Magic at Midnight
Page 23
“I did. Simple and appropriate.”
Appropriate? Did he really still feel that way? “Go on.”
“Early on the morning of June twenty-sixth, the day of John and Paul, I left my family’s graves and entered the house. These clothes you see me wearing, they were fashioned by my daughter. She loved the bright colors and I’d wear them on occasions that we chose to celebrate. In honor of her, I put them on. Then, I took my pipe and walked to town. It was a little before midday when I arrived, and the adults were in the cathedral for their celebration, as I knew they would be. So, like I had previously, I started playing my pipe as I walked the streets.”
“But not to attract rats.”
“No, to attract the children of rats.” He did not smile at his little joke.
“So your pipe does not just work on animals, but humans too?”
“Humans are animals.”
I took that as a yes.
The Piper continued, “After I walked through the entire city and reached the west gate, I turned around and saw a large number of children. At seeing them, for a brief moment, I questioned what I was doing. But the fresh thought of burying Abigail solidified my resolve.”
I did not want to hear the next part, but knew I was obligated to. I clenched my jaw tightly as he continued.
“I proceeded back to the river Weser and entered. And then…then they were all gone.”
My stomach grew ill at the thought of it. It was an unthinkable atrocity.
What I wanted to know then was how he felt about it. I asked, “Do you know how many children you drowned that day?”
He shook his head, showing no obvious emotion.
“One hundred thirty. I thought you should know.”
His eyes narrowed for a moment and then became thoughtful. He finally said, “Thirty, one hundred thirty, or one thousand thirty, it makes no difference now. My fate would be the same.”
What he said was probably true, but I wanted him to know. I wanted to see his reaction. I hoped for a glimpse of remorse, but I did not see it. Even now, after several days had passed and the raging impulses that had led to his actions had had a chance to cool, he still seemed unfazed. I grew angry at his lack of emotion. I asked, “Did it help? What you did, did it help you?”
“A little.”
“How?” I pleaded, not understanding his reasoning. “Yes, the town did something awful to you and your daughter. But to turn around and do something so awful in return…I can’t justify your actions.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
I wanted to understand. “But what did you gain? Two wrongs don’t make a right!”
“Possibly. But, in my case, two wrongs make a lesson.”
“A lesson?” I could not believe his words.
“Yes, Herr Steinhauser!” he said, growing angry. “A lesson! I think it’s safe to say that no one in the town will ever treat someone the way they treated me again. And, as word of this account spreads—as I’m sure it will—others will think twice before acting so cruelly toward one who is so desperate.”
His eyes bore into mine, but I didn’t avert my gaze. I met his stare with equal fervor at that impasse of justification. After several seconds, the Piper gave a small smile and said, “And this is why I must die; you’re looking inside me for remorse, but there is none to be found.”
What argument could I make? If he had no pity, no remorse, I couldn’t disagree with his conclusion of death. He would be executed, regardless of his feelings, but I’d wanted to see if there was redemption of any sort possible. I saw none.
Disappointed at his lack of feelings, I continued, “Let us now talk about your capture.”
viii.
“Where did the men of town find you?”
“At my home, sitting graveside.”
“You didn’t try to hide or run?”
He shook his head. “I no longer cared what happened to me.” He then laughed. “Still don’t, for that matter.”
“Are you aware how the town knew that it was you who was the perpetrator?”
His eyes narrowed for a moment and then he shook his head. “I can’t say I gave it much thought.”
I explained, “You mentioned earlier that you thought that the children around here were gone. That is, in fact, not true. There were three young ones who survived. One was blind, so although he heard your music, he was unable to follow. Another could not walk, so he too was unable to follow.”
“The third?”
“A deaf child who could not hear your pipe. However, the first two were enough. Their accounts of a pied piper leading the children away made it clear that you were the villain the people sought.”
Leaning back, the prisoner said, “In truth, I never really questioned that the town would know it was me. In fact, it is important that they were aware of it.”
“Because of your lesson?”
A single nod.
“When the men came for you, did you say anything to them?”
“No. I was ready to be taken in. That, however, didn’t stop them from applying a vigorous beating.”
I was a little surprised, but probably shouldn’t have been. It was likely that several of the men who’d arrested him were also newly bereaved parents.
The Piper went on, “When they finished, they bound my hands together, and then tied me with a lead to one of their horses. It was a painful journey back to town. Walking hurt from my new wounds. Keeping pace with the horse was difficult, and when I couldn’t keep up, I would fall and be dragged. Eventually they would stop to allow me to get back to my feet, but never before I’d been dragged a long while.”
“And when you arrived at town?”
“I was met by the mayor and his council outside of the prison. There was pain and hatred in their glares. I found it satisfying. Then, as word quickly spread that I’d been captured, a mob began to form, people shouting, spitting, wanting to kill me on the spot.”
