by Roger Hurn
‘Yeah, but he turned up soon enough, didn’t he?’ groaned Ritchie. ‘And now he’s after all of us.’
‘The vagabond who chased us did not look like the Piper,’ said Will.
‘No? Well, who else could he be? And, anyway, the Piper had put a spell on you guys so it’s hardly likely you’re going to remember him too clearly is it?’
‘Tis true,’ agreed Alice. ‘When he played his pipe I forgot everything and only wanted to dance. Then when he captured us I was too fearful to look carefully at his face.’
‘What about you, Will?’ Lizzie prompted. ‘Did you get a good look at him?’
Will started to bluster but Alice put her hand on his arm. ‘The truth, Will. Sometimes ‘tis braver to admit a weakness than to pretend.’
‘Sooth, I did see him,’ insisted Will, ‘though not clearly. At first I too was dazzled by his music and then we mostly saw his back as we followed him.’ Will bit his lip and thought hard. ‘But, by my faith, I do know that he was tall and thin and wore a long coat.’
‘Just like the bloke who came charging out of the woods. I rest my case.’ Ritchie folded his arms and slumped down in his chair. ‘I’ve got news for you folks, we’re in deep doo doo.’
‘Yes, but we’ve learned something else,’ said Lizzie.
The others looked at her, impatient for her to continue.
‘We know how to move between different times.’
‘Well, you may, Miss Clever Clogs but I don’t.’
‘Oh Ritchie, it’s like so obvious when you think about it. I mean what did the Piper do when he took the kids to his world and when he came back to ours?’
Lizzie looked at the others expectantly but they frowned and shook their heads.
‘Dunno. So why don’t you just share your amazing insight with the rest of us. Or are you waiting for me to give you a drum roll first?’ Ritchie didn’t know which annoyed him more – the fact that he didn’t know the answer or the fact that Lizzie did.
Lizzie stuck her tongue out at him. ‘Actually, playing the drums won’t help but playing the flute will. That’s what he did both times. He played his flute. I reckon music’s the key to this.’
‘Yeah, well you would wouldn’t you? Just because you’re good at it.’
‘Egad, cease thy prattle.’ Will glowered at Ritchie. ‘Lizzie sayeth sooth. The poisonous scut did use his pipe to conjure a path betwixt our worlds.’
Ritchie shot Will a look that could have peeled paint. ‘I’m not saying he didn’t. But my oh-so-clever sister plays the flute and I’ve never noticed her zooming off back in time.’
‘Yeah, well that’s probably because I don’t know the right tune, OK? Look, all I need to do is to go back to the woods, play the right notes and we can open the gate between this world and the Piper’s.’
‘Duh!’ But we don’t know what the notes are, do we? And if you think I’m going to stand around in Piper’s Wood while you play a selection of your greatest hits on the off chance of finding the right ones you need your head examined. Talk about sitting ducks. Didn’t you hear what Alice and Will said? The Piper’s got orders to kill them and it’s my guess he won’t think twice about topping us, either.’
Lizzie looked infuriatingly smug. ‘But we do know what the notes are. Or at least Alice and Will do. They were there when the Piper played them.’ She turned to the two children. ‘So which of you two can whistle?’
***
Chapter Nine
After several false starts, some bitter argument and certainly not until they had eaten all of the remaining chocolate bars, did Alice and Will finally agree on the melody they had heard the Piper play. It was a strange and slightly discordant tune but Lizzie was confident she could master it.
‘My flute’s in my bedroom so I’ll nip down and fetch it. Then we’ll give it a go.’ She smiled brightly and headed for the stairs. She froze as she heard someone opening the front door.
‘We’re home, kids. Where are you?’ It was her mother shouting.
‘Come on Ritchie.’ She pointed to Alice and Will. ‘You two stay up here and don’t make a sound.’
She and Ritchie scrambled down the stairs and then strolled into the living room as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
‘What have you two been up to today?’ asked their Dad. ‘Not been getting up to mischief, I hope.’
‘Dad, we’re not little kids.’ Lizzie looked indignantly at him.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ put in her brother in an unusual show of solidarity.
