The Secrets of the Pied Piper 1

by Matthew Cody

  “Then we’ll have to travel the hard way, won’t we?” said the Peddler. “First, I need to talk to someone. It won’t take long.”

  The old man stepped up to the gate and peered into the forest beyond. Gingerly, he laid a hand across the wooded bars and sighed. “Closing your borders to me now, Leetha?” he said.

  For a moment, Max worried the Peddler might be turning senile. Who was Leetha? He certainly wasn’t talking to Max or her friends. But then an unfamiliar voice drifted out of nowhere to answer his question.

  “The road has been closed on the Princess’s order, Peddler,” said a girl’s voice. “Not mine.”

  From out of the trees stepped a small…tree. No, it wasn’t a tree. It was only a girl who was very treelike in appearance. Her skin was as brown as an oak, and her hair matched the color of the leaves entwined within it. She had long ears and a broad face that might have been pretty when she smiled, but she wasn’t smiling now.

  “Is that…,” whispered Max.

  “An elf?” said Paul. “Guess so. Never really seen one this up-close before. Too busy running in the opposite direction.”

  The elf wasn’t at all what Max had been expecting. Her clothing looked spun from grass and leaves, and she carried a long knife at her side. This wasn’t an elf out of the storybooks; this was something else—savage and dangerous.

  “This,” said the Peddler, gesturing to the elf girl, “is Leetha, elf-daughter, guard of the northern forest and professional sneak.”

  “And who are they?” asked the elf girl. “You have changelings with you, Peddler. And so close to the Deep Wood. The Princess wouldn’t like it.”

  “Changelings?” said Emilie. “We are human beings.”

  The elf glared at Emilie and actually bared her fangs. Max turned to Paul and mouthed, Fangs? The scout just held up his hands and whispered, “Let’s not let Emilie make her mad, okay?”

  The elf girl laughed suddenly, and faster than Max could blink, the elf leaped atop the wooden gate. She looked like a cat leering down at its prey. “Not born of the Summer Isle,” she said, “means you are changelings. I’ve watched you, you know. Watched you hiding in your tiny walled village. I have seen you, but you have never once seen me, for I am too clever to be caught!”

  The Peddler cleared his throat. “Leetha has a habit of abandoning her post to go exploring, you see.”

  Leetha frowned at the Peddler. “I never abandon it. I just…expand my duties once in a while.” She swung her legs over the top of the gate and hung from her hands. She reminded Max of a little girl dangling from the monkey bars. “It’s dull looking at the same crossroads day after day,” Leetha said. “And I meet the most wonderfully peculiar creatures outside the forest. Why, Peddler, just the other day I helped the North Wind with a very important thing.”

  The Peddler held up a hand. “I wasn’t scolding you, you daft elf. In fact, I think your wanderlust is your best quality. It’s my favorite, anyway. But I was afraid that you would be off on one of your adventures.”

  The elf girl dropped back to the ground and cocked her head up at the Peddler. “Why are you here, Peddler?”

  “Leetha, I need you to deliver a message to the Princess,” said the Peddler. “Tell her that I am going north to the Black Tower. Tell her I’m going to visit the Piper.”

  Leetha visibly blanched at the news. “This is truth?”

  The Peddler nodded. “Yes. It’s long overdue.”

  “I’m not very welcome in the Princess’s court,” said Leetha, glancing away. “Even if she will grant me an audience, she will say that you are foolish to go there. Your northern road is broken.”

  “I know that,” he said.

  “And feel the air, see the trees,” said Leetha. “The Winter’s Moon is rising tonight.”

  “I know that, too.”

  Max shot a worried look at Lukas, but the boy just nodded. They knew what lay ahead—a night of darkness and cold, and worse. But what choice did they have?

  “Tonight’s moon will be dangerous,” said Leetha. “Even for you, Peddler, should you leave your road.”

  The Peddler shook his head. “After all this time, people still underestimate me.”

  “You have enemies, Peddler.”

  “We all have enemies! Every year, the Summer Isle grows wilder and the dark places grow darker. The Winter’s Moon rises now more often than ever before, and the nights get colder, and old friends bar their doors against each other!” At this the Peddler spat in the direction of the elf gate. Max watched as Leetha looked away. If a tree elf could blush, the girl was doing it now.

