by Matthew Cody
Lastly, he took out the little brass key. “Why don’t you keep this,” said Vodnik, and he tossed the key to Max. “Think of it as a souvenir. I’ve got plenty.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “If this key’s fake, too, then why did you come all this way? Why are you after me?”
The magician tapped a long-nailed finger on the table for a moment, studying her. Then he leaned forward, and his eyes grew wide, hungry. “What do you know of that door?”
“Only where it goes, and that the Pied Piper locked it with a curse.”
“Yes! The very same Piper who stole you and your brother away to the Summer Isle and—now, this is most important—returned you home again. Such power that must have taken! Can you imagine?”
“You know what? I’ve seen the Piper up close and I wasn’t impressed.” Max almost added any more than you impress me, but she managed to hold her tongue.
“Regardless, you went to the Summer Isle and came home again. Don’t you know how special that makes you?”
“Tell me.”
“Long ago, when the Piper locked the door to the Summer Isle, he devised a very clever, very specific curse. He wanted to lock the door but still be able to use it himself, you see. Traditionally, this sort of magic is accomplished with actual magic keys, or secret passwords, but the Piper knew that keys can be stolen and secret passwords rarely stay secret. So he devised an ingenious curse instead.
“What separates the Piper from everyone else on the Summer Isle? His humanity. The Piper was the only human being to visit the Summer Isle and come back again, and in his arrogance he believed that would stay true forever. So the curse is very simple—the last door to the Summer Isle will only open for a human who has set foot on the soil of the Summer Isle. Not an elf, not a monster like me, and not a human who has never been. It will only open for someone like you.”
Max couldn’t believe it. But then she remembered what she’d felt standing outside that door. She’d heard the wind. She’d smelled the air. She’d felt like she could reach out and touch the Summer Isle, because she could have.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
“Yes,” said Vodnik, grinning. “By sheer virtue of your having been to the Summer Isle once, now the door will open for you. You are the one being on this planet who can break the curse. And of course, you now belong to me. No more scams, no more pretending. Now I really do possess the only key to the Summer Isle. You are that key!”
Max closed her eyes and buried her head in her fists. She’d been so close. Inches away from that door, and if she’d just touched it…
“Good thing Maggie spotted you when she did, eh?” said Vodnik. “And I’ll tell you what, nearly losing you like that has taught me a valuable lesson.”
Max opened her eyes and glared at the magician. She wondered if she was fast enough to jump up and kick him before Mr. Twist could react. Pointless, but it would feel good.
“I thought that holding your parents hostage would be enough to control you, but it wasn’t. You stole the jars once—who’s to say you won’t find a way to do it again? You’re smart, and foolishly brave, and you’d always be looking for a way to thwart me, wouldn’t you? Look at you, you’re doing it right now. I can see the wheels turning!”
Vodnik laughed as Max fumed. He was right. He might have the upper hand right now, but she would find a way to beat him eventually.
“No, no, you are just too dangerous to be running around of your own free will.” Vodnik reached into his box and took out a brand-new jar. He breathed on the glass and then rubbed it clean on his shirt.
“I’ll keep your soul in here,” said Vodnik. “And use your body as my key. Of course, in time you’ll start to ripen, like poor Mr. Twist there, but you’d be amazed how long a corpse can last if given the proper care.”
The first ogre reached the front gate, and the gate held. There was a worrisome moment when the wooden planks groaned in protest as the beast shoved his massive shoulder into them, but they held. The boys along the wall let out a cheer when the ogre staggered away from the gate and rubbed his sore shoulder. But Lukas knew that the real danger wasn’t from that single monster; it was from the pair carrying the battering ram.
The night had been lucky so far for the New Hameliners, as the ogres were having some difficulty getting the ram up to the gate because carrying the massive length of tightly bound tree trunks required teamwork. The ogres were fighting among themselves, even while the New Hameliners were fighting to defend their village.
