Chapter 60
In the morning, we wait to get up from the bedroll until the sun illuminates the forest enough to banish the shadows.
I sit up and stretch with a yawn before pulling on fresh clothes and shoving on my boots.
I look at the two veillets in my bag. One linen and the other with rings and in a soft gray color, nearly duplicating the white one that I tied over my mouth during the Ash Plague.
I hesitate, but then I pull on the normal linen one that covers my horns.
Varrik picks up the pants I wore last night and passes them over. “Shame you changed,” he says, his eyes dancing. “These smell delicious.”
I snatch them up and stuff them into my bag, blushing all over as I remember exactly why I slept so well. Varrik smirks at me before dipping out of the tent.
I follow him, eyes narrowing on his amused face. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” he asks—still smirking.
I finger comb my hair, plaiting it into one thick braid and then mess with the thick fringe at my forehead, making sure the veillet sits just behind it. “You don’t think anyone . . . heard anything last night, do you?” I ask quietly.
Of course, right at that moment, Conrad walks by, doing up the front laces of his pants like he went in the forest to relieve himself. “Why? Was there something to hear?”
I freeze, embarrassment flushing through me.
“Yeah, there was something to hear,” Frid calls over from where he’s rolling his tent up and binding it with rope. “Your saw-toothed snores grating out of your damn mouth all night, you annoying bastard.”
Conrad loses his grin and scowls at him. “I do not snore.”
“You snore like a pig tucked in mud,” the Woodsman offers.
Conrad rolls his eyes and takes care of his own tent, and I’m let off the hook. I blow out a relieved breath, but when I look over at Varrik, he’s still smirking at me. I flick his arm. “Stop it. This is your fault.”
He rubs the spot I tweaked. “My fault again?”
“Yes. You make me . . .”
“Come?”
I balk. “Crazy. You make me crazy.”
“Sure, we can call it that,” he says with a devilish glint in his eye.
This man.
He takes care of his horse while I stride away to tend to my own ablutions, and then we all have a quick bite to eat before getting back on the horses.
Varrik tries to keep up conversation, but the closer we get to Hamelyn, the quieter I become. Anticipation has hold of me in a vise grip, and so we spend the last hour in subdued quiet.
By midday, we finally reach the bay.
There’s no longer a Plagued sign pitched into the black sand shore, warning everyone away.
This time, the bay is full of activity. A sparkling hive abuzz with the bustle of trade and travel as ferries haul both people and crates full of goods from one end to the other.
Hamelyn’s river spills into the bay, clear and clean, and there isn’t a single bloated Rat washed up on the shore.
It looks like the Plagues were never even here.
The Woodsman and Frid take our horses to a stable on Tillver Shore, and once they finish, the five of us head down to the docks. With Varrik wearing his noticeable pied cloak, the stares soon start.
He leads the way, taking us to a ferryman who’s just unloaded a boatload of passengers that go by, giving us a wide berth. “We require passage across,” Varrik says, handing over a pouch of coins—much more than the posted fare on the sign.
The ferryman gives a distracted nod, but once he feels the weight of the pouch, he looks up sharply.
His windblown face squints through drags of wrinkles at each corner of his eyes, and watery blues take stock.
It only takes a handful of seconds before he notices Varrik’s Core-stained ears, his colorful cloak, and his pipe.
“Pied Piper.” The man’s voice strains through a warble, and he nearly trips over the coiled rope he tied to the dock. “Right away, my lord.”
We stack into the ferry, Varrik taking my hand and helping me step into it. I sit on a bench facing forward, and Varrik settles next to me, while the others go to the rows behind us.
The ferryman whistles sharply, and an older boy rushes on board with knee-high trousers and bare feet.
Together, the two of them haul us across the water with their grunts of effort and reddening faces.
The boy lacks muscles, and the man lacks youth, but they get us across one heave at a time with the help of the winch and years of practice.
“Maybe you should help them?” I say quietly, glancing over my shoulder at Frid.
Instead of sitting on the bench, he’s tucked himself on the floorboards in between, bent elbow slung over his face where he lies. “If I helped, then I’d have to stand. And if I stand, then I’d have to look at the water.” He peels down his elbow to look at me with one eye. “I’d rather not.”
“Right. Sorry,” I offer instantly, feeling foolish. “Of course. I shouldn’t have suggested.”
