Sample Translation of "Saeculum" by bestselling YA Thriller 'Master Mind' Ursula Poznanski

Poznanski, Saeculum

SAECULUM

by Ursula Poznanski no. 7028, softcover with flaps, ca. 480 pages, for readers aged 12+

Sample Translation from the German by Sarah Tolley

Two blankets – undyed wool. Five of those baggy underpants that Sandra said were called ‘bruchen’. Three spacious shirts and a dark green felt jacket. Two linen trews, a belt, and some leather shoes that laced up to his ankles. A big empty linen sack, a knife with a horn handle, a small wooden bowl and spoon. A leathern drinking flask. Leather rags in a variety of sizes. Some little vials containing dried herbs. There were some provisions, too. A round loaf which looked very medieval to Bastian, and a half-kilo slab of smoked ham. The linen bag had been specially recommended by Sandra: it was good for carrying things around in, but the most important thing about it was that it could be filled with dried leaves and ferns and used as a mattress.

Bastian eyed the collection of objects on his bed with satisfaction. He was fairly sure he was prepared for any eventuality. Only one thing was missing to crown his new possessions. He went to the cupboard and took out a massive wooden sword which he had procured two days ago. He’d had to argue with the shop owner for a long time beforehand, as the man had insisted he’d only need a latex-covered foam sword for a gathering. He’d shown Bastian some truly awesome weapons, but – latex? In the fourteenth century? Bastian had insisted on buying the wooden sword and on having the blade sprayed with a coat of metallic lacquer.

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘It’s not meant for fighting,’ the salesman had warned him. ‘You could hurt someone with that thing!’

Fighting was definitely not on Bastian’s agenda, but the sword felt like a key to Sandra’s world, like…

The doorbell buzzed, interrupting his thoughts; a single long-drawn out buzz. Somehow, Bastian knew at once who his visitor was, although that person was actually supposed to be playing golf three hundred miles away. The doorbell simply sounded different when it was him. More aggressive, more insistent. He lifted the intercom handset to his ear.

‘Very good, you’re at home. Open up!’

Bastian pressed the buzzer, hating himself for so doing. He sprinted over to the pile of equipment on his bed and threw a cover over it, hating himself even more.

The hand-made studded shoes echoed as they trod on the stairs. He opened the door feeling as if a huge fist was pressing into his stomach. His father appeared, bit by bit, drawing a little closer with every step he took.

‘You really should complain about the stair cleaning service here, the windows in the stairwell haven’t been cleaned for months.’

‘Hello, Father.’

‘Yes, yes, hello. Have you got an ironed shirt? Is your suit clean?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We are going to Berlin. A surgeons’ congress. If you haven’t got a decent shirt, we can always buy one on the way.’ His father came into the living room and ran a finger over the top of his shoe cupboard, only to stare in horror at the dust on his fingertip.

‘Your cleaner isn’t up to much either, I see’ ‘I don’t have one.’

‘Aha, that’s pretty obvious.’ He wiped the dust off his hand. ‘Fine. Pack your things and we’ll be off in ten minutes.’

A hot glow. Bastian’s head was growing warm, so was his stomach. He stared at his father but still couldn’t reply. It wasn’t just the two-thousand euro suit, the silk tie, the gold-framed specs and the disparaging look that was magnified by them; those were not the worst things about his father. It was the complete self-confidence that emanated from him, ensuring that everyone did what he said. Even Bastian. Especially Bastian.

‘I would be very grateful if you could get a move on.’ He glanced at the Breitling on his wrist and added, ‘I want to introduce you to a couple of influential colleagues before I give my lecture.’

‘I’m not coming with you.’

A tiny muscle twitched in the corner of his father’s right eye.

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘No. I’ve other plans. You could have spared yourself the drive, if you’d only phoned beforehand.’ It felt so good saying this stuff, even though it was clear that retribution would be forthcoming. But it was worth it.

‘What sort of … plans?’ Something idiotic, I’ll be bound his father’s voice implied, ‘Surely something that can wait.’ He walked past Bastian into the living room, where he picked up his physiology book and opened it at the bookmark.

