The Moonstrings Tale

The room where he kept the violins resembled a chaotic museum. Dust gathered on the floor, the strings of many instruments were broken, and some of the bodies had cracked. Even the servants, who occasionally came to tidy up the house, avoided entering this room, fearing they might break something or incur the Treasurer’s wrath.

Over time, the violins began to interfere with the Treasurer himself. He couldn’t cross the room without snagging his cloak or cane on one of them. The entire house seemed to have fallen victim to his obsession, and the Treasurer grew increasingly frustrated.

Nevertheless, he continued his search, buying up more and more violins. Each new acquisition brought him a glimmer of hope – that perhaps this one would be the one he sought. This hope kept his living amidst the growing chaos, driven by his greed and fear.

The treasurer had already scoured the town center, buying up every old violin he could find. But because Dany lived on the outskirts, the Treasurer knew nothing about him.

One late evening, as the Treasurer was returning from another of his outings, he heard the distant sound of a beautiful melody. He was certain he had bought every violin in the town, so the music struck him as particularly strange and distinct. It was a tender and luminous melody, unlike the harsh, uneven sounds of the instruments he had collected. Its sound was astonishingly pure and magical.

He froze in the middle of the deserted street, listened intently. The music floated from somewhere far away – he couldn’t pinpoint the source, but he knew it came from the outskirts of the town. Determined, he resolved to find the source of this music. Somehow, deep in his bones, he felt – this was the magical violin.

Turn after turn, step by step, he drifted through the quiet streets, as if the melody were an invisible thread pulling him forward. Sometimes the music would fade, and he would stop in irritation, straining his ears as though afraid of losing the trail. But then the wind would carry the melody back to him, and his eyes would ignite with excitement. “This is it,” he whispered to himself. “It must be. Only the magical violin could produce such sounds.”

After a long journey through the winding streets, he found himself on the outskirts of the town in a poor neighborhood where the houses leaned against one another, their shutters crooked and their windows dimly lit. The music grew louder and clearer.

Turning another corner, he suddenly spotted a small house, faint light spilling out from within. That was where the music was coming from.

The Treasurer crept closer, his breath shallow. Through the window, he noticed the silhouette of a boy sitting on a chair, holding a violin. The boy played with such focus that he seemed unaware of anything else around him. The music filled the air, as if even the night itself had paused to listen.

Chapter 4. DECEPTION

The Treasurer stopped beneath the window, pressing a hand to his chest, he willed his racing heart to steady. Then he rested his chin on his cane, pondering how best to start the conversation.

He gently tapped the window frame with his cane, careful not to startle the boy, and spoke in a soothing voice:

“What beautiful music, my boy. I’ve never heard anything like it before. Is that your violin?”

Dany looked up, startled, and answered hesitantly:

“Yes, it’s mine.”

“An extraordinary instrument! I’ve spent years collecting violins, but I’ve never heard such a sound. You’re incredibly lucky to have such a violin. Perhaps you could tell me where it came from?”

“It was my grandfather’s. He brought it from a distant journey. And a kind organ grinder told me that if I played the Moon Melody on it every evening, my illness would go away, and I’d be able to walk again.”

The Treasurer spoke with a tone of sympathy:

“My boy, you know, I understand quite a bit about violins. Let me be honest with you: your violin is rare, yes, but it’s far too old. Its body is worn, its strings are frayed. There’s sound, of course, but it’s not the kind of instrument that can truly bring out the full power of a melody.”

“But my violin has always sounded beautiful… You just said yourself that you liked the melody,” Dany replied cautiously.

The Treasurer exhaled slowly, shifting his weight onto his cane.

“Ah, my boy, music isn’t just about what we hear. Its power lies in how it touches the heart. But on such an old violin, like yours, the true strength of the melody cannot be revealed. You may be playing the Moon Melody, but… has it granted your wish?”

Dany hesitated; his voice uncertain:

“N-no… but the organ grinder said I should play it every evening.”

The Treasurer furrowed his brow, as if deep in thought, and then continued:

“Yes, yes… but did he say you had to play it on this violin? Here’s what I think: your instrument cannot unlock the full power of the melody. It’s too old. That’s likely why your wish hasn’t come true.”

