Pay the Piper

by Jane Yolen

  Maybe she needed to back into the stupid thing. Just let it rip. What her journalism teacher called “noodling,” a word for going off on a controlled association.

  “You mean ‘Free association’?” John Grenzke had asked.

  “Nothing free about it at all,” the teacher had answered. “You’ve already paid your dues by doing your research. Like Watson on the double-decker bus suddenly coming up with the structure of DNA.”

  John had understood the reference, if nobody else had, nodding his head. He had that kind of mind. Probably go to Harvard one day, Callie thought. Not that he can write.

  She picked up a pen. “Okay—controlled association!” She scribbled the word soul on a Post-it note, then spelled it backwards and inside out: l-u-o-s, o-u-l-s, l-o-u-s.

  “Louse indeed!” She grimaced. “Lousy anyway.”

  Then she spelled it s-o-l-e and pasted the Post-it on her computer.

  “Sole, meaning alone, solo, one.” She shook her head. “And I really am all alone and out there on this one.”

  She tried putting the word sole into a Google search, only her fingers slipped and she typed soldo instead.

  A load of gibberish came up. She thought it might be Italian.

  “All right, then,” she whispered, “what’s this when it’s in English?”

  The dictionary revealed that a “soldo” was a kind of Italian coin.

  “So maybe…” she told herself slowly, “maybe I misunderstood. Maybe Alabas really said Silver or gold or soldos.”

  She tried saying that quickly: Silver or gold or soldos. After ten times, she could almost believe soldos was what Alabas had actually been saying. It certainly made more sense than rats and pied pipers.

  “I could call Mars again and ask him.” But she knew he was busy with his frat party. Besides, she was mad at him, blowing her off that way. The white knight’s armor was seriously tarnished.

  “Time for a soda or a slice of cake or something.” Because, she thought, sugar will shock my system. Nothing like a good kick-start.

  * * *

  AT THE FIRST LANDING ON the stairs, she passed the grandfather clock and saw it was already past nine.

  “How did it get to be this late? Time sure flies…” Though she hadn’t been having any fun.

  It suddenly occurred to her that Nick had been due back at eight.

  She couldn’t believe he was a whole hour late. Usually he was such a goody-goody. Not like Mars, who’d never made a curfew in his life and had talked and smiled his way out of every punishment. But even if the Piatts couldn’t read a clock face, Nicky was sure to have bugged them till they got him home on time.

  “Oh, Nicky, you are in big trouble!” Though she knew she wouldn’t rat on him.

  Rats!

  Again the scene of the dancing rodents came to mind. How they clapped their little paws, how they swayed to the music of the flute.

  She shivered all the way into the kitchen.

  15 · The Guardian and the Flower

  Gringras remembered another clearing, deep in the Great Forest, far out in the eastern reaches of his father’s kingdom, nearly into Unseelie territory. There grew a plant that flowered only once a century.

  Gringras and Alabas had ridden hard and traveled far, managing to reach the clearing the day before the plant was due to bloom.

  “It doesn’t look like much does it?” remarked Alabas.

  The plant shot straight up out of the ground to a height of two feet. Its stem was dull green with some darker splotches and it had two even duller, splotchier leaves on opposite sides.

  “We shall see how it looks in the morning,” Gringras replied. “For now we make camp.”

  They tied their horses to a nearby tree and pitched two small tents. Alabas made a small fire while Gringras played his flute softly. Soon, two rabbits wandered into the clearing and sat in front of the piper.

  “Rabbit? I thought we could have a grander meal with the completion of our quest so near at hand.” Alabas had sounded disappointed.

  Gringras dropped his flute and snatched up the rabbits—a buck and a doe, their little eyes showing no fear.

  “I dare not risk any larger enchantments this close to the Unseelie lands. To do so might provoke the final war between our kingdoms.”

  Alabas nodded and they cooked their dinner in silence.

  Knowing what a superb hostage any prince of the Seelie Court would make—even a middle one—they set their wards that evening with extra care. When they finally slept, it was in fits and starts.

