The Music Box: Chapter Thirty-Three

Mr Crouch had talked of reaching the edge of understood existence, then moving beyond. When she had tried earlier, taking the sprout through the clouds, she had merely let herself be taken according to its whim. She allowed it to be in charge and when it had reached the outer limits of what it knew, it simply returned to where it had begun. Emily had an inkling that if she took a bolder handle of what it was she wanted, only then would she regain the control she felt she had lost. She wanted to try something out before they reached this Minerva that Mr Topkins had mentioned, to be ready to take full advantage of what may be her only chance to go home.

“Mr Topkins?”

“Yes?”

“Could I pretty please have a piece of that liquorice you have in your pocket?”

“Liquorice? I don’t have any liquorice. I can’t abide the stuff you know - aniseed is the devil’s work.”

“Perhaps that is so, but I would appreciate if you would reach into your pocket, pull out that little blue bag twisted at the top into a knot, untie the knot and pass me one of the three pieces you have in there.”

“I think I would know if I had such a thing in my pocket. Look, see, nothing in this pocket. And nothing...”

Mr Topkins stopped in his tracks, pulling from his pocket the little blue bag around which his hand had closed. He untwisted the knot, peered in and saw three twists of liquorice, just as Emily had said.

“How...?”

“I don’t know. But I trust you will remember this next time you feel inclined to be mean to me.”

Mr Topkins went quite quiet. Although Emily felt a little guilty for being less than nice to him, she did feel a certain glow of satisfaction at finally getting one back on him. She was not typically vindictive, but given what he had put her through it did seem only fair to even up the ledger a little. Besides which, she was still quite uncertain what she had done and how she had pulled it off, or what it meant from here.

She was still dwelling on this when Mr Topkins stopped. He held up a hand to signal to Emily she should also stop, and she noticed his head cocked a little to the side, as though listening.

She strained to hear what it might be that he was hearing. At first nothing seemed any different, but bit by bit she picked up a low, rumbling sound.

“That’s just my stomach”, Mr Topkins said. “Listen harder.”

Now all sorts of noises were competing for her attention, leaving Emily baffled as to what he could hear that she was missing. Then it came to her. She was surprised she had missed it, but it was so high and pure that it had simply not registered. Now she couldn’t hear anything else, the hypnotic lilting angelic choir she had first heard in Tabitha’s music box, but if anything more austere, more beautiful – more hers.

She stood hushed, her soul stilled. Around her she watched as the budding green leaves on the giant trees unfurled, spread their faces to the sun, then burst into every shade of red orange and gold imaginable, before crinkling into a brown, papery crispness before falling to the forest floor. The bare silver branches sprouted fresh new buds which again unfurled, the cycle continuing over and over until they were waist deep in the fallen leaves.

All the while the angels still sang. Every now and then a shadow passed over as a particularly sweet note was heard so nearby it seemed to emanate from within her head, or even her heart, but she was unable to catch a glimpse of the source.

Finally it died away to a whisper, the echo of which danced around Emily’s ears in a glorious wrap that made her heart glow. Looking around to see if her travelling companion was still nearby, Emily was surprised to see tears streaming down his cheeks.

“That’s Minerva’s choir,” Mr Topkins said, with clear awe and respect.

“It means we are here.”