Melody Trumpet Read online

  She grinned. ‘First name’s Melody; last name’s none of your business.’

  Pat laughed. ‘I see. Now hold your breath. Old Bertie’s had her fair share of straw for dinner so she’ll toot all the way there if I’m unlucky. And — this won’t surprise you — I usually am.’

  Right on cue, Old Bertie trumpeted from her magnificent rump!

  Pat groaned, while Melody collapsed into a fit of giggles, laughing so hard that her cheeks hurt.

  * * *

  Fairy lights danced in the trees as Melody strode along Dreamers Parade. The street buzzed as people spilled out of restaurants and pubs after a night of merriment, jostling and laughing on their way home to bed before the sun rose. Melody asked everyone she passed if they knew where The Workshop was. Or whether they knew Mumma Rose? Or Clementine? Allira? Slack? Gaff?

  Most people shook their heads, but occasionally someone waved her on with an encouraging smile.

  ‘Keep going.’

  ‘You’re almost there, little one.’

  ‘It’s just up the hill.’

  So up the hill she went. Her calves ached and her feet were beginning to blister, but Melody didn’t slow down. She was determined to find her friends.

  Before long, she was panting for breath on the path outside The Workshop. Ignoring the stitch in her belly, she hurried up the steps to the front door.

  She knocked once.

  Nothing.

  Yawning, she knocked again.

  Still nothing.

  Again.

  Nothing but the hum of Dreamers Parade.

  Melody plopped down on the front step and leaned against the hard wooden door with a sigh. She closed her eyes, no longer able to fight sleep and too weary to remember Clementine’s instructions to knock five times.

  27.

  The troupe step up

  Melody squinted at the sunshine pouring through a window, and pulled a pillow over her head to block out the sound of birds chirping, muffled voices and a kettle whistling.

  Wait, she thought, where am I?

  She peered out from beneath the pillow. Then yelped as sharp teeth nipped her toes, which were poking out the end of the blanket. She sat up in shock and saw Moe curled up at the end of the bed.

  ‘Moe!’ She rubbed her eyes as he licked her big toe. ‘What are you . . .? Where . . . where am I?’

  Through tangled lashes, she soaked in her surroundings inside The Workshop: the row of empty single beds with mismatched blankets and pillows, the colourful artwork on the walls, the circus equipment, instruments and theatre props cluttering the dusty, scratched floorboards.

  Her mind raced over the events of the previous night. Meeting Old Bertie. Finding Dreamers Parade. No one answering The Workshop’s front door. Someone must have found her on the step and brought her inside!

  Moe wagged his tail.

  Melody stretched out her hand. ‘Come here, boy. I know I’m not Clementine, but I promise we’ll get her and Freddie back soon. My parents won’t get away with this. Any of it.’

  Whimpering, Moe buried his nose in the blanket.

  ‘I’m sorry, Moe. I’m so tired of ruining everyone else’s lives. Maybe it would be easier if I did just disappear like my parents want me to.’

  Moe growled in disagreement and nudged his way into her arms.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, as Moe licked her on the nose. ‘I’m not going anywhere. But I do need to put an end to this once and for all.’

  Moe whimpered.

  ‘I know, it’s scary. I’m scared too. Once my secret is out, everything will change. I’ll no longer be “the extraordinary Melody Trumpet”. I’ll just be . . . me. I don’t know where I’ll belong or what will happen. I just know I have to do it.’

  She scratched Moe under the chin. ‘Is Mumma Rose home?’

  Moe barked twice and leaped off the bed, wagging his tail as a sign to follow him. Melody hurried after him as he scampered through The Workshop towards the kitchen.

  They burst through the door to find Mumma Rose wrapped in a fluffy yellow dressing gown and sipping a steaming cup of tea. She was sitting in an old armchair covered in patches of different materials.

  ‘Mumma Rose!’ Melody blurted out. ‘It’s Clementine and Freddie . . . I need your help! It’s an emergency!’

  ‘Good morning to you too, dear girl,’ Mumma Rose said, peering over her glasses. She glanced at the clock. ‘Well, almost good afternoon. I trust you slept better in bed than on our doorstep? Helga nearly tripped over you in the wee hours. Apparently she carried you inside and you didn’t stir once.’