The ground below was littered with dead rats, but there were more still skulking in the shadows and hiding behind their ogre allies. Paul and his archers were good at catching the rats whenever they made a charge for the wall. The rats were excellent climbers, but the Watch had thus far been ready for them. Lukas noticed that Laura and her girls were particularly adept at hitting moving targets, and he had to wonder what sort of practice archery they’d been up to, and for how long.
For his part, Lukas paced the length of the wall to check on the defenders while shouting orders and encouragements along the way. Early on in the siege, one of the ogres had gotten the idea that instead of knocking the gate down, he could simply toss the rats over the top. It apparently didn’t matter to him what happened to them when they hit the ground. Lukas had to duck five screaming airborne rats before the rest of the creatures learned to stay well out of the ogre’s reach.
If the siege continued to be this disorganized, Lukas hoped that they might actually make it until daybreak. He climbed down the ladder to triple-check on Emilie and the barricade. When he found her, she looked nervous, and several of the boys and girls under her charge were crying, they were so afraid. She commanded a motley crew of middle boys and girls armed with kitchen knives and rolling pins, but they would need every body they could spare to hold the barricade if the gate fell. When Emilie spotted Lukas, she forced a smile.
“That knock at the gate gave us all a fright to remember,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “But I’m sure that ogre will have a sore shoulder to remember for almost as long!”
“You are all doing fine,” said Lukas. “Better than fine.”
There were appreciative nods, and one of the smaller boys held up his rolling pin in salute. Martin was his name, and Lukas knew him to be a skilled artist.
When Emilie got close enough to whisper, she asked, “How are we really doing?”
Lukas shrugged. “Well, if they keep throwing the rats, there won’t be anyone but ogres left out there to fight.” This time Emilie’s smile was genuine. “But I’m worried about the battering ram. If they manage to reach the gate…”
Lukas didn’t finish his sentence because he didn’t need to. They both knew what would happen if the walls fell tonight. Emilie started to say something, but at that moment there was a commotion on the wall. Lukas called up to the boys, and Paul answered that something had just flown over the boys’ heads.
Lukas searched the night sky, but all he saw was inky blackness. Then Emilie let out a gasp and pointed toward the center of town. There was a shape, long-necked and winged, soaring past the hanging lanterns toward the village square.
The square was where they kept the nursery. One of the middle girls would be telling stories to the little ones, trying to keep them distracted from the fighting going on outside their village walls.
“No!” screamed Emilie, and she and Lukas bolted for the square. They’d both recognized that shape.
They got there just in time to see an ugly goose transform into a bent, haggard crone. She was at the nursery door. Grannie Yaga was coming for the little children.
They were still too far away to stop her, and the leafless Summer Tree was between them and Grannie, but Lukas called out a warning to those inside.
Grannie Yaga turned at the sound. Even by lantern light he could see the jagged grin of her false teeth. She cackled as she tossed a handful of knucklebones at their feet. Wherever they landed,
a skeletal hand clawed its way up through the dirt. One of them grabbed Lukas by the ankle, and he tripped, smacking his head against the ground as he fell. He felt bony fingers wrapping around one of his wrists, pinning him to the ground. He caught a glimpse of Emilie nearby, wrestling with a pair of skeletal hands that were grasping at her hair.
Somewhere close by, children were crying.
Lukas searched the ground for his weapon, but the black iron sword was nearly invisible in the dark. The skeletal fingers were digging into his arm, his legs.
Grannie Yaga stood in the doorway, a small child in each arm. Nicholas and Hans, twins who’d been barely four when the Piper stole them from their home. They were crying.
The witch was grinning, although those hideous teeth of hers made it look like she was always grinning.
“That’s close enough, Eldest Boy,” said the witch. “Don’t normally like my meals raw, but I might make an exception for these little sweetmeats.”
“Let them go,” said Lukas.
“Give me Carter, and I will,” said Grannie.
Lukas cursed himself under his breath. The witch still thought Carter was hiding in New Hamelin, because he hadn’t told her otherwise. He tried to yank free, but the hands held him fast by one leg and one arm.
