Rat Song

Chapter 14

The cart Father had rented creaked over countless potholes on the way to Aerzen. Despite how each shuddering lurch jostled him and his bruised back, William didn't dare wince. Not while Father was watching.

"It's about time you took a proper interest in smithing." Father tightened his hold on the reins, lashing the ox pulling their cart. The bulky beast lowed mournfully as it trudged along the winding road. "I was beginning to think you would waste the rest of your life with that worthless guitar."

"The forge provides more steady work," William said simply. Though the words were true, they tasted like ash on his tongue. His songs weren't as profitable as his father's craft, but they were his. Strumming the strings with nothing but his soul to guide his fingers outweighed all the coins their cart could carry.

"When we arrive, I expect you to show me all that you've learned," Father said. "I want you to decide how much fuel we buy, what equipment we need, everything."

"I will, Father," William muttered around the knot in his throat. He dreaded his father's scrutiny more than the Piper and his music. Though Burdock had told him to beware the Piper's bewitching song, nothing could compare to the burn of his father's gaze watching his every move.

Only a faint rustle in the burlap sacks Father had brought to carry the supplies they bought betrayed Burdock's presence, yet simply knowing the rat had come along eased the tension tightening William's muscles. Though he doubted Burdock could do much if Father's temper flared, his presence was more than most humans had ever given him.

At last, after hours of creaking wheels and cracking reins, they arrived in Aerzen as the morning rush filled the town with all manner of hustle and bustle. With more than thrice the population of Hamelin, Aerzen boasted a wide array of craftsmen. Weavers' looms clacked in tandem as they created beautifully patterned cloth, cobblers crafted shoes for feet both big and small, and bakers sold loaves of bread still full of the oven's warmth to hungry crowds.

Where once the sight of such a large town would have filled William with dreams of potential audiences for his music, Aerzen's masses settled a heavy weight in his stomach. None of the townsfolk so much as brushed their arms against each other as they passed through the streets, with the crowd flowing around their cart as smoothly as a river flowing around a stone. There was no jostling, no rushing, no apologizing for pushing past the other townsfolk. There was only a uniform orderliness that was as regular as William's breathing.

Though the crowds acted strangely, the individual townsfolk behaved in a far more unsettling manner. One of the town's maroon-clad watchmen tailed their cart throughout the town as if he thought they would pilfer from the stalls at a moment's notice. A mother pulled her children behind her, blocking them from William's view. Despite the blood seeping from a long cut on his hand, a carpenter gazed at them unblinkingly as he sanded down a coffin even as his injury dyed the wood red.

"Quit staring."

William startled, his eyes darting to his father. "Is it always like this?"

Father nodded. "Aerzen doesn't get as many visitors as it used to, so folks around here aren't too keen on trusting an unfamiliar face." He guided their cart to a stop outside the town's general store, tying the ox beside a pair of horses with gray coats and scraggly black manes. "Strange though they may be, the people here offer the best bargains I've ever seen. Do not embarrass me in front of them."

"I won't, Father." At least, he would try his best not to. He'd never left Hamelin to do anything before, much less buy supplies. Everything about Aerzen was completely foreign to him.