  Unable to contain the swelling of emotion inside her chest, Melody threw her arms around Mumma Rose and cried into her dressing gown. Eventually, she wiped her wet nose and looked up at her, hoping for a miracle.

  ‘I don’t suppose Clementine is here too? And Freddie?’

  ‘Nope, no sign of them,’ Mumma Rose said.

  Melody hung her head. ‘Oh no . . .’

  ‘Allira, Slack and Gaff aren’t here either. It’s been quite a peaceful night without their buffoonery.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand — this is bad!’ Melody said. ‘And it’s all my fault. I think they’re in real trouble. We need to go to Trumpet Manor and save —’

  Crash! The kitchen door burst open and Allira, Slack and Gaff tumbled inside, rolling into a heap on the floor.

  ‘What in the . . .’ Mumma Rose said.

  ‘Howdy,’ Gaff said as Moe jumped all over them, licking their noses, their cheeks, even their shoes. ‘How we all doing?’

  ‘I’ve been better,’ Mumma Rose said. ‘Melody said we’re in trouble. What’s happened?’

  ‘Oh, nothing much,’ said Slack, wincing at a large purple bruise on his arm. ‘Just your average failed-rescue-mission-turned-chase-scene-at-a-ginormous-manor. You know, standard stuff.’

  ‘Freddie and Clementine were captured,’ Allira explained. ‘We were scaling a fence at the manor and — bam! Clementine got dragged back down.’

  Mumma Rose covered her mouth in shock.

  ‘This is awful. They must still be locked up inside the house,’ Melody said, shaking her head. ‘We need to go back for them.’

  Allira did a double-take. ‘Wait, I just realised. Melody, you’re here! How did you escape?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Melody told her.

  ‘We stayed up all night trying to come up with a new rescue plan, but it got too dangerous,’ said Gaff. ‘We couldn’t risk anyone else getting caught.’

  Mumma Rose stamped her foot on the floor. ‘I know it’s been a wild night for everyone . . . but what are you all talking about?!’

  So Melody and the troupe filled her in: from the Trumpets’ fake kidnapping of Melody and the one-way ticket to Dullard Private, to Clementine’s and Freddie’s attempt to save her, and her midnight escape from Royce through Battyville to Dreamers Parade.

  ‘Now Clementine and Freddie are being held prisoner at Trumpet Manor,’ Melody finished, her voice shaking. ‘We have to rescue them. I have no idea what my parents are capable of any more. This secret has driven them mad!’

  ‘What’s our plan?’ asked Gaff.

  Melody swallowed. ‘I’m not sure, but I can’t stay here feeling helpless. We have to leave now! We’ll work it out on the way.’

  Mumma Rose patted Melody on the shoulder. ‘You’re a fighter, and Clementine is too.’ Moe barked in agreement. ‘She’s tough, always had to be. Don’t worry, we’ll find her, and Freddie too.’

  Melody sprang to her feet. ‘Then let’s go! Is your car parked outside?’

  ‘The Workshop doesn’t have cars,’ Mumma Rose said. ‘But we’ve all got legs for walking.’

  ‘But that won’t be fast enough. We need to get to the manor now!’

  ‘If wheels are what you want, I have an idea.’ Mumma Rose clapped her hands. ‘Give us one minute. We’ll meet you and Moe out the front. The Workshop sticks together, no matter what.’

 
; * * *

  Melody’s jaw dropped at the sight of Mumma Rose, Allira, Slack and Gaff riding unicycles down Dreamers Parade!

  ‘Ta da!’ Mumma Rose announced as they came to a halt in front of The Workshop’s front steps. ‘Melody, you’re riding on Gaff’s shoulders.’

  ‘Um . . .’ Melody looked up at Gaff’s great height. He was wobbling on the spot too, which didn’t ease her mind. ‘Thanks, but . . . ah . . . maybe I’ll jog or try to catch a bus or something.’

  Mumma Rose and the others burst out laughing. ‘Thought you might say that. Don’t worry, you can ride the neighbour’s bike.’

  Mumma Rose pointed to a red bicycle with yellow streamers that was leaning against the neighbour’s front gate. Melody walked over to it and studied its tyres. They looked a little worn and faded.

  ‘Shouldn’t we ask first?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want to steal.’

  ‘It’s called “borrowing for an uncertain amount of time”,’ Mumma Rose said.