‘Glad to hear it,’ their father replied. ‘Only your Mum says there’s a bit of a funny smell coming from somewhere and I wondered if you two knew anything about it?’
‘Drains,’ said Ritchie. ‘It’s the drains.’
‘The drains?’ repeated Dad.
‘Yeah, some workman from the water company was round saying there was a bit of a problem but not to worry. It would all be sorted in a day or two.’
The children’s Mother walked into the room.
‘You didn’t open the door to a stranger, did you Ritchie?’
‘It’s all right, Mum,’ said Lizzie. ‘We kept the door on the chain and he showed us his ID.’
‘Well, I’ve told you both time and time again not to open the door to strangers when we’re not here.’
Lizzie and Ritchie bowed their heads.
‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘Ritchie. I blame you. You’re the eldest. You should know better.’
Here we go again, thought Ritchie. I’ve been hearing this since the day Lizzie was born. He opened his mouth to protest when, for the first time ever, Lizzie leapt to his defence.
‘It wasn’t Ritchie’s fault. I was the one who opened the door - I didn’t think.’
Lizzie’s Mum was slightly taken aback to hear Lizzie defend her brother.
‘Yes, well, you really must be more careful - both of you. You see, there was a scruffy looking tramp hanging around on the green as we drove up. I’m sure he was up to something.’ She folded her arms and looked sternly at them. ‘I hope you wouldn’t have opened the door to him - chain or no chain.’
‘Is he still there?’ asked Ritchie anxiously.
‘No,’ said Dad. ‘Alan Burns from number 7 was giving him his marching orders as we drove past. You know what Alan’s like. He takes the Neighbourhood Watch seriously.’
‘So he’s gone, then?’
‘Your father just said so, didn’t he? And thank goodness he has because your new flute teacher is coming over shortly to give you a lesson, Lizzie, and we don’t want him to think this is a rough area.’
‘What new flute teacher? What’s up with Miss Carter?’
‘Miss Carter phoned me at work just as I was leaving to say she’s down with the flu’ but I wasn’t to worry as she’d arranged for her colleague, Mr. Davies, to take the lesson for her. She says he’s an excellent flute teacher. He’ll be here at six o’clock so you don’t have to miss out. Now isn’t that kind of them?’
Lizzie and Ritchie both looked horrified.
‘I haven’t got a lesson today.’
Mum gave her a tight little smile. ‘Oh Lizzie, you’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on. You always have a lesson on Wednesday.’
‘But we don’t know anything about this guy. You just said we shouldn’t let strangers in the house. He could be anybody.’
Their mother sighed. ‘Don’t be silly. This is different. He’s Miss Carter’s colleague and anyway your father and I are both going to be here.’
‘How do you know it was Miss Carter on the phone?’ asked Ritchie.
‘Oh what is the matter with you two today? I recognised her voice.’
‘But you said she had flu’ so did she sound different?’
‘Of course she did. She could hardly speak for coughing and sneezing but it was Miss Carter all right. And, anyway, she knew about your lesson. Now what is this all about?’
‘These two scallywags are just wi
nding you up, Sheila because you told them off about the guy from the water company. Don’t let them get to you.’ Dad chuckled good-naturedly. ‘Now I’m starving so you two can go and pop a pizza in the oven while your Mum and I put our feet up and watch a bit of telly before this Mr Davies arrives.’
***
Chapter Ten
Lizzie was in the back room trying to master the tune Alice and Will insisted was the one the Piper had played when moving between the worlds. Ritchie was sitting in a chair pretending to listen to his iPod. He jumped when the doorbell rang. He glanced nervously across to his sister but Lizzie was so engrossed in the complicated melody she seemed to be unaware that her mother was ushering someone into the room.
‘Out you go, Ritchie. Mr Davies doesn’t need you here.’ His mother was speaking in her posh voice, the one she used when answering the telephone. Standing at her side was a tall, thin man with long dark hair tied back in a pony-tail. The man showed no interest in Ritchie. He was staring at Lizzie. His green unblinking eyes watched her fingers flying over the keys.
‘I want to stay and listen.’
‘Ritchie you never want to hear your sister play.’
