The Magician's Key

by Matthew Cody

  “I hears that the rats and the ogres are marching to war,” said Grannie. “Laying siege to New Hamelin, are we?”

  “It won’t be much of a siege,” said Wormling. “By now my best fighters have met up with Org’s kinfolk near the Great River. Together they’ll march on to New Hamelin, where they’ll join with the rest of my army. I expect they’ll have the wall down within a day.”

  “But their new king won’t be leading them into battle, eh?”

  “I’m not that sort of king.” Wormling leaned forward in his seat. Why should the witch act like any of this was news to her? “This was the plan, yes?”

  “I come to ask for a small favor. Hold off the attack. For another day or so at most.”

  “Why? The longer we wait, the longer the New Hameliners will have to prepare a defense.”

  “Them walls are coming down,” said Grannie. “Don’t matter what sort of defense they muster. But there might be something inside that village that I want. Something that’s been…misplaced.”

  “You can have it after we’ve taken the village,” said Wormling. “Help yourself.”

  “Ah, but it’s a fragile thing,” said Grannie. “I want the boy Carter, you see. I want him alive, and people got a habit of dying in war. Sometimes by accident.”

  Wormling knew the boy Grannie was talking about. He’d been the one they were after when Marrow led a band of raiders out into the wilderness—a quest that had gotten Marrow killed. Something about the boy being important to a prophecy regarding the Piper himself. But now the Piper was free, and Wormling had assumed that the boy had outlived his usefulness. Unless there was more to him than he’d been led to believe. If so, that could be a useful piece of information. Something to be tucked away for the future.

  “How’d the boy get to New Hamelin?” asked Wormling. “He was in the Black Tower last I saw.”

  “Our friend the Piper was sloppy in getting freed,” said Grannie. “The boy and his friends escaped. Used to be that I could keep an eye on the boy with my spies, but something’s hiding him from me these days. Some strong magic. Not even the crows are talking. But I know his friends are headed to the village, so he must be with them. They wouldn’t leave the poor crippled boy all by himself. No, he has to be there.”

  Grannie said the words, but she didn’t sound very sure of them. The old witch was arguing aloud with herself, and her frustration was evident. Wormling hadn’t had many dealings with the witch of the Bonewood, but he’d never seen her worried. Another item of interest to remember.

  “So you want me to hold off the attack for one day,” said Wormling. “While you fetch the boy yourself.”

  “One evening’s all I’ll need,” said the witch. “Besides, I feel a Winter’s Moon nearing to rise. Feel it in my deep bones. Better to wait for the true darkness to attack, don’t you think?”

  Actually, attacking in broad daylight had been central to Wormling’s plan. Always before, the rats attacked the village on true nights, so it became as predictable as the sunrise itself. This time, he’d hoped to catch the New Hameliners at least somewhat by surprise.

  But one didn’t say no to Grannie Yaga. Wormling suspected that if the witch asked, Org the ogre would just as happily squash Wormling as he had Spitter. Wormling had made allies of the tiny-brained brutes, but their ties to the witch went back many, many years. It had been a clever ploy by Grannie to use the ogres to put Wormling on the throne, and now she could use the ogres to make him do what she wanted.

  But Wormling had had a taste of power, and he wouldn’t be content to be anyone’s puppet. He’d do as she asked for now, but the witch had given up more than she knew. She’d shown weakness—a hole in her plans—and Wormling knew how to work a hole.

  “We’ll wait,” said Wormling, bowing so low that his snout touched the straw-littered ground. “I’m happy to do any favors for Grannie. I’m at your service.”

  “That’s a good little king,” cooed Grannie.

  “Just one thing,” said Wormling. “What about the Piper? Now he’s free, can’t he stroll up to the village and play a little tune? Charm your boy into coming outside the gate? Could save us all a lot of trouble.”

  Grannie’s brow furrowed for a moment; then she was all hideous smiles again. But Wormling had seen the look. “The Piper is looking for something that was lost to him,” said Grannie. “Soon as he finds it, he’ll be along. Trust your old Grannie. Soon the whole Summer Isle will tremble before the combined strength of the Piper, the rat king and Grannie Yaga. Our time has come. Mark my words.”