  In the morning, they woke and saw the plant had flowered overnight. The once small, dull, stick was now man-high and covered with glowing pink flowers.

  “Gaudy thing,” Alabas noted, “Let’s pluck it and head home.”

  Without reply, Gringras strode purposely to his horse. He began rummaging through his saddlebags before speaking.

  “I may have forgotten to mention a few things, Alabas.”

  “Yes? What did you forget to mention?” Off in the distance there came a loud thud. “And what was that noise?”

  Having found what he was looking for, Gringras grunted in satisfaction and pulled a leather glove from his saddlebag.

  “I mentioned the flower blooms once a century, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  There was another thud.

  “I told you that it causes anyone who eats it to fall into a state indistinguishable from death for a period of three days?”

  “Yes.”

  There was another thud closer by.

  “I explained to you the virtues of this plant as a poison: odorless, tasteless, leaves no trace?”

  “Again, yes.”

  The thuds were coming quicker and closer. The horses began whinnying, their eyes rolled back in terror, showing the whites.

  “I recall saying that the journey was arduous and the location next to Unseelie territory dangerous.” Gringras pulled the glove onto his right hand and deftly untied his horse from its tree. He slapped it on its flank and it galloped into the woods. He nodded at Alabas.

  With a quick glance over his shoulder to where the thuds were coming from, Alabas scampered to his horse and began working the knot.

  Meanwhile, Gringras marched to the middle of the clearing and rolled his head back and forth, loosening up.

  “What I may have forgotten to mention,” Gringras said, pulling his long sword from the ornate scabbard at his hip, “is that the flower has a guardian.”

  The knot came free in Alabas’ hand and his horse bolted straight across the clearing past Gringras.

  “A very large guardian,” Gringras added.

  Just then, a huge bear-like creature burst into the clearing opposite the two men. It was house-high and covered in a dark, mossy fur. Roaring, it reared up on its hind legs as Alabas’ horse skidded to a halt in front of it. The poor mount seemed ready to expire from fright. The guardian scooped it up in a huge taloned claw.

  “What are you waiting for, Gringras?” Alabas screamed. “Blast it with a spell! This is no time to worry about alerting the Unseelie Court.”

  The guardian’s face split nearly in half, revealing razor-sharp teeth, three feet long.

  “And one thing I am certain I did not mention…” Gringras spoke calmly as the creature popped the screaming horse into its mouth whole, “is that the guardian is immune to magic.”

  Sighing, Alabas pulled two long knives from twin sheaths at the small of his back. “You did indeed leave out a few details, my lord.”

  Gringras stood firm and faced the beast, long sword in hand as befitted a prince of Faerie. Even a middle prince. Meanwhile, Alabas circled around behind it with his knives, as befitted someone who wanted to live for at least another hour or two.

  The guardian charged. It was quick for its size but Gringras was quicker, dashing to the side to avoid the deadly claws and swinging his weapon in a sweeping arc that ended with a meaty thwock! in the back of the guardian’s left leg. He
dove and rolled as the guardian turned, springing up behind it once more to deliver another solid blow to the other leg. This time the guardian was faster. It spun on its wounded legs and caught Gringras a ringing blow with its claw.

  The prince went flying, landing on his back, dazed, and the guardian roared in triumph as it dove forward for the kill.

  Through blurry eyes, Gringras saw Alabas leap high into the air and come down on the guardian’s back, burying both his knives to the hilt in its neck. The creature let out one final growl and Alabas rode it, dying, to the ground.

  Alabas addressed Gringras who was rising slowly, shaking his head to clear it.

  “Anything else you forgot to mention?”

  “I believe that is all.”

  Alabas recovered his knives and deftly snipped a flower from the century plant. “Let’s go home then.” He grinned, adding, “My lord.”

  An Unseelie horn sounded in the far distance and they ran from the clearing, following the tracks of Gringras’ horse.