‘Is this as far as you’ve got? There are only six weeks left, after all.’ He threw the book back on the desk. ‘I expect exceptional results, you know that. Otherwise, you can keep away from medicine. We’ve a name to uphold.’

The hot sensation inside Bastian’s body was growing hotter, and reaching simmering point.

‘I’m going through the book for the second time, Father.’

‘Ah? Good. Then our expedition to Berlin won’t set your revision back too irresponsibly. Pack your things now.’

‘No.’ It felt like he was standing on top of a skyscraper and looking down. Dizzy-making. ‘I’m not coming with you, I’ve already told you that and you heard me. I don’t care if you close my bank account, turn off the money tap – You know what? I’d even be fine with that! I’m just as able to a job at McDonalds or in a bar like the other students, who are able to stand on their own legs.’

Bastian could not remember ever have spoken more than one or two sentences at a time to his father without being interrupted by him. He cowered inwardly, but Maximilian Steffenburg merely smirked at him.

‘It’s got to be a girl -- right? I understand. No objections as far as I’m concerned, but no big deal either. Unlike this Congress, which, as you know, takes place only once a year. Girls are always around and there are plenty out there.’ You’re telling me, Dad. ‘By the way, how is Mum?’ His father did not bat an eyelid, ‘As usual.’

All screwed up, then, Bastian was about to say when his mobile rang. Probably Sandra. He quickly grabbed it off his desk because he didn’t want his father to see her name on the display screen, but he needn’t have bothered. It was an anonymous call.

‘Hello?’

‘Don’t go.’ The voice sounded muffled and subdued.

‘Who’s that?’ Instinctively, Bastian spoke softly in reply, turning away from his father and walking into the kitchen.

‘That doesn’t matter. Just trust me. Stay at home, there’s something not right about the whole thing.’ Bastian could hear the sound of footsteps as if his caller was walking downstairs.

‘What do you mean? What’s not right? Do I know you?’ © 2011 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘No, but that doesn’t matter. I can’t say anything more specific, I’m in a hurry and, anyway, you wouldn’t believe me. But this is good advice, really. Take it. I’m only trying to warn you.’

It was a man’s voice, Bastian was almost sure of that.

‘What about, for God’s sake?’

‘I’ve got to hang up now. Have a good Whitsun holiday.’

Bastian went back into the living room. His expression showed clearly enough how confused he felt and his father pitched right in, as if he were a wounded animal. Easy prey.

‘Enough of this nonsense, Bastian. I told to you come with me, so come with me. I’m only staying until tomorrow – you’ll be back here within twenty-four hours, nearly. Anyway, you can’t get out of it - I’ve already told the colleagues from Heidelberg that I would like to introduce my son to them.’

Aha, so that’s what it’s all about.

‘They’ll survive, the colleagues from Heidelberg. And you will too. I’m not going with you, not even if you do a head spin.’ Bastian sat down at his desk and opened his book on physiology. The printed letters danced before his eyes.

‘Sometimes I find it hard to believe you are my son.’ The words were spoken coolly, but Father’s underlying anger was palpable. ‘I’ve always told you that contacts and networking are a vital part of our profession. But you enjoy trampling on your opportunities, don’t you?’

Bastian was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. He bit his lip, to prevent himself from saying anything hasty in reply.

‘How stupid of you. You do realise that this will not be without consequences, don’t you?’ his father said, almost tenderly.

What do I care. Bastian forced himself not to look up, and he concentrated on breathing.

Finally, he heard steps walking away, and his door opening and shutting. He breathed in.

There was still an hour to go until it was time to meet up at the station.

There was no mistaking Paul. The red feathers on his knight’s helmet tilted backwards slightly whenever a draught wafted through the station. A few people had already gathered round him, of whom Bastian recognized only Rocky and Doro – and, of course, Sandra, who rushed to meet him as soon as she noticed him. She threw herself at him and gave him a kiss on the lips. ‘I am so glad’ she whispered. ‘It’s fantastic that you’ve come.’