He reaches up and pats my back. “Don’t worry, fiend.” Then he lifts his foot and clips Varrik with the toe of his boot. “But you could help, Pied Lordship.”
Instead of making a quip, Varrik is solemn. “The ferryman would only feel obligated to give back some of the money I paid him. He needs the coin.”
I steal a look at the man in question. Varrik’s right.
Past the strain, he seems proud—like he respects honest pay for honest work.
He also seems thin, like he’s missed too many meals as of late, and he and the boy both have patches on their clothing.
I never really thought about all the bay workers losing their jobs while the city’s gates were sealed shut.
It must’ve been horrible for them to be trapped without a way to earn money.
I face forward again. “That’s why you paid him so many coins.”
“I paid him the coins because he’s earning them,” Varrik replies.
My hand seeks his, and I lace our fingers together. “See? You are a good man.”
He says nothing, only lifts my hand and kisses the back of it, making my stomach grow wings and flutter.
As we travel across the bay, I watch the blunt fangs of the waves as they gnaw at the hull. Above us, the sky churns with bloodied froth.
“Did you ever get to leave Hamelyn before this?” Varrik asks me.
I shake my head. “No. I would’ve had to apply for a travel permit, and we could never afford it. The paper mill does fairly well, but since it’s only my aunt and me running it, we can only produce so much.”
“That must’ve been hard work.”
“It is, but I enjoyed it.”
He studies me, his hair blowing around him from the breeze rolling across the water. “I could see that.”
“And anyway, I owe my aunt so much. She took us in when many would have turned us away. I loved working with her and helping her run things.”
The expression on his face gentles. “Your aunt and mother must be remarkable people.”
“They are,” I say softly.
“I look forward to meeting them.”
My lips curl up. “Just be warned, they probably won’t like you—since you kidnapped me.”
“Collected you,” he corrects. “And I’m bringing you back. Surely that counts for something?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. My aunt is very stern. She never liked Theo—wouldn’t even call him by his name most of the time, and he never kidnapped me.”
“Theo is an idiot who didn’t deserve to breathe your same air, let alone court you. Of course she didn’t like him. She has good sense.”
I laugh. Maybe he and Aunt Lenna will get along after all.
When we hit the other end of the bay, the ferry jolts at the dock. The boy leaps out and ropes us to a post, and then Varrik helps me out.
“So, this is Hamelyn,” Conrad muses as he steps onto the dock with us and looks around. “What do you think, Woodsman?”
The Core fae stares at the city in front of us, and I try to see it from his eyes. The river spilling down at our right, the tall stone wall that surrounds Hamelyn, its large gates wide open. Straight through it, people are out and about, heading down the cobbled road like marching ants.
“Looks like too many people in one place,” the Woodsman grunts.
Conrad rolls his eyes. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“In the forest.”
His dry tone makes me smile.
We start walking down the dock toward Hamelyn’s shore, and people turn and look at us with wary watchfulness.
When we reach the gates, patrolmen group together to head us off. One of them strides forward in his brown leather uniform, iron breastplate belted around him, brown cloak trailing.
“Pied Piper,” he greets grimly. “Our Govern, Lord Havlon, left instructions that if you were to return, you are not to be granted entry. We will alert him that you have arrived, and he will come speak with you here.”
“I will not be waiting,” Varrik says evenly. “I have business here.”
The other patrolmen cloister closer, though their jerky movements display their nervousness. “I’m afraid if you attempt entry, we will need to arrest you.”
Varrik’s expression twinges with amusement. “Arrest me?”
The man’s lips press together, like he’d rather be saying anything else, but his tone is restrained. “Yes.”
“You will not be arresting me. Once I finish my business in your city, I will go to meet your Govern.”
“We cannot permit that.”
Everyone nearby has stopped to watch the exchange. There’s enough tension to go around.
Conrad steps up, a polite smile stringing along his face. “We’ll be in and meeting with your Govern in no time,” he says before glancing over at Varrik. “After all, we can celebrate the removal of your Plagues, which the Piper here helped with, did he not?”
The man hesitates. “He did.” His gaze flicks back to Varrik. “We thank you for your swift action.”
Someone in the crowd shouts, “Don’t thank him! He kidnapped some of our people!”