  16 · Missing

  The Piatts’ number was on the bulletin board in large red letters. Callie grabbed a cookie from the big jar by the oven. Chocolate chip, fresh baked. How could she resist?

  Then she went over to the phone. Picking it up, she was about to dial when some flashing blue lights outside caught her eye. She glanced out the kitchen window.

  A police car was parked in front of their driveway, and behind it a second car.

  She slammed down the phone, her heart beating double-time.

  Why are the police here?

  She ran to the front door and threw it open, and ran outside.

  Something has happened to Nicky! she thought frantically. Or Mars. Or Mom. She bit her lip. Or Dad.

  Her parents’ car screeched into the driveway, almost colliding with the police car. Before it could come to a full stop, her mother leaped out, her witch hat askew and her black robe billowing behind her. She ran to Callie and grabbed her up tight, nearly smothering her.

  “Nicky,” she cried. “Is Nicky home?”

  “No, Mom, I’m sorry, I lost track of time and…”

  “No!” her mother screamed and then her father was there, too, enveloping both of them in his big arms. Callie looked up into his eyes and saw they glistened with tears.

  Oh God, something has happened to Nicky—and it’s all my fault!

  A short policewoman with a face the color of leaf mold cleared her throat. “Folks, there’s no time for a family reunion.…” Realizing how harsh that sounded, she started over. “Folks, I’m dreadfully sorry, but we need to talk to your daughter. You told us she was probably at home, and luckily you were right. But as she’s the only child in the neighborhood who doesn’t seem to have gone missing tonight, we need to ask her some questions.”

  Her partner, who’d been silent until now, turned to Callie’s father. “Now,” he said shortly.

  Callie was stunned and pulled back from her parents. The only child in the neighborhood not missing? What about Josee and Alison? Or the Napier kids she sat for—Mollie and Kaitlin and Sean? What about the triplets down the block? Or little Jodie Ryan in her wheelchair? What about the Piatts? But she didn’t name them aloud. She couldn’t.

  Then she thought wildly: If only I’d written the story sooner, if only Mars had talked to me, if only I’d told Mom and Dad the crazy things I suspected.

  “My … fault…” she sobbed.

  Her mother held her tight, saying into her hair, “Not your fault, Callie. Not yours. The Turners’ grandchildren were due back at 8:30. Their parents called the party where we were to say they weren’t home yet and asked what to do. Then everyone at the party got on cell phones. In minutes we knew the worst. All the children in the neighborhood seemed to be gone. All gone. When we couldn’t get hold of you, we thought you were missing, too, though Daddy thought you might have your headphones on and hadn’t heard the phone.”

  “I didn’t, I didn’t hear,” Callie said, not knowing if she should feel guilty or relieved. God, she thought, I’ll never be able to listen to Eric Clapton or Loreena McKennitt again.

  Gray-faced, her father added, “It’s like a terrorist plot or something. I can’t wrap my mind around it.” He gave her another hug. “Thank God you didn’t go trick-or-treating, Callie. If you were both gone…”

  Callie saw that fear and sorrow had already changed her father’s face. The eyes were drawn down in a way she’d never seen before. His lower lip was trembling. She looked up at her mother who was silently crying green tears. “We have to call Mars.”

  “We already have,” her father said, wiping his nose on his wizard’s cloak sleeve. “We had to know we had one child left.”

  “You thought I was missing, too? And you cared?” Being a middle kid, even the middle with seven years on either side, did sometimes make you wonder. Being hemmed in and sewn up tight all the time made you wonder even more. Not loved, but owned. Not cared about but cared for.

  “Care? Of course we care, Calcephony. How could you think otherwise?” her father asked. “We love you. We love you tremendously.”

  Callie could feel his arms around her trembling. She’d never known her father to tremble. It scared her.

  The policewoman cleared her throat. “Folks, we really need to speak to your daughter. Time is of the essence here. If she knows anything…”

  “How could I know anything?” Callie said, more loudly than she meant. “I was upstairs in my room.” But it wasn’t entirely true that she knew nothing. She knew about the band. About the rats. Still, she hesitated, realizing how weird that would sound. No, she thought, not weird—stark, raving loony.

