Wild Magic (10 page)

Finn could only hope that the child would have a special aura. Everyone had an aura: a cloud of color that surrounded the body. Auras were invisible to most human eyes, but he could see them if he wished. They were wonderfully revealing. If someone was sick, it showed in the aura. So if someone was different— gifted—surely that would show in an aura too? He hoped so. Otherwise he would have to catch the One
doing
something magical, and that was highly unlikely, since the child probably didn't know he had magic powers.

Finn's search wasn't made any easier by the townsfolk wanting to thank him all the time. He would be sitting by the Market Church, trying to watch the passersby, when someone would come to shake his hand or give him a thank-you gift. He was never rude, but it did irritate him. While he was being polite, the child could be passing unnoticed.

A week went by. Finn had studied countless auras, but still he hadn't found the One. He was starting to panic. He appeared calm, but his head was full of niggling questions. What if there isn't a special child? What if the rats were just a freak of nature? Am I wasting my time? How long should I stay?

And then, one day, the last question was answered for him.

His wound began to bleed.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

Three days. He could stay no longer. Finn had never been the Beast outside Elvendale, and he didn't intend to start now. Wherever he had traveled over the centuries, he had always,
always
returned home at full moon. He needed the familiarity of Elvendale around him. Despite the Beast's massive strength, he would feel vulnerable in the human world. It held too many hunters.

So now there was a new urgency to the search. Finn scanned faces by day and roamed the streets by night. He knew he wasn't seeing all the children of the town. The rich were closely guarded and seldom left their houses. Some of the poor worked day and night, then slept in locked cupboards. How could he ever find them?

Flyte circled in the sky above, hoping to catch a sign as he might a rabbit. But he had no luck either and the time went by.

One day. Two. Soon it was the third day. Finn sat outside the town hall, trying to ignore the pain in his leg. The wound was firmly bandaged but it ached constantly. Walking would make it worse, he knew, so his plan was to sit there all morning.

As usual, he was studying the children, but not as thoroughly as before. Today he had neither the time nor the energy to read every aura. He would have to be selective.

Who could it be? Was it the tall lad pushing the hay cart? No. He had a coarse face and dull eyes. No intelligence there. The crying boy? Too young. The rich girl on the pony? Possibly.

She rode closer. Finn closed his eyes and struggled to conjure her aura. How diffi cult it was today! Instead of seconds, it needed minutes of concentration, and every one sapped his strength further. This one required such effort, he could feel sweat forming on his brow.

It was done. Finn opened his eyes and looked at the girl again. His heart sank. No. It wasn't her.

“Ratcatcher!”

A shrill woman's voice snapped Finn out of his disappointment. Beside him stood an enormous fisher-woman, with hands as red as a pair of lobsters.

“What's this I hear?” she said, poking him with a fat finger. “You haven't collected your gold! Why ever not?”

Finn shrugged. He had forgotten all about it.

“
Ooh!
” said the fisherwoman. “I wish I could be so careless of a thousand guilders! You must be a rich one, m'lord! But joking aside, Ratcatcher, you really should collect the money, whether you need it or not. Those councilors are a slippery lot. Treacherous as Weser mud. Especially the mayor. And if you let them get away with not paying, they'll try the same trick on another poor soul, and he might need it desperately.”

“I'll settle with them,” said Finn.

“Good man,” said the fisherwoman. “Tell you what—I'll come with you. We can do it now. Come on, handsome!”

And before Finn could protest, the fisherwoman hauled him to his feet, clasped him in her arms, and squeezed him like a squid on a haddock. He was powerless to fight; he was too stunned by the overpowering smell of fish. Then one of those red lobster hands nipped him on the bottom and, for a second time, Finn found himself being bundled into the town hall.

“He's come for his money!” bawled the fisherwoman, as they burst into the council chamber. “And he wants it
now.
”

“Indeed,” said the mayor, his nose creasing as the woman's odor reached him. “Then he will have to
fish
for it, because we have no money to pay him.” He smiled at his little joke and glared at the other councilors until they joined in.

“You see?” said the fisherwoman angrily, turning to Finn. “I knew this would happen.”

Finn raised his hand to quiet her.

“What do you mean,” he said to the mayor, “you have no money to pay me? We had an agreement. I would rid the town of rats; you would pay me one thousand guilders. I have kept my side of the bargain. I expect you to keep yours.”

The mayor didn't reply, simply settled himself further into his deep chair. Oh, how he loved moments like this! The drama. The power. The silence. It was so quiet in the council chamber, he could hear the flies banging against the hot windows. There was a bit of fidgeting too. Clearly some of the councilors disagreed with him, but that just made it more exciting. He wouldn't change his mind.

“We won't be paying you,” said the mayor grandly. “Why should we? I only agreed because I thought you couldn't do it.”