  “And what do you get out of it?” asked Wormling. “We rats are simple creatures with simple needs, but what about the mighty witch of the Bonewood? What does she desire?”

  Wormling took extra care to keep any hint of sarcasm or defiance out of his voice. Instead, his words dripped with awe and respect like sap from a wounded tree. Still, for a moment as Grannie watched him, her hideous teeth grinding together, he worried that he’d gone too far. Then, to his relief, she let out a loud cackle.

  “Why, what does Grannie want? Grannie wants what she’s always wanted. She wants to care for the children, of course. I helped the Piper break free from his prison so’s he could find his precious pipe, so’s he could play his sweet music again. Let him play, and let all the children of earth come a-running to these summer shores!”

  Then the witch turned and stared at the doorway, where the child slaves had exited. “Course it’s getting colder and the sun’s hanging lower and lower in the sky these days. Poor little dears will need warming up. Need fattening up! Bring me the children, and Grannie will look after them,” she said, and her expression sent a shiver down Wormling’s rubbery spine.

  The Piper was cooking Carter breakfast. He’d caught a hare earlier that morning, having lured it with a charm into their camp. Now the poor creature roasted over a tidy fire. The Piper, a hawk-faced young man who looked only a few years older than Carter’s sister, had his pied cloak of red, green and yellow thrown over one shoulder as he tended the fire.

  There was a purplish bruise on the Piper’s cheek where Carter had punched him in an attempt to get away. The escape failed because the Piper was far too quick, but Carter felt better that he’d at least gotten one good hit in. Max would have been proud.

  “Where are you taking me?” asked Carter, for what seemed like the hundredth time. They’d walked far in the storm, leaving the road behind them, and now with the coming of dawn, the countryside was all thickets and scrubland. Nothing looked familiar.

  “Well, you were headed south, so that seems like as good a direction as any,” said the Piper. “But I think it’s best if we cut across the wild country and stay clear of the road. I’m not the only one who’s been looking for you, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” said Carter. “Who’s looking for me?” His first thought was Leetha and Bandybulb, of course, but the Piper’s answer surprised him. And scared him.

  “Grannie Yaga is hunting you, Carter,” said the Piper.

  “Me?” said Carter. He’d spent only a short time locked up in the witch’s hideous hut, but the experience was enough to stay in his nightmares forever. He would not soon forget the pairs of teeth hanging over her chair, or the clatter of wind chimes carved of bone. “Why would Grannie be after me?”

  “That’s a very good question,” said the Piper. “Why indeed? The witch and I had a bargain, and once you were delivered to me at the Black Tower, that should have been the end of it. But why her interest in you now?” He leveled a long, thoughtful look at Carter, and Carter couldn’t help but squirm under that stare. The Piper looked young, but his eyes were ancient.

  At last, the Piper shrugged and said, “Who knows? But you’re a child of prophecy, and that’s something in itself. Only when the last son of Hamelin appears and the Black Tower found will the Piper’s prison open and the children return safe and sound. Remember? Grannie’s known about your coming for a long time. A long time.”
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  “I don’t believe in prophecies anymore,” said Carter.

  The Piper chuckled. “Why not? Look at me, free as a bird, thanks to you! The first part has already come true.” He winked at Carter. “Let’s do our very best to see that the second part doesn’t, eh? It wasn’t easy leading a hundred and thirty children to the Summer Isle. Wouldn’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”

  “One hundred and thirty-two,” said Carter.

  “Hmm?”

  “You forgot me and my sister. You kidnapped us, too, so that makes it a hundred and thirty-two.”

  “Touché,” said the Piper. “One hundred and thirty-two.”

  “So, why don’t you just hand me over to Grannie, then? You’re both on the same side.”

  “Maybe we are, and maybe we aren’t,” answered the Piper cryptically. “Witches can be finicky, so for the time being at least, I’m keeping you close by where I can keep an eye on you. Finders keepers and all that. But it could be a while, so you might as well eat something.”

