The Secrets of the Pied Piper 1 Page 10

  Max wandered through the streets and marveled yet again at the strangeness that was the village of New Hamelin. If she were to accept all of this at face value, like Carter had, then these children had been born in the thirteenth century. It was too incredible, that they were the sons and daughters of carpenters and blacksmiths, farmers, woodsmen and probably even a few soldiers. Still, despite the quirks in some of the architecture, and the way the streets twisted and turned without any real purpose, these children had accomplished an amazing feat in building this village. Children from back home would have been lost. Max herself kept reflexively reaching for her phone that wasn’t there.

  Max spotted a rope bridge strung between two cottages on opposite sides of the street. A few younger boys—middles, Lukas would have called them—were dangling their bare feet over the bridge and watching the passersby below. Every now and then, someone would try to leap up and grab their feet, but the boys always managed to pull away just in time. It was an odd game, like seeing who could jump up and touch the light fixture in the ceiling, but Max supposed it passed the hours. Now and then someone would get close enough to succeed in tapping the bottoms of the boys’ feet, and the boys would clap and holler. If someone missed completely, there were boos and hisses from above.

  When the boys saw Max coming, however, they quickly pulled their feet out of range. Like most everyone else she passed, they stopped and stared. By now Max should’ve been used to it, but the constant double takes and the little gasps whenever she rounded a corner had started to become very annoying. She should’ve dyed her hair bright green. That would’ve really given these kids something to whisper about.

  Max left the boys to their play and eventually wandered by the source of the terrible manure smell. It was a pigpen, where several girls were wrestling a hog the size of a donkey back into its corner. It was ridiculous work to be trying to accomplish in long skirts, but the girls seemed determined to do it. Emilie had mentioned assigning chores to Max and her brother, and Max didn’t know how long the two of them would be trapped here, but chasing pigs through the mud would have to be a deal breaker.

  As she wound her way back toward the village square, she found another group of girls tending a small house garden. Despite the hot sun overhead (and what a change that was from yesterday), these girls were also wearing long skirts and long-sleeved shirts as they dug up carrots from the little patch of land. The kerchiefs around their heads were already soaked with sweat.

  Girls chasing pigs. Girls harvesting crops. While boys sat around wiggling their toes at people. A look up at the gate wall confirmed something that Max had already suspected—there weren’t any skirts up there. Nor were there any climbing up and down the bell towers or patrolling the streets. The boys were charged with defending New Hamelin while the girls were made to slop the pigs and harvest crops.

  After that, it took exactly two seconds for Max to decide what chore she wanted to be assigned to.

  Emilie’s cottage looked out onto the Summer Tree in the village square. She was sitting in a rocking chair on her porch as she snapped beans and dropped them into a tall bucket. Small children seemed to always be playing under the Summer Tree, and Max guessed that it served as a kind of day care for the younger ones, under Emilie’s watchful eye. It made sense, since it was probably the safest place in the entire village.

  Emilie gave Max a curt nod when she spotted her, but she didn’t say hello. Max strode right up to her porch. “I’ve decided what chore I want,” said Max.

  “Oh?” said Emilie. “I thought you might be coming to tell me that you and your brother were leaving with Lukas.” Emilie snapped another bean in two, as if for emphasis.

  Surprised, Max cocked her head at the girl. “How did you know about that?”

  “I know more about what goes on in this village than Lukas gives me credit for,” said Emilie. “So are you?”

  “What? Going in search of some black tower that may or may not even exist? I’m not dragging my brother out there without a better reason than an ink spot on a map.”

  Emilie paused. “That’s good. You have more sense than I’d guessed.”

  “Uh, thanks?” said Max. That was probably the closest thing to a compliment she was going to get from this sour-faced girl. Ever.

  “Tea?” asked Emilie. She gestured to a small table, where a kettle and two wooden mugs were set upon a tray.

  “Sure,” said Max. She supposed it would be pointless to ask if there was any coffee around. “Were you expecting company?”