“Lots of ’em were fiends,” someone else calls back. “Good riddance.”
My hands curl at my sides.
Arguing breaks out around us, and another patrolman shouts at them to keep order. The onlookers have closed in, which means the rest of the patrolmen have too, everyone socking in like a storm, making me twist up with nerves. Frid nudges closer, like he’s anticipating a brawl.
But all it takes is one harsh blast from the pipe, and everyone freezes.
Varrik pulls the instrument away and lets his hand drop. He didn’t actually use any magic, but the note was effective enough. He has everyone’s full attention.
“Move aside. Now.” His command comes out like a rumbling clap, and the clouds of people part, dissipating down the middle.
The patrolmen slowly drift too, until it’s only the lone man still standing in front of him. Varrik stares him down, and the man finally breaks his gaze, eyes dropping as he moves grudgingly aside.
My heartbeat slams against my ribs, but Varrik looks calmly back at me. “Let’s go.”
I’m tense, but Frid and Conrad walk beside me as Varrik leads the way, and the Woodsman takes up the back. We go through the gates, while the people behind us continue to watch, unmoving.
“Esti?” Varrik says, pausing slightly on the road.
“Oh. Right. This way.”
The fastest path would take us down the busiest streets, so I veer away from that route.
Varrik draws enough attention as it is—all of them do.
I don’t want to bring a crowd to my home.
I quickly take us down a side street and then immediately down another, just so that everyone at the gates loses sight of us.
I walk at a fast clip. It’s been weeks since I’ve been here. Now that I’m this close, I can barely stand the distance.
Our group keeps pace with me, so people don’t have a chance to gather around. They watch us as we pass by, but as soon as someone calls out, “It’s the Pied Piper,” or starts to point, I take us down another alley or road.
“Are we lost?” Frid asks, grimacing as we spill out of a puddle-pocked alleyway. “Or do you always take the route of a maze?”
“She’s getting away from the crowds, you clodskull,” Woodsman says.
“Oh.”
The more we travel through the city, the more I can see how Hamelyn is still recovering from its Plagues.
Poison marks the streets and buildings in inky splashes, and there’s a stench that hangs in the air.
It’s clear that some of these alleys have been used to burn away remains recently, whether of people or piles of Flies, I don’t want to know.
But the streets are full again, no one covered in shrouds, no fish bones left as offerings. In the distance, the river runs clear, mottled with boats. It’s nice to see the city recovering, that life has returned, because when I was last here, there was only death.
It feels like it takes a very long time and yet no time at all before I bring us to my street. Most of the windows have been unblocked, the boards and glue traps taken down, save for a few homes here and there that don’t seem to believe the threat is gone.
And the truth is, it isn’t.
At any given time, any of the Plagues can arrive. So, while I love to see Hamelyn unburdened, I can’t help but worry about when another Plague will strike.
I glance up and down the empty street. “Do you think patrol is going to try to follow us?” I ask Varrik nervously.
“Undoubtedly.”
When he sees my stricken face, his expression turns comforting. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything bad happen.”
Swallowing, I nod, and then we stop at my tenement building and look up. “This is it,” I say quietly.
From my peripheral vision, I can see him taking it in. I wonder if he can hear how hard my heart is beating in my chest. If he can sense how much my nerves are tangled up in trepidation. Varrik waits patiently at my side, the others milling around.
“Not to rush you,” Conrad prompts behind us. “But if I had to guess, I’d say we have about ten minutes or so before city patrol tracks us and comes out in full force.”
I twist my fingers, feeling uneasy but knowing I can’t just leave four Core fae standing out here in the middle of the road. I lead them up the stairs on the outside of my building until we make it to the third floor landing.
The glue tarp is gone, making our doorway look oddly empty without it. I turn to the others. “Could you . . . wait out here?”
Frid looks like he wants to argue, but Varrik nods. “Of course.”
My pulse pounds in my ears as I lift my hand and rap on the door.
The wait is brutal. To be stuck on one side of things, knowing that all the answers, the relief, are on the other.
My teeth batter my bottom lip as I chew with worry. “Maybe I should’ve gone to the paper mill. My aunt could be there working. And if my mother is too sick to get up . . .” My words hang down around me, my anxiety coiling tighter and tighter, readying to snap.
And then, the door swings open.