  Whatever the reason behind their bickering, it was making Max impatient. There wasn’t time to stand around arguing. “My brother’s been kidnapped,” she said to the elf. “He’s being taken to the Black Tower, and we need the Peddler’s help to get us there. That’s why he’s going.”

  Leetha looked at Max as if noticing her for the first time. “You aren’t from New Hamelin.”

  “No,” said Max. “My brother and I just arrived here a few days ago.”

  “Days ago?” said Leetha, her eyes growing wide. “And a brother, too? It’s the prophecy, isn’t it, Peddler? This human girl’s brother is the last son of Hamelin.”

  “It’s possible,” said the Peddler. “I expect I’ll find out one way or another.”

  Leetha took a few cautious steps toward them, but she looked ready to bolt at the slightest wrong move. “I could go with you, Peddler,” said Leetha. “I know the way.”

  “As do I,” said the Peddler, sighing. “And I need you to talk to the Princess. She needs to know, in case anything…unforeseen happens. I know how hard it is for you to go back there, Leetha, but I would consider it a favor.”

  “So the Peddler will be in my debt, for a change!” said Leetha, grinning. “Then I will do as you ask, and I will return with her answer, whatever it may be.”

  “You have my thanks,” said the Peddler. “You’ll find us at the Black Tower.”

  “Then you have my sympathies, Peddler,” said Leetha. “You and your changeling friends. Farewell.”

  Then the strange elf girl was gone. Just as magically as she’d appeared, she vanished into the trees. As if marking her passage, a brisk wind picked up and tore more leaves off the trees. The gust whipped them into miniature whirlwinds at their feet. Even the Peddler pulled his robe tight about him against the growing cold. Max wished she had something warmer to wear. It would only get colder from here on out.

  “What a waste of time,” said Emilie, pulling her shawl tighter around herself. “The Princess won’t help us.”

  “Probably not,” said the Peddler as he slung his pack off his shoulders and dropped it heavily on the ground. He kept talking as he started rummaging through it. “But if Leetha tells her about Carter, it might get her attention.”

  “Why?” asked Max. “Why would a princess of the elves care about my brother?”

  The Peddler pulled his head out of his pack and looked up at her. “Because you all aren’t the only ones the Piper wronged.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Lukas. “I’ve never heard any tales of the Piper hurting the elves.”

  “It’s not something that gets talked about,” said the Peddler. “To do so invites the Princess’s wrath. But she can get mad at me all she wants; I don’t much care anymore. You see, on the very same night that one hundred and thirty human children were stolen from the village of Hamelin, one hundred and thirty elf children were taken from the Deep Forest.”

  “What?” said Max. “Where did they go?” But even as she asked the question, Max already knew the answer.

  “The elves call them the Winter Children,” said the Peddler, “the lost children of the forest who were stolen away to your world just as the children of Hamelin were brought to ours. They haven’t been seen since. The Piper made a trade, you see, the children of earth for the children of the Summer Isle. He took them all away.”

  Max had
n’t imagined such a thing, she hadn’t even considered the possibility. But if the Peddler was right, then over a hundred children just like Leetha were lost and alone somewhere on earth. This would have happened over seven hundred years ago, by earth’s timeline. Where could they have gone? How could they have survived? Max looked to see her friends’ reactions. Lukas and Paul looked as stunned as she was. Only Emilie wouldn’t look her in the eye. The girl was tangled up in her own thoughts.

  “It is my hope, and it may only be a hope,” said the Peddler, “that when the prophecy promises to return the children safe and sound, it means all the children. Human and elf alike.”

  The Peddler closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. “Time was, we were the caretakers of this land.” The Peddler let out a bitter laugh. “Look at us now. Worse, look at what’s become of our Summer Isle. I keep wandering the same road, but nothing’s familiar anymore.”

  “Well,” said Paul, whistling. “No wonder the elves don’t like us. Losing all their children wasn’t our fault, but still.”