  The Piper took the roasting hare off the spit and nearly dropped it as he burned his fingers. “Ow, ow!” he said, sticking his fingers in his mouth. “Better let it cool first.”

  Carter left the rabbit untouched. The smell was making him sick to his stomach. Or maybe it was from being this close to the Piper again. “I’m not hungry—”

  “Eat!” snapped the Piper, and Carter saw a flash of the madness, the unpredictable fury that he’d witnessed back in the Black Tower. He took a single bite of the roasted rabbit, but he barely tasted it. “At least, tell me what happened to my friends.”

  “They’re fine,” said the Piper, apparently satisfied now that Carter was eating. He frowned. “Can’t say the same for my rats, though.”

  If the Piper was searching for an apology for any harm that came to his rats, he could forget it.

  “The elf girl’s name was Leetha, wasn’t it?” asked the Piper.

  “I hope you didn’t hurt her,” said Carter. “She never did anything to you.”

  “I told you, they’re fine. My rats went running back to their nest with their tails between their legs. That was a pretty clever trick, by the way—getting yourself an army of kobolds to fight for you. It almost worked, but you forgot the most important thing.”

  “What?”

  “I’m a magician.”

  Carter sighed and tried to rub life back into his leg. He’d sat in one place for too long with his brace on, and now his foot was on fire with pins and needles. The Piper was right about one thing—how could you fight magic without magic?

  “So, what now?” Carter asked. “You say we’re going south, but south to where?”

  The Piper paused and wiped his fingers on his cloak before tossing a rabbit bone over his shoulder. “Speaking of witches, I hear you had a talk with Roga of the Wood.”

  So the Piper knew, and Carter’s worst fears were realized. He knew where Carter had been, and he probably knew where Carter was going, and more important, what he was after. “Who told you that?”

  “Roga,” answered the Piper. “And she was not happy with you. Not at all.”

  “Why? Because I refused to be her lunch?”

  The Piper chuckled. “Pretty much. Roga always had strange ideas about hospitality.”

  Carter had to be careful with what he said next. The Piper knew a lot, but Carter wasn’t sure that he knew everything. It was easy to forget that this seemingly young man was really centuries old. And most likely insane as well.

  “So, what did you and Roga talk about?” the Piper asked.

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “Some. Not all.”

  And with these words Carter began to realize why he was here in the Piper’s clutches, why he’d gone through all this trouble to chase him down. Roga, Carter suspected, had told him about their talk, but she hadn’t told him where the pipe was. The Piper was playing a game with Carter, trying to get him to reveal the secret location of his instrument. It was cat and mouse again, just like back in the Piper’s prison, but this time Carter would play the game differently.

  “Honestly?” said Carter. “We talked about your magic pipe.”

  The Piper’s expression remained calm, but Carter could see the effect just those few words had on him. His whole body tensed up tight as wire. “Where is it?”

  Carter took a deep breath and steeled himself. “I’m not telling.”

  From his past dealings with the Piper, Carter had expected him to shout and threaten him, maybe even hit him. Carter wasn’t looking forward to that, and he didn’t think he was the sort to last under torture (he didn’t really think there was any sort that would), but he wasn’t going to give the Piper what he wanted without some kind of fight. He’d even taken up a handful of dirt so that he might throw it in the Piper’s eyes if it came to it. Not that he would have much luck fighting a magician, but it made Carter feel better to be prepared.

  But instead of getting angry, the Piper turned thoughtful, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. After a few minutes of silence, Carter was getting so worried that he started wishing the Piper would just yell at him and get it over with.

  “What?” Carter asked, finally. “Why are you looking at me like that? Aren’t you mad?”

  “Oh, furious,” said the Piper evenly. “But that won’t get me my property back. I’ve only known you a short time, Carter, but in a sense I already know you so well.”

  “So?”

  “So I’ll tell you what I think instead,” said the Piper. With a flourish of his cloak he leaped up, and Carter was startled into dropping his handful of dirt. So much for that idea.

  “You and your friends were headed south,” said the Piper. “Then the New Hameliners split off, probably heading back to their village. You, however, kept on traveling south with Leetha. Is that where the Peddler hid my pipe? Is it in the Deep Forest? The Princess’s castle, perhaps? Or somewhere else along the coast?”

