Wild Magic (9 page)
Finn entered the town from the west and paused on the bridge to scan the riverbanks. They were black with rats. Hundreds of themâthousands of themâmore than he could count. A plague!
Finn was still grinning as he passed through the West Gate. Into the town he went, skirting the Abbey of Saint Boniface with its solemn stones and long shadows. Up Bakehouse Lane and on to the marketplace. And wherever he went, he saw rats. Tumbling out of doorways. Clinging to window ledges. Scuttling in and out of the gable roofs, feasting on the very fabric of the houses: straw, clay, timber. Finn could hear them scritching and scratching, gnawing and clawing.
Finn cut across the marketplace and found a low wall outside the church. Perfect! He sat down and started to study the people. But he had barely started when he was interrupted.
“You here for the rats?”
Finn turned. Beside him sat a ferrety man with bright eyes and a face that hadn't seen water for weeks.
“You're a charmer, aren't you?” said the man, pointing at the silver pipe that protruded from Finn's bag. “From the east. You're not from these parts. I can tell by your clothes. Bright as a songbird, you are! Bright as a songbird! And just look at your hair! There's not a lady in town with hair so fine!”
Finn smiled politely and returned his attention to the townsfolk. The man was right. They were a drab lot, dressed in nothing but brown and gray and buttery cream. He was wearing a turquoise jerkin and jade leggings with a bold yellow belt and a jaunty red cap. None of the men he could see had waist-length hair.
“What are you planning to do, then, Ratcatcher?” said the man. “I only ask because we've had half a dozen ratcatchers come to town already, and they've all gone away defeated. They've tried everything. Poison, traps, dogs. But nothing works. There's just too many of them, see? They're breeding like flies in the warm weather.”
Finn was only half listening. A ratcatcher? Is that really what he looked like? Well, if that's what they wanted to believe, let them! It would be a good disguise. He could wander through the streets, wherever and whenever he wanted. No one would question him or challenge his unusual appearance. With the freedom of the town, he would surely find the special child.
“You just want to make sure they pay you enough,” the ferrety man went on. “That mayor of ours will try to beat you down. A meaner man never walked this earth, I swear. You make sure he pays. In gold.”
Gold! Finn smiled. He had no need of that. He had a chest full of elven gold at home, for all the good it did him. No amount of money would buy an end to the curse. But taking a job would be fun. He hadn't had one before.
“So,” said the man, impatiently shaking Finn's arm, “what are you planning to do?”
“Wait and see,” said Finn, tapping his nose. “Patience, my friend.”
“Patience? We've had enough of that! We want results! Don't we, Miller?”
The miller had been walking past, heading for the tavern and a meeting with the butcher.
“What's that you're saying?”
“I was saying we need results, Miller, getting rid of these blasted rats. This young man here is a ratcatcher. Come from the east with his pipe, see?”
“I do!” said the miller. “And I'm wondering why
he's sitting there doing nothing. Come on!” He grabbed Finn by the arm and hauled him to his feet.
“My good sir!” protested Finn. “Unhand me!” He shook himself free. There were floury fingerprints where the miller had seized him. “What's your meaning?”
“They're up there,” said the miller, pointing to a window in the town hall. “The mayor, the councilâ the whole rotten lot of them. I've just seen them go in. So come on! The sooner you strike a deal, the sooner you can get to work. I'll have no grain left in my mill if this goes on much longer.”
Suddenly Finn found himself being manhandled toward the town hall. He couldn't escape; the crowd around him was getting larger and rowdier by the minute. The news was spreading like chicken pox.
A young man . . . ever so handsome! Says he can rid the
town of rats today. Aye! Today! Every last one!
With the miller on one elbow and a market trader on the other, Finn didn't even need to walk. He was carried along while his legs dangled beneath.
And so he was taken into the town hall. The crowd pushed past the stewardsâdespite their loudmouthed protestsâand stormed into the council chamber, without so much as a knock, a please, or a thank-you.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” roared the mayor. He was a short man, very stout, with a red face and uncommonly small eyes. Finn thought he looked like a toadstool.
“He's a ratcatcher,” said the miller, “and we want you to employ him.”
“Indeed?” said the mayor, bristling at the idea that anyone should tell him what to do. “And what makes him any different from all the others we have tried?”
“He says he can do it!” shouted a voice.
Finn had said nothing of the kind, but he knew he could if necessary, so he kept quiet.
“They have all claimed that,” said the mayor. “Promised miracles, half of them. Anyway, let the man speak for himself.”
The mayor rose from his chair. It was set high on a dais, as befitted his lofty position within the council. From here, he had a commanding view of everything that went on beneath him, and it provided ample opportunity for theatrical flourishes. The mayor gleefully saw such an opportunity now. Regally he descended the dais steps. But he stopped when he reached the last one. He wouldn't step down to the Ratcatcher's level. Oh no! This was far enough. He peered down his nose at Finn.
“So,” he said. “Can you rid the town of rats?”
Finn raised his face and the mayor found himself looking into such extraordinarily beautiful eyes, he quite forgot to breathe. And when Finn said yes, the mayor believed him. Absolutely. In that moment, he would have believed anything.
“But you will have to pay me,” added Finn.
“Of course!” answered the mayor. “Just name your price.”
“One thousand guilders.”
