Disclaimer: I don't own it.

I blame this entire story on the English Lit A Level syllabus.

There we was, reading Kindertransport - discussing the role of the Rat Catcher - and I was daydreaming about re-reading Terrier...when this popped into my head.

Enjoy.

The Piper

The town of Corus was prospering.

The Lord Provost was a benevolent man, even if his wife succeeded in getting her way in all matters. The people did not like this woman of extravagant tastes, but were willing to overlook her in favour of their lord. Bolts of cloth arrived weekly, a new wardrobe for Corus' most fashionable lady.

When the Lord Provost had a daughter to join his son, William, the people feared she would become like her mother. Their fears however were quenched when a young girl of seven danced into the town square.

She was dressed simply, a light blue dress made of hard wearing cloth, sensible shoes protecting her small feet. Her blonde hair was tied into plats, sealed with a bow. A sallow looking governess followed behind her, eyes narrowed and waiting for trouble. Name drew her attention to her sweet breads and as the governess turned her back, the girl slipped deeper into the square.

Most looked at her critically, searching for signs of the mother's selfish behaviour, but others offered the girl smiles and kind words, earning delighted chatter in response. A man whittling was the proceedings with interest.

The girl approached him carefully, her father's words loud in her ears. "Never interrupt a man at his trade" he told her, and so she waited quietly, watching his hands move the blade carefully over the wood.

"You have good manners, small thing." His voice was dry, years of talking and laughing making it well used. It was still a pleasant voice though, and little Beka spoke in an attempt to hear it.

"Father says that you should always wait."

"Aye, lass that you should. That way you show respect to the craftsman."

Beka looked at the object in his hands.

"May I ask what you are making?" Beka said timidly, hoping she wasn't being rude.

"A pipe."

"For smoking?"

He laughed.

"For music, lass. Here, my boy will give you a turn." He called out into the shop and a skinny boy emerged. His eyes swept over her, dismissing her to face the Master Whittler. Beka stared with unabashed curiosity.

"Yes, Master Whittler?"

"Give us a tune for young Miss Provost."

The boy's eye brows rose in surprise, looking at Beka with new interest. The girl blushed at the older boys attention, earning a chuckle from the old man.

"This is my apprentice, Rosto, he's going to make a good Journeyman someday." He grinned suddenly, "and if he fails I'm sure the players will have a place for him."

This time it was the boy who blushed, a splash of red against his pale skin.

A completed pipe was handed to him, and he took a breath.

A light tune issued forth, full of happiness. Beka felt her face light up, even as her feet itched to move. The old man noticed and said;

"Give us a twirl lass, music like this is meant to be danced to."

Beka obeyed and twirled for the old man, little feet kicking up dust. The tune became quicker and Beka began to dance, skipping and shifting and giggling. A crowd gathered to watch, smiling at the antics of the young child.

The dancing stopped when the governess approached, full of scolding and rebuke. She twisted Beka's ear and marched her home, keeping up her tirade of making a fool of herself and her family by cavorting with common-folk. The crows scowled at the girl's treatment, but it was not their place to speak.

Beka was dragged home, tuning out the governess with practised ease. Really, what was the problem? Beka kept her mutinous thoughts to herself, but couldn't help glancing back to meet the intense gaze of the young piper.

Corus was in despair.

Rats, everywhere rats. They chased the dogs and the cats away by sheer force of numbers, and now there was no protection. The grain stores were dangerously low and invested, the rats had chewed away, sending the inhabitants into starvation.

Except for the Provost's household.

Whilst they too had been affected by rats it was to a lesser degree. Stone was harder to eat than wood after all. So their food stores were alright, but the Lady Provost was unwilling to help the city.

With the death of the Lord Provost the lady had become more bitter, more selfish, and not even the finest of the fine could appease her. Beka was no longer allowed in the city and was instead confined to the house's walls.

Not that it stopped her of course.

Two kitchen maids, by the names of Aniki and Kora, helped her smuggle food into the city every week. It was not much, but the people needed it. Even if her mother had forgotten her duty, Beka had not.

It was during the month of March that salvation came to Corus.

A young man, a journeyman, had travelled to the house of the Provost. Attached to his belt was a pipe and a knife, and on his back was his worldly goods. Kora met him at the door.

