The Children of Hamelin

by Danny Lasko

  Annie leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth and runs her fingers down my cheek before sliding back into the house, leaving me with the cool night air dancing among the leafy shadows in the trees.

  This was supposed to be a good day.

  First the dream, then Linus, then this Grey shows up, and now I find out that Annie not only is one of the Children of Hamelin but likes them! It’s like the world I’ve worked so hard to create is colliding with the world I’ve tried so desperately to avoid. Why me? Why now? There has to be a way to fix this. I flash through my options, and beyond my surprise, it gives me the answer.

  “I want to see the record.”

  “What record?”

  “The record the Children brought with them, the one the Piper gave them. What’s it called?”

  “The Mirastory?”

  “Let me see it, and I’ll go with you.”

  The shock and surprise I expected blanket the room. I smile. I already know the answer.

  “You can’t,” says my father.

  “I’ve been called to lead the way home, Dad. You’re not going to let me see the record?”

  “You can’t,” he chokes, knowing my game, knowing there’s no way out of it.

  “Why?”

  “Because we don’t have it,” says Linus with a boldness he must have felt was lacking in my father’s voice. “It was lost. About fifty years after the Children wandered into Hamelin.”

  “Ah.”

  “But we have the Hamelin Chronicles, a record kept by our people, that explain—”

  “Written by your people?”

  “Yes.”

  “Written here? It didn’t come from Mira?”

  “Yes,” he says again, but not so boldly this time.

  “Yeah, okay,” I say, heading for the door.

  “We had to have come from somewhere, Horatio!”

  “But we don’t have to go back.” I step toward the door before my hand is caught in Annie’s.

  “Sleep on it,” she says, turning my face. “For me. Just sleep on it.”

  I squeeze Annie’s hand as I wander out the front door. A thousand thoughts scream through my brain, but only one of them sticks. Whatever the box holds, whatever I’m asked to do, it’s going to be against the rules. Against the Synarch. And if they so much as smell rebellion, my chances of escape, Allen’s chances of freedom from this entrapped existence, no matter how good I am at anything, are gone. And everyone in that room tonight will be sent to the Rim, the mining camps where the labor is hard, the pay cheap, and the life expectancy mercifully low. Prisoners go there, rebels, and believers of fairy tales.

  I sleep better than I expect and awake late in the morning to my name being called. I pull my eyes open to see my father leaning into my room nervously.

  “You have visitors, son.”

  “Ah, no,” I groan. “Dad, no fans.”

  “These fans you need to see, Horatio. Quickly.”

  A couple of minutes later, I leave my room to discover my parents, along with an official-looking man with large arms and a woman in a dark red dress suit crowding on the front room couches. Synarch officials. The palms on my hands begin to sweat.

  “Good morning, son,” greets Mom. She looks relieved that I’m wearing some kind of pants. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Fine.” The fact that my parents are not bound at the wrists is a good sign.

  “Horatio, these folks are from—”

  “We, the entire League Administration, were enraptured by your performance last night, Horatio Gaph, and we want to, on behalf of the Synarch, offer our congratulations,” says the woman, not waiting for introductions from my father. She’s long and sleek with black hair to match. Her high cheekbones and rigid nose are both intimidating and handsome. Her thin eyebrows mirror her equally thin lips, which carry a practiced smile reeking of bureaucracy. The insignia on her suit tells me her position.

  “I’m honored, Magistrate—”

  “Gravus,” she says. “And this is Special Agent Farr. I am Magistrate over Recruitment for the League. We have been charged with a rather rare mission that I hope for all our sakes will be successful, and one for which you need to fully understand just how unparalleled an occasion this is.”

  She has my attention as well as the attention of my parents. This woman runs the day-to-day operations of the recruitment arm of the League, where athletes get paid massive salaries to play The Escape. And this visit seems to be good news. I stay standing. Agent Farr’s bulky frame doesn’t look interested in sharing the remaining space on the couch anyway.

  Magistrate Gravus continues. “In the history of The Escape, never has the Synarch or their Sport Premier of New Victoria ever offered what they are about to offer you, Horatio Gaph. They believe your showing last night against the top-ranked team not just in Texas but in the country has proven you prepared and more than capable of playing in the League for a professional team. At the Synarch’s encouragement, all fourteen team owners have voted unanimously to allow you to enter, despite not taking the Trials and you being technically underage. You and your family have been cleared to move from Allen to a Citizen city to be determined after the auction.”

  I must have found a seat somewhere in the room sometime during Gravus’s speech. My elbows rest on my bent knees, my hands clasped together over my mouth. I’m staring at something I’ve seen a million times but can’t for the life of me remember what it’s called. I hear my dad’s voice.

  “We are honored, Magistrate. That is incredible news.”

  “It is, indeed. We broadcast the game to the entire country on delay when we saw the performance. It had the highest ratings for an Escape, amateur or pro, as we’ve had in a decade. The Citizens are screaming for Horatio.”

  “How will it work? With Horatio still attend school?” asks my mother.

