Unspun

by Ruth Nickle

  But the children of Hamelin would not stop sobbing.

  Irritated, the piper continued to play his hypnotic melody while leading the children away from the now-distant town at a steady gait. Little voices whimpered at him from all angles.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m hungry!”

  “My feet hurt!”

  Lowering the pipe, the piper glanced back at the pudgy boy with the sore feet. “Kid, if you laid off the cake once in a while, you might be in better shape.” The response had its desired effect, and the boy kept walking—visibly shocked, but mouth closed.

  The piper quickly shifted his gaze past the boy toward the town from which they had come. No one pursued them. This was going to be far easier than he thought, which was saying something, considering he hadn’t put much thought into this plan at all. Kidnapping a whole town’s worth of children during Hamelin’s church service had certainly been one of the more impulsive things he had ever done, but at the time, he had been feeling less regard for rational planning and more regard for making the mayor of Hamelin regret his stupidity. Good luck running a town where you lost everybody’s kids because you were too cheap to pay the rat exterminator.

  Returning to his pipe, the piper led the children onward. He was going to need a real plan soon—one that hopefully came with a payoff. Part of the trouble, he decided, was that children were not like rats. They were like giant insufferable rats with feelings. Rats that stub their toes and cry and poke each other and get tired and are generally annoying.

  Getting the horde of rats out of Hamelin had been the easy part of the extermination, considering he had just barely learned to walk and play simultaneously. Early on, he discovered he could even stop playing his tune and the rats would continue to follow for a few minutes. That was nice, but when they got to the river, he couldn’t get them to just hurl themselves into it. He recalled the entire psychotic hour of his life spent yelling at the rats to do themselves in. He threatened them. He encouraged them. He even dared them. “You’d better not jump into the river because I would hate that so much!” At one point, he booted one in, hoping the others would take a hint. They did not. It was only when he finally set the example for the rats by wading into the river himself that they willingly followed him to their demise.

  All this was beside the point now though, as the piper had no desire to exterminate children like rats. He was not a child exterminator. Being branded a child exterminator would definitely hurt the rodent side of his business. Plus, the market for child extermination services was undoubtedly small.

  “Stop kicking me!” one of the girls screamed.

  “You started it,” cried another.

  “No, I didn’t! You did!”

  How was it even possible to kick each other and follow him at the same time? The piper took a deep breath. “I don’t care who started it. But both of you need to stop it, or I’ll . . . I’ll take you back your parents!” Not quite the potent threat he was going for.

  The yelling turned into shoving, and the piper did his best to ignore the two girls and press on with his tune. It still bewildered him that a seemingly simple combination of notes could will the feet of the children to obediently follow him while their voices whined in protest. The whining was something the piper hadn’t expected, and he wasn’t sure how long his patience could hold out. What he really needed was beeswax for some makeshift earplugs.

  I never have beeswax when I need it.

  “Does anybody have any beeswax?” he shouted. Not that he could make out a positive reply among so many cries and sniffles.

  It was hard to play and walk and tune out the sounds and think simultaneously, but think he must. For up ahead the path forked, and the piper realized he had no idea where he was taking everybody. Should his plans of going from village to village as a traveling exterminator be shelved just because he had amassed an entourage of stolen kids?

  “Alright everybody, listen to me. We’re going to take a rest for ten minutes, but stay where you can see me. That’s an order.”

  “I’m hungry!”

  “I’m hungry too!”

  Other voices joined in the chorus.

  “Yes, you’ll all eat soon enough,” the piper said. This is going to be a problem.

  “I have to pee!” cried another child.

  “Go behind one of these trees,” he said, pointing.

  “But then I can’t see you!”

  “You’ll be close enough to hear my voice.”

  “Not if I put my hands on my ears, like this.”

  “Well don’t do that.”

  “I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you!”

  The other children laughed.

  This one I could definitely take to the river.

  The piper pulled the child’s hands from off her ears and whispered in his most menacing voice, “Go behind a tree and come back when you’re done. Don’t make me summon the poisonous snakes. You know I can.” The girl got wide-eyed and immediately darted off.

  The piper figured there was a snake tune somewhere among the pages of the small codex he carried, but it didn’t matter. The threat was as good as the snake today. The piper closed his eyes and began collecting his thoughts for a new plan of action.

  Thunk!

  Something struck the back of his head. The piper whipped around in a frenzy.

  “Who threw that!?”

  Of course, it was impossible to tell, for he was surrounded by faces who seemed oblivious to the projectile that had pelted him in the head. I’m taking them all to the river. Amazed their parents haven’t already.

  He needed to escape the situation before he did something brash, as if he hadn’t met his brashness quota for the day already. He looked around until he found a suitable tree to climb. Up, up he went until he reached a perch that was effectively safe from disruptions—like flying pebbles—and gave him a good vantage from which to see the surrounding terrain.

