The sun was rising softly over the farm in the south of France. The poppies were opening, the cicadas were stretching on the pine trees, and, just like every morning, Captain Jack climbed up onto the roof of the henhouse.
He puffed out his chest, stood his comb up tall, opened his beak wide and…
“Squeak.”
Nothing else. Not even the tiniest cock-a-doodle-doo.
Captain Jack coughed, cleared his throat and tried again:
“Squeeeak…”
That morning, nobody woke up on time. Not the hens, not Joe the old horse, not even the cows on the farm next door. Everyone slept, and slept, and slept… until the sun was already high in the sky.
Matilda, the little golden chick, opened one eye, then the other.
“Oh! It’s broad daylight!”
She looked around for Captain Jack. He was curled up in a corner of the henhouse, his comb drooping, looking so sad that Matilda’s heart gave a little pinch.
“Captain Jack has lost his voice,” whispered Océane, her mummy.
“Well, that’s not so bad,” mumbled Mémé with a yawn. “For once, I got a lovely lie-in!”
But Matilda wasn’t happy at all. Of course, Captain Jack sang out of tune. Of course, he shouted “Rise and shine, soldiers!” every single morning. But without his cock-a-doodle-doo, the farm just didn’t feel like the farm any more.
As usual, Oscar was already waiting on the other side of the fence, sitting on his paws, his bushy tail held high.
“Hey, Matilda! Something funny is going on this morning, isn’t it? I didn’t hear the rooster!”
“That’s just it,” said Matilda. “He’s lost his voice. We have to help him!”
“Help Captain Jack?” said Oscar, surprised. “The one who shouts ‘To arms!’ every time he sees me?”
“Yes, him,” replied Matilda, folding her wings. “He’s ever so sad.”
Oscar scratched his ear, then smiled:
“All right. Let’s go and see Master Herculus. He knows everything about everything!”
And hop! Matilda slipped through the wobbly plank in the fence. For once, she didn’t need to be careful: Captain Jack was far too unhappy to keep watch over anything.
The two friends ran all the way to the big house high up in the trees.
“MAAAASTER HERCULUS!” shouted Oscar.
“MAAASTER HERCULUUUS!” added Matilda.
The old owl poked his head out, bumped it on the door frame — bonk! — and fluttered down, all wonky.
“Ah, my young friends! What can I do for you?”
“It’s Captain Jack,” explained Matilda. “He’s lost his cock-a-doodle-doo!”
Herculus narrowed his eyes, tilted his head and answered in a very learned voice:
“His doodle? Why, there are doodles everywhere in my books! A doodle, you see, is a little drawing one scribbles in the margins while thinking very hard, often in the shape of a flower, a star or a curly…”
“No, no!” giggled Matilda. “Not DOODLE! COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!”
“Ooooh,” said the owl. “The cock-a-doodle-doo! Well, now, that is very serious indeed!”
Oscar was holding his tummy, he was laughing so hard.
Herculus brought them into his study, full of dusty books. He pulled out an enormous one, blew on it — phoooo! — and vanished in a cloud of dust.
“Atishoo! Ah, here it is! ‘The Syrup for Lost Voices’. You need three things: a spoonful of golden honey, a bowl of cool spring water, and it must all be warmed over a very gentle fire — really, very gentle — or else the syrup will burn.”
Matilda and Oscar looked at each other. They’d had the very same idea at the very same time.
“Galileo, Hector and Flamme!” they cried.
Step one: the hollow tree of Galileo, the cheeky little bear.
“Honey? To save a rooster’s voice? Of course!” said Galileo, opening a jar.
He dipped a spoon into the honey, pulled it out all golden and drippy… and, without meaning to (well, almost), popped it into his mouth.
“Galileo!” cried Matilda and Oscar.
“Oops,” said the little bear, his cheeks all sticky. “I was just checking it was good. It’s very good.”
He filled a second spoon, and this time he poured it into a little jar with a tight lid. Gina, his mummy, also slipped a few honey biscuits into Matilda’s bag, “for the journey”.
Step two: the river, where Hector the beaver was working on his dam.
“Spring water? The best water flows just behind my dam. But to get there, you have to take… the slide!”
“Wheeee!” shouted Matilda and Oscar.
Whoosh! Splish! Splash!
They slid, they splashed, they slid one more time (just to be sure), and Hector filled a little bark bowl with the clearest, coolest water in the whole forest.
“Be careful not to spill it!” he said.
Oscar carried the bowl with the concentration of a champion. He wasn’t walking any more — he was gliding on the tips of his paws.
Step three: Flamme’s cave. And to get there, they had to go through Dadou’s tunnels.
Dadou the mole welcomed them, straightening his glasses.
“Follow me, my friends! I’ve dug a new shortcut. And look!”