I could not imagine what it would be like to be in that position. I asked, “Were you frightened?”
“Not at all. In fact, I yelled back at them with equal venom.”
“You did what?” I exclaimed.
He smiled. “I yelled at the crowd. I screamed ‘It is your fault!’ over and over. That, of course, only incensed them all the more. My captors, no doubt, saved my life by bringing me inside the prison and locking me in this cell.”
This prisoner before me had stated that I couldn’t possibly understand him or his actions, that I was too young and did not know love. I started to believe, to hope, that no one could truly understand him—regardless of age or experience. The Pied Piper was as unique as he was terrible.
“Have you had any visitors since that time?” I asked, knowing we were nearing the end of our conversation.
He shook his head. “None. Well, except for you.”
With his story finished, we looked at each other quietly for some time. My gaze was not really on him, but lost in the distance as my mind went over all the things I’d just heard: the amazing, the sad, and the heinous. When finally satisfied with my thoughts, as much as I could be for such a horrific account, I asked one last question. “Is there anything else you think I should know or want to say?”
The Pied Piper thought for a moment, shook his head, and answered, “I’m done.”
Done with his story or done with his life? Probably both, but I didn’t ask.
I stood and called out, “Guard, I’m ready.” I turned to the prisoner and looked at the man sitting there. Although I hated what he’d done—completely unforgivable—I could not help but feel a little sorry for him. His world was smashed through no fault of his own, and, in his utter despair, he’d acted out egregiously.
The guard unlocked the cell door and, as I was walking through it, I stopped, turned, and asked, “What happened to the pipe?”
The prisoner looked at me and said nothing, but I swore I saw a smile touch the edge of his lips.
♛
For my part, I watched; was satisfied that justice was done; but I did not cheer.
About the Author
Mark C. King is an easy-going writer with a talent for finding enjoyment in most any situation. He’s a lifelong reader whose literary interests include science fiction, adventure, thriller, and mysteries. He grew up in California, but now lives in upstate New York with his wife. When not working or writing, he can be found watching movies, kayaking, associating with friends, and of course reading.
Books by Mark C. King:
The Book Reapers
Carousel of Faults (The Book Reapers, Book 2)
The Goose Girl and the Artificial
a retelling of The Goose Girl
♛
K.M. ROBINSON
“You don’t have a choice,” Arta sneers. “You lost your key. You have no control over me, and, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m designed to be smarter than you.”
I trail behind Arta as she walks away from Fal, my dress swishing behind her as she moves, and remember what my father always warned me about dealing with enemies: If they’re smarter than you, they will know how to stay on top. If they aren’t, you can beat them at their own game.
Arta is right—she's definitely smarter. She was created that way.
“Behave.” I tap Fal on the head. He beeps quietly, slipping into sleep mode.
“Greetings,” a man sings, walking swiftly toward us. “Thank you for making the journey. My son has been waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Arta dips gracefully into a curtsy. “This is my Artificial.” She waves her hand at me.
“What might your name be?” the king asks.
“Goselyn, sir,” I say softly. Arta waves a finger behind her back, reminding me to follow orders.
Artificials aren’t required to bow to humans, so I hold my pose. There are a lot of things I’m going to have to remember to do now.
“Come along, ladies.” The king turns, guiding us toward the massive palace.
Panels along the hallway walls mimic exterior windows, morphing into different scenes based on the king’s biometric readings. The key around his neck reads his movements and controls the technology around him, including the settings on the fake windows.
A door slides open in front of us, courtesy of the key, revealing a stunning parlor. The walls are covered in red and gold tapestries—a stark contrast to the purple and silver in my own palace.
“Princess,” a young man says, jumping to his feet as he sets down the book he had been reading. “Thank you for coming all this way to handle the proposal.” This must be the prince of Delare. I’ve never seen him before, just as he’s never seen me. The prince isn’t bad-looking. His height surprises me a little, since I had heard all of Delare was on the short side. I’ve been told he’s rather brilliant, but I suppose I’ll never find out now.
Arta nods graciously to him.
“I think this will be a productive visit for us,” she remarks, gathering her long skirt—my skirt—in her hand. “I'd like to freshen up after our journey if you don't mind. Perhaps we could begin our negotiations this evening?"
In Untae, each royal prince and princess is required to work with another country to create a proposal to take to the reigning monarchs between the countries. My job as princess of Sylvane is to work with the prince of Delare on the terms of the proposal we will be offering to our parents to sign with each other—or it would have been if Arta hadn’t interfered. I try not to wrinkle my nose at her in disgust.
“Certainly, Princess Sylvane.” He nods at Arta, referring to her by my official title. Customarily, the royals of Untae are referred to by our stations and countries as a way of identification. Outside of our own countries, people rarely know our first names.
“You may call me ‘Arta,’” my Artificial informs him as she swings around more gracefully than I ever could before waltzing away. When I don’t follow, she snaps my name to get me to move.
