The Magician's Vow: A Retelling of The Pied Piper of Hamelin

Part II - Chapter XVIII: Knives & Knowledge

The stranger did not reply. His eyes nearly trembled in their sockets as they roamed from man to man, as if trying to be on guard from both of them simultaneously. He did not look comfortable, nor secure. Almost like an overgrown squirrel that was unaccustomed to humans.

Arthur was still struck dumb by the sudden awakening of the man and Charlie was unsure of what to say next. It has been a few moments... Should I greet him again?

With neither of the men reacting to him, the stranger pushed them aside and jumped to his feet. His head drained of blood and blackness seeped into his vision. The two men rushed to grab him, but he was already out of their reach. His long legs carried him swiftly to the door even as his eyes were clouded over. Just as he was crossing the threshold, a little plumb woman jumped into his way. His vision cleared but the dizziness that had accompanied it remained.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She crossed her arms.

“Away.”

“I do not think so.” She grabbed his arm and pushed up back into the room. He tried to tug his arm out of her grasp but she did not loosen her hand. She herded him back towards the bed. Every time he would step away from her, she would get back in front of him. Every step her highly tuned shoes made were like sharpening knives upon his mind, grating and jarring.

After a few attempts to evade the short woman, he stood still. He had never met a woman who was so...bold. Who did she think she was? 

Probably his mother. 

“Get back onto the bed,” she ordered. He obliged. The pain was impairing his ability to think quickly. If he escaped now, he would not have a clue of what to do next or where to go. He needed time to rest, and to make a plan. He could force his way out of the room and the house, but for the moment, none of them seemed to intend him any harm. There would be time for escape later. For now, it was time to learn.

He gently laid himself back down on the cloud like bed. The room was the strangest yet nicest place he had ever seen. Strange designs were painted on the walls, yet they seemed to be there only for their beauty, not for their practicality. No magic emanated from them and it was obvious that they did nothing to warm the room or keep it cool. Pure vanity. 

The room had the same grandeur as anything the meeting house in London. But it held a warmness, a comfort that could only come from a personal space. Was this a king’s home? 

He looked at the faces around him. None of them seemed particularly grand or kingly. The old man had a strange contraption on the bridge of his nose, almost like secondary eyes. But they did not seem to do anything. They looked like the windows back in his home, yet thinner and perfectly rounded. Even the clothing they wore was unfamiliar. They looked like cages on their bodies. No flowing robes or loose cloaks. Only stiff pants, austere skirts, and starchy blouses. 

“Do not be alarmed,” the older man said, seemingly finding his voice at last. “You are in no danger here. I am a physician.” 

The stranger furrowed his brow at the word.

“A doctor. Dr. Arthur Montgomery. I care for the sick and injured. What is your name?”

“Eugene. I am a m-- a lord, from abroad.”

The older man nodded sympathetically. The younger man only glanced between Eugene’s clothing and his own. Disregarding the dirt and the cuts, the actual fabrics were leagues apart in construction and quality. He was confused, but not suspicious. If he were even to dig deeper, he would most likely look for reasons to support Eugene’s claimed, not to disprove them. Still, having a drop of unbelief in was dangerous. Something had to be done. But there would be time to deal with him later.