‘I do now.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ said Mr Davies. ‘It is my experience that brothers do not make for a sympathetic audience.’
‘Quite right, Mr Davies. I don’t know what he’s up to but he is not going to spoil your lesson. Anyway, he can’t stand music.’
‘I love music,’ protested Ritchie.
‘Not if the row you listen to on that pod thing of yours is anything to go by.’ She smiled a bright, brittle and very false smile. ‘Now I’m not asking you again, Ritchie. Leave Mr Davies and your sister in peace.’
‘It’s OK, Ritchie. I’ll be fine. I’ll play for you another time.’ Lizzie gave her brother a warm look of gratitude that was completely out of character for her. Mrs Brown was surprised but pleased to see it.
Ritchie climbed slowly to his feet and slouched out of the room with bad grace. As soon as he was gone the family’s pet cat, Angie came strutting in through the door. She took one look at Mr Davies, arched up her back, fluffed out her fur and hissed at him before turning and running off.
‘She doesn’t like strangers, Mr Davies.’
‘And I don’t like cats, Mrs Brown. I’m allergic to their fur.’ Mr Davies turned his unblinking eyes to Lizzie’s Mum. ‘But as both she and Ritchie have gone I would like to begin the lesson without further ado. So, if you don’t mind …’ He inclined his head towards the door.
‘Oh, of course! Sorry.’ Mrs Brown backed out of the room nodding as she went.
Lizzie felt the usual deep embarrassment her mother could always inspire in her. But before she could say a word, Mr Davies spoke.
‘That piece you were playing. What is it called?’
‘Don’t know. It’s not really a tune. I was just mucking around. I was like improvising.’
Mr Davies watched her as a cat watches a mouse. ‘It has an unusual quality your improvising,’ he said. ‘The melody is like an itch in the brain. It seems to me that I have heard it before somewhere.’
‘You can’t have done. I just made it up.’ Lizzie looked at him defiantly.
Mr Davies’ lips moved back from his teeth. Lizzie realised he was smiling.
‘Then I must be mistaken.’
‘You must be.’
Mr Davies stopped smiling and blinked. ‘But I do wish you would teach it to me.’
‘Why?’ asked Lizzie, furious with herself because she couldn’t stop her voice trembling slightly.
‘For the simple reason that I am to play the part of the Piper of Francheville in the Newtown Randy on Saturday and it occurs to me that your tune is just the sort of thing the Piper would play.’
***
Chapter Eleven
The rest of the lesson proceeded without anything out of the ordinary happening. After half an hour, Mrs Brown brought Mr Davies a cup of tea and some chocolate digestive biscuits but he left them untouched. Actually, thought Lizzie, this bloke is seriously weird. Nobody can resist chocolate digestives.
Then, when the lesson was over but before he put his flute back in its case, Mr Davies put it to his lips and played note for note the melody Lizzie had been practising when he arrived.
‘That was it wasn’t it?’
Lizzie didn’t answer.
‘Well, I hope you don’t mind but I shall use it on Saturday when I spirit the children away to the woods. It sounds quite dramatic I think.’ His lips slid back from his teeth again but Lizzie noticed that the smile did not reach his eyes. He stood watching her, waiting for her response.
She shrugged. ‘Whatever.’
Mr Davies bowed his head slightly. ‘You are most gracious.’
At that moment Mrs Brown popped her head round the door. ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes,’ replied Mr Davies. ‘Everything is fine. Miss Carter is quite correct. Your daughter is very talented, Mrs Brown. It has been a pleasure to teach her.’
He picked up his case and then paused as if an idea had just occurred to him. He looked thoughtfully at Mrs Brown. ‘Actually, Mrs Brown, did Miss Carter inform you that I am performing at the Newtown Randy on Saturday?’ His skin stretched tight across his cheekbones as he smiled at her. Mrs Brown twittered with excitement.
‘How wonderful. I’m sure you’ll be absolutely marvellous, Mr Davies. Will you be treating us to a selection of popular classics?’
