‘Errors indeed, Voldun!’
Rouger had returned with the horse.
But along with him, the Devil had also stepped into the smithy.
*
Chapter 23
‘Ah, well: perhaps I’ve gone and made another error, your lordship.’
The smith gave a determined grin as he hoisted up one of the horse’s hind legs between his own knees. His voice was muffled, as he already held the large nails he’d be using between his teeth
‘Seeing that as you weren’t around, I’ve already agreed payment.’
‘Oh, not to worry, Volund,’ the Devil replied amiably. ‘I’d only popped in to check on how things were, er, progressing, to be honest.’
He glanced with satisfaction at the keys lining the walls.
‘Now there’s lucky for these two young souls then,’ the smith grunted as he swiftly and deftly hammered the nails home into the horse’s hoof, ‘if you’re not in the mind for taking your more usual payment.’
The Devil regarded first Luna and then Rouger with a strange mix of curiosity and indifference.
‘Hmn, ever so tempting as it is, even I couldn’t possibly take in so much all at once. As for the boy; there’ll be more than enough there to recoup later.’
‘You won’t be getting anything from me!’
Rouger glowered defiantly at the Devil. The Devil simply smiled, amused by his presumption.
‘Are those…are those souls?’
Luna gazed, both awestruck and horrified, at the small keys fixed to the wall. She had recalled the way she had used the small key she had found to give life to Rouger.
The Devil grinned, highly amused once more.
‘A key’s of no use unless it has something to lock or unlock.’
‘Then…the key’s need a soul?’
Even as she said this, Luna doubted the wisdom of her statement. She had only needed the key when she’d created Rouger. She didn’t have any soul to either lock or unlock.
Rather than answering, the Devil nonchalantly glanced over his sholder at the wall full of the old, elaborately wrought keys.
‘I must say, Voldun,’ he said archly, drawing the smith’s attention to the old keys with a slight nod of his head, ‘I am a little disappointed there aren’t more of those to show for your work. They’re hardly difficult to make now, are they?’
As the smith grunted his disapproval at the reprimand, his mouth full once again with new nails as he prepared a new hoof to be shoed, the Devil turned back to face Luna. He had that knowing grin on his face once more, giving her the impression that the conversation had really been for her benefit, not the smith’s.
Taking in the incredible beauty of the old keys, the remarkable uniqueness of each one, Luna couldn’t understand how such delicate work could be the easiest to create.
The Devil raised his eyebrows expectantly, watching her ponder this. He smiled yet again when he saw her give up in frustrated bewilderment.
‘Finished!’ the smith declared with satisfaction, letting the last of the shod hooves clomp noisily to the ground.
‘Good, good,’ the Devil said cheerfully, his tone instantly changing to one of menacing command as he harshly declared, ‘I think that as you’re done here, it’s time to be on your way!’
*
Luna and Rouger soon found themselves travelling through villages and towns where few children were ever to be seen.
Those children that were out and about tended to be with adults, rather than out playing with other children. And those of the latter kind only played in the close confines of a village or town green, in clear sight of occupied houses, rather than far away from everyone and out in the fields.
Even the children out playing in large groups were called in by worried parents as soon as the sun began to set. On an evening, houses were tightly shuttered.
‘What’s going on around here? Are the children being stolen?’ Luna wondered out loud to Rouger.
The violin played a quick, sharply defined set of chords, her way of answering, ‘Yes!’
Whenever they had come to a fork in the road, or a crossroads, the violin had showed the way to take by playing a similar, swift little tune. Now that they were passing through these sad, terrified villages, however, even her more positive affirmations drifted into slightly melancholy tones. She therefore had to set these apart from any tune pointing out that this was the wrong way by making any negative melody truly dirge-like.
Were the vanishing children a sign that they were getting closer to where the Fay Queen lived?
Luna had asked the violin this very question, yet the poor girl – for, like the smith, Luna had begun to think of the violin purely in these terms – had seemed unable to answer confidently either way.
The smith had left them a present in their saddlebags that Luna had only discovered a few days into their new journey.
She had seen it at first as a muted glow, only dimly shining through the canvas and worn leather of the bag at night. When she’d flipped the bag open, the glow had been bright, almost blinding, despite its small size and the way it had slipped into the dirt-filled corners.
It was a key; one of the minute, mistletoe-like keys that either locked or unlocked a soul.
*
Chapter 24
They had been walking alongside an incredibly wide river, seemingly impossible to cross, for over two days before they at last spotted a small town lying in the distance.
From where they were, however, it wasn’t possible to tell which bank the town stood on, as the river regularly turned back upon itself. In fact, the closer they drew towards the town, the more confused they became as to where the town actually stood.
It was only when they were at last quite close to the town that they realised it was built on a great bridge spanning the river. The houses overhung the sides of the bridge, overhung each other too, connected here and there with elaborate walkways and smaller versions of the great mother bridge.
