The cart Father had rented creaked over countless potholes on the way to Aerzen. Despite how each shuddering lurch jostled him and his bruised back, William didn't dare wince. Not while Father was watching.
"It's about time you took a proper interest in smithing." Father tightened his hold on the reins, lashing the ox pulling their cart. The bulky beast lowed mournfully as it trudged along the winding road. "I was beginning to think you would waste the rest of your life with that worthless guitar."
"The forge provides more steady work," William said simply. Though the words were true, they tasted like ash on his tongue. His songs weren't as profitable as his father's craft, but they were his. Strumming the strings with nothing but his soul to guide his fingers outweighed all the coins their cart could carry.
"When we arrive, I expect you to show me all that you've learned," Father said. "I want you to decide how much fuel we buy, what equipment we need, everything."
"I will, Father," William muttered around the knot in his throat. He dreaded his father's scrutiny more than the Piper and his music. Though Burdock had told him to beware the Piper's bewitching song, nothing could compare to the burn of his father's gaze watching his every move.
Only a faint rustle in the burlap sacks Father had brought to carry the supplies they bought betrayed Burdock's presence, yet simply knowing the rat had come along eased the tension tightening William's muscles. Though he doubted Burdock could do much if Father's temper flared, his presence was more than most humans had ever given him.
At last, after hours of creaking wheels and cracking reins, they arrived in Aerzen as the morning rush filled the town with all manner of hustle and bustle. With more than thrice the population of Hamelin, Aerzen boasted a wide array of craftsmen. Weavers' looms clacked in tandem as they created beautifully patterned cloth, cobblers crafted shoes for feet both big and small, and bakers sold loaves of bread still full of the oven's warmth to hungry crowds.
Where once the sight of such a large town would have filled William with dreams of potential audiences for his music, Aerzen's masses settled a heavy weight in his stomach. None of the townsfolk so much as brushed their arms against each other as they passed through the streets, with the crowd flowing around their cart as smoothly as a river flowing around a stone. There was no jostling, no rushing, no apologizing for pushing past the other townsfolk. There was only a uniform orderliness that was as regular as William's breathing.
Though the crowds acted strangely, the individual townsfolk behaved in a far more unsettling manner. One of the town's maroon-clad watchmen tailed their cart throughout the town as if he thought they would pilfer from the stalls at a moment's notice. A mother pulled her children behind her, blocking them from William's view. Despite the blood seeping from a long cut on his hand, a carpenter gazed at them unblinkingly as he sanded down a coffin even as his injury dyed the wood red.
"Quit staring."
William startled, his eyes darting to his father. "Is it always like this?"
Father nodded. "Aerzen doesn't get as many visitors as it used to, so folks around here aren't too keen on trusting an unfamiliar face." He guided their cart to a stop outside the town's general store, tying the ox beside a pair of horses with gray coats and scraggly black manes. "Strange though they may be, the people here offer the best bargains I've ever seen. Do not embarrass me in front of them."
"I won't, Father." At least, he would try his best not to. He'd never left Hamelin to do anything before, much less buy supplies. Everything about Aerzen was completely foreign to him.
A flash of black fur darting from under the cart eased William's hammering heart more than he expected. Burdock would not allow anyone to harm him, or so he had said. For all the unease the journey to Aerzen had sown in his gut, only the ever-present ache of the injuries Father and the children had given him physically troubled William.
He and his father entered the store to behold the wide array of supplies the owner had for sale. Bins filled with coal and firewood provided ample fuel for the coming winter, and iron ore waited to be shaped by the heat of the forge. While many of the supplies appealed specifically to tradesmen, including blacksmiths like Father, much of what they sold suited the common folk just as well, with the shelves stocking everything from loaves of bread to stuffed animals.
The shopkeep waved Father over to the till with a smile as broad as his shoulders. "Long time no see, Philip. What brings you into town today?"
"Figured it's high time the boy started pulling his weight." Father nudged William forward, his hand firmly planted on one of the many indents his belt buckle had left in his back.
William dipped his head. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure's all mine. Give me a holler if you need anything, lad."
William nodded, his voice caught in his throat. More than he'd expect even from someone who was clearly on good terms with his father, the shopkeep made his stomach churn. His smile was too wide, baring too many teeth. His icy blue eyes stared unblinkingly at William, tracking every last twitch of his muscles.
Father clapped a hand on William's shoulder, making him wince. "We won't trouble you too long. Just need to stock up on a few things."
He led William to the back of the store, guiding him with his hand on his shoulder the whole way. While Father could make most of the tools and parts he used at the forge himself, he still relied on stores for raw materials and supplies that fell outside the realm of his craft.
"Parents will want to spend more time with their children now that they've returned, so they won't be as inclined to leave their homes to purchase our wares from the forge itself," Father explained. "We'll need to build ourselves a portable forge so we can go directly to them instead of the other way around."
That was all the guidance Father bestowed upon William before thrusting him toward a wall displaying all manner of supplies. Though he was familiar with the tools of his father's trade from the bellows that fed the fire to the tongs that twisted metal into the desired shape, the proper equipment for a smaller, portable forge was beyond him. He picked up one of the planks of wood the shopkeep had on display, trying to gauge how well it would bear the forge's weight.
Father clicked his tongue. "Were we selling fabric that might work, but we require something much more durable."
William set that wood aside, grunting with exertion as he hefted a thicker plank.
"That won't do," Father said. "The ox may be strong, but carrying too much weight will render him too slow for us to make it home before sunset."
"What do you suggest we use, Father?" William asked. Being told which wood would be unacceptable was all well and good, but with no indication of what kind would suffice, he'd be stuck there so long he wouldn't have time to investigate the Piper.
Father scoffed. "You may finally be taking initiative, but I see you still have much to learn. If your head wasn't so full of your blasted songs you'd know a thing or two about what is of use to us."
William bowed his head. "Sorry, Father."
His attempt to choose suitable fuel fared little better. Though he knew full well that the forge would require ample coal, the amount was not something he often thought about. He merely fed the flames whenever his father commanded him to add another shovelful to the blaze.
"No need to coddle the ox, boy. We'll need far more than we can burn through in a day." Father shoved sacks of coal into his arms, the familiar smoky smell filling his nostrils. "Start loading these into the cart. You can do that much, can't you?"
The shopkeep chuckled and shook his head. "So much for giving the lad some experience eh, Philip? You ought to take on a proper apprentice."
Father's face reddened. "I'll make a man out of him yet. Just need to get his mother to stop doting on him like a newborn babe, though he squalls like one."
Their words filled the air as thickly as smoke clouded the forge, burning William's eyes as he blinked back tears. Though his father's words didn't hurt nearly as badly as his blows, they cut just as deep. He wasn't and would never be enough for him.
That was alright. It had to be. He had no other choice.
Besides, he hadn't come here for his father or even himself. All that mattered was for him to gather as much information as he could about the Piper so he could free Emma and the other children.
"Father, would it be alright for me to explore the town for a while?" William asked once he'd finished loading their cart. "We've come all this way, and I want to make sure I familiarize myself with everything Aerzen has to offer."
"Not too keen on getting back to work at the forge, eh?" Father scratched the stubble along his jaw. "Very well. By the time we travel back to Hamelin, it'll be too late for us to get any more customers, so I suppose it wouldn't hurt to linger awhile. I expect you to return by noon sharp, or else I'll head home without you."
"I will, Father. Thank you." Not even Father's threat to leave him behind could break his determination to succeed in his quest. Not when he was one step closer to finding out how he could save Emma.