  “Because the draft is not until next spring, he will be auctioned, where he will go to the highest bidder. Ten percent of the winning bid will go to him directly along with his annual pay, a sum twenty-four times the League minimum. However, ten percent of what the owners will be willing to spend at auction will be more than what most Citizens are worth.”

  “What about the academy?” I ask, trying to shake the daze loose.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well,” I hesitate, “they expect me to help them win state. If I just up and leave them—”

  “Did you not hear what I said, Mr. Gaph? You’re going to play in the League. Any concern for Allen is no longer yours.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but my team, the academy—”

  “Yes, the academy,” she says, cutting me off, holding her frustration. “Allen Academy will receive compensation as though you had played a full season and won the state championship. They have already been notified.”

  “And—?”

  “The district of Allen will be treated as though you had won state as well. I doubt anyone can argue its likelihood. Now, if you’re finished with unnecessary curiosities?”

  I nod my head, unable to speak due to the fact that my mouth and mind are clogged with a thick cloud of blank. I can’t focus long enough to see the options play in my head. I guess I don’t need them.

  “Thank you,” I choke out finally.

  “You are already the talk of the country, Horatio. We very much look forward to your career and your public support of the Synarch.”

  I race back to my room as soon as the visitors have explained the process and paperwork, declined my mother’s offer of something to drink (barley water is hardly a delicacy to the Citizens), nodded, and left the house with a promise to be in touch within three days letting us know when the relocation team will arrive. I finish getting dressed. I pull my first arm through my shirt and open the door at the same ti
me. But I have to stop before I get out of the house. Something’s in my way.

  My father stands in the front room, not far from the door, holding the brown paper-wrapped package from last night. My mother holds a bottle up to Lily’s mouth, watching the two older girls playing on the rug in front of her, trying to pretend she doesn’t think this is the most important decision of my life and I’m blowing it.

  “Son, this isn’t what it looks like. I feel like this has nothing to do with the match last night. You can’t–”

  “Dad,” I say with as much patience as I can muster, pulling on the rest of my shirt. “Come or don’t come. I’m going to Revolution.”

  5

  Revolution

  THE BLUE LINE PASSES MY HOUSE JUST AS I STEP OUT MY DOOR, PERFUMING THE AIR WITH CHEERS AND WHISTLES FROM ITS PASSENGERS. I step through the gifts strewn across our front path. It’s a national custom to shower the heroes of The Escape with gifts, but I wish it weren’t. These folks don’t owe me anything. Although, the homemade rock candy twinkling the sunlight off it’s slick blue surface sure doesn’t hurt.

  I don’t know how I missed him, but I suddenly realize the oversized Special Agent Farr is leaning against the crumbling brick wall my neighbor won’t fix. He’s immediately impressive, taller and wider than me, with a jaw sharper and harder than rock. His skin is pulled tight along the bone of his chin, making it look like it’s painful to smile.

  I swallow, sheepishly set down the rock candy and wait for him to make the first move. That’s how it works with Synarch law. Don’t breathe until spoken to.

  “Too much pressure on a kid,” says Special Agent Farr finally, shaking his head and picking at a callus on his left hand. He gives me what may seem like time to respond. But really, he just wants to see if I’m that stupid. I’m not.

  “Pull him up like this, like he’s special. People might get the wrong idea.” He shakes his head again. “Too much pressure for a kid. So I’ll watch you, Gaph,” he says, flicking away a piece of dead skin before pushing toward me. “Make sure you keep up your strength. Make sure someone’s around to catch you. When you slip.”

  Another chance to respond, which I don’t. Special Agent Farr shoots me a joyless grin.

  “Keep your feet.” Another head shake. “Too much pressure for a kid,” he says walking away but loud enough that I’m sure to hear it.

  It’s the same speech given to most players and teams after a strong victory or state championship. Just to make sure no one gets delusions of becoming anything more than what they really are: entertainment for the Citizens. It’s even more intimidating than I expected, especially coming from Special Agent Farr. Still, it hardly breaks my spirit. Not on the day when I’ve been offered the world.

  “They’ve let me in,” I say, grabbing Annie off her doorstep and twirling her in the air. “As of today, I’m in the League. Allen, the academy, they’re safe. They win!”

  “That’s unbelievable!” she cries, grabbing my neck and burying her head into my shoulder. “Oh, I’m so proud of you!”

  “I’m heading to Revolution for the auction. Come with me, yeah? You’re going to come with me, yeah?”

  “Raysh, you know I can’t go with you.”

  “You can if we’re married.”

  She doesn’t talk and it doesn’t matter. Her sparkling wet eyes say more than her words ever could. She can’t keep her mouth from exploding into a smile. Her hand covers her heart, like it’s trying to keep it from beating out of her chest.

  “So you’re saying–”

  “Yes.”

  “You and me.”

  “Yes.”

  “‘Til death do us part.”

  “Longer if I have my way.”

  “And it doesn’t matter to you that you’re about to be world famous with your choice of–”

  “I’ve made my choice, Annie. The second you sang to me.”