  “No,” said the Peddler softly, and he glanced back at the Deep Forest. “They didn’t lose all of them. The elves lost one hundred and thirty children, but they had one hundred and thirty-one. A single girl was left behind.”

  “You mean Leetha!” said Max, realizing. “Just like the boy back in Hamelin.”

  The Peddler nodded. “She had sneaked off on one of her wanderings, and so she wasn’t here when the Piper came for the children. And she has never forgiven herself for it. These days she exiles herself from court and barely speaks to her own kind anymore. It was not a small thing that I just asked of her.”

  When Max first met the Peddler, she thought he was a man who didn’t want to remember. But now, as she studied his wrinkled face, his sagging shoulders, as she listened to the pain in his voice, pain that was knotted up in his own bitterness, she changed her mind about him. He wasn’t a man who didn’t want to remember—he was a man who couldn’t help but remember.

  “You were planning on helping us all along, weren’t you?” said Max. “From the minute you saw us on the road, you knew who we were, and you knew you’d end up helping us. The rest was just show.”

  “Not all of it,” said the Peddler with a wry grin. “I’m still holding you to your promise. I’ll help you get your brother back, but you must remember your promise to me.”

  Max didn’t know if she should laugh or scream at the old man. “Unbelievable,” she muttered.

  The Peddler went back to searching through his enormous pack. “It’s time we were off, anyway. We should march as far as we can while there is still daylight, and we’d best arm ourselves well.”

  The Peddler reached into his backpack and produced a frying pan. Next came a heavy mallet and, finally, a long-handled spade. Lukas scrunched up his nose as he hefted the mallet. “I’m not sure how to wield this, exactly….”

  “Don’t you have anything more, I don’t know, weapon-y?” asked Max as Lukas handed her the spade.

  The Peddler scratched his whiskered chin and frowned. “I’ve never cared for weapons much. Tools are better. But you still have your daggers, I see. And these will do in a pinch.”

  “Aw, just great,” said Paul. “That means I’m left with the frying pan!”

  “Listen up,” said the Peddler. “There might be rats or worse between here and the tower. Nothing I expect I can’t handle, but you should all take one of these just in case.” He handed Lukas a bundle of unlit torches and a small wadding of flint and steel to light them with. “Rats are vicious, but in their hearts they’re still just animals, and they have never lost an animal’s instinctive fear of fire. When night falls, hold your torches high, and remember that our fears cannot hurt us when they are exposed to the light.”

  They helped the Peddler close up his pack, then headed north, following the ruins of the old northern road into the Dark Moors. Despite the uneven ground, the Peddler didn’t slow his pace, and Max and the others had to hustle just to keep up. The heavy clouds above promised snow. A true winter night was falling across the Summer Isle.

  But at least they were nearing the Black Tower. Max didn’t know if they were fulfilling a prophecy or off on a fool’s errand. All she cared about was finding her brother.

  Carter was her only quest now.

  The Black Tower was hidden among hills that had no name. A few stone walls and the shell of a gatehouse at its base were all that was left of what once was a larger fortress, but now only the tower stood, like a black thorn aimed at the sky. A single light burned in the topmost window, and as Grannie Yaga marched Carter through the ruins toward the tower’s entrance, he could feel unseen eyes watching him from the shadows.

  Grannie had “parked” her hut nearby, and now it was just another, somewhat gruesome structure among the ruins. She’d insisted on bringing Bandybulb along in his cage. She seemed to find the little kobold good company (as he agreed with nearly everything she said), though she often promised to eat him should he begin to annoy her. This, Carter suspected, was why the little kobold was always so agreeable.

  Night was falling, a true night that brought winter with it. It hadn’t started yet, but overhead a thick curtain of clouds promised snow. The few pathetic weeds that had found purchase on this rocky terrain were already brittle with glittering hoarfrost.

  As Carter and Grannie approached the tower, two rats emerged from the shadows, barring their way forward. One was smallish and cowered near the ground even as he was supposed to be blocking their path. The other rat Carter knew well, and the creature glared down at him with his one good eye.

  “We’re expected, rat king,” said Grannie Yaga, sneering at the title. “Here to see your new master.”

