Juno: The Music Box Mystery

The little bird opened its wooden beak.

Nothing happened.

Juno frowned at the music box. Usually, the bird turned in a circle while a tune tinkled below it. Today it looked as though it had forgotten all the words.

“Perhaps it's shy,” Cleo suggested.

“Perhaps it's lunchtime,” Pip said.

At Harbour House, Juno loved puzzles, drums and things that didn't quite work. A toy with a loose wheel was not rubbish to her. It was a question.

A carer helped her open the music box safely.

Inside were tiny wheels with teeth.

“Gears,” the carer explained.

Juno leaned closer.

One small gear had slipped out of place.

“There you are!”

“Is the bird broken?” Marin asked.

“Not the bird,” Juno said. “Just the bit that helps its song go round.”

Everyone leaned in.

The gears fitted together so that one turning wheel could turn the next.

But with a gap between them, the movement couldn't pass along.

“Like handing a parcel down a line,” Astra said.

“Except the parcel is a tune,” Juno replied.

With help, she put the little gear back where it belonged.

They tried the box.

Plink.

The bird twitched.

They checked again, making sure the tiny parts could move freely.

Plink, plonk, plink.

The bird turned. The tune began.

Juno nearly cheered over the whole thing, then stopped to listen.

Marin smiled. Pip swayed. Cleo bowed to the bird as if it were a famous singer.

Can you tap three gentle beats on your knee?

That was what Juno did, very softly, all the way to tea.

The mystery had become music.

When the five girls joined Felix and Vivienne's family, Juno carried the music box to Skylock House wrapped in a scarf.

Felix made room for her at a low workshop bench.

There were drawers for tools, a chair just her size and a notice that said to ask before using anything unfamiliar.

Juno set down the box and turned it on.

The bird sang.

“Will you show me how?” Felix asked.

Juno blinked. Grown-ups usually explained things to her.

She pointed to the gears.

Felix listened so carefully that she began to explain twice as much.

Later, when another little project refused to work, he brought two mugs of warm milk.

“Still glad you're here,” he said.

Juno knew he meant at home, not just at the bench.

She leaned against his arm.

Years of learning followed: tools, drawings, circuits, safety checks and lots of tries that needed another try.

Juno became an engineer.

Her rescue machine, Bumble, was yellow and cobalt blue, with two powerful fans inside round protective housings. It had clever lifting arms and a sturdy enclosed basket.

Its first passenger was a training crate.

Juno drew a face on it.

“Mr Box is ready for his holiday.”

On the first test, she moved the controls too quickly. Mr Box wobbled.

Juno lowered him safely and checked what had happened with Felix.

On the next try, her movements were smaller and smoother.

“Steady, steady, got it.”

Mr Box rose gently.

“He says the view is lovely,” Felix reported.

“He hasn't got eyes.”

“You drew them.”

“A very observant passenger,” Juno admitted.

They practised again.

One afternoon, the Ferris wheel at the seaside fair stopped turning.

The ride operator secured it. A family waited in a cabin high above the ground.

Juno arrived in Bumble, with a trained rescue team helping from below.

She studied the cabin, listened to the operator and checked the plan.

Then she lifted Bumble carefully alongside.

The secure rescue basket was ready. The grown-ups in the cabin followed the team's instructions.

But their little boy held tightly to the rail.

Juno's first thought was to explain the equipment.

Then she remembered the music box.

Look closely. Listen first.

“What are you worried about?”

“My penguin,” he whispered.

Under his arm was a toy penguin with one floppy foot.

Juno nodded very seriously.

“Of course. We need a plan for every passenger. Penguins included.”

The rescue worker helped the boy tuck his penguin safely inside his zipped bag.

“Now he'll travel with you,” Juno said.

The boy let go of the rail.

Soon the whole family was safe in the enclosed basket. Juno checked with her team, then guided Bumble down smoothly.

“Next stop: solid ground!”

At the bottom, the boy held up his penguin.

“He liked it.”

“A very observant passenger,” said Juno.

That evening, her sisters found her tapping a pencil beside the old music box.

“Big fix?” Cleo asked.

“Lots of little ones,” Juno said. “And a penguin plan.”

She wound the box. The bird turned and the familiar tune began.

Once, she had learnt to notice a tiny gap between two gears.

Now she knew something else.

Sometimes the missing piece was a question.