  ‘We have an understanding around here,’ Gaff said. ‘What’s ours is theirs, and vice versa.’

  Melody bit her lip, then swung her leg over the seat. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the handlebars, feet still firmly on the ground.

  ‘You do know how to ride a bike, don’t you?’ asked Allira.

  Melody blushed. ‘Um . . . sure.’

  ‘Here,’ said Slack, leaning down from his unicycle to pass Melody a glittery gold helmet. ‘It’s my favourite one. Hold on and we’ll talk you through it.’

  ‘Let’s move it!’ called Allira, taking off down the street. ‘By the time we get over to the fancy-pants side of town, it’ll be well into the afternoon.’

  Her jaw hardening at the thought of Freddie and Clementine being prisoners, Melody pushed down on the pedals. After a few shaky wobbles, she took off along the footpath. The troupe cheered.

  ‘Look at you,’ Mumma Rose sang out. ‘You’re a natural. See you’ll get it —’

  Melody began swaying from side to side, then crashed into a row of rubbish bins.

  Mumma Rose tried not to laugh. ‘Eventually.’

  28.

  The Charity Gala

  Principal Sharp adjusted her glasses, which were already perfectly placed on her thin nose. She smoothed down her hair, which was slicked into a tight bun on top of her head. If she could have straightened her back any more she would have, but she was already as rigid as a ruler. She peeked out from behind the curtain. People were streaming into Crescendo Hall to pay their respects to the Trumpets at the Charity Gala. She sucked in a breath, then flattened down her pencil skirt, even though there wasn’t a crease or crinkle to be seen.

  ‘Allegra,’ said a man behind her.

  Principal Sharp turned to see Mr Pizzicato in the wings.

  ‘You’re back,’ she whispered. ‘You’re here.’

  They shared a stiff hug, which was all pointed elbows and sharp angles.

  ‘I came as soon as I saw the news about Melody,’ he said. ‘I’ll be cheering on Clive the Chicken. He’s just brushing his feathers and practising his vocal warm-ups in his dressing room. Such a perfectionist.’

  ‘Oh, poor Melody — alone, kidnapped. She must be petrified,’ Principal Sharp said, wringing her hands. ‘It’s so terrible for the Trumpets, for the school, for the town.’

  ‘The poor girl,’ Mr Pizzicato said, hanging his head. ‘But what a heartening turnout for the Charity Gala. And have you seen all the cameras?’

  ‘I’ve lost track of the number of television crews that have arrived. International reporters too,’ Principal Sharp said, sniffing into a tissue. ‘It’s all so unbelievable.’

  ‘Yes, unbelievable indeed . . .’ Mr Pizzicato’s voice trailed off as he looked through a gap in the curtain. The Trumpets were seated in the front row beside the Prince and Princess of Zanjia. Their Royal Highnesses were draped in exquisite silk attire in the boldest of purples and blues, and their gold crowns were adorned with glittering diamonds and sapphires.

  Mrs Trumpet was dressed head to toe in black, with a lace fascinator perched on her head like a bird’s nest, and a feather boa wrapped around her neck. Mr Trumpet was in his best white shirt, suspenders and red pants.

  ‘The timing is particularly strange,’ Mr Pizzicato added.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Principal Sharp asked, eyebrow raised.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. But he clearly didn’t mean it. ‘It’s just . . . why are the Trumpets here if Melody isn’t? We should all be out looking for her.’

  A young man hurried to Principal Sharp’s side, interrupting their conversation. He swept a makeup brush over her cheeks to add a tinge of pink. ‘Got to make those gorgeous eyes of yours pop,’ he said, flashing her a wink. ‘We’re streaming this event live on television so you’ll want to look your best!’

  Principal Sharp shooed him away and turned back to Mr Pizzicato. ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’

  Mr Pizzicato drew in a deep breath and opened his mouth . . . just as a loud bell rang through the hall.

  ‘Shoot,’ Principal Sharp said. ‘That’s my cue.’

  Lips pursed, she walked across the stage and took her place behind a lectern. She cleared her throat once. Twice. Three more times.

  The audience adjusted their positions in their seats, partly out of discomfort, partly to fill in the awkward silence. There wasn’t a spare seat in the crowd. A pack of camera crews swarmed in front of the stage, while a group of reporters hovered in the opposite corner.