  “I get many visitors throughout the day,” said Emilie. “From solving arguments over borrowed tools to treating children with fevers, my role as Eldest Girl comes with many responsibilities.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Emilie began to pour the tea. “You said you’d decided on a chore? You see something you might be good at?”

  “Yes,” said Max. “I want to join the Watch.”

  Emilie froze. She’d finished pouring one cup of tea but the second still stood empty. Then she straightened up and looked at Max. “I’m afraid the Watch is the most important role in all of New Hamelin. Our lives depend on them doing their job. It’s not for girls.”

  On the one hand, Max could hardly believe she was hearing this; on the other, it was exactly what she’d expected. “But how can you say that? I mean, you’re a girl.”

  “Yes,” said Emilie. “And I know the proper roles for our sex. We mend and we tend. The only watching we do is after the little ones out there under the tree.”

  “That is so…medieval!”

  “I don’t even know what that word means, but girls are not warriors,” said Emilie, and she quite pointedly set down the kettle, leaving the second cup still empty. It looked like her offer had been rescinded. “Since coming here, many of us have been forced to do things we never thought we’d have to, but we hold to what traditions we can. I told you, our ways are not your ways.”

  “Right,” said Max. “That’s why you won’t be joining the Watch. I will.”

  “Girls in this village do not fight!” said Emilie, and her cheeks began to color with anger.

  “No, but they do lead,” said Max.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “How many female mayors, or whatever you people called them, did you have back in old Hamelin?”

  “I’m not—”

  “You’re the Eldest Girl,” said Max. “I see how people treat you. Lukas might be called Eldest Boy, but it’s obvious who wears the pants around here.” At that Emilie let out a startled little gasp. “Sorry,” said Max. “I didn’t mean pants literally. It’s just an expression. Although you all could use a few pairs.”

  “I think you’d better—”

  “Look, I don’t know how much of all this I believe.” Max gestured to the village around them, “But it looks like you got the job of leading these people because you earned it. Lukas said so—you kept them all together. Heck, you kept them alive. You proved that leading has nothing to do with being a boy or a girl, so why should only boys be asked to risk their lives up on that wall, or out scouting those woods? Why shouldn’t girls be allowed to, if they choose? And let a few boys chase the pigs while you’re at it.”

  Emilie took a long drink of her tea. She seemed to be studying Max, judging her, maybe. Hopefully, she was thinking over what Max had said, but just when Max thought that the girl’s stony exterior might crack, Emilie set the cup down and cleared her throat. “I suggest you consider working in the bread kitchen. Or we could always use help with the little ones. Your brother’s leg will keep him off the wall and out of the bell towers, but lamplighting is a respectable job. You may let me know your preference in the morning, otherwise I will assign you one.”

  Emilie stood up and adjusted her shawl. “Tonight there will be a feast in the square, a tradition we have here in New Hamelin. Lukas asked specifically for you to attend, and I would be honored if you and your brother would sit at my tabl
e. Good day, Max.”

  Then Emilie turned and went inside. Her door, it turned out, slammed just as well as Max’s had.

  By the time Carter and his sister had gotten their food and made their way back to Emilie’s table, the sun had already started to dip low beneath the trees.

  “Don’t worry,” said Emilie, noticing Carter’s anxious glances up at the sky. “The sun won’t go down tonight. We’ve never had two true nights in a row, and the rats are cowardly without the darkness to hide them. We won’t have anything to worry about this evening.”

  Carter nodded, relieved. The air was as warm as midsummer, unlike last night’s brutal cold. Come morning, the sun would reverse course in the sky and start another day. Whatever this place was, the laws of celestial bodies didn’t apply here.

  The entire village, with the exception of the Watch on duty at the gate wall, had gathered in the square. Some were seated on benches, others on the grass beneath the Summer Tree, and everyone was sharing in the largest potluck dinner Carter had ever seen. It needed to be; there had to be enough to feed over a hundred hungry children. Plates were piled high with grilled vegetables—some recognizable or at least similar to those back home. There were peas and carrots, but there were other things, such as some kind of purplish root almost exactly the length of his forearm. A variety of brightly colored berries were served in sweet syrup. Skewers of meat, mostly pork, roasted over an open fire pit. The smells of good things cooking, blended with the already sweet air of the Summer Isle, made Carter dizzy with hunger.

