Rat Song

Chapter 8

"You spoke." William barked out a laugh, the fire poker weighing heavily in his hand as he held it aloft. "Lord above, my ears must be deceiving me."

"I can assure you they are not," the rat said, its voice quiet and raspy as if it hadn't been used in years. "I can speak as well as you can. All of the children of the Whole learn your language as pups, though we much prefer our own tongue."

So there were more rats wherever this one came from, and they all talked. If he told anyone else in Hamelin, they'd think him mad. Perhaps he was, but if what the creature had said about knowing what was wrong with his sister was true, this could be his only chance to find out what was troubling her. "What do you know about Emma?"

"Is that how you humans ask for aid?" The rat bared its teeth. "You have yet to ask me my name, and you continue to threaten me with your weapon."

William lowered the poker but kept a firm grip on the metal. He never would have expected to negotiate with a rat, but if that was what he had to do to keep Emma safe, he would do it without question. "Alright, what is your name?"

"My true name is not something you would be able to understand, but you can call me Burdock." The rat twitched its ears. Now that he was no longer baring his teeth, he almost resembled one of Emma's many stuffed animals hidden inside her toy chest. Perhaps that was where he hid during the day, slumbering among a nest of untouched toys. "I have lived in this town for most of my life, and based on what I have seen, your sister is in grave danger."

"Why should I trust you when you are in danger yourself?" William glanced at the poker in his hand, the ash-coated metal perfect for ending a rodent's life with one quick blow. "I have you cornered, and what would a rat know about my sister?"

"I know far more about Emma and the rest of your family than you would be comfortable with, William." His hair stood on end at the realization that Burdock knew his name as the rat continued speaking. "Your mother always placed the flowers your sister brought her in a vase even though they were often naught but weeds. You sing your troubles to the rushing waters where none may hear you weep. Your father..."

Burdock paused. His whiskers drooped. "Your father fills your heart with pain and fear."

There was something in the rat's eyes that forced William to look away. He did everything in his power to hide those parts of himself, yet this vermin saw through him as clearly as if he was made of glass. Was he truly so pathetic that a mere rodent would take pity on him?

"Your family is broken," Burdock said quietly. "If my suspicions are correct, someone has slipped through the cracks to harm your sister."

Unease squirmed in William's gut like snakes slithering through the fields. His grip on the poker tightened as he pointed it at the rat. "I swear if you don't tell me who's hurting Emma, I'll—"

A shrill squeak pierced the air. "You will what? Kill the only one who can help you save her?" Burdock lashed his tail, not bothering to move out of William's reach. "Put down your weapon. Now."

William held his gaze. There was nothing remotely human in those cold black eyes. Nothing that gave him any reason to treat this rat differently from any of the others save his rough, gravelly voice. "How can I be sure I can trust you?"

Burdock flicked his whiskers. "You cannot know you can trust me any more than I can know I can trust you, but when has anyone else ever believed you when you tried to get help?"

He was only talking about Emma. He had to be. Yet after many years of pouring his sorrows into his songs, William finally felt like someone had heard him.

"Alright," William said, placing the poker on the floor and stepping away from the sharp metal. "Now will you tell me what you know about what's wrong with Emma?"

"You would not believe me if I told you, so I need you to test my theory. Are you able to gather your sister and some of the other children somewhere away from town? Somewhere the adults will not follow you?"

"Why would we need to get them away from everyone?" The last time anyone had let the children out of their sight, no one had seen them again for a whole year.

"Because if we reveal the truth to the rest of Hamelin too soon, the children will be taken away again, and this time they will not come back."

A heavy weight settled in William's stomach. He would never forgive himself if he lost his sister again, and Mother had already faced far too much grief as it was. "I should be able to take Emma and a couple of the other children to gather kindling in the forest. We can always use more wood for winter, and it shouldn't be too hard to find somewhere far enough from town for us to be alone for a while."

"That should do nicely." Burdock began pacing across the floor, his tiny claws clicking against the wood. "You will also need to bring your guitar."

William snorted incredulously. "Why in the Lord's name would I need that?" His music could do little more than amuse the children, assuming they still cared to listen to it at all.

"Did you hear anything the night the children disappeared?"

"I think I dreamt something." William squinted as he struggled to recall those phantom notes that had haunted his dreams for so long. "There was this song I heard in the middle of the night. It felt like it was calling me away. Promising me it would keep me safe for the rest of my life." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I wish whatever it was took me instead of Emma."

Burdock blinked. "You heard the Hymn of the Whole, yet you resisted its pull? Not many could manage such a feat, especially not one so young by your kind's standards."

William's muscles tensed. "What is the Whole?" If it was harming Emma, he'd do everything in his power to destroy it.

"It is everything," Burdock said firmly. "But the Hymn is not to be trifled with. I witnessed it when I was a mere pup, and..." The rat did not, or could not, finish that sentence. It merely trembled from nose to tail.

His fear may have seemed absurd to someone who hadn't heard the Hymn, but the mere memory of what he remembered of the song made goosebumps rise along William's arms. Only his unwillingness to abandon Emma and his mother had prevented him from leaving his bed in pursuit of its promises, yet he still found himself drawn to those beguiling notes. His fingers longed to tease the notes from his guitar, chasing them until he found the answers he sought. "If I play this Hymn, will it save Emma?"

"Not right away, but it is the only way for us to be truly sure what ails your sister. Once we confirm if my theory is true, we will know how best to help her. " The rat sniffed the air as if it was searching for a hidden predator. "I must warn you that playing the Hymn is dangerous. One false note could have disastrous consequences. Are you willing to take that risk?"

"I'd do anything to protect Emma." The answer left William's lips before he had time to think. He didn't need to. No matter what happened, he would do everything in his power to keep his sister safe and happy.

"Your determination to protect your sister is admirable," Burdock said, baring its teeth in what William could only assume was a sharp imitation of a smile. "Very well. Play the Hymn of the Whole, and you shall see what ails the children."

"I've been trying to play the song for months, but I only remember bits and pieces." No matter how many times he tried to recreate the frantic staccato, his fingers fumbled over the strings and left him with nothing but noise.

"The Hymn of the Whole must be played with the heart, not the head. Follow the flow of the notes you remember, and the rest will come to you of its own accord." Burdock said. "Only remember this: if you play a foul note, there will be consequences."

A chill ran down William's spine. After how the children had hurt Baron, there was no telling what they might do. "How will we know if your theory is correct?"

"All will become clear once they hear the Hymn," Burdock said. "I will find you after you play for the children. Do not look for me."