When the Piper was finally caught, he refused to reveal what had become of the children. Many wanted to see him die for what he had done, convinced he would never reveal the children’s fate, but the Council kept him alive, and gave him the cruellest punishment they could devise. The Iron Mask: fastened around the head of the Hamelyn Piper, it prevented him ever using his abilities again, as no magic could escape it, Song or otherwise.
But it had one more function. Once put in place, whatever the Hamelyn Piper said next would be the only thing he could ever say again, unless he was to tell where the children had gone. When the Mask was fitted to the Piper’s head, the Council addressed him.
“Piper of Hamelyn!” they said. “Do you still refuse to tell what you did with the children?”
“Aye!” the Hamelyn Piper cried, his eyes at first defiant; but then his eyes became defeated, and lost, as he finally knew that his reign of evil was ended, and the world would be forever safe from him.
They locked him in the deepest darkest place within the dungeons of Tiviscan, and “Aye!” is still the only word he speaks.
For he has never revealed where the children went.
“Sleep well,” said a voice, bringing Patch crashing back to the present. He realized the voice belonged to Vague Henry, but those were the words his grandmother had always said to him as she left him in his bed.
He was a long way from there now, in this cold cell in the dungeons of Tiviscan. The dungeons that would be his home for the rest of his days.
“Goodnight, Henry,” said Patch. He stood and looked around to see where best to sleep. The corner where the corpse of Innocent Jack had lain was, for the moment, ruled out, so Patch chose the opposite corner.
He lay down and closed his eyes, trying his best to cover himself in the meagre blanket he’d been given. Rather than consider what the future held, he thought back to the past again.
There was so much more to the Hamelyn Piper’s story, of course; the quest of the Eight to catch him was, in itself, an epic tale of courage. But of all the things he’d learned during his training, the most shocking was the Hamelyn Piper’s next crime, and how close it had come to triggering another war between dragons and humans.
It was shocking, because Patch’s grandmother had never told him about it.
One week to the day after the children of Hamelyn were taken, there had been another atrocity: in the Dragon Territories, young dragons had vanished from an isolated school. One hundred dragon children, gone. The ten adult dragons who were their teachers and guardians were poisoned, and only one of them survived, managing to reach another settlement and reveal what had happened.
“A human came,” the dragon had said. “A Piper, riding a griffin! He played his Pipe and the children followed him, flying over the horizon, laughing as they went.”
The Hamelyn Piper had struck again.
When the evil Piper was finally captured, the dragons wanted him executed for his crimes. The refusal of the Pipers’ Council was absolute, however, and tensions between Pipers and dragons, high at the best of times, increased. The dragons threatened war against the Pipers. One by one the many nations of the world made their choice: they would stand with the Pipers, whatever happened.
The last war between humans and dragons had been hundreds of years ago, and the loss of life had been horrifying; but suddenly, a new war seemed inevitable.
Yet war was averted. Just.
Among humans, meanwhile, the notion that the Hamelyn Piper had taken the dragon children was treated with suspicion, as if it was only a rumour invented by the dragons to stir up resentment. It was rarely spoken of, and this was probably why Patch’s grandmother hadn’t included it in her tales.
Humans had always feared dragons, and fear could easily turn to hate.
For many people, the hatred they had for dragons was so great that they could never have sympathy with them, whatever the situation. Even if their children had vanished.
For some, having fewer dragons would always be a good thing.
It took a while before he stopped feeling so cold, but Patch finally started to doze on the floor of his cell. Then, as sleep was beckoning, he heard it: from elsewhere in the dungeons came a terrible sound.
“There he goes,” sighed Henry. “He’ll keep at it until he’s hoarse.”
“Aye!” screamed the Hamelyn Piper, again and again, deep in the Dark. “Aye!”
Patch trembled, hands over his ears, but nothing he did blocked out the noise. It was two hours before the screaming stopped.
“Tubes!”
Patch’s eyes snapped open. All he could remember was the nightmare he’d been having, the Hamelyn Piper’s long fingers creeping along the floor towards him.