  ‘Good afternoon, everyone,’ Principal Sharp said at last. ‘And a big Battyville Elite School For Musically Gifted Children welcome to all of you.’ She paused and straightened the lectern unnecessarily. ‘Thank you for coming today. As you all know, we have had to cancel the annual Debut Gala, and instead are here to raise money and awareness for a very special cause. Melody Trumpet, the only daughter of alumni and patrons of the arts Viola and Barry T Trumpet, has been kidnapped.’

  Cries rang out around the room.

  ‘Kidnapped!’

  ‘That poor girl!’

  ‘So it’s true!’

  ‘Heartbreaking! A travesty!’

  ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Let’s start a search party!’

  ‘Silence!’ Principal Sharp said, tapping her microphone. The vibrations reverberated around the room. ‘Melody is still missing but we must not panic.’

  The room was silent. Not a word nor a whisper, nor a sneeze nor a sniffle.

  ‘The police believe this to be a ransom situation due to the Trumpets’ high standing in our society,’ she continued. ‘They hope to receive instructions on what to do next very soon. But please know, everyone is focused on getting Melody home safe and sound.

  ‘Now please welcome our first performer to the stage: the remarkable, the accomplished, the phenomenal . . . Clive the Chicken!’

  The audience clapped as Clive strutted onto the stage and took his spot on a red velvet cushion in front of a short microphone. As his faultless soprano voice soared through the speakers, Principal Sharp hurried backstage and patted her forehead and cheeks with a tissue.

  The make-up artist popped up beside her again. ‘Got to keep you looking glamorous for the cameras,’ he said, ignoring her glare as he powdered her nose. ‘This’ll be a ratings bonanza.’

  ‘It . . . it will?’ she replied, smoothing back her tight bun, which still didn’t need to be smoothed.

  ‘You bet. The circumstances aren’t great, but trust me — the Trumpets are in the spotlight. They’ll be on the cover of every newspaper and magazine! You won’t be able to leave your house without seeing their faces on a billboard.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Don’t take my word for it,’ the make-up artist said, sweeping more blush onto her cheeks. ‘Look around — Viola and Barry T Trumpet won’t have seen this level of media attention for years. It’s the biggest story in the world right now.’

  29.

  To Crescen
do Hall

  Melody skidded her bicycle to a halt in front of Battyville Electrical. Its colourful window display was buzzing with Sale! signs and televisions of different sizes. Her jaw dropped at the words running across the bottom of each screen:

  TRUMPET HEIR KIDNAPPED!

  PRINCE AND PRINCESS LAUNCH CAMPAIGN TO BRING MELODY HOME

  DEBUT GALA CANCELLED! CHARITY FUNDRAISER AT HEIR’S SCHOOL

  Melody waved the others over. ‘Check this out!’

  ‘Kidnapped? Is there a financial reward if we hand you in?’ Allira joked, hopping off her unicycle to get a better look.

  ‘Put a stinky sock in it!’ Slack hissed at her.

  ‘She’s kidding,’ Gaff said, winking at Melody.

  Footage of the Trumpets at last night’s press conference played on the screens and Melody had to watch her mother’s performance all over again.

  ‘All these lies because they’re too scared to tell the truth,’ she said, pressing a hand against the glass.

  ‘Fear makes people do strange things, dear girl,’ Mumma Rose said.

  The screens showed a sweeping shot across a sombre audience squeezed into Crescendo Hall. Mouth covered in shock, Melody watched as her parents walked into the hall and were pulled into warm embraces by the Prince and Princess of Zanjia. They dabbed at their eyes with hankies, then took their seats in the front row.

  ‘It’s my parents’ charity event,’ she cried. ‘And it’s live! Quick, follow me!’

  She hurried into the store and the others followed her. They all crowded around a display of televisions in a corner.

  ‘What are we looking at?’ whispered Allira to Slack.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘But I don’t want to miss a second.’

  Mrs Trumpet batted her thick eyelashes at a camera that zoomed in for a close-up. A single tear rested on her cheek. Perhaps it wasn’t powered by enough emotion to roll all the way down, Melody thought.

  Together, her mother and father stood and walked up onto the stage and to the lectern. Mr Trumpet kept his gaze low the whole way.