  The policewoman looked at her oddly. “What is it?”

  Callie thought, My face must be broadcasting my thoughts. “It’s nothing.…”

  Putting a leaf-mold hand on Callie’s, the policewoman spoke quietly but intensely to her, never taking her eyes away from Callie’s eyes. “Anything you can tell us, no matter how small, how silly, how…”

  “How crazy?” Callie asked.

  “Not even how crazy…” the policewoman assured her.

  Knowing that there was really only one way all of the facts hung together, even though it sounded like a fairy tale, a horror story, actually, Callie grabbed a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “I think I do know what’s happening.”

  “Kidnappers?” Her mother’s voice broke on the final syllable. “But we don’t have much money.”

  “Terrorists,” her dad said. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Tell me,” the policewoman demanded.

  “Now!” her partner added, as if that were the only word he knew.

  Callie nodded. “Well, it has to do with rock and roll and…”

  “Drugs!” the policeman said. A second word, just as loud.

  “No, no, not drugs.” Callie held up her hand. “Geez, officer—these are little kids. Trick-or-treaters.”

  The policeman nodded, if a bit reluctantly.

  “It has to do,” Callie said slowly, “with the Pied Piper of Hamelin and rats.”

  The policeman made a face and turned to his partner. “What’s she talking about? She on something?”

  “On to something,” Callie insisted. “Something I discovered at the Brass Rat concert.”

  “Ratter, ratter, mad as a hatter,” her mom began to sing.

  “It’s the shock, that’s what it is,” her father said, putting an arm around each of them.

  Callie looked up at him, willing him to understand. “Well, of course we’re shocked, Dad. But that’s not what I mean. The thing is—the Pied Piper of Hamelin is here. He’s come around again. Really! I know this because of the dancing rats.”

  Tears starting down her green cheeks again, her mother began reciting, “‘Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, and bit the babies in the cradles, and ate the cheeses out of the…’”

  The policeman turned to his partner. “Is the whole family nuts?”


  “Hank, let me deal with this,” she told him and put her hand out to Callie. “Miss McCallan, we understand that this whole thing is a shock. It’s a shock to us, too. But if you have any real information, we need to hear it.”

  “Wait,” Callie said. “I have something to show you. It’s in my room. I’ll get it. It explains better than I can.” She turned and ran back into the house. She could hear them following, but slowly, and arguing about how crazy she was and whether, in fact, she was trying to outrun or outwit them.

  Taking the steps two at a time, she raced upstairs. At the landing, the clock seemed to shout at her: 9:50. The long hallway was dark, uninviting. She didn’t stop to worry about it the way she sometimes did, but went straight to her bedroom at the very end of the hall.

  She didn’t remember having turned off the light, but her room was now badly lit only by the flickering of the computer screen. Picking up the two remaining balled–up articles from her desk, she ran back out. She figured she’d get the policewoman to read what she’d written, out loud, and then they’d all understand.

  As she went down the hall past Nicky’s room, she heard something familiar playing on his CD player. Funny that she hadn’t heard it before. But it was as if all her senses were now on full alert. She slowed, took a step inside his room, then realized that what she was hearing was Brass Rat’s latest CD, the one Nick had gotten at the concert. It was evidently on a continuous loop. The tune was the very one Gringras had been piping to the rats.

  “It all comes back to rats!” she said in a hoarse whisper and burst into tears, because guilt had come flooding back as she stood in Nicky’s room. If she’d gone out trick-or-treating with him, maybe he wouldn’t be missing now.

  Or maybe, her treacherous mind reminded her, you’d be missing with him.

  The flute was mesmerizing and for a long moment she stood still, staring at the blinking light on the CD player. Then she came to, slammed her hand down on the black plastic, turning the player off. The blinking light disappeared, but somehow the song kept going on, a twisting, twining sound that seemed to bind her, to call her, to summon her to follow.