We follow a short silver robot down several halls and up two flights of stairs before we step into Arta’s room. Red floral curtains are drawn back to reveal the gardens in back of the palace.
“You may go,” she says, dismissing the robot. It scurries back to its home base until it is needed again. “This is lovely… I can’t wait to see it burn.”
“They’re going to figure this out, Arta,” I protest. Her short dress around my calves frustrates me. In Sylvane, we distinguish humans from our creations-enhanced-with-artificial-intelligence by wardrobe—though I’m considering changing that rule once I take over if this is what they have to suffer through every day. Then again, they can’t feel the sensation of uncomfortable clothing, so perhaps that shouldn’t be the first decision I make as a ruler. If I ever become a ruler.
“They won’t have time to figure it out, Goselyn,” she says. “You yourself didn’t realize what I was doing until after I had taken your key away. Do you really think a boy like that will figure out our plan? They’re as easily replaced as you are—and just as unfit to preside over the countries of Untae.”
She sits on the bed, looking me over. “Your cousin has a plan, Goselyn. Your kind cannot withstand it. The shepherd will keep this country functioning alongside Kenneth.”
My cousin Kenneth programs many of the palace Artificials. His work offers him access and power, but it’s never been enough for him. I just didn't realize the lengths he was willing to go to until it was too late.
“By destroying this proposal?” I glare at her.
“We don’t need Sylvane and Delare working together on this. Let’s face it—neither country makes the best decisions,” she reminds me. “Now go sit.”
I make my way to the corner, settling on the small sofa where I’ll be sleeping for the length of our stay.
“Don’t get any ideas about warning them, either,” Arta snaps. “You know I have your key—I can control anything I want back in Sylvane. Don’t forget, your cousin is also monitoring the situation. He has eyes everywhere—even here. Your mother is only safe as long as you cooperate. He will know the second you step out of line.”
I wonder just how much control Kenneth might have been able to secure here. My cousin shouldn’t have been able to override the settings of my Artificial, who had been programmed by my mother directly, but he has. If he could do that, he may have found a way to get control here too, even though it’s been banned by the laws governing Untae—our countries have such a rocky relationship that we keep to ourselves unless we’re forced to engage through something like this proposal.
“I understand the terms,” I growl at my Artificial. “I’ll pretend to be you and let you destroy my reign in order to save my mother.”
I glance down at the marble floor with its intricate pattern swirling into twists and turns. If only I could return home.
“Ridiculous diplomatic mission,” I mumble under my breath. “I couldn’t have just stayed home. No, I had to go and be the problem-solver and do my duty, traipsing off to a far-off country to fulfill a silly little requirement before I can eventually take over the throne.”
While being a princess has its perks, following the laws of our land in order to transition to the throne when my mother eventually retires seems to take a lot of unnecessary work early on in life. Perhaps this is another thing I should consider changing in a decade or two so my children don’t have to travel to far-off lands to create treaty proposals—Sylvane and Delare are doing just fine ignoring each other. Although, I suppose it’s good practice and helps to develop relationships between the would-be rulers—and we may need their support someday against one of our shared enemies—so perhaps it should remain in place.
&nbs
p; A knock sounds at the door. We both turn. Arta slices her hand through the air, motioning me to the door—I’m the servant now.
I open the door. An Artificial stands outside holding a tray with a pitcher of water and two glasses. He steps inside and places it on the table.
“Prince Corinth will meet with you in half an hour downstairs in his office, Princess Sylvane.” He nods to Arta, then turns to me. “You may come with me if the princess is no longer in need of your services.”
His hair is shockingly short, exposing the control panel on his neck—our Artificials all have longer hairstyles to cover the panels. While Artificials are similar in our countries, their internal workings are slightly different to match the programming of their designers. While he looks exactly like a human, the Artificial in front of me has been created to work in the palace, assisting the king. Typically, this would be a job for a robot designed to do less intellectual jobs, but sending a higher-functioning Artificial to interact with the foreign princess is a sign of respect.
“You may go, Goselyn. Do whatever they ask you to do and don’t get in the way.”
The Artificial leads me downstairs and out of the palace as I fret over why Arta was so quick to dismiss me. Outside, the palace grounds are covered in flowers and stonework. Paths swirl as far as the eye can see. The Artificial leads me beyond the stables, toward the fountain.
“We don’t have any real need for you, but you can assist here,” he says, gesturing toward the lake. “The lake grounds are meant for enjoyment. The swans and geese are only permitted to get so close to the waterfront. You need to monitor the birds and keep them in their respective areas.”
I nod, completely terrified. I have no idea how to keep large birds at bay.
“Gand is in charge here. Speak to him if you need anything.”
A tall Artificial walks up to me imposingly. An Artificial would not flinch, so I command my body to be still.