“Tubes, Patch!” yelled Henry. “Come on, get up! Tubes!”
Everything came back to him. He hurried to fetch his bowl and jug, turning to the door just as the metal tubes came in through the holes two-thirds of the way up the wall. Sludge oozed from the wider of the tubes, and water came from the other. He reached them in time to collect half of his meal, the rest having joined the rancid pile on the floor.
He looked cautiously at the contents of his bowl, pushing the food around with his fingers. It was a thick gloopy mush, with gristly bits dotted through it. Wary, he raised his fingers to his mouth and tasted it, ready for the most horrible flavours he’d ever encountered, but it was mercifully bland. Even after eating all of it, he was still hungry. He looked at the food that had fallen before he’d reached it, glistening on top of the rank heap that had been there yesterday – the remains of all the food Innocent Jack had presumably failed to collect before they’d noticed he was dead.
Surely he could salvage the rest of today’s meal? Just scrape it off carefully, not taking any of the mouldy food below, or the maggots that were squirming in amongst it?
“No,” he said to himself. But how long might it be before he took that next step, and ate the maggots and mouldy remnants without a thought?
What would he become in a year? In ten years?
He set down his empty bowl and walked to the tiny window, his only view of the outside world. The sun was bright, and on his tiptoes he could see the forest on the distant hills. He would never walk in a forest again, he realized; never feel the sun on his face.
He fell to his knees, sobbing hard, and there he stayed, lost to his misery. When he heard footsteps approaching up the corridor he was unaware of how much time had passed.
The footsteps halted and the lock in Patch’s door clunked. He got up and went to the middle of his cell as the door swung open, and the first thing he saw was the purple and black of a Custodian Piper’s robes.
It was Erner, carrying his satchel and a parcel. Behind him stood a guard even larger than Furnel.
Erner stepped into the cell and the door slammed closed, the noise reverberating for a few moments. He looked around and spotted the hole in the wall that led to Henry’s cell. He walked over and fetched Patch’s blanket, then went to the hole and blocked it up.
“Do you mind!” Vague Henry shouted, his voice muffled. “I’m trying to hear what’s going on in there!”
Erner walked back to Patch. “Better if we can talk in private,” he said. “I didn’t come alone.”
Wren’s head peeked out of Erner’s satchel. Patch held out his arm and she hopped onto it, then along to his neck, which she hugged.
Patch grinned, tears falling. “It’s so good to see you,” he said. “Both of you.”
Erner nodded, smiling. “I’ve been enjoying Wren’s company very much,” he said. “Her Merisax is very good, considering how short a time she’s been learning.”
“She’s a bright girl,” said Patch. He glanced at Wren, who gave a proud nod.
“She is,” said Erner. “Virtus Stone and I have been assigned duties elsewhere, and I fear Wren would be in too much danger if she came with me. I suggested leaving her with a trusted colleague, but she insists that I tell nobody e
lse about her yet. Besides, she’s desperate to keep you company. She should be safe enough with you, now that you’re in your cell. I’ll be back in two or three weeks.”
“What about curing her of her curse?” said Patch.
“By the time I’m back, I hope to have a reply to this!” he said, and with a flourish he produced an envelope, complete with an official Custodian Elite wax seal.
Patch read the address. “Brother Tobias, Marwheel Abbey,” he said.
“Indeed,” said Erner. “I asked Virtus Stone if he knew of anyone capable of curing a Sorcerer’s curse, given how…well, you know how it is with Pipers and Sorcerers.”
Patch knew very well how it was. While the obvious course of action might be to ask a Sorcerer for help, the notion of a Piper doing so was almost unthinkable.
Sorcerers were few and far between, secretive and wealthy. They used a different, older form of magic that they thought was far superior to Songs, and so they looked down their noses at Pipers. In return, Pipers didn’t have much liking for Sorcerers; they also didn’t trust them. Sorcerers often had questionable morals and little regard for laws, although if it ever came to a clash between them and the Custodian Elite, the Custodians had the advantage of greater numbers – Sorcerers always worked alone.