It was the first figure that had come into Finn's head.
“One
thousand
?” spluttered the mayor. “That's a huge amount of money.”
Finn was amused to see the mayor getting so upset over something that meant nothing to him. He smiled, turned his back on the councilors, and headed for the door.
Instantly the council chamber erupted. “Pay him!” shouted the people. “Agree! He's our only hope!” There was jostling and jeering. The stewards tried to restore order but they were hopelessly outnumbered. The councilors started to fear for their safety, although many of them agreed with the price. Already the mayor was being physically attacked. An old woman was belting him with her walking stick, hard across his knees.
“WAIT!” cried the mayor as Finn reached the door. “Wait, good sir! Your price will be met. You have my word on it. Pleaseârid our town of rats! Then come back here and you will be paid.”
Finn smiled graciously and retraced his steps. With an elegant bow, he shook the mayor's fat hand and the deal was done.
Finn left the town hall hoping for a little peace. He was tired and hungry. He wanted to rest before he began his search.
But the crowd wasn't going to let him escape. They were all still shouting, pulling, pushing. One woman put her hand in his bag and teased out the silver pipe.
“Ratcatcher!” she cried. “Here! Play this! Charm them away!”
“What's she mean?” asked a boy in the crowd, tugging at his mother's apron.
“She wants him to play the pipe,” explained his mother. “There are men in the east . . . powerful men, who can charm snakes and birds with music. He must be one of those.”
“Is he magic?” said the boy.
“No!” laughed his mother. “He's just a man. Though he is a bit special, I think. And he is
ever
so handsome.” She started to blush and hoped no one had noticed.
No one had. Everyone was watching Finn. He had taken the pipe from the woman, and the cries for him to play it were so deafening, he feared for his ears. He raised his hand and held the pipe to his lips. Instantly the crowd fell silent. Then he began to play.
The notes slid from his pipe like smoke. Curled in the air, faint and delicate. The townsfolk could hardly hear them.
But the rats could.
The scritching and scratching stopped. The gnawing and clawing ceased. Thousands of heads lifted. Eyes narrowed. Ears pricked. Whiskers twitched, as if they could lift the tune from the wind. And somewhere deep inside their warm bodies, a promise was planted.
A promise of food and warmthâmore and more of it. Eternal sunshine, endless feasting. Mountains of bread. Caverns of cheese. Milk. Honey. Meat. Eggs.
Where?
Close
, said the music.
Within reach. Come.
The rats came. Out of the houses and the church . . . the shops, the mills, the forges . . . the town hall and the abbey . . . the gatehouses and the tall stone towers. They tumbled and leaped and fought among themselves, trying to get closer to the music and the man who made it.
The townsfolk were screaming. There wasn't room in the streets for everyone. So many rats! They were climbing up ladies' legs and hiding in their skirts. Falling from windows onto wigs and hats. They were biting and nipping, coughing and spitting.
Finn started to walk, with the furry parade following: out of the market square, down Fisherman's Lane, and on toward the Weser River. And here the rats from the town were joined by the rats from the riverbanks, until there was such a hot, heaving mass of bodies, the townsfolk couldn't get close. Already some were breaking away from the crowd and heading for the bridge to get a better view.
Finn continued to play, holding the enchantment as he scanned the riverbank. He noticed a small wooden jetty with a rowing boat tied to it. Perfect! He walked toward itâsomewhat unsteadily. The rats were so numerous it was like walking through deep black snow. He could feel their tails cracking through his thin-soled boots. There were so many bodies, he couldn't help standing on them.
Finally he reached the boat and stepped down into it.
Hmm!
A problem! He needed to untie the rope but he didn't want to stop playing. He glanced around. There was no one close enough to see what he was doing. The townsfolk hadn't reached the bridge yet.
He took the pipe from his lips, murmured something, then carried on playing. Slowly the rope began to untie itself, like a snake uncoiling in the warmth of the sun. Then the boat slipped from its mooring and started drifting toward the middle of the Weser.
Panic! Wild, frantic panic! The rats were losing the paradise they had been promised! The food, the warmth, the eternal sunshineâeverything they wanted was disappearing with the Piper. The rats had to follow. Had to.
They began to throw themselves from the jetty and riverbanks. They started to swim, following the boat, the Piper, the dream. But there were so many of them. So many! There wasn't room to kick and breathe. Some started to sink. As soon as they did, others took their place. Now the sinkers couldn't come up for air even if they wanted to.
The water started to churn. The air was cut with squeals and cries. The rats were drowning and there was nothing they could do to save themselves. The music was irresistible. It couldn't be ignored. Thousands of bodies were floating in the river, but still they came: an endless stream of rats, dancing toward death.
The town was emptying. Where they had been before, there was nothing now but silence. A strange, still silence and the distant sound of a pipe, drifting on the river.
With the town clear of rats, Finn was able to begin his search. Every day he roamed the streets and sat in the market square, looking for the special child. How would he recognize him? Finn wasn't sure. The stag had said so little.
A human child. One who is
as you once were. Of this world, yet not of it.
What did that mean? He assumed it meant a boy with mixed parentsâone mortal, one elf. But he could be wrong. It could be a girl. One who had magic powers but didn't know it. He was once like that. When he was young and strange things happened around him, he explained them away as fate or fortune. Perhaps that was what the stag meant.