Free The Pied Piper by Celeste Hall Page A

it.”
    From her hiding place, Chloe chewed her lip.
It was a great deal of money when the town’s coffers were already
so terribly low. But after a moment of deliberation amongst
themselves the town council agreed.
    “All right then,” her father conceded rather
boisterously, “fifty pounds shall be yours when there is not a
single rat left to squeak or scurry in Hamelin.”
    From the set of his fists on his hips and the
challenge in his eyes, the mayor did not think such a feat
possible, at least not anytime soon. The piper only offered a nod
of his head and stepped out into the hall, where he immediately
laid his pipe to his lips.
    A shrill keen tune sounded through street and
house. And as each note pierced the air Chloe was greeted by a
strange sight, for out of every hole the rats came tumbling. There
were none too old and none too young, none too big and none too
little to crowd at the piper's heels and with eager feet and
upturned noses to patter after him as he paced the streets.
    Up Silver Street he went, and down Gold
Street, and at the end of Gold Street is the harbor and the broad
Solent beyond. And as he paced along, slowly and gravely, the
townsfolk flocked to door and window, and many a blessing they
called down upon his head.
    When he reached the water's edge, he stepped
into a boat, and every rat quickly followed it, splashing,
paddling, and wagging their tails with delight. On and on he played
and played until the tide went down, and each master rat sank
deeper and deeper in the slimy ooze of the harbor, until every
mother's son of them was dead and smothered.
    When the tide rose again, the piper stepped
on shore, but not a single rat followed.
    Chloe stood on the docks with her father and
the entire town council. They all stood in awe of what they had
just witnessed, yet as the piper stepped ashore Chloe saw her
father fidget with his coin purse in the subtle way he always did
when he felt that he was being cheated.
    “Papa, the rats are gone,” she reminded him
softly, wary of the nearby council members’ ears. “You promised to
pay him if he rid the town of rats, and there is not a single
squeak to be heard or whisker to be seen.”
    The mayor startled a bit, as if surprised to
find his only daughter standing beside him, then his brow furrowed
and a stormy look entered his eyes.
    “It’s the moral of it, don’t you see? He’s
tricked us all into thinking it was a difficult feat. But it took
him only a few minutes to accomplish. Why should I pay him so much
for so little effort?”
     
    “Papa, you promised!”
    “Go home, Chloe. This is no business for
womenfolk; this is a matter for the town council.”
    “But, Papa…!”
    “Be silent girl!”
    Chloe looked up to meet the dark eyes of the
piper, and from the tempest she saw brewing there, it was obvious
he’d heard everything. She wanted to apologize, to tell him how
grateful the villagers really were, but he seemed to read every
intention on her face and gave her a slight shake of his head
before turning to confront her father.
    “The rats are gone, as I promised. Now if you
will kindly pay me, I will be on my way.”
    "Come, my good man," the mayor hedged. "You
see what poor folk we are. How can we manage to pay you fifty
pounds? Will you not take twenty? When all is said and done, 'twill
be good pay for what little trouble you've taken."
    "Fifty pounds was promised and fifty pounds
it must be," said the piper shortly, his voice deepening and
growing dangerous, the reverberation of a coming storm. "If I were
you I'd pay the money quickly, for I can pipe many kinds of tunes,
as folk sometimes find to their cost."
    "Would you threaten us, you strolling
vagabond?" shrieked the mayor, and at the same time he turned to
the council for support, many already clenching fists over their
purses.
    "The rats are all dead and drowned," muttered
old man Johan, and several nodded with agreement. The piper
couldn’t undo his good work, so what had