A retelling of The Pied Piper of Hamelin from a different perspective

Before me, nestled in the mountains, lay the village of Hamelin. Small and
sleepy, home to perhaps no more than a thousand people, it had slept unnoticed
in the mountains for centuries. Until now. Something had happened in Hamelin
and, although not much was known about it, it was enough to bring the name to
people’s lips for miles around. The trickle of trade which brought supplies to the
little mountain village had all but dried up and the monks had left the monastery -
it seemed not even God could help the villagers.
Looking down at the village it suddenly dawned on me that I had been
here before, many years ago, but back then the situation had been different;
there had been no infestation, no rats. The stories of the vermin which were
fabled to roam its streets were few and far between, but they were enough to
cause distress in the traders and travellers who traversed these hills.
I began to descend into the valley, careful not to lose my footing on the
rocks still damp from the rain that had fallen in the night. I glanced down into a
puddle; my reflection, a pale yet healthy man dressed in a gaudy minstrel’s outfit
stared up, half-smiling at me, his blue eyes twinkling. Not the first time, I
wondered why I dressed as I did.
Tearing my gaze from the puddle I continued my journey into the valley,
the morning sunlight lighting the path. As I walked I moved my hand into my
pocket and drew out a thin wooden pipe, carved symbols decorating its brightly
painted surface. It had been given to me many years ago though I would not say
who had given it to me; for when I told people their mumbling and disproval
began. Rumour had it that he had been a sorcerer, a wizard… such people had
no place in our society - at least not since the arrival of the Church. As for me, I
knew not whether such whisperings were true; all I could be sure of was that the
pipe entrusted to me had powers; mysterious, enchanting powers. Legend had it
that such artefacts could alter the season and even change the course of nature,
but it had been a long time since those legends had passed and even someone
as apprehensive as I could not be bothered to test them. To tell the truth I felt
unconcerned by goings-on around me and therefore only used my newfound
talents to earn money, caring not for legends of old.
Almost three weeks had passed since I had heard a detailed account
about the rats in Hamelin from a reveller in an inn in Hanover, and almost six
months had passed since the rumours had begun that the small monastery town
was in dire need. Of course I could have helped the town then but I had chosen
to wait: the longer I waited the worse the situation would become and the more
money the townsfolk would pay me to clear the infestation. I was a man who
craved money and cared not for the troubles of others.
My footsteps slowed as I neared the village. Passing a lazy river, I slipped
my pipe back into my pocket (for I did not want to lose it) and began to approach
the town gates, my feet splashing in the puddles. As I drew level with the gates I
raised my fist to knock but, before I could, a voice called from my left;
“W-who goes there?”
Shielding my eyes against the sunlight I could see the silhouette of a
man’s head peering through a hatch. Presuming him to be the gatekeeper I
replied, “I’m here to clear your town of the rats which plague your streets.”
There was a silence before the voice spoke again, this time stuttering. “Y-
you what?”
I repeated what I had said, and waited in anticipation. Within a minute the
gates began to open and a man stepped into view. He was middle-aged but
haggard and frail, his skin pulled taunt across his cheeks. A look of wonder was
etched onto his face. I motioned that I would like to enter the town and he let me
past wordlessly.
I entered the town cautiously, almost as if I were afraid of what I may find.
However what did greet me was silence; the street was empty, as if it were a
ghost town. I turned around to ask the gatekeeper, who jumped at the sound of
my voice and answered, “They’ll be in the town hall, mister. There’s a meeting
today.”
He gave me directions and, thanking him, I walked further into the town,
expecting to see the rats. Sure enough I saw them, hiding behind barrels and
scuttling into alleyways; not wanting to come out into the sunlight. Following the
gatekeeper’s directions I soon arrived outside the only building big enough to be
the town hall. Pressing my ear against the wood I heard mutterings and talking
behind the door. Raising my hand I tapped twice, loudly, on the door of the hall.
At once I heard the talking cease. Also hearing a scuffling behind me I
turned around, only to see the gatekeeper motioning for me to enter. He must
have followed me to see what sort of disturbance this minstrel would bring to
Hamelin.
As I pushed open the doors to the town hall I was greeted by silence as
the townsfolk turned their heads in my direction. The universal look of
astonishment on their faces was evident as they took in my peculiar appearance
and my bizarre outfit.
Slowly a man stepped forward to greet me; his rich garments and air of
superiority suggested to me that he was the town mayor. Warily he began to
speak, his voice filled with curiosity and ill-hidden fear.