He was glad too, although he was still a bit subdued by his recent encounter with father. Not to think about it. Look at Sandra instead. During the last four weeks they had met up a few times, and talked for a long time, and had made plans about going on this adventure together, though they hadn’t got much closer yet. Bastian had the impression that Sandra wanted to wait until the Gathering, as if that was the only place where she could decide

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Poznanski, Saeculum whether he really suited her. Now, she was beaming at him and actually quivering with excitement.

The echoes of those two unsettling events – the unannounced visit and the anonymous phone call – began to fade. For a few minutes Bastian was uncertain about how to react, and whether it would be clever to mention the call to Sandra. But he didn’t want to do anything to spoil her good mood. What would be the point? He had decided to go with them, he was here, and he was glad about it. The call had probably been just a stupid prank, perhaps it had been the guy at the Medieval Fair who had grumbled about Bastian being able to go, when he couldn’t. That must be it. Too bad, mate.

Sandra linked fingers with him and drew him over to meet the others. Paul waved at him with his clipboard and gave Bastian such a cheerful smile that he actually started to feel like he belonged to the group. However, Paul still hadn’t produced the tickets. ‘I’ll do it when we’re all here.’

Lisbeth and George were the next to arrive, and Iris turned up shortly afterwards. Her manner was different to how she had been at the Fair, and she was now keeping close to Rocky, as if trying to hide in his shadow. Bastian noted how, in addition to carrying a shapeless sailing bag on her back, she was pressing a large semi-circular leather case to her chest. He was pretty sure it contained her harp.

‘Lars, Ralf and Tommy are still due, then we’ll all be here,’ Paul explained.

‘Is that all?’ Bastian was surprised. They were now ten, and another three would make them just thirteen.

‘They’re not all travelling from Cologne. Some are joining us there, but it’s not going to be a mass gathering.’ Sandra stroked his hand gently and ran a finger up the inside of his arm.

‘This time we are a truly exclusive group, and I hope you feel honoured!’ She broke off to wave at two more travellers who were walking through the station towards them. The tubby blond boy had been the narrator in the ‘Trial by Ordeal’ and, as Sandra explained, was called Ralf. Now he was staggering along with glowing cheeks and film of perspiration on his brow, carrying one backpack on his stomach and another on his back. For his part, Lars had restricted himself to a light bag. He was using his spear like a walking stick and other travellers were staring at him. Iris frowned, ‘We’ll get into trouble on the train if you carry that awkward thing about so openly,’ she told him.

‘It’ll fit inside the luggage rack, I’ll tuck it away and no one will see a thing.’

‘Great, see how Lars has made sure to bring extra rations along,’ George muttered.

Ralf staggered up to Paul with his two knapsacks. ‘Bad news. Tommy’s called me to say he’s not coming. His cat is sick and he thinks she’s going to die. He thinks someone gave her poison.’

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘Poison his cat? Who would do such a thing?’ Paul’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Shit. Poor Tommy.

That’s a real shame.’ He struck out a name on his list with a long slow motion, cleared his throat and looked at each of them.

‘Right, then. Travellers! We are ready. We are leaving nowadays behind and going back to an age of heroes and legends. The Middle Ages await us. Where, I will reveal straightaway!’

He took a bundle of envelopes out of his pouch and ran his fingers almost tenderly over them before starting to hand them out. Bastian was the first to get his. The paper was thick, as if handmade, and soft to the touch. He felt inside and drew out a ticket.

It was for Wieselburg an der Erlauf. They would change trains at Munich, with an hour’s wait for the connection, and then they would cross the Austrian border. Their second connection was in a village called Amstetten – at five o’clock in the morning, and they would reach Wieselburg by seven o’clock. There would hardly be any time for sleeping, what a good start to the...

Someone gasped, as if they’d been punched in the stomach. Bastian whirled round and saw Doro, crouching slightly and staring with wide open eyes. Did she have a stomach pain? Her face was white and the hand that held the ticket was trembling. ‘Are you feeling poorly?’

No reply. Doro stared at her ticket, blinked and then lifted her head and looked at Paul. He nodded apologetically at her.

‘Yes, I know you don’t like this place, but...’

‘How could you do that?’ Doro whispered, ‘Paul, you know what a close shave we had last time. Why are you so keen to challenge fate again?’