Now it was Finn's turn to fall silent. He stared at the mayor, his violet eyes shining dangerously bright. He didn't need the money—but he wouldn't let the mayor get away with this. The mayor wasn't just breaking his promise, he was breaking the faery code: the unwritten agreement between humans and faeries that had existed for countless centuries. Faeries—be they elves or sprites or pixies or whatever—would help their human neighbors whenever possible, but they must always,
always
be paid for their work. It needn't be much: a bowl of milk left by the hearth at bedtime would do. But there had to be
something
given in return.

And even if the mayor didn't realize he was dealing with someone from the faery world, there was no excuse for hard-faced swindling and lying.

“This is outrageous!” cried the fisherwoman. “He did his job. He got rid of the rats, every last one.”

“Exactly,” sneered the mayor. “So what's he going to do now? Stand in the river and play his pipe until the rats come back from the dead?”

Finn's eyes narrowed like a cat's. He was hot. He was in pain. He was losing time, hope, and patience. He had studied a hundred auras and still hadn't found the child he wanted.

There had to be another way.

“Well?” said the mayor. “Will you? Will you charm the rats all over again?”

“No, Mayor,” muttered Finn. “Not this time.”

And he marched out of the town hall, put his pipe to his lips, and began to play.

PART
THREE

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

Jakob struggled up Hamelin Hill, cursing his twisted legs. The Piper's music pumped through his veins. His head was filled with visions of Paradise and his heart longed to be there. But the climb was proving unbelievably hard. He was gasping for air and getting a sharp pain in his side for good measure. His crutch felt heavy and unwieldy. It was made for streets, not rough ground.

But the struggle would be worth it, wouldn't it? The Piper was taking them to Paradise. That was what he had promised. He hadn't actually
said
it, but Jakob could see it in his mind's eye: a beautiful place full of birds and butterflies, rainbows and endless sunshine. And there, in Paradise, Jakob would be healed. His legs and back would straighten. He would grow tall. He would put on weight, because there would be good things to eat, as much as he wanted. Nobody went to bed hungry in Paradise, Jakob was sure of that.

He paused to catch his breath, shaded his eyes, and peered up the hill. It was difficult to see clearly—there was so much glare from the sun—but he could make out figures and still hear the glorious music. The worrisome thing was, everyone seemed so much farther away than before. They were leaving him behind.

“WAIT!” he yelled, as loud as he could. “PLEASE WAIT! YOU KNOW I CAN'T WALK AS FAST AS YOU!”

But they didn't wait. The Piper hadn't noticed Jakob was falling behind, his sister was nowhere to be seen, and everyone was lost in the enchantment. Their feet danced them onward, upward. Their heads were filled with their own dreams of Paradise.

Jakob started to panic. He had so much catching up to do.

He gritted his teeth, thumped the crutch into the earth, and heaved himself on. Sweat began to trickle down his face. It ran into his eyes and made him blink, but he didn't stop to wipe it away. There was no time.

He peered ahead. The group had stopped. Thank the Lord! He was getting closer now; soon he would be with them.

There was something more. A bright blue light, coming from inside Hamelin Hill, cutting through the rock, making a door. A door that was slowly opening . . .

“Nearly there,” Jakob told himself. “Nearly there.”

Nearly there, but not near enough.

The Piper was stepping through the door. The children were following. The door was starting to close.

“NO!” cried Jakob. He threw himself forward, every fiber in his body straining to reach it in time. One, two, three steps. Four, five, six—
aah!

Jakob was falling. His crutch had struck a stone and toppled him sideways. Down, down, down he went—
so slowly . . .
It was unreal. It felt like time was bending. He could see the earth coming up to meet him. See his crutch falling away like a scaffolding pole. See his arms reaching out to break his fall.

He could see Paradise. A slice of Paradise, framed by the closing door. There was a tree—a cherry tree—heavy with blossom. Pink petals on the ground beneath.
Butterflies!
Sunshine. Dazzling, golden sunshine, just as he had pictured it. And there was Marianna! She was looking right at him.

But the door was closing. The gap was getting smaller and smaller.

Jakob started to crawl toward it. Rocks cut into his knees, pebbles pushed into his hands, but he didn't care. He scrabbled and fought his way toward the door, crying, “No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!”

But it was too late. The door had closed. Marianna had gone. The Piper had gone. The children of Hamelin had gone. Paradise had gone.

Jakob was alone on the hillside.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

How long did Jakob sit there? He didn't know. Time seemed to have no meaning anymore. He had lost Paradise—and Marianna. They had been snatched from him and it hurt. Hurt so badly that the cuts and bruises on his body meant nothing. The pain was deep inside, hard as a stone. The Piper had gone, but not his enchantment. That was firmly lodged in Jakob's heart. And he knew that till his dying day, he would dream of what might have been.