  He’d felt guilty at first that they had nothing to contribute to the feast, but he soon set about drowning that guilt in gluttony. A few older boys laughed when they saw the mountain of food Carter had balanced on his plate, but it seemed a good-natured laugh, and one of them even gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder as he passed by.

  His sister, of course, barely nibbled. Max seemed determined not to enjoy herself, not even a tiny bit. Carter suspected that she’d gone out of her way to pick only the most unappetizing foods as a way to add to her misery. A few slimy-looking mushrooms and a hunk of stale bread was all she took. The Crouch was heavy on her shoulders again, and since Max couldn’t shake her sour mood, she’d wallow in it.

  Carter should’ve been the one pouting; after all wasn’t Max getting her way? They weren’t going to try to find a way home. He knew that Max was scared, no matter how his sister tried to hide it—how could she not be? They’d been attacked last night by a real-life monster. Even Carter had been sure that they were both going to die. But they hadn’t. They had fought the monster…and won.

  And everyone in the village knew about it. Max seemed to think that all the staring was because they were different, and while that might have been true at first, Carter could see a change had come over the children of New Hamelin. He saw it in their faces, he heard it in their whispers at dinner. Carter and Max were heroes.

  That’s what Max was missing, and it was a brand-new feeling for Carter. He’d spent most of his life trying to avoid being noticed. Stay inconspicuous, don’t make too much noise and don’t draw attention to yourself. That was how you survived when you were smaller and brighter than the rest, and when you had to walk while the other kids ran. But the children of New Hamelin were looking at him in a different way. This time he didn’t feel like hiding, and he didn’t mind the staring. This time the staring felt good.

  Now Max was trying her very best to ruin it. Carter wasn’t sure if he wanted to help the children of New Hamelin because they needed it, or if he only wanted to go on playing the hero, but either way, Lukas’s plan was a better idea than hiding here in the village and waiting for the next Winter’s Moon—the next attack. Maybe the prophecy of his was telling the truth. What if the Black Tower was real, and what if the way home lay inside it? Carter could make this journey, though he knew it wouldn’t be easy, and if he could, then so could Max. If that meant slaying the invisible Crouch on her shoulders or dragging her along by her pink hair, then Carter would have to do it. Because this was their heroes’ journey. They had to go.

  Emilie had seated them at her table for dinner. It was obviously a place of honor, which meant that no one at the table actually talked to each other. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Between Emilie, Carter and Max, nearly everyone there was mad at someone for something.

  Carter had just begun to think about getting seconds when Emilie stood and began calling for quiet. Carter feared a speech was coming, and he dearly wished he’d have thought far enough ahead to get dessert. In a land where the air smelled this sweet, there were bound to be some spectacular treats.

  The crowd took only a few moments to settle. It was impressive how quickly Emilie could quiet an entire village of children. “I remember…,” she began, in a voice loud enough for all to hear.

  I knew it, thought Carter, shaking his head in disappointment. A speech.

  “I remember last night’s Winter’s Moon,” said Emilie, “and I remember the first night long ago, and I honor those who we have lost to the darkness over the years. I honor Pidge, who is not yet lost to us and who is in our thoughts now.”

  Emilie bowed her head as the rest of the village followed suit. Carter put his own head down but peeked up at Max as he did so. Her head wasn’t bowed; she just sat back in her chair, her face expressionless. Max never stood during the Pledge of Allegiance, either. It was embarrassing.

  After a moment of silence, Emilie continued. “But I also remember the Time Before. I remember kneading dough next to my mother. I remember the feel of it sticking beneath my fingernails and her gently chiding me to wash them better and to keep my nails trim. I remember that.”