Paul sighed. ‘Stop that nonsense, Doro. We aren’t forcing anyone to come and last year was the best gathering we’ve had since Saeculum started. You’re the only one who keeps on going on about ghosts. That’s OK so long as you don’t start actually believing in them.’

Bastian was finding it hard to follow all this. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked. ‘Doro is worried because we are going to the same place as last time. She thinks...’ Paul broke off and raised his arms apologetically. ‘She thinks that there are ghosts there. Or something like that, anyway. There’s a curse on the place, it’s something to do with an old legend that I was stupid enough to tell them beside the camp fire.’

‘You don’t believe in it, I know,’ Doro muttered, ‘because you can’t feel the vibes the way I can. But, simply ignoring these things won’t protect you.’

‘That’s OK, I’ll look after myself.’ He glanced unhappily at each one of them, saying, ‘Honestly, I didn’t for a minute imagine you still felt that way, Doro. This place really is ideal, and we can be sure it’s just us there. Nobody to bother us. Surely you remember! Anyway, nothing did happen last time, did it?’

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘But that was only on account of my protective circle!’ Doro shouted. All around, heads were turning towards us.

‘Hush!’ Sandra took hold of her arm, ‘then you can protect us all over again, hey? Since it worked so well last time.’ She spoke soothingly, as if pacifying a child.

Meanwhile, Bastian was feeling dubious, not about their destination, but about Doro’s mental state. Was she suffering from delusions? If this was the case, was it at all appropriate to take her with them to the gathering?

‘I understand what Doro’s saying,’ Lisbeth suddenly said. ‘When it’s sunny, the place is lovely, but as soon as the clouds gather it immediately turns gloomy and the night.... is full of dreadful noises, the trees stand thick as hedges, and the ground sometimes gives way like bog... from time to time one sees shadows rustle by. Doro believes in apparitions. You’re aware of that, yet you still tell those stories...’

‘They’re only fairy tales, after all!’ Rocky shrugged and held out his arms. ‘What sort of camp fire would it be without night-time stories?’ he asked.

‘You just don’t get it,’ Doro replied, shaking her head. ‘Last year, I saw the Count roaming the woods. I heard him groaning. He prowled around us, starving, and it was pure chance he didn’t grab us. The next time round, it won’t go so well.’

They fell silent, and exchanged embarrassed glances.

‘Well, maybe we did some crazy things last year,’ Rocky grumbled. ‘It was all that mead. I have a dim memory of roaming round the camp with Wart all night long yelling woo – woo’.

He pulled a comically apologetic face. ‘But we got our just deserts. I ran into a tree trunk in the dark and banged my head, and Wart stepped into a hole and sprained his ankle. You may have heard us swearing as well – here stands one of the guilty men.’

‘So, that’s what happened!’ Sandra waved gratefully at Rocky.

‘Of course I can tell the difference between a pair of drunken louts and an anguished presence,’ Doro muttered crossly, ‘Be like that. You’ll find out soon enough. I know what I felt and I know how to protect myself.’ She grabbed her bag and climbed briskly into the train.

Ralf blew a strand of hair away from his chubby face. ‘So, can we start getting on board, too?’

‘Sure,’ Paul answered hesitantly, his eyes following Doro‘s shadowy outline as it moved behind the train window.

One after the other, they climbed into the train. A little round woman followed Ralf and Lars and heaved her bag into the wagon. Bastian had not been introduced to her.

‘No worries,’ she said, turning to Paul. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She was leading a little terrierlike mongrel with short legs, and holding a man by the hand, who nodded whenever she spoke. ‘That’s right, Arno, isn’t it? It was great there!’

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘Yes, Alma, great!’ Arno agreed. The two of them reminded Bastian of hobbits, although they didn’t appear to have hairy feet.

Bastian and Sandra found themselves sharing a compartment with Paul, Rocky, Ralf, and Iris, who immediately grabbed a window seat and drew the curtain halfway across, saying, ‘We don’t want anyone peering in.’ She settled down in her seat and as soon as the train pulled out, her eyes closed.