When asking his business he replied that he had heard of Corus' troubles. Kora nodded and the journeyman continued.

"Well then miss, I may have your solution."

Kora beamed and invited him in before hurrying to the mistress. She, as was her way, merely smiled and rose, looking for al the world a gentile lady. Kora nearly gagged at the thought. It was an open secret that the Lady had enticed many a man into her bed with her looks, only to discard them the next day.

"Welcome to my home, journeyman." She greeted him with a sultry purr in her voice.

"Thank you milady. As I told Miss Kora, I may have a solution to the city's troubles."

"And what is it?"

"A trade secret I'm afraid milady." He smiled at her genially. "Of course I do nothing for free."

"We would expect nothing less from a tradesman. All men should be paid for fine work." Said a quiet voice from the doorway. Beka stood there, dressed as a maiden should be, the proper countenance of a lady masking her expression.

"And who might this be?" asked the Journeyman.

"My daughter," the Lady replied, "who should be at her studies."

"The governess has left for the evening mother."

"I see." The Lady paused, "well then Beka, run along now. I have business to discuss with Journeyman…"

"Rosto, milady."

"Yes mother."

The mousey creature left the room, none of the old spring in her step present.

"Now, we were discussing payment." The Lady interrupted his gaze.

"Your daughter."

The Lady laughed, thinking he was jesting.

"Journeyman Rosto, if you can rid Corus of rats, you may have her."

Rosto nodded, and left without another word.

That night Corus celebrated.

A young man came walking down the street, a tune bursting from his wooden pipe.

The rats poured from the houses and followed him without hesitation. Onlookers watched in awe as the Piper led the rats to the river, and there they drowned.

The Lady was overjoyed, as was the rest of her household. The rats were gone and once more Corus would prosper. Give a mere Journeyman her daughter? Bah, gullible fool.

Through the partying streets of Corus young Beka walked, a cloak hiding her from her mother's informants. She walked until she reached the Dancing Dove and entered.

Finding a quiet corner she ordered a drink and sat down, watching her people smile for the first time in oh so long. The ale flowed freely as did the music. Beka felt a shiver go down her spine, the one that reminded her of her longing to dance.

"Music like this is meant to be danced to."

Words from childhood came to mind and Beka agreed wholeheartedly. How she longs To twirl and skip and simply to feel the music pulse through her feet once more, but it was unseemly and so she must sit.

Oh but that pipe! A taunting tune, a tantalizing tune. Her eyes met those of the piper and felt her body move unbidden.

The establishment fell quiet, so enraptured with the pair. Such dancing they had not seen for years, nor such sheer joy come from it.

The piper played on, a smug smile buried inside.

Yes, he had her.

He came to the house for his payment.

The Lady laughed in his face and shut the door.

Beka frowned at the deception.

That night, Beka had a strange dream.

Ghostly hands traced her outline and cool lips brushed her brow. Heat gathered deep inside her and she woke feeling alone.

For three days he returned to the House of Provost, and each time he was denied.

Beka's dreams got worse, trapped in that space between waking and sleeping, the heat grew. Her body was not hers to control, instead it belonged to her dreams. She didn't understand her own body, but each time she woke she felt unfulfilled and unbearably hot.

Rosto smiled. The innocent girl was his.

He didn't appear on the fourth day.

As her mother gloated, Beka felt strange.

She shouldn't have felt sad, or lonely, or abandoned, but she did, and it was difficult to keep her demure mask in place. She managed, but it was obvious to her friends that something was wrong. As much as she was loathe to admit it, Rosto's constant demand for payment had made her feel…wanted.

As she dressed for bed that night, she left the window open, hoping the cool night air would stave off the heat. She drew her blanket up to her chin and drifted to sleep.

"Wake up, mouse."

Beka shot upright.

"Well that was easy."

He was lying next to her, blonde hair in disarray.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"Not pleased to see me, mouse? Is that any way to greet your betrothed?"

"My mother has not given you my hand." She replied primly.

"But you were my payment." He growled.

Anger coloured her vision red and she turned to him, pulling the blanket down.

"Well, here I am, take me. Have your precious payment." She spat.

He chuckled at her bravado. "If I simply wanted to bed you, I would have had you that first night."

"What?"

