‘Hameln?’ repeated Nightingale. ‘Nothing at all, who, or what is it?’
‘It is a “what”, a place,’ said the Professor. A small town of fifty thousand people in what is now the Lower Saxony region of Germany. Famous for only one thing in its entire history. The Rat-Catcher.’
Nightingale frowned. ‘Hameln? I thought it was Hamelin.’
‘Trust me, my friend, I know how to pronounce it.’
‘Tomato, potato,’ said Nightingale, but it was clear from the look of confusion on the Professor’s face that he had no idea what he was talking about. Nightingale shrugged. ‘So you’re talking about the pied piper?’
‘Indeed.’
‘But that’s ridiculous, it’s a myth, a fairy story.’
The Professor shook his head. ‘There are many things in history which now have the status of myths, legends or fairy stories,’ he said. ‘Some of them are just that. But in other cases, the legend has grown up to hide an appalling truth. It is so in this case. Tell me what you know of the story.’
‘Same as everyone else, I suppose,’ said Nightingale. ‘The town was overrun with rats, the townsfolk had no answer, when along came this bloke to offer to get rid of all the rats for a purse of gold or something. He played his magic pipe, the rats all followed him and ran into the river. The townspeople welched on paying him, so this time he played a different tune and all the town children followed him into a cave or something, and were never seen again.’
‘Indeed so. Now, focus on the main point of the story. What actually happened?’
‘The kids followed him, did what he wanted. And they were never seen again.’
‘Where do you think they all are now, Mr. Nightingale? Playing happily in Paradise?’
‘I suppose they’re all dead, aren’t they?’
‘They are. And they died because Dudák wished them to be dead. And then he fed from them.’