“You think it’s because of the violin?” Dany asked, his voice filled with worry.

The Treasurer smiled slyly:

“Of course. You deserve a finer instrument – one worthy of your talent, one that will finally unleash the true power and the depth of your music. If you’d like, I can bring you a new violin. A true masterpiece, with a bright, rich sound. On such an instrument, you’ll surely be able to play the Moon Melody as it’s meant to be played.”

“You really could do that?” Dany asked hopefully.

“Yes, my boy,” the Treasurer said with confidence. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring you the finest violin, and you’ll see how everything changes. In return, you can give me your old violin, so I can take care of it. What do you say?”

After a moment’s thought, Dany replied:

“If you’re sure it will help, then… I agree.”

The next day, the Treasurer returned to Dany’s house, carrying a brand-new, beautifully polished violin. Its strings gleamed, and its varnished body shone, catching the light.

“Here it is,” the Treasurer exclaimed, his voice filled with enthusiasm. “Look at this beauty! Isn’t it extraordinary? Truly magical!”

“It really does look wonderful!” Dany said, delighted.

Handing the violin to the boy, the Treasurer said:

“Here. Try it. I’m certain that with this instrument, your Moon Melody will finally sound as it was meant to.”

Dany took the new violin and carefully drew the bow across the strings. The sound was pleasant, but something was missing.

“It sounds nice, but… not like mine,” Dany said, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

The Treasurer continued to persuade him:

“That’s only because you’re not used to it yet. The true power of the music will reveal itself over time, once you start playing the Moon Melody. You want to get better, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Dany replied with hope.

The Treasurer spoke in a serious tone:

“Then trust me. This violin will help you. And I’ll take your old one and care for it. Agreed?” he added, his voice softening.

For a moment, Dany hesitated, looking at his old violin lying on the table beside him. Its worn body and frayed strings, once so familiar and dear, now seemed too plain, too ordinary to hold the power to fulfill his dream.

In the end, Dany swallowed hard and nodded:

“All right… if it will help…”

He handed the old violin to the Treasurer, who barely managed to hide his triumph. With careful, almost reverent movements, he took the instrument, his fingers brushing over its worn surface as if cradling a treasure.

Concealing his satisfied smile, the Treasurer praised Dany:

“You’ve made the right choice, my boy. Now, keep playing, and your wish will surely come true.”

The Treasurer left Dany’s house, clutching the violin like the most precious trophy, his steps were quick and triumphant. Meanwhile, Dany remained with the new violin, full of hope that his dream would now become a reality. Yet, deep in his heart, something felt wrong. A hollow ache stirred within him – subtle, nameless, but growing. As though he had given away not just violin, but a part of himself.

Chapter 5. DANY’S DESPAIR

That same evening, after the Treasurer had tricked him into giving up his violin, Dany, full of faith in his imminent recovery, took his usual place on the chair by the window, ready to play the Moon Melody.

Holding his new, shiny violin, Dany carefully drew the bow across its strings. The first notes, soft and resonant, emerged from the instrument. The melody, though beautiful, felt foreign to him. It lacked the magic, the warmth, and the mysterious light that had come alive in the sounds of his old violin.

Dany froze, staring down at the violin as if unable to believe what was happening. He ran the bow across the strings again. But the melody remained hollow, devoid of the bright and profound power that had once nourished his hopes.

The boy’s heart tightened. He tried to play the Moon Melody, but the more he tried, the more he felt that this wasn’t the same music. The new violin didn’t respond to his emotions. It played smoothly and flawlessly, but without soul. The sound was ordinary, like any other violin. Desperately, he dragged the bow across the strings once more, but his hands trembled, and the notes broke into a sharp screech. Dany lowered the instrument, tears welling up in his eyes.

“I’ve been tricked,” he thought, feeling a lump rise in his throat. “This violin isn’t magical… which means my dream will never come true, and I’ll never be able to walk…!”

Dany placed the new violin on the table, but now it seemed alien to him, no longer the instrument he had trusted with his dearest wish. With great effort, he moved from the chair to the bed, hugged his pillow, and quietly began to cry. Warm tears, which he could no longer hold back, streamed down his cheeks, soaking the fabric. These weren’t just tears – they were the pain of losing hope, the hope that had lived in his heart for so long.