  As he munched a bit of cheese he had secretly saved for lunch, he soon realized that they were not very far from another village—perhaps only twenty minutes at the current pace. His brain conjured up a magically favorable scenario. Perhaps it was a childless village, tragically rendered barren by some child-eating beast, and they would happily buy the whole lot of children from him.

  That must be the stupidest plan I have ever had. It’s not even a plan. Think.

  What could he do with a hundred little people? How many little people did he have anyway? Peering down, he counted. One hundred thirty. He smiled. That’s a lot of angry parents the mayor has to deal with.

  He considered extortion. He would arm the children, surround the village, and threaten to lay siege and burn everything to the ground or else be paid for protection.

  No, THIS must be the stupidest plan I have ever had. Hark,‘tis the dreaded Hamelin Horde! They’ll poke you with sticks, then eat all your pudding and wet your beds! He’d have better luck getting paid for the sheer entertainment of his child army. Now there’s an idea! A traveling act I could take from town to town. Mock battles, reenactments of historic events, singing, comedy!

  Reality set in like a storm cloud.

  You’re out of time. It’s been ten minutes already. Get rid of the kids and cut your losses. Leave them at the town and just move on.

  The piper couldn’t help but feel depressed about not coming up with a more gainful solution as he scaled back down the tree to the ground. Some of the children had gone exploring in the forest nearby, and those who stayed were quick to voice their complaints.

  “I want to go home!”

  “We’re hungry.”

  “This isn’t fun anymore.”

  “Well life isn’t fun,” he countered. “It was never meant to be fun. It’s just one big ball of pain and death and misery, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get the plagu
e and a few sympathy meals before you go. But don’t talk to me about fun. I stopped having fun a long time ago.”

  They looked at him with blank faces, oblivious to the woes of adulthood and entrepreneurship.

  “We’re almost home, and you’ll eat soon enough,” the piper said. The children seemed to perk up a bit, even if it was a lie.

  He took a quick gulp of water from his costrel and played the tune loudly enough for those among the trees to hear. Before long, all had rejoined the group, and they started toward the nearby town.

  “Are we there yet?” a boy asked.

  “We just started walking. We’ll be there in minutes.”

  “How long is that?”

  “Long enough for me to call out the wild boars, so they can eat you so you’ll stop asking questions,” the piper said.

  “Boars don’t eat p—”

  “Child-eating wild boars hate questions as much as I do. It’ll be very painful, so be quiet.” And so the boy was.

  They soon reached the outskirts of a small, but bustling town that looked much like the one they had left that morning. The piper stopped the group and watched from a distance. He knew now would be a good time to leave the children and take off into the forest, but the itch of opportunity was dying to be scratched. He decided to let things play out a little longer.

  “Listen up. I’m going to find out where our lunch is, so everybody stay here until I return. Don’t go anywhere.”

  He walked toward the group of townspeople who had seen him and were now starting to congregate, but he suddenly realized that the children were still following him because of the tune’s power. Quickly, he put the pipe into his bag, which he lobbed over a tree branch. Sure enough, they stayed with the pipe.

  They’re just like the rats, only I knew what to do with them this time.

  With the children safely behind him, he mentally prepared himself for what would need to be a convincing act as he approached the townspeople.

  “My fellow denizens,” he began with a flair. “It is your great privilege today to experience the marvel of the Piper’s People Parade—the most extraordinary troupe of children you have ever seen. We have come—”

  “Hey, this lot is from Hamelin! I recognize that one there,” came a voice in the crowd. Other voices muttered in agreement. Some village children began to whisper and point.

  This is not going to plan, thought the piper, before realizing he hadn’t had much of a plan to begin with.

  “Yes, yes, of course they are,” he replied, trying to maintain a broad smile. “What I was about to say is that Hamelin has finished the harvest already and has sent me with its own strapping youths to offer assistance to the neighboring communities. The Piper’s Produce-Picking People Patrol at your service! For a price, of course.”

  The townsfolk murmured to one another in astonishment, which turned to contempt, and the piper was able to pick out bits and pieces of the conversations.

  “Could it be true?”

  “How do they do it?”

  “We won’t be done for another month!”

  “This is just like Hamelin! Always gloating about something.”

  “They’re insufferable.”

  “Tell him to hang himself.”

  Sensing he had struck some nerves, the piper spoke up. “Of course, if you’re not interested, we’ll gladly take our services up the road.”

  “Hold now, don’t be in a rush. You’ve just arrived,” said a man, who quickly turned and conducted a hushed, but rapid-fire conversation with a small group who finally appeared to nod in agreement. The man turned back to the piper.

  “We of Oldendorf are most grateful for Hamelin’s”—the man coughed—“benevolence, and we’ll gladly pay for your kind assistance so that we, too, may speed up the harvest. We know you’ll have no trouble gathering our burgeoning crop of brambleberries in the south fields.”

  Brambleberries? No trouble indeed, you sadistic psychopaths.

  If the devil himself had created his own fruit, he couldn’t do much better than the black brambleberry. Thorny briars meant slow and often painful picking. Those who bothered cultivating brambleberries at all sometimes let part of the crop go to waste out of frustration. Half the time, the fully ripe fruit still tasted sour.