“And who may you be, to interrupt our town meeting in such a manner?”
I was momentarily taken aback; his words were harsher than I had thought
they would be. My mind racing, I sought to come up with a suitable reply. Taking
a step forward and spreading my arms in a gesture of welcome, I proclaimed:
“Ladies, gentlemen, and fine citizens of Hamelin. I have heard of your dire
situation and have come with a solution for you. Yes, fine sire,” I nodded my head
in the direction of the mayor, who looked slightly baffled at my performance; “I
have come to rid your town of the vermin that plague the streets.”
I finished with an elaborate bow, springing up to face the mayor who was
still motionless with bemusement. Although he still appeared slightly fearful of
who I may be – let’s face it, it’s not every day that a minstrel descends upon your
sleepy mountain town – his curiosity seemed to be getting the better of him. For
a brief moment he turned to mutter a few muffled words with two elderly
gentlemen – village elders or council members, I presumed – but almost
immediately turned back to face me, his face etched with disbelief.
 “So... young man, you claim to be able to clear the rats from Hamelin.”
I nodded and smiled, preferring not to pass comment on the “young man”.
Although I appeared youthful, I was much older. But how old I would not say: I
preferred not to divulge such details of my life.
The mayor raised his eyebrows, smiling cynically. There was a brief
snickering from the crowd. “Young man, your claim is very... outlandish. How do
we know you are telling the truth?”
All eyes were on me, especially the mayor’s, whose were particularly
piercing. I was suddenly painfully aware of how alone and defenceless I was; the
gatekeeper had long since fled back to his post, obviously preferring not to get
caught up in any quarrel or dispute which may soon follow. I began to wonder if I
should have gone back with him, fleeing to the mountains, letting this town and
its uncouth mayor live with the rats.
The stares I was receiving from the townsfolk were becoming increasingly
hostile; almost as if I was wasting their time. A flicker of annoyance, perhaps
even anger, darted through my mind but, biting it back, I cleared my throat and
prepared to speak - only to be interrupted by a voice from the crowd.
“So tell us, jester,” his words were loud and sharp, mocking me; “Who
might you be to enter our town uninvited and make such preposterous claims?”
There was a brief pause before a muttering of agreement rose from the
crowd. I swallowed, nervous for the first time. Not only was I losing control of this
situation but the villagers had demanded from me the one thing I would not give
them: my name. I had been asked to give it countless times before yet would not,
under any circumstances, divulge it to anyone. I preferred to remain a mystery.
Slowly, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. The current situation was
such that I did not have much choice in what to say; lengthening the conversation
or making taunting remarks would only anger the villagers, yet I felt I could not
leave this place behind: there was money to be made here - I could almost smell
it.
So, almost at my wits end, I threw back my head and laughed. Not a
sneering or hurtful laugh but a composed, quiet chuckle, which slowly grew
louder until I ran out of breath. Spinning round I turned to face the crowd, whose
universal expression of confusion would have been almost comical if the tension
in the room had not been so tense. I searched out the man who had previously
confronted me but could not see him for all the people; instead I chose to
address the crowd as a whole.
“Ladies and gentlemen, fine citizens of Hamelin,” I repeated my first
opening phrase for effect. “Before you stands a man who can purge your town.
This man wishes to remain nameless, but be certain that this man speaks the
truth when he says that he will clean Hamelin of every rat and vermin that
plagues its streets.” I paused for effect and looked around at the people. Some of
them appeared convinced by my sincerity, others were not. But most noticeably
were the increasing number of people who just looked tired, worn out by the rats;
for a moment I almost felt a twinge of pity for them.
I opened my mouth to continue my speech but before I could even utter a
single word a man stepped out from the crowd. He was old and frail, his skin grey
and taunt, his clothes ragged. “Mister,” he croaked, “can you really do as you
say? Can you really clear the rats away?”
I tilted my head to one side and smiled. “Yes, I can. You see I happen to
be quite good at clearing rats away.” This was where my formulated speech
came in: I dropped my smile and turned back to face the mayor, who seemed
perplexed by this whole situation. I guessed he wasn’t the brightest of fellows.
Squaring my shoulders I continued, “But my motto is…‘if you’re good at
something never do it for free‘.”
The mayor’s face froze, and there came a discernible muttering from the
crowd. One of the elderly council members leaned forward to speak a few
muffled words to the mayor, smiling slightly as he did so. The mayor too began
smiling, eerily. Leaning forward to address me, he spoke.