The light from the overhead bulb caught Mr Davies’ eyes and they seemed to shine. ‘Oh no, Mrs Brown. I’m to be the Piper in the re-enactment and I would consider it a great favour if, with your permission, Lizzie and her brother and perhaps a couple of their friends, could join in the fun as the children that I…’ At this point his chest heaved and he made a series of little snorting sounds. Lizzie realised that he was chuckling… ‘magically transport to fairyland.’
‘Oh Lizzie, what a wonderful opportunity.’ Mrs Brown beamed at her daughter and Mr Davies.
‘No way!’ Lizzie was adamant.
Mrs Brown looked daggers at her daughter. Then she creased her face into a smile. ‘Don’t be silly, Lizzie. Of course you and Ritchie will do it. I think you owe it to Mr Davies in return for his kindness in giving you your lesson at such short notice.’
‘But Mum he didn’t do it for free! I don’t see why …’
Mrs Brown cut her short. ‘Enough, Lizzie. You will do as you’re told!’ She turned back to Mr Davies. ‘Don’t you worry, Mr Davies. Lizzie and Ritchie will both be there on Saturday. I’ll make sure of that.’
Mr Davies bowed his head slightly. ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t want Lizzie to be forced into coming, Mrs Brown. So perhaps it’s better if we leave it.’ His pale lips pouted in disappointment.
‘Absolutely not, Mr Davies. Lizzie’s just being shy. She’d love to be there really. And anyway, I think people have a duty to support local traditions like the Randy.’
‘Oh, I do so agree, Mrs Brown. I do so agree. After all, it is part of our heritage.’ Then he followed her out of the room without so much as a backward glance at Lizzie.
Lizzie waited until she heard the front door close and then marched out into the hallway for a showdown with her mother.
Mrs Brown met her with a face like thunder.
‘You little minx. I didn’t know where to look. You were just so rude to that lovely man.’
‘He’s not lovely, he’s horrible and I’m not taking part in his stupid re-enactment.’
‘Mr Davies is not horrible and oh yes you are!’
‘Am not!’ Lizzie scrunched up her features into a scowl.
By now Ritchie had appeared at Lizzie’s side. ‘What’s Lizzie got to do?’ he asked.
Lizzie blurted it out to Ritchie who looked at his mother in amazement.
‘You’re joking, Mum. We’re not doing it.’ Lizzie and Ritchie were united in their defiance of their
mother.
Mrs Brown shuddered with barely suppressed anger. Two bright red blotches stood out on her cheeks. ‘Really? Well, we’ll see what your father has to say about it shall we?’ Her voice was as shrill as nails raked down a chalkboard. ‘Harry!’
Mr Brown winced at the harsh sound of his wife in high dudgeon. Reluctantly, he hauled himself up off the sofa. The highlight of his week was watching ‘The Drive of Your Life,’ on TV and now he was missing it. He was not a happy man.
He stood with his arms folded, tapping his foot impatiently as his wife demanded he lay down the law with Lizzie and Ritchie. He squashed their spirited objections like a four wheel drive jeep rolling over a hedgehog.
‘You’ll do as your mother says and there’s an end on it. And if I have any more nonsense from you two you’re grounded for a week!’ Mr Brown stormed back into the living room.
Mrs Brown gave her children a thin-lipped smile of victory as a defeated but still seething Lizzie and Ritchie took themselves upstairs to the den.
***
Chapter Twelve
Lizzie and Ritchie told Alice and Will everything that had just happened.
‘That Mr Davies,’ said Ritchie, ‘he’s the Piper for sure and now he’s tricked Mum into handing us over to him.’
Lizzie looked doubtful. Now Mr Davies had gone she was beginning to wonder if she hadn’t let her imagination run away with her a bit. After all, his lesson had been just as dull as any of Miss Carter’s. He’d even used the same music books. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We could be overreacting. Maybe he’s really what he says he is. A boring flute teacher who’s sad enough to think dressing up and prancing around in the Randy is like a totally big deal.’
Ritchie wasn’t convinced. ‘So how come he’s so keen on you and me taking part?’
‘Probably because he can’t find any other kids dumb enough to want to be in it with him. It’s just like sooo embarrassing.’
Even Ritchie had to concede that this was true.