As they trotted across the bridge itself, it was like riding through the busy thoroughfare of a city, the elegant town houses looming over them, the smaller houses ranged on top of these. The arcades of shops, of water-powered workshops, either arched over them or protruded out across the raging waters.
As in any busy town, there were travelling sellers of every kind wandering the main street and ascending the off-shooting pathways. Finely dressed gentlemen and ladies wandered languidly, the poorer types rushing around a little more, with less time to spare.
Above the clatter and calls of the street, Luna was almost sure she could pick out a melody being played on another violin. She was about to tell the girl to ‘shush’, so she could listen more carefully; but before she could say anything, the violin picked up on her own tune, transforming it into an excitable trill.
It didn’t matter, however: for the other violin had also become more excited, louder. And other violins had joined in with the tunes too, some playing different melodies yet, somehow, making it all blend to become one wonderful piece of beautiful music.
Following the music, Luna and Rouger soon found themselves standing outside a small and remarkably old shop.
And the window was full of violins, all playing as if held by invisible musicians.
*
Chapter 25
The shop’s interior was suffused with the calming fragrances of polish, bees’ wax and the finest quality wood varnish.
The noise, though, was a cacophony of stirring string movements, of folk songs, and gypsy twirls. Every violin in the shop was excitedly playing.
In the midst of it all, a small man wearing a powdered wig was trying to calm them all. He had his back to the door, so had neither seen nor heard Luna and Rouger enter.
‘What’s wrong with you? Why are you all going craz–’
He started in surprise, peering over his shoulder cautiously, as if at last aware that Luna and Rouger were standing behind him.
His
eyes lit up only on seeing the violin, however. He still didn’t really seem to notice either Luna or Rouger.
‘Natalie!’ he shrieked gleefully, throwing his arms up in the air as one would to greet a long-lost friend. ‘Natalie, my dear! I thought I’d heard you calling through all this dreadful din! No wonder all my children are so excited!’
At last, his eyes settled first on Luna, then Rouger. At last, too, the violins all calmed their playing, drifting instead into a slow, gentle melody that allowed the violinmaker to talk.
‘And these are your lucky, lucky friends, I take it?’ he trilled, rewarding them both with a broad smile.
‘Natalie is one of my finest creations,’ he began in a rushed explanation before either Luna or Rouger could speak. ‘You’re so lucky to have her, I hope you realise that?’
He must have detected Luna’s anxiety in something about her expression, for he just as hurriedly added, ‘I do hope you find nothing amiss with her?’
Luna nodded sadly.
‘Yes, I’m sorry: but I’m afraid she longer talks.’
‘No longer – talks?’
The violinmaker said this as if he believed he might be the victim of some cruel attempt at a joke. Either that, or he was in the presence of someone who was a little simple.
He grinned, pleasantly yet warily.
‘I think, if you don’t mind me saying so, Miss, that someone’s been telling you tales…’
‘Please, I really have been reliably told that–’
‘Told, Miss? And – if I may be so bold – did you ever actually hear Natalie speaking yourself?’
‘Well, no, but I…’
Had she been made a fool of by both the smith and the girl?
But why would they do that?
She looked for Rouger, hoping for confirmation that she wasn’t going crazy. But he was no longer with her, for he was walking along the shelves, strolling contentedly past the now melodiously playing violins.
However, Natalie was still alongside Luna. She dropped out of the tune she was playing with the others. Instead, she played one of the sharp little ditties Luna had come to recognise as a meaning she was saying the right thing.
Natalie had, in other words, indeed talked at some point in her past.
But then why would the violinmaker deny it?
‘Then is it possible,’ Luna asked, ‘that something like, say, a fairy enchantment might enable one of your violins to talk?’
The violinmaker appeared completely scandalised by such a suggestion.
‘Possible: yes! Advisable: not at all! I mean, it would entirely destroy the tone! Who would dare do such a terrible thing?’
Crestfallen, Luna quickly considered any other possibilities. There was one last hope, she realised, even though the man’s tone had already given her a firm idea of the reaction her question would probably elicit.
‘I don’t suppose…don’t suppose you know of any fairy who could–’
She winced as the man’s eyes opened wide in horror.
‘If you’re dissatisfied with one of my beautiful creations, then I’m willing to repurchase–’
‘No, no: sorry. Of course, that won’t be necessary.’
Rouger had made his way back alongside Luna. She noted that the violinmaker observed him with renewed interest, perhaps because he had finally noticed that Rouger wasn’t a real boy.
At first glance, Rouger could now easily pass for a human, his facial features, skin, hair and moves all having completely altered over the preceding days. However, close up, when you took the time to carefully scrutinise him, you could make out the whorls of wood, of woven stems, along with traces of the leaves and berries he’d been originally formed from.
Having noticed Rouger’s peculiarities, the violinmaker’s steady, curious gaze fell next on Luna. She felt, oddly, as if he were sizing her up, as if quickly taking in her weight, her entire makeup.