He thought of his old violin, every note it had played, how it had responded to his touch, how it had helped him believe in miracles. And now it was gone, and with it had gone the spark that had warmed his soul.

It felt as though the whole world had dimmed, turned gray and cold – just like the hollow sound of this new violin.

Chapter 6. THE REVENGE OF THE MAGIC VIOLIN

The Treasurer carried Dany’s violin into his home. Once inside, he locked the door behind him, turning the key with a satisfying click. He clutched the violin tightly in his bony hands, as if afraid someone might snatch it from him even here, in his own domain. But then he exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down:

“Even if the boy quickly realizes I tricked him – what can he do to me? Me, the town’s Treasurer? Nothing. Absolutely nothing!”

He placed the violin gently on a chair in the center of the room. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at its worn body and aged strings – an ordinary instrument, yet it seemed to watch him in return.

“Could such an old thing really hold so much power?” he thought.

“Old or not – it doesn’t matter. What matters is that now it’s mine,” he said to himself, his voice full of smug satisfaction.

The Treasurer sat in his armchair, setting his cane beside him, and rubbed his hands together as he thought:

“If this violin truly possesses magical power, then I can use it to obtain the Moonstrings. And then… then I’ll play the Moon Melody and make my greatest wish come true. Power – absolute power over the town and its people! Everyone, even the burgomaster, will do as I say. No – what burgomaster? I’ll be the burgomaster myself!”

He reached out, took the violin, and cautiously drew the bow across its strings. The sound echoed through the room – unexpectedly loud, almost menacing. He flinched, pulling the bow away, as if the strings had burned his fingers. But then a crooked smile crept across his face.

“Well… Let’s see how your magic works.”

“I wish for the Moonstrings. Let them appear right now.”

He drew the bow across the strings again, and for a moment, the room filled with a sound like a distant whisper of wind. But instead of the coveted strings, old, dry moss mixed with dust and cobwebs rained down from the ceiling. The moss quickly covered his shoulders and arms, lodging itself in the folds of his clothing.

The Treasurer leapt to his feet, furiously brushing the debris off himself.

“What nonsense is this?! This isn’t what I wished for!” he shouted in fury.

He collapsed back into the chair, his chest heaving as he struggled to calm himself.

“Perhaps the violin’s power wasn’t enough to summon the strings. Or perhaps… it required more effort,” thought the Treasurer.

“Money… I’ll start with money. I’ll find the Catchers of the Moonstrings and pay them to retrieve the strings for me.”

He gripped the violin tightly, closed his eyes, and made his wish:

“I wish for a lot of money. More money than I could ever count!”

He began to play again, but this time the sound was sluggish and heavy, as if the notes themselves resisted his desire. A moment later, there came a loud, insistent knock at the door.

The treasurer’s head snapped up. He smoothed his hair with a trembling hand and called out:

“Who… who’s there?”

A voice replied from behind the door:

“A messenger, master. Bad news. The carriage transporting your money was attacked by bandits. They took everything – down to the last coin.”

The Treasurer froze. His face turned pale, and his hands clutched the violin so tightly that its strings let out a faint, pitiful twang.

“This can’t be a coincidence. This cursed violin is mocking me!” he cried out in despair.

He hurled the violin onto the table and stepped back, glaring at it with hatred.

“It doesn’t grant wishes – it destroys them! But why? Why is everything going wrong?”

His eyes darted around the room. The house, once his sanctuary of greed and ambition, now felt alien, almost hostile. Deep down, he understood that the violin obeyed a different kind of power – one that was mocking him.

“I need the Moonstrings. Only they can fix this… only they can make it right. I must have them… at any cost,” he whispered under his breath.

He sank into his chair, overwhelmed by despair, yet thoughts of power and wealth continued to torment his mind. The violin lay on the table before him, its worn body seeming at once simple and foreboding. The Treasurer had no intention of giving up. Even if it meant risking everything, he would see his plan through.