“Young man, it is the decision of this council that if you can clear the rats
away, we will pay you.” His thin-lipped smile had become disturbing, and his
voice was dripping with sarcasm. He leaned back, appearing satisfied. “Name
your price.”
I began deliberating. Too high and the deal would be off; this was evidently
not the richest of villages, but too low and I would not get much money. I was a
greedy man, and not even my compassion and pity for the townsfolk would
persuade me into lowering my asking price. After much consideration, I spoke:
“One thousand coins.”
There was a gasp from the crowd: surely one thousand coins was too
much to ask. The mayor gave me a steely gaze and replied. “Two hundred
coins.”
I struggled to stop myself from laughing out loud; two hundred coins was
ridiculously low, by anyone’s standard.
“Eight hundred coins.”
“Five hundred coins.”
I paused for a moment, unsure. The town of Hamelin was so small and
impoverished that I wondered if the council treasury even had five hundred coins.
Was the mayor bluffing, trying to trick me? (But trick me into what?) No - the
mayor of such a poverty stricken and desperate town would not gamble away the
town’s funds when he knew that I could accept it. Unless…no - I refused to think
too deeply into the situation. Brushing the doubts from my mind I smiled at the
mayor. “You have a deal. Five hundred coins.”
The mayor smiled wider, the atmosphere becoming electrifying; “But only
once you have cleared the town.”
“Of course,” I replied smoothly, my dislike for the mayor increasing. There
was something sinister about him and I could tell that neither he nor his elderly
advisors believed that I could clear the rats from the town. Eager to prove them
wrong, I spread my arms wide and asked, “So when can I start?”
The mayor chucked. “Oh you can start now.”
Confident and eager to prove him wrong, I sprung across the meeting hall,
conscious of the eyes that followed me. I chose not to look at them – the
attention might become a distraction and I needed to focus all my concentration
on the upcoming job.
 Outside the sun was still shining, a light blustery breeze blowing through
my hair. Out of the corner of my eye I spied a rat scuttling into an alley that ran
between two houses and for a moment was tempted to follow it into the heart of
Hamelin - but something told me not to. I had a job to do, and the quicker it was
completed the quicker I could be out of this town.
Instead I followed a dusty road, the end of which led into the town square.
I could see more rats here, their shadows flickering in the sunlight. The rats
would not want to come out into the sun, so it was up to me to coax them from
their hiding places and lead them. But lead them where? I mused over this for a
minute and then smiled, remembering the stream I had seen upon my arrival in
Hamelin – I would lead the rats to the river and drown them.
Confident with my newfound plan I slowly drew my pipe from my pocket,
suddenly painfully aware that I was being watched; not by the rats but by a
multitude of people hidden inside the buildings. Peering over my shoulder I could
make out the silhouette of a small child pressed against the window, looking out
into the square. For the first time it occurred to me that I had not seen a single
child since my arrival in Hamelin - but now I realised that they had been here all
along, hiding away from the rats. It was only the appearance of a minstrel that
had drawn them away from their homes.
Turning back, I closed my eyes and raised the pipe to my lips, taking a
deep breath as I did so. Slowly, as I began to blow, a wispy sound began to echo
around the square. Taking a deeper breath still I blew harder, the sound
becoming more defined and, as I moved my fingers across the five holes that
punctured its surface, sweet and melodious. Smiling to myself, my eyes still shut,
I began to play a tune.
I can honestly say that I had no idea how long I played for – the music was
sweet and enchanting and I myself had become charmed by its spell. But when I
did finally open my eyes the sun had moved a considerable distance across the
sky, the shadows falling at different angles across the square. And looking down,
I was overwhelmed by the multitude of rats that were gathered at my feet, as
enchanted as I was. Hurriedly I continued playing, only this time with not so much
intensity - for while I wanted the rats to remain under my spell I did not want to
lose myself in the music again. Turning my head I was yet again overwhelmed -
for not only were the rats silent and still by my feet, but they were silent and still
across the entire square and beyond. It seemed that every rat in Hamelin – and
that number must have come to well over five thousand (it was my estimation
that rats outnumbered people at least five to one) – had come into the sunlight to
hear this minstrel play.