‘No, no; I’m sorry,’ the man abruptly pronounced. “I have been hasty! Quite obviously, you care dearly for Natalie. And so – look, it might not work, I’ll have to check with a dear friend of mind – but if you could drop by an hour later in the bakery just farther along from here? You can’t miss it; it lies above the next great watermill.’
He looked at them both expectantly as, with a pointing finger, he indicated the direction they would have to take.
Rouger appeared doubtful, even as if he wanted to be quickly away.
‘Yes, we’ll come by,’ Luna promised. ‘Thank you, thank you so much for trying to help, for understanding!’
The violinmaker waved a tearful goodbye to Natalie as they all finally exited the shop.
‘He’s lying,’ Rouger hissed as soon as the door closed behind them.
‘Lying? How do you know?’ asked Luna.
‘Because, Luna, one of the other violins told me he’s lying!’
*
Chapter 26
They could hear children happily paying in the small garden. They laughed as if chasing each other. As if playing leapfrog, or catching a ball.
They sounded like they were all enjoying themselves.
And there were lots of them.
Far too many to be playing in such a minute garden.
And such a beautiful, flower-filled garden too.
Of course, they could be hiding amongst all those brightly coloured flowers.
But so many children?
Impossible!
Both Luna and Rouger were cautiously peering over a high wall running along the edge of the bridge. They were looking down into the small garden attached to a small cottage that was itself clinging to the very side of the bridge.
The garden had been painstakingly formed on one of the V-shaped supports that guided the water beneath the bridge’s many arches. The soil had obviously been brought and spread out here, the flowers planted with loving care and expert design.
‘We need to get a better view,’ Rouger hissed, lithely clambering up onto the top of the wall.
They had left their horse just outside of town, securely tethered in a field. Rouger now wished they had brought the horse with them, for it would have made his climb up the wall far easier if he’d been able to swing over from their mount’s back.
The wall noisily protested, perhaps even more ancient than it looked and ready to crumble away beneath him. Fortunately, it was well supported, for the wall itself made up only a very small section of the bridge. What’s more, thick pillars adjoining it rose up into arches holding up the buildings that rose high above it.
As soon as Rouger had reached the wall’s top, however, the noise of the playing children abruptly vanished.
Now there was just the whistling of the wind, rushing through and beneath the arches; the rippling of the waters, crashing against the support’s sides.
The garden was one of small, neat borders, of climbing roses swooping over pathways as graceful arches.
It wasn’t the type of garden any child was allowed in.
Rouger leapt down from the wall.
‘I’m sure this is the place the boy meant!’ he said only a little doubtfully.
He referred to the violin who had spoken to him as a boy, not a musical instrument. And it had been the boy who had told them to look for the small cottage with the pretty garden, as he didn’t have time to explain what was going on in the violin shop.
Yet what they had seen explained nothing. In fact, it simply made everything seem even more confusing. Natalie couldn’t help them either as they wondered what the boy had been expecting them to find there.
As they tried to make sense of what they were seeing and hearing, the old woman who owned the cottage returned from the baker’s, struggling with the large bags of flour she’d bought there. As she slipped through the door, Luna and Rouger quietly moved closer to the front of the cottage, where they would be able to watch the old woman through the windows.
The cottage only had one room. They could quite clearly see the
woman place her bags of flour on a small table, then move to a blazing oven.
From the oven, the old woman removed a tray of gingerbread men.
Without even waiting for the gingerbread to cool, she opened the back door leading out to her garden: and Luna and Rouger watched in amazement as the old woman proceed to carefully plant every gingerbread man in the garden’s soil.
*
Chapter 27
As Luna and Rouger approached the baker’s, they could hear the steady churning of the great water wheel that powered the grinding stones of the attached mill.
They realised they must be imagining it after their strange experience observing the cottage garden, but for a moment they both believed they could hear the gleefully mischievous whispering of children.
Even before entering the shop, its delicious smells enveloped them completely: the strangely warming fragrance of fresh bread, of pastries and cakes. Inside, however, everything was more tempting still, with the cherry fillings of pastries shining like rubies, the cream of cakes over-spilling as if made of fluffy clouds,
After their long journey, it should all have been an irresistible experience for Luna and Rouger. Yet they felt no hunger at all.
Rouger, despite his increasingly more human appearance, could still happily exist on his diet of berries found amongst the woodlands. Luna had suffered hunger pangs originally, yet had strangely found that her hunger gradually dissipated provided she ensured she was bathed in the moon’s light whenever they slept on a night.
Perhaps stranger still, the moon’s light seemed to clothe her in an unexpected warmth, ensuring that sleeping out beneath the stars presented no problems for her. Similarly Rouger, being of the earth anyway, appeared to be in his element when sleeping out in the woods and fields.
‘Hah, here they are at last!’
The baker greeted them as if they were old friends, rubbing his hands as if preparing to grab and mould them as he moulded the dough for his creations. His skin, his build, was dough-like in itself, being pale and overly curvaceous.