  The piper looked back at the children. The effects of the pipe seemed to have worn off. Some were starting to wander. Others were on the verge of tears again. He needed to salvage this quickly before the villagers realized they were hiring a bunch of captive and spellbound help. That could make for an awkward conversation.

  “Easy enough,” he said. “We’ll be done in an hour. I’ll take them there straightaway and you meet me with empty baskets.”

  “But we haven’t determined your price yet,” replied the man.

  “We’ll take the wages of your own brambleberry pickers, paid up-front of course.” He wasn’t going to fall into this trap again.

  “Quite fair. But we aren’t accustomed to stockpiling wages for random traveling brambleberry pickers,” the man said. “You’ll have to gather the berries while we gather the gold. You said it yourself that this should be easy enough.”

  The piper’s own fatigue had worn down his willingness to protest. Seeing the profitable light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, and knowing he wouldn’t be doing any of the work himself, he relented.

  The next few minutes wrangling children proved to be the most challenging task so far. A few had ventured out of sight, so the piper had to figure out where they had gone. And this was difficult because the piper was determined to pipe as quietly as possible. Otherwise, he’d have a bunch of Oldendorf children on his hands too, which would make for another awkward conversation. In a few minutes, he successfully found one hundred and thirty Hamelin children. Give or take a few. It wasn’t as though he needed an exact count—he wasn’t holding hostages for ransom or anything. The promise of berries raised the children’s spirits one last time, long enough to follow the piper around the outskirts of Oldendorf to the fields. Fortunately, there were no major hitches along the way and after the baskets were delivered, the piper was left to supervise the gathering, with the sun high above the brambleberry hedgerows.

  “There is no such thing as a free lunch,” began the piper. “But in this case, the lunch is as close to free as it gets.” He saw their rapt attention wasn’t on him, but rather on the rows of plump, ripe brambleberries. “We are here to pick, not to eat, but I know you must eat, so in return you must pick. I have only one rule you must follow, and if you do not follow it, there will be a terrible, terrible punishment.”

  “What is it?” asked a boy.

  “It is too terrible; I can’t talk about it.”

  “No, the rule!”

  “Listen, boy. If you want to live to see your seventh birthday, you will be quiet and do as I say,” the piper said with his most intimidating voice. Once satisfied, he continued speaking.

  “Now then, when you are picking these berries—”

  “I’m eight already,” interrupted the same boy.

  “What?”

  “You said I wouldn’t live to see my seventh birthday, but I already did. Do you even have a punishment?”

  The piper’s nostrils flared, his eyes grew wide, and he let out the most primal scream he could muster at the boy. He knew that had any adults been watching, they probably would have doubled over with laughter, but the boy and several children turned pale and stiffened.

  “Much better,” the piper said as he cleared his throat and refocused on addressing the group. “Now, if you want to eat berries, you may eat ONE berry for every THREE you put in your basket. Do you understand? Pick three. Eat one. Pick three. Eat one. Is that clear?”

  The children nodded and immediately rushed over to the brambleberry bushes, plucking berries and shoving them all into their mouth
s with a voraciousness reserved for big appetites crammed into little bodies.

  “STOP, STOP, STOP!” the piper yelled. “Stop it! I want to see three in the basket every time you eat one. Pick three first. Three berries in the basket, people! I’m warning you. Do it right.”

  The children, for the most part, got the message and slowly put three berries into the shared baskets rather than their mouths. The piper was pleased to see that their small hands had an easier time than adults in maneuvering the briars. The piper led them in methodical practice for several rounds. Three berries in the basket. One berry in the mouth. The rhythm seemed to have stuck, and the piper observed for a few more minutes until he was satisfied that they would carry on without the pipe’s enchantment, or his micromanagement. He needed this because all the while he had been concocting a new plan for personal enrichment.

  The piper hurried back into Oldendorf to find the mayor. He wanted to make a separate deal to exterminate this town’s rats, knowing that if he played it right, the children would finish the picking, he would collect payment for it, and he would receive an advance for the extermination. He could leave the children behind while he took the rats out of town, and by the time the villagers learned the truth, he would be long on his merry piping way.

  Negotiations took a lot longer than expected. The mayor of Oldendorf was not an easy man to find, and once found he received the piper with a good deal of hostility, presumably because he was a Hameliner. Of course, the piper considered breaking character, but that would have thrown the entire game. Instead, he chose to provide a demonstration of his capabilities. While instantly attracting rats out from all corners should have been the dealmaker, Oldendorf’s mayor was equal parts astonished and furious at the thought that Hamelin had such advantages. The piper had to delicately rebuff the mayor’s pressure for him to defect to Oldendorf before the mayor finally accepted his extermination proposal. The piper was even able to formalize an impromptu contract, something he had neglected to do in Hamelin. At the conclusion, the piper invited the mayor and his harvest overseer to accompany him back to the hedgerows where the children would be nearly finished with picking, and he would finally be paid his due.