  The rat curled his lips in a snarl, which was a particularly gruesome expression, thanks to the burns across his snout. “King Marrow is his own master,” growled the rat. Then he sat back on his haunches and crossed his arms. It was a very human posture, and it didn’t suit him. “Besides, the door’s locked and there’s no key.”

  “Which is why you need a witch,” said Grannie Yaga. She gave Carter a rough shove forward. “Here’s the boy you were sent to find, yes? What Marrow can’t catch, Grannie Yaga surely can.”

  Marrow’s hands drifted to his belted knives. The small rat behind him sank lower, if it was possible, to the ground.

  “I wouldn’t be thinking that if I were you, rat king,” said Grannie. “Learn to take insults from your betters, or Grannie Yaga might make you into her next rug.” Grannie smiled, showing a mouthful of iron fangs. She’d put in her “good teeth” for this occasion.

  There was a tense moment when Carter thought that Marrow might actually try for his knives, despite Grannie’s threats. Carter’s pulse raced. If the two of them got into a fight, it could be his best chance of escape. But the big rat backed down, and with an angry lash of his tail, he stepped aside.

  “Good choice, rat king,” said Grannie Yaga. “Now we see if the boy is worth all of Grannie’s trouble.” She gestured to the tower. “The door, if you please, sweet boy.”

  Bandybulb pressed his face to his cage. “Good luck,” he whispered.

  Carter took an uncertain step forward. He wasn’t sure what was expected of him, other than that Grannie Yaga seemed to think he would be able to open the door to the Black Tower when no one else could. It was tall, half again as tall as a grown man, and made of cast iron. There was no handle or knob that Carter could see, just a large round knocker set into the middle. And the middle was so high up that Carter had to stand on tiptoe to reach it.

  “Go on,” said Grannie, growing impatient. “Grannie has things she needs to prepare for.”

  Carter knocked. One, two, three times. The knocks echoed off the iron door and throughout the tower. Then there was the sound of metal gears turning and something large sliding out of place.

  The iron door slowly swung inward, revealing a long spiral stair leading up. No one was visible.
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  “It worked!” Marrow started toward the door, but Grannie Yaga hissed a warning.

  “It must be the boy, fool rat,” she said. “The door is open, but your master’s not yet free. Send the boy in to finish what he started.”

  Carter looked at the winding stair. It looked fearsome, but he would still rather risk it alone than in the company of Marrow. “I’ll do it,” said Carter. “That’s…that’s why I’m here, right?”

  “Smart little boy,” said Grannie. She handed him a small hooded lantern. “Here, you don’t want to be wandering around in there in the dark, now.”

  “Fine,” growled Marrow. “He goes in alone. But you stay out here, witch.”

  Grannie Yaga chuckled. “Oh, Grannie’s part in this is done! She made a bargain and she delivered. Now for her payment.” She looked up at the lighted window high above them, then she turned to Marrow. “Your master promised me something, or I should say someone. Is he near?”

  Marrow looked at the small rat cowering behind him. “Well, Wormling? What do you hear?”

  “I hear,” said the rat in an unpleasant whine, “I hear that the one the witch seeks follows the ruins of the northern road, but it’s naught but rock and dirt now. He’ll be at his weakest.”

  “And with no sun in the sky, Grannie Yaga’s powers are at their strongest,” the old witch laughed as she began hobbling back toward her hut. “I’ll be feasting on the old man’s heart before the spring dawn!”

  Carter was confused. Who were they talking about? Whoever it was, he was walking into a trap. Grannie Yaga would be waiting for him.

  “Who are you talking about?” said Carter, starting after her. “Wait, Grannie Yaga!”

  A handlike paw grabbed Carter by the scruff of his neck and yanked him backward. “Your business is inside the tower,” snarled Marrow. “And when the master is done with you, maybe he’ll give you to me!”

  The rat pressed his ruined eye into Carter’s face. “I owe you.”

  Then Marrow lifted Carter as easily as if the boy had been made of straw and tossed him inside the tower doorway. Carter tried to land on his feet, but his leg gave out beneath him and he fell, skidding along the hard stone floor. He barely managed to keep hold of Grannie Yaga’s little lantern.