Delighted, I spun around and began my slow solitary march out of the
town and down to the river. My head held high, my cloak blowing in the wind, I
continued to play, changing the tune from the charming melody it had been
previously to a brisk march. For a moment as I walked across the square I was
almost afraid that I would land my foot on top of a rat but, as I marched, I found
they moved conveniently out of my way. They were still swarming around my
ankles and I found myself glad that they would soon be facing their deaths in the
waters of the river. I could see why the townsfolk were as they were – anyone
would be haggard and frail living amongst such vermin.
The river was just outside the village gates but further away than I had
estimated it to be. A few times I began to fear that I would lose control and the
rats would return to Hamelin - but the thought of five hundred coins spurred me
on. A few of the townsfolk had come out to watch me pass but had stayed back
as if afraid of me.
It was not until I had approached the river that I began to think of how to
drown them. The obvious solution would be to find a bridge, stand on it, and
watch as the rats followed me and ran straight into the waters. Yet I could see no
bridge, and I could not afford to stop playing to search for one in case the rats
awoke from their trance. Reluctantly, realising it was the only option available, I
began to wade into the waters of the river, my feet trailing heavily in the cool
waters. I continued playing, the melody becoming eerie and sombre as I waded
in further, stopping only when I was waist-deep in the river. Turning my head, I
saw that the rats had begun to follow me, crawling sluggishly into the waters. A
few rat corpses had begun to rise to the surface and float downstream. As
indifferent as I was I could not help but feel slightly sickened and so I shut my
eyes, my fingers moving across the wooden pipe.
As careful as I was not to lose myself in the music I could not help lose
track of time. Every time I opened my eyes I was greeted with the sight of rats,
both living and dead. I began to wonder whether I had underestimated the sheer
number of rats in Hamelin, and if I would therefore be here all night and into the
next day, playing music to lure the rats to their deaths. Yet as that thought ran
through my head a deadly silence fell and, opening my eyes, I realised that all
the rats had gone; they had died and their corpses were floating downstream in
the slow lazy current. Feeling slightly repulsed that I had caused such death I
averted my eyes from the stream to the sky, where the sun had began its slow
descent. Startled, I waded back to the riverbank; my trousers, boots and cloak
sodden. There were only a few hours of daylight left for me to collect my money
and leave this dismal mountain town.
With a spring in my step I started running back to Hamelin - my feet
slapping against the path, leaving wet footprints behind. Yet as I approached the
town I slowed to a walk for a large gathering had assembled at the gate.
Narrowing my eyes, I wondered what they were doing; from this far away I could
only guess that the entire population of Hamelin, including the children and those
absent at the town meeting, had come out to…thank me? Praise me? I had no
way of telling.
As I drew nearer I was able to make out a few faces, most of which were
smiling. However at the front of the crowd stood the mayor, trembling, his face
ashen. I chose to address the crowd so, as I drew nearer still, I cried out:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have cleared your beloved town of the rats that
infested its streets.”
There was a cheering and a round of applause from the crowd, the
children staring up at me with fascination etched across their little faces. The
mayor, however, looked pallid as his face drained of colour. He seemed at a loss
for words - and neither of his advisors looked in the position to help him; they,
too, were trembling. I continued speaking, this time addressing the mayor:
“Sir, my five hundred coins please.”
There was a silence as the mayor broke out in a cold sweat. He opened
his mouth to speak, his voice cracking.
“W-why, young man…” he stuttered, “We thank you for your…
achievement in clearing the rats away…and we will not withdraw our offer to
reward you…but five hundred coins?” He laughed nervously, and I felt uneasy.
Something was wrong - otherwise he would have just handed over the money.
“But five hundred coins? You are a jester yourself - should you not notice a joke
when you see one?”
My temper began to rise. Never before had I felt so humiliated. I had been
cheated out of five hundred coins by the senseless mayor of a quiet mountain
town.
“Five hundred coins?” the mayor repeated, laughing. “Come, take fifty.”
I could feel my blood boil. Here was the mayor, suggesting I accept fifty
coins for cleaning their town - a job worth at least ten times that. Never before
had I been so outraged. The mayor, however, continued to laugh; watching my
expression with interest - no doubt wondering what trick this pied piper would pull
next. I felt compelled to bring the rats back to Hamelin to teach this man a
lesson; but I knew that was an impossible task and so chose to reason with him
instead.
Gritting my teeth, I spoke. “Sir. We had a deal. Five hundred coins.”
The mayor laughed once again, throwing back his head, before replying:
“Jester, I suggest you accept fifty coins and be gone from our lands or we will
force you out. Did you really think we would pay out all our money to a jester?