On a brand-new wooden beam, he had carved Captain Jack… beak wide open and neck stretched out, singing away.
“I made it yesterday,” said Dadou. “I didn’t know he was going to lose his voice!”
The glowing stones lit up the way. They crossed the old wooden bridge (Oscar didn’t jump on it this time, because of the bowl of water), and found Flamme asleep by the lake, snoring like a little thunderstorm.
“Flamme! We need you!”
The dragon opened one eye, saw his friends, and his face lit up.
“My friends! How wonderful! You’ll stay for tea, I hope?”
“First, we need to warm up this syrup,” said Matilda. “But Master Herculus said: a very, very gentle fire.”
Flamme took a big, deep breath, and…
“NO!” shouted the three friends all at once.
The dragon stopped short, his cheeks puffed out.
“Oh, sorry. Force of habit.”
So he blew ever so gently, the way you blow on a birthday candle when you don’t want to blow it out. A little blue flame danced under the bowl. The honey melted into the water, the syrup began to shine like gold, and a delicious smell filled the whole cave.
“And now, teatime!” said Flamme.
Poof! A big table appeared, piled high with warm brioche buns, apple tarts and, of course, big jugs of apple juice.
On the way home, just as they were coming out of the forest, they heard a beautiful voice ringing through the pine trees:
“La la laaaaa… Tri tri triiii…”
On a branch, a little cicada wearing a tiny red scarf was singing with her eyes closed.
“Hello!” said Matilda. “Who are you?”
“I am Chanterelle, opera singer, at your service! I give a concert every evening up in the pines. And what are you carrying that’s so shiny?”
Matilda told her the whole story. Chanterelle’s antennae wiggled with excitement.
“A rooster who’s lost his voice? Why, that’s my job! Syrup is good. But syrup and a singing lesson — that’s even better!”
“There’s just one problem,” said Oscar. “How do we get Captain Jack to drink the syrup? If he finds out Matilda has been sneaking out of the henhouse, she’ll be in trouble for ever and ever!”
Everyone thought. For a long time. A very long time.
Then Matilda had an idea.
“Joe!”
Back at the farm, Joe the old horse listened to the plan, twitching his ears.
“Usually, I make a racket to keep Captain Jack away from the water trough. And now you want me to bring him to it?”
“Exactly!” said Matilda. “A distraction — but backwards!”
Joe laughed so hard that he let out a neigh.
While Oscar kept watch, Matilda gently poured the golden syrup into the little corner of the trough where Captain Jack always came to drink. As for Chanterelle, she hid in the fig tree just above.
Then Joe walked up to the rooster and said, in a very serious voice:
“Captain, a leader must keep his strength up. You ought to have a drink. The water in the trough is especially good this evening.”
Captain Jack, too sad to argue, trotted over to the trough and took a sip. Then a second. Then a third.
“Mmm! It tastes like honey…” he murmured.
And that was when, from the fig tree, Chanterelle began to sing very softly:
“Do… re… mi…”
Without even noticing, Captain Jack opened his beak and sang back:
“Do… re… mi…”
His voice was back!
“Fa… so… la… ti… DO!” sang Chanterelle.
“Fa… so… la… ti… DO!” sang Captain Jack.
And for the first time in his life… he was singing in tune!
His beak dropped open in surprise, and he looked all around him. But all he saw was Joe, innocently munching on a piece of straw.
Meanwhile, Matilda had already slipped back through the wobbly plank.
“Good night, Oscar, see you tomorrow!” she whispered.
“See you tomorrow, Matilda!” answered Oscar, wagging his tail.
The next morning, Captain Jack climbed up onto the roof, puffed out his chest and called out:
“Cock-a-doodle-doooo!”
A perfect cock-a-doodle-doo. Round, soft and happy. So beautiful that the hens clapped their wings, Joe neighed with joy, and even the cows on the farm next door mooed a “bravo”.
As for Matilda, she smiled a secret smile.
But the morning after that…
“COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOOOO! RISE AND SHINE, SOLDIERS!”
As out of tune as before. Maybe even a little bit more.
“But Captain,” asked Océane, “yesterday you sang so beautifully!”
Captain Jack puffed out his chest:
“Singing in tune is very nice. But it doesn’t sound bossy enough!”
The whole henhouse burst out laughing. And Matilda laughed loudest of all.
That evening, over by the pine trees, you could hear Chanterelle giving her concert. And somewhere far away, in the dark, someone was humming along with her… a little out of tune, but with lots and lots of heart.
Matilda snuggled up against her mummy and counted softly to fall asleep:
“One… Mummy, two… Mémé, three… Mamé, four…”
But before she even got to Manon, her eyes closed.
She fell asleep dreaming of golden syrup, of an owl who mixed up doodles and songs, and of a little cicada with a red scarf.
✨ The end… but not for long!