Ninth Interlude - Part Twenty Two

He deposits his soaked passenger on the river bank. Wiping the last of his tears away, he pats the confused creature gently. “Go on,” he says, pushing it forward, “Go and live.” The rat stares at him for a moment or two, whiskers twitching as it sniffs, then it shakes itself free of excess water and scampers away into nearby undergrowth.

He stands up straight, returning the pipe to its pocket and sighs deeply. “Well,” he says to himself, “That's that done.” He wipes a lurking sniffle from his nose before stepping back into the insistent waters to cross the river, then slowly ambles back toward the town, the weight of his actions heavy on his shoulders.

As he walks, he can't help but notice the deafening silence. It's not just the absence of the noise of rats that makes the day so quiet, not a single bird is singing in the trees, not a single insect buzzes, not even the breeze whistles. Total silence.

In fact the first noise he hears is the chatter of people when he's still over a mile from the settlement. Shortly after, he sees them: a line of townsfolk guarding the road, farm tools grasped in sweaty hands as if they were weapons.

Ninth Interlude - Part Twenty One

He stands knee deep in the river, playing his jaunty, hypnotising tune, sometimes struggling to keep his balance against the relentless current. Behind him, wave after wave of rats march purposefully into the fierce waters, only to be snatched away by the ferocious surge of the river. He feels tears build behind his eyes, yet he continues to play. Every minute hundreds of lives are snatched away, bringing an inconsolable sadness to his heart, but he continues to play. Even as those tears become sobs, rolling down his face and racking his body, he continues to play: summoning the helpless hordes to their watery end.

How long does it take? An hour? A day? He does not know, time loses meaning for him: all he's aware of is his lips at the pipe, the tune he plays and the untold death it brings. Eventually, inevitably even, the last of the rats approach, throwing themselves without thought into the unstoppable torrent. As the last of them dives in, something in his heart snaps. He ends his tune, looking down at the floundering creature. Before the water can drag it away, he scoops the bedraggled rodent out of the water, to carry it to the farthest bank.

Ninth Interlude - Part Twenty

Out of the town he goes, past the smouldering embers of burnt out buildings, following the main road for almost a mile. Behind him struts King Rat, full of pomp and self-importance, utterly engrossed, the crest of a wave of skittering rodents.

Down the road they march, turning onto country lane not far from the settlement's outskirts. Further still and the lane becomes makeshift track, culminating on a pebble beach by the river. He doesn't pause nor stop, marching into the shallow waters, relishing the sensation of cold liquid lapping at his ankles. One final time, he changes the tune he plays, picking up the tempo to give the music a sense of urgency.

Wading further into the river, he feels its waters swirl around his knees, almost gentle on the surface yet strong and insistent over his feet. He stops and turns, continuing to play, in time to see the mischief leader swagger into the water behind him. The big rat strides forward, full of purpose, only to let out a panicked squeak as the unrelenting waters seize its body, dragging it away.

Ninth Interlude - Part Nineteen

He's dancing now as he moves through the streets, three double-steps forward followed by one step back, a jumping skip....and repeat, all in time with the mesmerising tune he plays on his pipe. The sea of rats swells behind him, surging and ebbing through the town like the tide makes its' way up the beach. He pauses only once, just as he reaches the edge of the settlement, looking back to make sure all the rodents are following. All he can see is a tidal wave of little bodies rolling behind him, its volume increasing with every moment as rats pour into the street. From ginnels and side streets, windows and doors, drain pipes and sewer, rats scurry and dance, chitter and prance in time to his tune. At their head marches King Rat, now taking their lead, somehow walking upright on hind legs, front paws swinging back and forth. The piper laughs and shakes his head, his chuckle petering to a sad sigh of grim resignation. Returning the pipe to his mouth, he changes the tune, picking up a jaunty march, leading the massive mischief out of town, along a dirt track into nearby woods, leading his throng toward the nearby river Weser.

Ninth Interlude - Part Eighteen

He shuffles forward carefully, gently even, making sure he doesn't stand on a single one of the rats. As he does, he lets his humming build, first in his throat then louder with his mouth, slowly waiting for the throng to notice him. It's just a nose or two at first, the occasional twitch of a whisker in his direction. But it's not long before beady, shining eyes are watching him: inquisitive, attentive. Once he's sure he's being observed, watched, analysed, he switches from humming to a jaunty whistle, picking up the tempo of the tune and adding an occasional skip to his gait. In a matter of moments he knows he has them: all eyes are on him now, full of curiosity and wonder. He continues his whistling, his shambling now more a drunkards dance, waiting for their leader to appear. He doesn't have to wait long for the mischief leader to make an appearance, emerging from a gutter to rest on hind legs, upright, watching. That's his cue: he bends over, offering the big rat an ostentatious bow. As he stands, he pulls a simple pipe from his pocket, raising it to his lips to play an infectious rhythm, dancing a merry jig as he does.

Ninth Interlude - Part Seventeen

He answers without thinking, naming a modest sum he thinks will help him survive in this world.

The mayor seems to blink with hesitation, not quite believing what he's just heard.

“Well then,” he declares loudly, “If you can rid us of these infernal rats, the money is yours. Guards!” He punctuates himself with vigorous bangs of his gavel. “Allow that man to leave the hall. Everybody else,” he says, now addressing the congregation, “Should stay here while our guest does his work.”

The guest in question makes his way to the nearest door. The guard there offers him a nod, before tentatively opening the door. Before either of them can move, a large rat scuttles through, which the guard stamps with his boot. “Out you go,” he says, “Quick as you like,” shoving him through the door and slamming it closed behind him.

Alone in the street, surrounded by untold number of rats, he begins to amble forward, humming a simple tune almost under his breath.

Ninth Interlude - Part Sixteen

The church hall explodes in uproar as he finishes speaking. He takes his seat quietly, hands folded in lap, allowing the hubbub to play out. There are demands he be locked up, accusations of associating with Lucifer, blame for the whole situation. Throughout it all, the mayor bangs his gavel, demanding an order that seems impossible amidst the noise.

After a while he takes to his feet once more, clapping his hands a second time to silence the room.

“I must apologise for causing such turmoil,” he says, “Such was never my intention. Perhaps it would be for the best if I left now...” he allows the thought to hang in the air for a moment before turning to leave.

“Stop right there,” the mayor commands, “Guards! Do not allow that man to leave!”

A number of uniformed men make their way to the exits, hands placed on sword hilts, eyes firmly upon him.

“What manner of consideration would you require?” the mayor demands.