Anthea Sharp - Faerie Song: A Dark Faerie Tale

The music came drifting every black of the moon, winding like smoke through the dank alleyways of Hamelins old town. Come, it whispered, the haunting melody compelling the vermin of the streets. Come away.

They did: the skittering roaches, the fluttering moths whose grubs ruined stored grain, the rats who infested the slums.

And the children.

Orphans, mostly, and those cast out, unwanted, one too many mouths to feedor caught pilfering, and given the choice of the crowded prison or the call of the street.

Nobody knew precisely what happened to them, after.

Just that they were gone, those pests that caused trouble for the already strained resources of Hamelin. Better not to look too closely at the walled stronghold of the Strigosa Conservatory, whose magic kept the city clean.

Only those children trapped behind the walls knew what fate awaited. For most, it was a short life of hard drudgery. Those girls and boys fortunate enough to be graced with fair faces were quietly sent to serve in the houses of the barons and magistrates of the city. The less-pretty children were set to work in the conservatory, either toiling without pay in the workshops or tending to the everyday needs of the Pipers and their students.

For students there werelucky, or unlucky, depending on who was doing the asking.

Every child pulled through the imposing gates of the Strigosa Conservatory was tested for musical ability. Those that showed aptitude were assigned to one of the Pipers, those forbidding men and women that guarded the secret of the Calling. It was not an easy apprenticeship, no matter what the servant children thought. The Pipers meted out harsh discipline for any infraction. Whether a student misbehaved or simply missed a note, the punishment was the same.

Linnet Sheeran leaned forward from her vantage point atop the roof of the dining hall and winced as the coarse cloth of her robe scraped the welts on her back. That afternoon, she had botched the fingering on a difficult passage of notes, and suffered five lashings as a result.

The beating was supposed to keep her meek and obedient, and in the past it had done so.

But not tonight.

Maybe it was the restless energy of the Calling, or the hot autumn wind that bore the smell of smoke and despair.

The poorest quarter of Hamelin had burned two days ago, and the Pipers were expecting a handful of children at the gates. Barbed curiosity had brought Linnet to the small stair leading to the roof. Those students who knew of the twisty staircase half-concealed at the back of the upper linen closet guarded their secret closely. The roof was the only refuge they had. They never spoke of it, and if another orphan had claimed the roof, the protocol was to retreat until the first student left.

That night, the rooftop was deserted, and Linnet pressed herself into the shelter of one of the tall chimneys. The music of the Calling swirled coaxingly around her.

Stop, she told it. I am already here.

The woven strands of notes paid her no heed. She was thankful that it was easier to ignore that aching summons from inside the walls of the conservatory.

Pipesclear and highplayed the melody, supported by violins, lutes, and the heartbeat throb of skin-covered drums. It was a lullaby and lament, a promise and a lie, and despite herself, Linnet swayed to that beat.

She winced as her robe pulled across her abraded back again. Clenching her teeth, she willed herself to stillness and watched the wide courtyard. Cloisters enclosed the plaza on three sides. In those shadowed corridors, flickering lamps revealed the hooded figures of the musicians at their work.

They faced the fortified wall that blocked the conservatory from the rest of the world. There was no egress or entry except through the iron doors and barbed portcullis, which were kept tightly locked and guarded.

Except on nights of the Calling, when the Pipers magic ensured there could be no escape. Any creature venturing through those forbidding doors was going one direction only: straight into the clutches of the Strigosa Conservatory.

The gates were thrown open, and already the first trickle of vermin was entering. The air blurred with moth wings, and the darting shapes of bats who had come for the summoned feast. The ground shifted as roaches and rats skittered in from the city.

As the music reached a crescendo, the tide swelled. The hooded shapes of the Pipers emerged from the arches surrounding the courtyard. A pair of violinists moved to the right, playing a variation on the melody, and the slick brown mass of roaches veered to follow.

The music led them in a headlong rush over the edge of a metal vat filled with lamp oil, the sides slick and curved inward. When the last insects plummeted inside, the vat would be torched. The stink of that burning would linger in the courtyard for days.

On the other side of the courtyard, a group of pipe players coaxed the rats into a narrow gutter that led down beneath the conservatory. Linnet wasnt exactly certain what fate awaited them there, but none of the rodents ever emerged again.

One melody remained, supported by lutes and the thud of drums, and this was the hardest of all to ignore. Linnet kept her breathing slow, fighting the urge to slide recklessly down the roofs into the courtyard two stories below and prostrate herself at the feet of the single figure standing in the center.

The Master Piper.

None of the students knew who it was. Linnet suspected most of the instructors were equally ignorant. The Master Piper never spoke, merely communicated with music and gesture, and written missives when needed.

The Master might be stern Piper Michael, or quiet-voiced Piper Amalia. They might be young, or old, foreign or born in Hamelin itself. It didnt matter.

All that mattered was that they alone wielded the power to call the children.

Two came, holding hands, their faces smudged with ashes, clothing torn and blackened. A sister and brother, Linnet guessed, survivors of the recent fires. It seemed the rest of their family had not been so lucky.

Eyes wide with terror and wonder, they crept beneath the sharp portcullis and past the black iron doors.

Go back! Linnet wanted to shout at them. Before its too late!

But it was already too late.

The only escape now would be if some relative or kindly patron appeared to claim them before the next Calling. Meantime, they would be washed and fed and tested for musical aptitude, but no determination of their fate would be made for another month.

Then, if no one had come to rescue the unfortunate orphans, they would be put to use however the conservatory pleased.

And, most likely, broken apart.

The pain of losing her little sister ripped through Linnet, and she bent her face to her knees to muffle her sob.