. You are spoiling the entire piece. We have to work as a team here, not wait until the cymbal player deigns to pay attention.’
Mr Mayerhoffer marched over to the percussion session. Ryan gulped and the two notes cowered at the bottom of the page. Mr Mayerhoffer picked up Ryan’s music. Ryan watched apprehensively but the notes stayed stiff and still.
‘You silly boy, you are not even on the right page,’ said Mr Mayerhoffer incredulously. He shut the music book with a thump. Ryan cringed at the thought of the two notes being squashed.
‘Right! From now on, you won’t use music at all. Just watch me and I will cue you in.’
Mr Mayerhoffer resumed his place and Ryan sat miserably watching him. He dutifully played his cymbals when Mr Mayerhoffer pointed at him, then as soon as the rehearsal finished he feverishly opened his music book. He ruffled the pages and looked for the notes. There was no sign of them. He held his book by the spine and shook it
‘Any luck?’ asked Andy sympathetically.
Ryan shook his head
‘Too bad. Hey, look! Isn’t that them over there?’
Ryan looked where Andy was pointing. The two notes were skulking behind a chair leg. As the boys watched, they furtively crossed the floor in a series of jerky hops until they reached the door, when they threw caution to the winds and made a mad dash for freedom. Ryan and Andy rushed after them but they were nowhere to be seen.
‘Oh well,’ Ryan was philosophical. ‘At least I don’t have to worry about them anymore. They are obviously capable of taking care of themselves.’
‘That’s a weird pen though,’ said Andy. ‘I mean, it seems to work for some things but not for others. It didn’t turn old Mayerhoffer into a bird.’
‘No,’ agreed Ryan regretfully. ‘Perhaps it doesn’t work on people, only on things.’
‘Pity,’ said Andy. ‘Otherwise we could turn my kid sister into a beetle and keep her in a jar. She is such a pain. Do you know what she did to my chemistry set? She used up most of the stuff trying to make perfume. Can you believe it?’
They companionably discussed the drawbacks of sisters as they walked to the bike sheds. There they arranged to meet at Ryan’s house the next day and carry out some experiments with the pen.