“Didn’t Virtus Stone want to know why you were asking about curses?” said Patch.
“An apprentice is expected to extend their knowledge as much as possible,” said Erner. “I ask him so many strange questions, he didn’t bat an eyelid at that one. He just told me to contact Brother Tobias at Marwheel Abbey. I’ve kept my letter vague, and explained that a victim of a shape-changing curse needs help.”
“Well, let’s hope that Brother Tobias has the answers,” said Patch, looking at Wren.
He’d better, she signed. I want to be human again soon!
Patch smiled at her, overwhelmed with gratitude that she would choose to stay with him. “In the meantime we can work on improving your Merisax,” he said.
There was a heavy knock on the cell door. “Time!” came a shout.
Erner sighed. “Visiting prisoners is frowned on,” he said. “And even when it can be arranged, they keep it brief. So, here –” he handed Patch the string-tied parcel he was carrying – “the wrapping is a new blanket – a warmer one – and there are a few other items inside. They’re strict about what can be given to prisoners, so if I were you…” He leaned closer and whispered. “Unwrap it in secret!”
The door started to open again. Wren gave a tiny squeak of panic and ran down Patch’s back, her claws digging through his thin clothing and into his skin. She clung there, out of sight, and Patch grimaced.
“Come on,” said the guard to Erner.
Erner looked at Patch. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I still can’t believe what happened at the trial. I’ll do what I can for you, but…” He shook his head.
“Thank you, Erner,” said Patch.
Erner nodded, silent, then stepped out of the cell. The door closed with another thunderous slam.
Patch sighed with relief as Wren’s claws stopped digging into his skin and she climbed back up to his shoulder. “Right then,” he said quietly, raising the parcel. “Let’s see what we’ve got here!”
Quietly in the corner of the cell, with Wren on the floor beside him, Patch untied the string. Inside was one of the tiny oilskin tents they’d used on the journey to the Castle, which folded up smaller than a fist. Patch found himself staring at it. No more cold nights, he realised, as long he was careful not to let the guards see it. There was also an apple, a curious little wooden box, and a small bag of wheat grains that had Wren’s name written on it, in a scratchy style that Patch guessed was Wren’s own writing. “Yours?” he said. She nodded, with narrowed eyes.
Touch it and you’re dead! she signed, then pointed at the apple. That’s for you.
Patch smiled and set the bag down beside her. He looked at the strange wooden box. “What’s this?” he asked.
Fox and Owls, signed Wren. Ever play it?
“My grandfather tried to teach me once,” he said. “I couldn’t get the hang of it.” He fiddled with the box until the top popped open. The inside of the box lid was a game board, and a dozen little pegs were the playing pieces.
Well, now I can teach you, signed Wren.
“We have plenty of time,” said Patch, and the phrase didn’t fill him with horror the way it had when Henry had said it. As he ate his apple and tried to remember how to set the board up for a game, Wren wandered off into the cell. After a while, Patch heard a crunching sound. Wren was on the top of the rancid food pile, merrily picking up the maggots and eating them.
Wide-eyed, he watched her as she polished off another of the wriggling grubs.
Wren noticed him watching. You don’t mind if I… she started.
“No,” said Patch. “You go ahead. Is it just the maggots, or are you going to eat the rest of the pile?”
Wren screwed up her little face in revulsion. What, this mouldy old stuff? she signed. Don’t be disgusting!
They settled down for some Merisax practice, and after taking Wren through the signing of numbers Patch could tell she was distracted by something. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you want a break?”
Wren shook her head. I’ve just been dying to ask a question, she signed. But it might be upsetting for you.
“Go on,” said Patch. “Ask away.”
Why did you leave Tiviscan and abandon your training? she signed. At the trial, they mentioned bringing shame on yourself.
Patch took a deep sigh. “Ah,” he said. “That.”
You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, signed Wren.