“Carter’s not here,” he said. “He never was.”
“You’re lying. Don’t give up your own just to keep that boy safe.”
Then Lukas’s other foot brushed up against something hard lying in the grass. The sword was there, and it was within reach.
“Eh-eh,” the witch warned. “The Peddler may have charmed your nasty little sword against poor Grannie, but I will kill these two sweet babes if you try to use it. By the hairs of my chin, I will.”
“I swear Carter isn’t here!”
Grannie cocked her head and considered this. “Perhaps just one, then. A curse to stop the heart. Painless. If you let one die, then I’ll know you’re telling the truth.”
“No, take me!” a voice shouted.
Lukas turned and saw Emilie back on her feet. Her kerchief was gone, and it looked like a clump of her hair was missing—her scalp was bloody where it’d been yanked out—but she’d managed to free herself from the undead hands. “If you need to kill someone, kill me,” she said. “Just let the little ones go.”
“So many choices!” Grannie Yaga sighed. “There will come a day when I’ll get to choose who I like when I like. Oh, yes, my dears. And it’s coming soon. Very soon. If the Piper has his way, this land will be swarming with stolen children, and there’s no Peddler to fence old Grannie in anymore, eh?”
“Please let them go,” pleaded Emilie, stepping closer.
“So hard to decide,” said Grannie. “Let’s see. How do you children do it? Ah, yes. Eeny meeny miney…” She pointed a bony finger at one of the twins. Hans, Lukas thought it was. “Sorry, dumpling. You’re moe.”
But at that moment there was a thundering crack, one that shook the very buildings. It was the sound of tearing, splintering wood, followed by the bellowing cry of ogres. Everyone, even Grannie, looked toward the gate.
Everyone except for little Hans, who looked right at the finger in his face and bit it.
“Ow!” screamed Grannie, dropping the twins to the ground. “You nasty little thing!”
The twins scrambled to their feet and ran to Emilie as fast as their chubby little legs would carry them. She met them halfway and scooped the pair up in her arms.
“So be it!” said Grannie, glaring. “I’ll have all three of you.”
With his free hand, Lukas wrenched his body around. Something popped in his shoulder, but he ignored it as his fingers found the pommel of the Sword of the Eldest Boy. The cold iron felt good against his palm, and he brought the blade down on the bony hand that held his other arm. The instant his blade made contact with the bones, they crumbled to dust. He remembered Grannie Yaga’s reaction to the sword, how it had seemed to burn her. Apparently, it could break her magic as well.
Grannie pointed her bleeding finger at Emilie and the twins. Emilie turned her back to the witch and pulled the twins close, trying to shield them with her own body.
Lukas dragged himself to his feet just as she was completing the deadly spell. He was too late.
But Paul wasn’t. Lukas felt the arrow fly by his face, barely missing him, and he heard the witch’s cry as it found its home in her eye socket.
The sound of the gate snapping was nothing compared to the scream Grannie Yaga let out. It was pure agony and rage.
Lukas glanced over his shoulder to see Paul standing directly behind him, loading up a second arrow. “Emilie, run!” he said.
Emilie grabbed the twins and did just that as the witch yanked the arrow free and snapped it between her fingers. Half her face was covered in black blood. Her one good eye was wide with fury.
“Lukas, get out of the way!” said Paul. “I’ve got another shot!”
But this time the witch was ready for him. “Paul, get down!” shouted Lukas, but the scout was too busy lining up his aim. Grannie Yaga finished her deadly curse, only this time her finger was pointed at Lukas and Paul.
A rush of freezing air enveloped Lukas, and for a second it threatened to steal his breath as he felt an unnatural chill coursing through his veins toward his heart. But then the iron sword in his hand grew suddenly warm, and that warmth chased away the cold. The sword had deflected Grannie’s curse.
The witch gave a yell of frustration as her killing spell failed to stop Lukas’s heart. Under his breath, Lukas muttered a thanks to the Peddler, and he ran toward Grannie, his sword raised high.