  “I won’t tell you,” said Carter.

  “Why?” asked the Piper. “Afraid of what I’ll do with it? Afraid that I will steal away even more children of earth and bring them here to the Summer Isle?”

  “Yeah, exactly that. Isn’t that what you threatened to do back in the Black Tower? The villagers of old Hamelin banished you and your mother for witchcraft, and you stole their children away as a way to get revenge. But that wasn’t enough, because you’re obviously crazy, and now you plan to steal away all the children of earth. Remember telling me that insane plan? All you need is your magic pipe, so do you really think I’m going to help you find it?”

  The Piper took a step closer, still smiling, but Carter knew better than to trust that smile. His hands were clammy, and he felt sick. He tried to prepare himself for the worst.

  “And what if I did bring more children here?” the Piper asked quietly. “What if I think they are better off here with me, rather than back there with all those grown-ups? The scolds and the hypocrites. Is the Summer Isle so bad compared to them?”

  Carter wanted to laugh, but he didn’t dare. Was the Summer Isle so bad? Carter himself had wondered that at first, when all he could see was the opportunity for real magic and adventure. The Summer Isle was both those things, it was true, but it was also rat creatures and witches. It was cursed winter nights that made your nightmares come to life.

  “There’s nothing good about this place,” said Carter quietly. “Nothing that isn’t a lie.”

  The Piper squatted next to him. “Really? Nothing good at all? Then prove it. Take that brace off your leg, Carter.”

  Carter reflexively, protectively pulled his leg away from the Piper. “What? Why?”

  “Take it off,” said the Piper. “You slept with it on. It’s obviously hurting you and it would feel better not to wear it for a while, so take it off.”

  Carter hesitated, not wanting to do anything the Piper wanted him to do. But he didn’t want to push him too far, and there wasn’t any harm in it,
so…

  He unbuckled the straps secured around his shin, sighing in relief as they fell away. Then, slowly, he pulled his foot free of the plastic-and-metal brace. He wiggled feeling back into his foot.

  “Good,” said the Piper, and before Carter could stop him, he kicked the brace out of reach. “Now stand up.”

  The Piper hadn’t hit him, not physically, but he might as well have slapped Carter across the face. “You’re not funny.”

  “I’m not trying to be.” The Piper stood over him and planted his hands on his hips. “Get on your feet, boy.”

  So this was the Piper’s punishment? He wouldn’t physically hurt Carter, but he would play the part of the playground bully instead. No magic, no violence, but it was torture all the same. At least, it was a torture Carter was used to, it was pain he’d carried all his life, and he knew how to carry it. He wouldn’t give the Piper the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt.

  Carter scooted himself within reach of the brace, but the Piper just kicked it away again.

  “Stop it!” cried Carter.

  “Stand up,” said the Piper. “I won’t tell you again.”

  Fine, thought Carter, and with his good foot underneath him, he pushed himself up to standing. On one leg, precariously balanced, he looked the Piper in the eye. “This what you wanted to see? You want to watch me fall?”

  Carter put his bad foot on the ground. He gave it his weight…and it held. His foot wasn’t curled, it wasn’t twisted, it was standing flat on the ground. Finally, the feeling had come back to it, as the blood returned. And there was no pain. No pain at all.

  Cautiously, Carter took a step.

  It held. It wasn’t as strong as his other leg, but it held. He took another step, and another, and he walked—he walked. Then he ran. He ran in circles around their campfire.

  He came to a stop in front of the Piper, out of breath and tears streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it,” said the Piper, grinning. “Because it’s only the beginning.”

  New Hamelin was still several days away at a hard march, but on the second day, Lukas and his friends got lucky, and the ogres set to fighting each other. It wasn’t just a shoving match this time, or even two ogres wrestling. This was a battle. Paul was the one to see it begin, as he had been spying on them at the time. Now that there were rats traveling with the ogres, it was unsafe for anyone but an experienced scout to get close. Ogres were about as perceptive as dirt, but rats had keen senses of smell.