Faerie Song

By Anthea Sharp

A magical retelling of the Pied Piper with a dark faerie twist, from USA Today bestselling author Anthea Sharp.

The music comes drifting every black of the moon, winding like smoke through the dank alleyways of Hamelin’s old town. Come, it whispers, the haunting melody compelling the vermin of the streets. Come away.
They do: the skittering roaches, the fluttering moths whose grubs ruin stored grain, the rats who infest the slums.
And the children.

Only one girl has the courage to break the spell, but freedom has its own price...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fiddlehead Press
• Release date: Apr 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005294373

Anthea Sharp

~ Award-winning author of YA Urban Fantasy ~Growing up, Anthea Sharp spent her summers raiding the library shelves and reading, especially fantasy. She now makes her home in the Pacific Northwest, where she writes, plays the fiddle, and spends time with her small-but-good family. Contact her at [e-mail], follow her on twitter, find her on facebook (http://www.facebook.com/AntheaSharp), and visit her website.

Book preview

Faerie Song

FAERIE SONG

A Fairytale Retelling

ANTHEA SHARP

Fiddlehead Press

Faerie Song – A magical retelling of the Pied Piper story, with a faerie twist…

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Copyright © 2019 by Anthea Sharp

Cover by Jessica Allain

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

Faerie Song

Also by Anthea Sharp

About the Author

FAERIE SONG

The music came drifting every black of the moon, winding like smoke through the dank alleyways of Hamelin’s old town. Come, it whispered, the haunting melody compelling the vermin of the streets. Come away.

They did: the skittering roaches, the fluttering moths whose grubs ruined stored grain, the rats who infested the slums.

And the children.

Orphans, mostly, and those cast out, unwanted, one too many mouths to feed—or caught pilfering, and given the choice of the crowded prison or the call of the street.

Nobody knew precisely what happened to them, after.

Just that they were gone, those pests that caused trouble for the already strained resources of Hamelin. Better not to look too closely at the walled stronghold of the Strigosa Conservatory, whose magic kept the city clean.

Only those children trapped behind the walls knew what fate awaited. For most, it was a short life of hard drudgery. Those girls and boys fortunate enough to be graced with fair faces were quietly sent to serve in the houses of the barons and magistrates of the city. The less-pretty children were set to work in the conservatory, either toiling without pay in the workshops or tending to the everyday needs of the Pipers and their students.

For students there were—lucky, or unlucky, depending on who was doing the asking.

Every child pulled through the imposing gates of the Strigosa Conservatory was tested for musical ability. Those that showed aptitude were assigned to one of the Pipers, those forbidding men and women that guarded the secret of the Calling. It was not an easy apprenticeship, no matter what the servant children thought. The Pipers meted out harsh discipline for any infraction. Whether a student misbehaved or simply missed a note, the punishment was the same.

Linnet Sheeran leaned forward from her vantage point atop the roof of the dining hall and winced as the coarse cloth of her robe scraped the welts on her back. That afternoon, she had botched the fingering on a difficult passage of notes, and suffered five lashings as a result.

The beating was supposed to keep her meek and obedient, and in the past it had done so.

But not tonight.

Maybe it was the restless energy of the Calling, or the hot autumn wind that bore the smell of smoke and despair.

The poorest quarter of Hamelin had burned two days ago, and the Pipers were expecting a handful of children at the gates. Barbed curiosity had brought Linnet to the small stair leading to the roof. Those students who knew of the twisty staircase half-concealed at the back of the upper linen closet guarded their secret closely. The roof was the only refuge they had. They never spoke of it, and if another orphan had claimed the roof, the protocol was to retreat until the first student left.

That night, the rooftop was deserted, and Linnet pressed herself into the shelter of one of the tall chimneys. The music of the Calling swirled coaxingly around her.

Stop, she told it. I am already here.

The woven strands of notes paid her no heed. She was thankful that it was easier to ignore that aching summons from inside the walls of the conservatory.

Pipes—clear and