But the witch was already transforming back into her goose form. Before Lukas could reach her, she’d taken flight, disappearing into the night just as the air was rent with another bone-shaking crash. The ogres were breaching the gate.
Lukas turned to see Emilie standing stock-still in the middle of the courtyard. The twins were hiding behind her skirt.
“Emilie!” said Lukas. “We have to go! The ogres are at the gate. We have to reach the barricade.”
But she wasn’t listening. She had her hands over her mouth, as if to hold back a scream, and she was staring at something behind Lukas.
He followed her gaze until he saw a still shape lying on the grass near the Summer Tree. A boy who looked so peaceful he might have been sleeping, but he wasn’t.
The Sword of the Eldest Boy had saved Lukas from Grannie’s deadly curse, but it hadn’t saved the boy standing directly behind him. It hadn’t saved Paul.
“Did you know Mr. Twist’s soul was the very first I ever jarred?” asked Vodnik. “I should’ve retired him centuries ago, but I suppose I’m just too sentimental.”
Max felt the silent servant stepping up behind her. She was trapped between Mr. Twist and Vodnik, with nowhere to run.
“My point is,” said Vodnik, “you and I will have many happy years together.”
“No, wait!” said Max. “I’ll cooperate. You don’t have to do this!”
The magician drew a short-bladed knife out of his coat pocket. “Too late. Don’t worry, it’ll only hurt at first. A drop of blood in the jar is all I need.”
Then he began to sing:
Beware the reeds along the shore
For the old magician sleeps no more.
He’ll prick your thumb with a stick,
And you’ll belong to Uncle Vodnik.
Max ran. Not back toward the door and freedom. Instead, she charged Vodnik himself. The magician reared back, surprised, and brandished his knife, so Max did the only other thing she could think of and went for the magician’s box instead.
“No!” Vodnik snarled as he realized too late what she was doing. All those jars, all those innocent souls, neatly arranged from left to right, with the newest jars on top. So Max reached deep, and grabbed the oldest-looking one, so old that it wasn’t even made out of glass, just a small clay jar with a wax-sealed lid, tucked away near the back.
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Max lifted the jar high above her head.
“Stop her!” cried Vodnik.
“One more step and I smash it!” said Max. She had no idea if her threat would work, but this little clay jar was old—centuries, probably. Max prayed that she’d chosen the right one.
Vodnik glared at her, his beard quivering with rage, but he stayed where he was. “I lied,” he snarled. “I don’t think I’ll make this quick at all. Unless you put that down!”
Max glanced over at Twist and saw a strange transformation overtaking the undead servant. His normally unfocused eyes were fixed upon the jar in Max’s hand. His stoic face softened, and his lips turned into something like a smile.
Vodnik roared as he lunged at Max with the knife, but somehow Mr. Twist had gotten in between them, blocking the magician’s attack.
A raspy whisper rose up from Twist’s throat, from vocal cords that hadn’t been used in ages. “Do it,” he said.
Then Max smashed the jar against the hard stone floor. The brittle clay exploded in a cloud of dust, and a tiny wisp of mist hung in the air for just a second before disappearing altogether.
All semblance of unnatural life went out of Mr. Twist. Luckily, he fell on top of Vodnik instead of Max, and the magician collapsed beneath his weight. Vodnik did not, however, drop the knife.
Max scooped the Peddler’s map and her parents’ jars into her backpack and bolted for the door just as it was opening. The elfling woman, Maggie, peeked her head inside.
“Master Vodnik, is everything okay—” She didn’t have time to finish because Max barreled straight into her without stopping. The surprised woman hit the ground hard, but Max didn’t stop.
A quick glance over her shoulder revealed that Vodnik had gotten free of Twist’s now-useless corpse and was chasing her, knife in hand. Rage had distorted the magician’s features into an almost inhuman mask, and with his wild beard, and eyebrows protruding like two horns from his head, he looked more monster than man.