“You may as well know,” he said. “It happened at the Trials Ceremony, just before summer.”
The trials?
“Each year, all the trainee Pipers engage in trials to show how well their studies have gone, and demonstrate their abilities. When a trainee reaches thirteen, though, it’s a special time. That’s when they can be chosen to begin training for the Elite.”
Like with Erner? she asked.
“Yes. He was chosen, and did two years of training before passing his final trials to become an Apprentice. But it’s not just the Custodian Elite. There are other specialities, you see. Those who excel in Arable Piping, for example, might be accepted into the Arable Elite. If a nation faces famine, say, or disease wipes out entire crops, the Arable Elite will help prevent disaster. I was like Erner. I wanted to join the Custodian Elite. They enforce the laws of Piping, but that’s only part of what they do. They also act like the Pipers of ancient days. They help those most in need, and bring justice to places that justice has forgotten. For that, a trainee has to be among the very best.”
And you are, aren’t you?
He shrugged. “I hoped so. Even when I first found I had a talent for Piping, I knew what I wanted to do. Pipers are mainly used by the wealthy. The bigger towns and cities can maybe afford them regularly, and the richest farmers, but for most people they’re too expensive. The Custodians were always different. They’re not paid by anyone. I mean, every Piper is expected to do their duty, do what’s right, but Custodians apply basic laws of justice, even in countries that don’t have those laws. In every civilized nation, the Custodian Elite have the power to make a difference, and defend the defenceless! If only there were more Custodians, the world would be a much better place to live.”
And that was your dream? signed Wren. To become one? Make the world a better place?
Patch nodded. “When I first came to Tiviscan, the Tutors were very excited. I showed great skill in the Piping of people. Unprecedented, I was told! It’s why I’m so good at the Dance. I could even affect myself with what I played, which I’d thought was normal, but for most Pipers it’s nearly impossible. It’s like trying to tickle yourself – it just doesn’t work. They told me I could be anything I wanted to be, so I studied as hard as I could, and I tried my very best, b
ecause I knew that the only thing I wanted was to join the Custodian Elite. And then last summer, the Trials Ceremony came. With all the trials over, the ceremony began, and I knew I’d done really well. Every trainee, every Tutor, and the Pipers’ Council themselves, were all gathered together, and at the very end of the ceremony the list of trainees selected for Elite training was read out.”
Oh no! signed Wren, looking anxious. They didn’t call out your name!
Patch shook his head in sorrow. “They called my name, all right. Just not as a Custodian. I couldn’t believe what I’d heard, and I stood up, and I shouted. ‘The Custodian Elite!’ I cried. ‘It has to be the Custodian Elite. No other will do!’ But my trial results weren’t quite good enough, and that was that. It felt like my world had ended.” He paused, then looked at Wren. “Have you ever wanted something so badly that anything less just wouldn’t do?”
Absolutely, she signed. What happened next?
“Being chosen for any Elite training is such an honour, you don’t turn it down. Nobody had ever turned it down.”
You turned it down? signed Wren, and Patch nodded. That’s all you did? It doesn’t seem so bad.
Patch winced. “I turned it down very, very rudely. To the faces of the Pipers’ Council; in front of everyone. My disappointment had turned to anger, you see, anger that just bubbled out of me before I even knew what was happening. I called Lord Pewter a stupid old drunkard who stank of rotting cheese; I yelled at Lady Winkless that she couldn’t Pipe her way out of a sack. And I didn’t stop there.”
Oh dear, signed Wren. That doesn’t sound good.
“The Council watched me in disbelief, with their mouths hanging open, as I insulted them one by one. When I finished there wasn’t a sound. Everyone – the Council, the Tutors, the students, everyone – was staring at me. I couldn’t believe what had happened! I did the only thing I could think of. I turned and ran. Away from Tiviscan. Away from Piping.”
Wren put a paw on his hand. You must have wanted to be a Custodian very much.
“It was everything to me. A few days later I thought of returning, but I couldn’t face it.”
A Darkness of Dragons Page 7