You fool.”
With that said he turned and began to walk away, back through the crowd
whose expressions were too hard to read.
I was angry, to the point that I was fuming with rage. Inside my mind I
cursed him with every word I knew, furious that I had been double-crossed by
that swindling fool. I took a deep breath to calm myself down, aware of the eyes
that were still focused on me, the mutterings in the crowd as they began to turn
away and follow their mayor. A voice of rationality in my mind told me to accept
the fifty coins and leave, but my pride would not allow that. Instead, against my
will, my mind began plotting revenge. Fearful, I took a step backwards; I was
losing control, losing sanity.
Yet as I stood there, watching the townsfolk leave, receiving the hurtful
glances they threw at me, a plan began to form in my head. A disturbing, spiteful
plan - a brilliant, marvellous plan. I, the man dubbed a fool by the mayor, would
achieve revenge by taking away the things the townsfolk valued most: their
children.
The dwindling voice of reason told me not to but it was too quiet to change
my plan. Grinning wickedly I raised the pipe to my lips once again. The first few
notes were weak and wispy, but soon they came together to form a merry tune,
the type that would appeal to children. Within moments a rustling came from the
crowd, followed by the patter of tiny feet as the children ran towards the music.
 The townsfolk stood still, dumfounded, unable to utter a word as the
children skipped past. Behind them the mayor stood frozen, his face once again
ashen pale. Smiling to myself I spun around and began to walk, the wind playing
through my hair and carrying the music back to children. Out of the corner of my
eye I estimated there to be almost a hundred children; the younger ones running
to keep up with my strides.
I kept walking, leading the party of children. Briefly I considered taking
them to the river - but even I could not bring myself to drown the children.
Instead I lead them up the path I had travelled down earlier on my arrival
in Hamelin. However I had only travelled a few hundred yards before I realised
that I could not lead the children over this route; it was too long and the children
were too weak. Furthermore I was convinced that the villagers would follow us
and catch up. For a moment I considered returning to the river, or even taking the
children back to Hamelin. The wind had picked up and my fingers were frozen
from playing the pipe; I was deliberating giving up.
Despite the cold wind and the setting sun though I kept playing, blowing
into the pipe with increasing ferocity. The notes were coming out clearer and
more melodic than they had ever done before and I could feel myself falling
under the spell of the music. Using all my willpower I snapped out of it. My mind
was still ablaze with deliberation over what to do next, and I needed to keep my
concentration.
Suddenly I was hit by a flash of inspiration. Before me the path turned
sharply left at the foot the mountain - but straight ahead lay a sheer rock face. I
began to remember the legends surrounding the pipe…that it could change
nature, move water, fire and stone…
The itching curiosity began to grow inside me and I knew that I had to find
out if the old tales were true. Slowing my strides until I came to a stop I
concentrated on the melody the pipe was weaving, almost begging it to… what? I
racked my brains and thought about the current situation. The townsfolk would
soon catch up with me and possibly hurt or kill me so I needed somewhere to
hide, and I wouldn’t give up the children; my pride simply wouldn’t allow it. A plan
began to form in my mind. I would use the powers of the pipe to create a cave in
the mountain and hide the children there before leading them…where? That was
a matter for tomorrow.
Gleefully, my anger beginning to ebb, I began to weave a tune, willing the
stone to change. The children were dancing around me, distracting me, so I
closed my eyes, this time letting myself get lost in the music.
I was brought back to consciousness by a young boy tugging at my
sleeve. Startled I opened my eyes, seeing before me large spacious cavern.
Astonished, I lowered the pipe, my mouth dropping open; the children laughed at
my comical expression.
My anger all but gone, I laughed with them. I had always been lonely,
travelling by myself; the company of these children was welcome. I was already
regretting taking these children away from their home, but knew I could not go
back; not only would the townsfolk slaughter me, but my pride would not allow it.
No, I had made my choice and now had a hundred children to look after.
 A few children, the younger ones, had begun to cry. Feeling sorry for them
I began to play a lullaby. Shivering, I noticed that the sun had all but gone; it was
night time. I imagined the people of Hamelin would have sent out search parties -
and that if we remained out here it would only be a matter of time before they
tracked us down. Sighing, I changed the tune from a lullaby to a march and, with
moonlight shining on my shoulders, I began lead the children into the cave.
The people of Hamelin never saw their children again.