Father surged through the crowd with all the force of the Tantalus, his face red with rage.

"Heard you spoke with the doctor," he said, his breath reeking of ale. Fingers wrapped around William's wrist in an iron-tight grip, pressing so hard that his bones ached.

"He just wanted to wish me a pleasant feast," William said, silently cursing how weak his voice sounded.

"Folks are talking about you, boy." Father tugged on William's wrist so forcefully he stumbled forward. "I think it's high time you and I have a discussion of our own, man to man. Come."

Father dragged him through the crowd. "The boy's not feeling well," he said. "Needs some air."

The festivalgoers parted to let him through, casting William sympathetic glances. As quickly as their attention drifted to him, so too did it return to the bountiful food. If any thought it odd that William was being led so forcefully, they quickly dismissed it as a young lad who'd indulged a little too much in the ale that flowed as freely as the conversations surrounding them.

Only one pair of eyes lingered on them for more than a moment. Emma's chest rose and fell in quick gasps as her gaze darted from William to Father and back again.

He couldn't let her see what Father would do to him.

"I think I hear Mother calling me!" William yanked his hand back, only for Father to tighten his grip so hard he yelped and stumbled forward.

More eyes turned to them, then. Mrs. Norton paused with her knife poised over a piece of pie, the blade dripping crimson juice. Mr. Farnsworth muttered something to his wife, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

Father waved them off. "Nothing to see here. Boy's just had a bit more ale than he can handle." The instant everyone turned their attention elsewhere, he bent to growl in William's ear, "The sooner you come, the less this will hurt."

As he beheld the unbridled fury in Father's eyes, William knew with ice-cold certainty that was a lie. If he went with him, he'd feel the worst pain in his life. Then he would feel nothing, his body swept away by the Tantalus. Away from Hamelin. Away from Mother. Away from Emma.

No one would know the truth of what had happened to him. He'd wandered off, Father would say, leaving no trace behind save the footsteps that would soon be swallowed by the riverbank.

If he disappeared beneath the raging current, no one would be able to save Emma.

William ripped his hand out of Father's grip and ran away from the river. Away from his father shouting for him to stop. Away from the bewildered townsfolk staring at him as he raced through the festivities.

But he couldn't run fast enough. Father plowed through the crowd. His heavy breathing echoed in William's ears as he rapidly closed the gap between them. He lunged forward—

Light, airy notes filled the town square as the Piper pressed his flute to his lips. Father froze, his fingers an inch away from grabbing William's tunic. He slowly lowered his arm to his side, grimacing as if some unseen force was pushing it into position.

William stumbled to a stop, panting for breath as his heart thundered in his ears. Emma rushed to his side, her cheeks bright red from running. "Are you alright?" she asked.

A small squeak of protest passed her lips as William swept her into a hug. "I am now," he said breathlessly.

For a moment, William thought Emma might thrash free of his embrace. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed so tightly his back ached in protest.

"You'll be safer with Mother," he whispered, nodding toward her as she and the rest of the crowd gathered to investigate the source of the noise.

Emma gave him one last squeeze before running to join Mother. William offered the two of them what he was sure was more grimace than smile. His lungs ached as badly as his back, so winded was he by his race through town.

Despite Father's outburst, no one paid him any mind, nor did they glance at William as he struggled to catch his breath. They only had eyes for the Piper.

"Now that we have all partaken of the feast, it is time for the children to play their instruments so that I may decide which of them will join me in honoring the Lord with a performance." The Piper pointed at William, drawing the entire crowd's attention to him. "You should take part as well, young man. Pastor Abrams has spoken highly of your musical prowess, and it would be a disgrace to let such talent go unheard."

"Though he often acts like one, he isn't a child," Father said firmly. "I don't see why he should have anything to do with this."

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Some agreed with Father. Others believed William had as much of a right to audition as any of the children. All of them eagerly awaited the Piper's response.

"Did he not suffer as well?" the Piper asked. "Surely, it must have been painful to be left behind. Does he not deserve to give thanks to the Lord for returning the children you all missed so dearly?"

"It would be rude to refuse such an invitation, Father," William said. Though Father might not hesitate to argue with the Piper, he would have a far harder time forbidding him from accepting the offer that he so clearly wished to take in front of so many people.

"Very well," Father said through gritted teeth.

And so it was that William joined the children in the center of the town square with his guitar in hand. They had prepared their instruments as well, bringing everything from tiny toy drums to a lyre. All the adults gathered to watch them perform, with parents giving their children last words of encouragement from the sidelines.

The Piper strode into the center of the square with his head held high. "Thank you all for joining me on this wonderful autumn day. I can hardly wait to hear the marvelous music you have in store for everyone. Once I have heard each of you play the song of your choice, I will select one of you to perform alongside me when we all honor the Lord later today. Now then, let's hear your music!"

Little Peter Farnsworth was the first to go. He beat his drum with steady strikes, his mouth set in a firm line. Though William was surprised to find his playing had rhythm, there was no artistry to it. No heart. It was merely the same series of sounds over and over again.

Jennifer Baker went next, playing a simple tune on her flute. Though they played the same instrument, her music could never hope to match the Piper's, not with how her notes slipped seamlessly in one ear and out the other. Once again, while the music was technically sound, it lacked the raw emotional power the Piper wielded.

One by one the children performed, each as soulless as the last. Finally, only one participant remained.

"Alright, young man, let's hear what you can do!" The Piper waved William forward.

Clutching his guitar to his chest, William faced the crowd with trembling legs. He couldn't play the Hymn here, not when he was surrounded by the Piper's army. He needed to face him alone.

He needed to win.

Starting with a single strong strum, his song built upon itself like raindrops giving way to a roaring downpour after a drought. Each note sang from his fingertips with all the power of his heartbeat, his feet tapping in time with his rhythm. Not a single thought guided William's fingers, only pure instinct. This song was his as much as the Hymn was the Whole's. His essence in its purest form.

At last, his racing tempo rose to a roaring crescendo. With one final strike, the last note lingered in the vibrations shaking his fingers. Or perhaps that was nothing but his nerves trembling from the sheer intensity of his playing.

Only when applause broke out did William remember he had an audience. The crowd's clapping thundered in his ears, swallowing his song's final note.

"I think we all know who the winner is!" The Piper rested his hand on William's back. William suppressed a shudder at the cold touch that pierced through his clothes as if he'd fallen on a fresh crust of frost. "This young man and I will prepare the church in advance of our performance so that we may properly show the Lord our gratitude for all His blessings. I will see you all when the church bells toll noon."

William clutched his guitar close to his chest. If he didn't manage to subdue the Piper, Hamelin would lose far more than its crops to the infestation of rats.