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By Root 1063 0

or occasionally even the flute as it was still known back then, before some enterprising soul came along later and decided all true flutes should be turned sideways to play. Mother Piper though never had a knack for playing any sort of wind instrument, but instead found herself gifted at playing just about everything else. While Johannes, Max and Peter would weave intricate melodies with their three flutes, madly sweeping and swooping in and out of one daring harmony after another, Mother, whose name was Beatrice (thank you for asking), would accompany them on a skin drum for one song, or strum along on her lute for another, and then deftly switch to a lovely and resonant wooden xylophone — the pride of all her personal possessions — for yet a third. Or she’d ring bells, or crash cymbals, and generally find some way to coax music out of anything that could be struck, strummed, picked, thumped, whacked or plucked.

The family had no home, except for their wagon. They lived the life of happy vagabonds, traveling here and there, throughout the year, going to festivals and fairs, and every other sort of scheduled celebration, where they’d make their living by letting anyone call the tune, provided they were willing to pay the Pipers.

On this particular day, when the autumn leaves were just beginning to flirt with a change of dress, they were on their way to their favorite venue of the year, the harvest festival which would take place in Old Winsen Town just two days hence. It wasn’t the quality of the celebration that attracted them, though it was certainly one of the nicer ones, nor was it any aspect of the town itself, which seemed in every measurable way a pleasant town indeed. No, it was the stop along the road that they would make later this afternoon, provided Bonny Lumpen could keep up her pace and no unforeseen hazards blocked their path.

Every year, on their way to the fair the Pipers would stop the night before at the country estates of Squire Radulf Peep, a gentleman farmer of local renown, husband to Cresentia, and father to Arianne, Agathe, Brigitte, Dorthe, Elfride, and Esmerault, or as young Peter once called them on a previous visit, “An entire flock of daughters!”

On their annual visits, Squire Peep, who was a generous soul by nature, and never more so than to his dear friends, would host the Pipers, welcoming them into his home and treating them to as lavish a banquet as he could supply and anyone could ever hope to receive. Then, after the dishes were cleared away, and the various frosted, berried and custard-filled desserts were merely a happy memory, the Peeps and their seventeen house servants, along with an ever-changing number of farmhands, shepherds, swineherds, cowherds, brew masters, stable masters, stable boys, carpenters, wheelwrights and sundry other hired workers, would crowd into the mansion’s great room for a night of entertainment, which they anticipated year round. Someone would stoke a crackling fire in the huge stone fireplace. Someone else would bring in pitchers of mulled wine and giant steins of frosty beer — and because of the special occasion, even the younger children would get to try a sip or two. There’d be laughter and small talk, followed by intermittent cries of “shush” and “settle down,” until gradually an eager, anticipatory hush would enfold the room, taking hold in fits and starts over the entire hall as, one by one, they’d realize the Pipers had started to play.

The first notes always came low and stealthy, a murmured promise, a light tickling of the ears. But slowly the melodies grew, and retreated and then grew again, back and forth, sometimes like a lover’s tease and sometimes like the unstoppable tide, until finally the music swelled into a grand and glorious thing, taking absolute control over the room and everyone in it. It was always in the Peeps’ great hall once every autumn, playing not for money but only for the entertainment of sweet friends, that the Pipers gave their best concert of the year.

Then, the next morning, they’d pack up their caravan again,