"You didn't notice, little mouse?" he turned to her, placing his hands about her waist. "Hands bringing heat to your body? An aching feeling of longing?"

"That was you?"

"Did you like my touch?" he asked, tracing his hands up and down her sides. "I thought you did, the way toy moved into my hands and the sounds you made…" he shuddered.

"You violated me."

His eyes darkened. He kicked the covers away and rolled on top of her.

"Is it a violation if the violated enjoyed it?"

"Yes." She answered strongly, attempting to push him off. He pinned her hands as he removed his belt. She struggled harder and he shushed her in an attempt to get her to calm.

"Hush, mouse, hush. I'm not going to hurt you." He sounded so earnest, Beka stopped. "There now, that's better." He bound her hands to the headboard and sat back, straddling her hips, hands roaming down her front.

"Let me go." Beka pleaded. "Please don't rape me."

Rosto frowned.

"I won't hurt you Beka, never. I just want you to feel good."

"This is a nightmare."

"Then let me make it better."

"I want you to let me go." She begged.

"You don't want this?" he removed his hands but stayed where he was.

"I don't know you." She argued. "I don't love you."

He rolled off her, but kept her tied.

"But I love you."

His admission, so matter of fact, caught her off guard. She gaped at him.

"You don't fall in love with someone by molesting them in their sleep!"

"I fell in love with you when you danced to my tune 10 years ago."

She opened her mouth to screech at him.

"Not like that." He rushed to continue, seeing her expression. "God, no, you were 7 and I 13. No I fell in love with the joy on your face as you danced. I knew one day that I would make you mine."

"So you bartered for me."

He shrugged.

"I am a Journeyman, hardly worthy."

She shook her head.

"Untie me." She demanded finally.

"I don't want you to run."

"I won't."

He untied her wrists, rubbing the red marks gently.

"I don't understand you." Beka admitted. "I don't even understand myself right now. You confuse me. I should toss you out on your ear for trying to make me your doxie. But then all I can think of is your touch." He grinned. "I hate you for the confusion."

"But you want me to touch you."

"I don't know!" Beka cried. Really, who was this man to make her feel more alive than she had in years? How dare he make her feel dependent on his attention, and make her experience that warm glow that comes with being loved.

"Come here, little mouse." Rosto opened his arms for her. Beka watched him warily, before slowly creeping forward.

His chest was warm beneath her head, his heart a steady rhythm in her ear. His arms held her fast against him.

"How did you get in before?" Beka whispered into the quiet.

"Kora and Aniki helped me. We grew up together."

"They knew?" Beka tried to sit up, but Rosto held her close.

"Yes, they want you to be happy."

Beka settled slightly, yawning.

"Go to sleep, little mouse."

"No touching?" Beka mumbled.

"Not until you ask."

"'Kay."

He kissed her brow as she slipped away, waiting for her light snores before creeping away.

Beka woke alone the next morning – alone and disappointed. But she smiled, sure that he would appear that night. She opened the window and sat up waiting until the sand man finally found her.

He didn't appear that night, or the week that followed. The Mistress crowed her triumph and began to plan Beka's betrothal – to a man of wealth, she insisted, to someone of station.

Beka felt sick. Where was the Piper that captivated her? Kora and Aniki tried to cheer her up, but nothing worked. Beka's days passed monotonously, her longing turning to love and her love tinged with resentment. Where was he?

Corus was rejoicing once more.

Their beloved Beka was to be married at noon.

No one was aware of the indifference Beka held for the man, or the man's womanising ways.

That is, no one but the blonde that watched by the Dancing Dove.

Beka stood waiting, her white dress crease free, white slippers pristine, flowers in hand. All that was missing was the groom. He was elsewhere, whilst Beka stood in the Temple of the Goddess waiting to be wed.

That was until the pipe began to play.

It was the tune from that day in the market place, and Beka found its call irresistible.

The crowds parted as Beka danced her way out of the temple, fragile slippers crumbling on the hard ground, blood staining the cobblestones. The same tune that enthralled her filled them with dread.

She danced up the hillside, paying her feet no mind, following the lingering trail of notes.

He waited for her outside a cave, and she danced there with him, waltzing into the cliff as it sealed itself shut.

There is an alternate ending to this...it continues to what happened after the cliff shut...If you're interested let me know...

Let me know what you think!