  Emilie sat back down and was quiet as she stared into her cup. No one was saying anything, and Carter found himself wishing someone would cough, just to break the silence. But then another girl stood up, one of the older girls, and said, “I remember my brother. I think he was my brother, though he was almost a man. I remember him tousling my hair whenever he left the house to go with father to work. His hands were rough and callused, but he was gentle. I remember that.”

  On and on the recitation went, as different New Hameliners stood and shared memories of their lives before coming to the Summer Isle. It might be a memory of their parents or even a favorite pet. Most seemed inconsequential on the surface—memories of chores or some dull daily task—but the children’s voices were filled with emotion as they spoke.

  Then another boy stood. He was one of the middles and not that much younger than Carter. “I…,” the boy began. “I can’t. I can’t remember anything. It’s all gone. They’re all gone.”

  Then Emilie was at his side, her arms around him. The boy was crying softly into her shoulder. Looking around, there were many faces like his, some nodding sadly, others holding on to each other for comfort. “We will remember for you,” Emilie was saying. “For as long as we can.”

  Others stood and confessed the same, that the memories of their families and of the Time Before had faded into mist. Carter thought of his own father, back at home, and for the first time since their arrival in New Hamelin, he felt a stab of homesickness. What must their father think? How worried he must be. What had happened to him? Carter felt guilty that it had taken him this long to worry.

  “Max,” said Carter, but when he turned around, she was gone, her seat empty. He spotted her in the distance, walking away from the gathering.

  Carter almost chased after her, but he stopped himself. She wanted to be alone. Maybe she was thinking the same things he was. Maybe she’d been reminded that they had a father, a mother and a life waiting for them back home, and that if they stayed here in New Hamelin, they might never see them again.

  As Carter turned back around in his seat, he noticed that he wasn’t the only one watching his sister go. Emilie’s face was unreadable, but she was watching, too.

  Max found Lukas standing atop the gate wall. He’d positioned himself where he could keep an eye
on the village and on the wilderness beyond. Though the sky was only a purple twilight, the shadows up here were thick in places, and Max nearly stumbled and fell as she stepped along the narrow walkway.

  “Careful,” said Lukas. “It’s a long way down.”

  “Right,” said Max. She glanced behind her at the nearly thirty-foot drop to the hard ground below. “Thanks for the warning. A little late, though.”

  “You left early,” said Lukas, gesturing back toward the feast. “The remembrances can’t be half over.”

  “You are a total jerk wad,” said Max. “And you’re horrible. You and Emilie.”

  Lukas didn’t look surprised. “I’m not sure I know the expression, but I guess a jerk wad is nothing good.”

  “You knew what we would hear tonight,” said Max. “You knew what Emilie was going to do, and that’s why you wanted us there.”

  “The First Night Supper is a tradition as old as this village,” said Lukas. “The remembrances are a part of that.”

  “But there was a boy who couldn’t even remember his own family!” said Max, her voice cracking as her eyes blurred with tears. She absolutely hated when she cried out of anger.

  “No, he can’t remember them,” answered Lukas, matter-of-factly. “Most of the middles can’t. The elders have only a few memories of the Time Before. I can tell you I had a mother, and a father, but I can’t tell you what they looked like. I dream of them sometimes, but I don’t know how much of the dream is memory and how much is just wishing.”

  Lukas put an arm on Max’s shoulder, and thinking he was trying to comfort her, she instinctively tried to shove it away. But his grip remained firm, and instead of pulling her close, he turned her around so that she was facing away from the village and out into the wild beyond. “We’ve held on for as long as we can, Max,” he said. “But if the rats don’t get us, this place will. It makes you forget who you really are.”

  In the dim twilight Max could see the distant treetops and the winding road beneath an orange and purple horizon that seemed to go on forever. Floating lights, like large fireflies, shimmered beneath the trees. The Summer Isle looked so peaceful, so beautiful, but then a scream tore through the air as some creature met its end out there in the wilderness, and the cry was followed by a second, rougher howl that echoed with triumph. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The Summer Isle was a wild place, untamed and magical.