After sitting in his chair for a while longer, he finally stood up. Leaving the violin on the table, he exited the house. Locking the door securely behind him, the Treasurer headed toward the Red Lion tavern, located in the western part of the town. He hoped the walk would help him make sense of everything that had happened that day – and that a good meal might calm his nerves.

He craved a plate of roasted meat with wheat porridge, a slice of apple pie, and a сup of his favorite sweet, aromatic mead.

The Treasurer also knew that many kinds of people gathered at the tavern to exchange news. He often went there to overhear useful information and hoped to find out where he might encounter the Moonstrings Catchers, whom he now intended to bribe.

Chapter 7. THE DEAL

After a short walk through the evening streets, the Treasurer arrived at the Red Lion tavern. Above the entrance, a wooden sign creaked softly in the wind, depicting a lion painted bright red. From the slightly ajar door drifted the cheerful hum of voices and the clinking of mugs.

The Treasurer glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him. Adjusting his wide-brimmed hat, he stepped inside.

For a moment, he paused in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the room. The tavern was warm and inviting, filled with the aromas of roasted meat and fragrant herbs that hung in bunches from the ceiling beams. Long wooden tables stood neatly arranged, welcoming guests to sit and share their meals. Near the fire, which crackled merrily in the hearth, clay pots simmered with something delicious, while the scent of fresh bread and honey lingered in the air. The tavern keeper bustled among the patrons, proudly delivering mugs of sweet, aromatic mead.

The room was filled with all kinds of people: at one table, a heavyset merchant with a bushy beard counted his coins after what seemed to be a successful deal, while next to him, a young apprentice in a stained jacket hungrily finished his stew. Against the wall, in the shadows, sat two travelling musicians with worn lutes, softly strumming their strings as they waited for generous guests. In a corner, an old woman in a gray cloak sat huddled in a warm scarf, seemingly content just to warm herself by the fire. And near the door, two noisy coachmen argued loudly, occasionally glancing into their mugs as if hoping to find answers there.

The Treasurer’s sharp eyes roved over the faces of the patrons, searching for the slightest hint of useful information. Slowly, he walked between the tables, his cane tapping rhythmically against the wooden floor. His presence immediately drew attention – some guests averted their eyes, not wanting to meet the gaze of the infamous town Treasurer, while others watched him with curiosity.

He paused briefly near the fireplace, as if deliberating where to sit. That was when his eyes caught sight of a figure in the corner of the room.

It was a young man in a worn wide-brimmed hat, sitting at a table with an air of casual ease. Before him was an almost-empty mug, and in his hands, he twirled a coin, deftly rolling it between his fingers.

“How skillfully he does that,” the Treasurer thought, intrigued. “A true Catcher, no doubt.”

The thought brought a small, sly smile to his lips.

“Perhaps he’s just as skilled at catching the Moonstrings for me?”

Hiding his curiosity behind his usual air of self-importance, the Treasurer approached the man.

“Good evening,” the Treasurer said, fixing the young man with a piercing gaze. His voice was calm and measured. “It seems we might have something to discuss.”

The young man slowly raised his eyes, tilted his hat back slightly, and smiled faintly as he appraised the Treasurer.

“Good evening,” he replied, his tone light but edged with curiosity. “You strike me as a man who knows what he wants and is used to getting it. Well, sit down – I do enjoy an interesting conversation.”

The Treasurer took a seat opposite the man, carefully masking his nerves.

The West Catcher looked friendly enough, but there was a glint of sharp wit in his eyes – the kind of glint you see in someone who always thinks two steps ahead.

The Treasurer’s gaze shifted to The West Catcher’s nearly empty mug and the bare table before him. Leaning slightly forward, he added a touch of friendliness to his tone:

“You look like you’ve had a long day. Let me treat you – The Red Lion always serves meals that can bring back anyone’s strength.”

The West Catcher arched an eyebrow, still playing with the coin in his hand. His smile widened, but his eyes remained sharp.

“Well, since you’re so generous, I won’t refuse. A mug of mead and something hearty will do just fine.”

The Treasurer gestured to the tavern keeper, who was bustling among the patrons.

“Bring us two mugs of mead. And for my companion, something hearty – perhaps meat with vegetables. As for me – the usual: roasted meat with wheat porridge and apple pie.”

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