  “We’re so young!” she laughs.

  “According to who?” I ask. “I love you, Annie. Please. Please choose me, too.”

  “Yes,” she says finally.

  “Yes?!” I wrap her up and twirl her around, holding her body tight against mine. Her laugh is like a song in my ear, happy tears smearing against my cheek. And I can’t prove it, but I think the sky just turned a brighter shade of blue.

  “So how does this work?”

  “We’ll get the city justice to clear a time within the next week, your dad can take care of the flowers–we should have it at night and bring the glowing ones, but that’s probably something you’ll want to decide. We’ll need a big place, everyone’s going to want to come–hey! Maybe they’ll let us have it at the stadium!”

  Annie bounces with giddy affection. “No, not the wedding. The Call. We should probably open it today.”

  “What, what do you mean?” I ask, wondering if the ceremony will look better on the cliff in the middle or at one of the platforms under the eagle wings.

  “Well, we won’t know what it’s about until we know what we have to do.”

  “Wait, are you talking about last night?” I ask, finally getting it.

  “Well, yeah. We have to find out–”

  “No,” I laugh. “That’s not our problem anymore. Let them deal with it.”

  “But he gave it to you.”

  “Oh, come on. You can’t possibly—”

  “No ‘come on’, Raysh. A man with a golden glimmery smile gave you a wrapped box that is the fulfillment of a nine-hundred-year-old promise, and I think you should have the courtesy to, you know, open it.”

  “You want me to open it.”

  “I think you should.”

  “And what if it tells me to forget about Allen?”

  “We’ll worry about that if we have to.”

  “You know we’ll have to.”

  “I’m just asking you to open a box, Horatio,” she says. That’s it.”

  “I can’t!” I shout. “Don’t you understand? I can’t. I can’t turn my back on this, on Allen. This isn’t a choice. I can’t just decline, Annie. How can you not see this?”

  “See, and that’s the problem. You’re trusting in the Synarch to make things better. They’re the ones who made it bad!”

  “And they can make it a lot worse! I don’t have a choice! Even if I did, there is no way I’m letting Allen stay in this pit while I do the bidding of those people.”

  “I’m ‘those people.’” Annie’s declaration kicks me in the chest and forces me to take a step back.

  “Alright, clearly we’re on different sides of this. You know, two days ago, you were all for saving Allen, and now Allen’s not good enough?” I ask, attempting one last attack.

  “That’s not fair, Horatio.”

  “So you choose them, then.”

  “You are them–”

  “No,” I tell her. “No. I will never be one of them. If you knew what they did...”

  “Then tell me.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t be who you want me to be,” I say, not willing to give up my secret. “And I’m sorry that you don’t think saving an entire district from living in hell is good enough. I’ll see you around.”

  “Raysh, wait! Horatio!”

  But I don’t wait. I feel stupid. Angry. Hurt. I could tell Annie about Ames. It might even convince her I’m right. But I shouldn’t have to. She should already see what I see. At least hear it. Hear herself! Reject Allen at their moment of triumph? This is supposed to be a great day. It’s supposed to be happy and full of excitement for a better future. And it will be. I just have to find the right people to share it with.

  The walk to the academy takes a little longer than normal thanks to everyone who stops me to say “hello” and “good job.” With each one, I refocus on how the deal made thi
s morning is going to raise them to a better life. Even if mine is crumbling inside of me.

  A few thousand, mostly students and a few teachers, including Mr. Wilds, the principal, are standing and screaming in front of the main entrance. I honestly didn’t expect this. I just hoped I’d find a few friends lingering about.

  A banquet table nearly spills over the kinds of food I’ve seen maybe twice in my life—orange juice, muffins, and doughnuts, a mountain of honest-to-goodness fried-in-oil doughnuts covered in chocolate glaze, displayed in all their wonderful glory. Normally, when the art students make delicacies like this as part of their training, it gets thrown away after grading. I swallow the extra saliva and step a little quicker.

  “Congratulations, Horatio. This is well deserved,” Mr. Wilds says, shaking my hand and brushing back his remaining black hair. Even if it weren’t well known that he’s an old player himself, his thick body, scarred from years of field abuse, would tell the story. His twinkling eyes tell me that he knows of the Synarch’s offer but can’t talk about it. They also tell me he hasn’t slept much the night before, so he’s known at least six hours longer than I have.

  “I am happy to see our training paid off.”

  “Yes, sir. Congratulations to you, too, sir.”

  “My brother!” I turn to see Tommy Briggs with Hogs and Rudy in tow. Other players have shown up, too, already stuffing themselves with the morning’s treats.

  “We wondered if you were still alive,” he says, slapping his hand on my shoulder and pulling me into the crowd. “We went inside, and you didn’t follow.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t like the company.”

  “What, the band geek?” asks Hogs. “Did you leave with him?”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, shaking my head like Hogs is an idiot.

  “I don’t know. We came back out of the house, and you and Annie and the band geek were gone. So we thought you went to dump him in a lake or something.”