The billboards, notices and benches along the platform slid past the window, moving faster and faster, until the train left the station behind. Bastian immediately felt sleepy, as he always did when travelling by rail. He gazed out of the window without noticing the landscape and thought about Doro’s performance.

Did she really believe in what she said? She had been pretty convincing. But maybe she was just desperate to be noticed.

For all that, her words left Bastian with a queasy feeling. After giving the matter some thought, he knew why. The phone call. Two warnings within a couple of hours, even though one was anonymous and the other completely crazy. He was left feeing oddly anxious. He would have liked to have discussed the phone call with Sandra, in private. But there would not be much opportunity for that for the time being. Then he was distracted by a meaty smell and looked up to see Rocky balancing a huge salami on the palm of his hand. ‘Time for our first snack. Who’s hungry? I’ve got bread to go with it,’ he offered.

Nobody replied, which did not appear to bother Rocky at least. He sawed a couple thick slices off the salami and began stuffing them into his mouth, one after the other.

‘Bastian, my new travelling pal,’ he said while he chewed, ‘I am ever so curious to see you in action. You’ve surely selected a character for yourself, haven’t you? Tell us about him.’

‘We are so-o-o-o excited,’ Iris murmured, her eyes still half closed. Bastian cleared his throat, and replied, ‘Well, mm. It was a bit tricky at first,’ he admitted, ‘but Sandra gave me a few tips, and then it was OK.’ ‘I hope you’re not an innkeeper,’ Rocky hastily replied. ‘It would put me in a difficult situation if you turned out to be a rival, my friend.’ Rocky had baptised his character Kuno. ‘My name is Kuno the Barrel, as you have surely observed, have you not? Kuno was once a mercenary, and is still pretty handy with a sword, but now all he kills are chickens and pigeons. Unless, of course, one of his guests grows unmannerly. You will all like Kuno, because he will feed you.’ He smacked his lips encouragingly. ‘How unmannerly I’ve been, pushing myself to the fore. Bastian, it’s your turn!’

They all stared at him and he took a deep breath before saying, ‘To start with, I dug around a bit because it wasn’t easy finding a name.’ He had dedicated precious revision time to the search. His name had to match the period but shouldn’t sound too weird. After hours of © 2011 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de

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Poznanski, Saeculum researching the internet, Bastian had come across Tomen, an archaic form of Thomas, which he had immediately taken a fancy to. Sandra had also liked the sound, and now Rocky seemed to like it too.

‘Tomen! Excellent. It sounds as if you had invented it and yet it’s completely authentic. So, Tomen, what’s thy full name? What trade doest thou follow? How doest thou fill thy money bag?’

Whenever Rocky started talking in this medieval way Bastian felt a combination of amusement and embarrassment.

‘I am a healer; I seek knowledge of medicine and... hum... masters in the art of healing, who can instruct me.’ Ha, he had managed to put that pretty well. Rocky nodded appreciatively.

‘That’s not so different from your real life, is it? Have you got a nickname?’

Bastian hadn’t thought about that, ‘No, sorry. But I’ve got some time to...’

‘Tomen Sawbones,’ Iris suggested. She was sitting with her eyes closed, slumped in her seat. A smile was playing about her lips as she spoke, ‘Tomen Bonesetter.’

‘Hear, hear!’ Paul exclaimed. He looked at each of them, then concentrated on Iris.

‘And what about you? Are you going to be a thieving minstrel-girl again?’

‘Of course, I’m still the same Cecelia.’

Cecelia instead of Iris. Kuno instead of Rocky. That was just about manageable, but Bastian was beginning to get seriously worried about his ability to remember the nicknames of people whose real names he hardly knew. Kuno. Cecelia. And Sandra called herself Doradea.

They were interrupted by the ticket collector and produced their tickets. After that, no one seemed keen on talking. Sandra was staring at her hands, lost in her thoughts, Rocky was eating, and Paul was smiling dreamily as he gazed out of the window.

‘Doro,’ Bastian spoke into the general silence. ‘Is she really so superstitious? And if that’s the case, do you think this trip is good for her?’

‘She thinks she’s a witch. A real one,’ Sandra explained. ‘There are night time noises in every forest, but Doro’s got far too much imagination and thinks they’re ghosts. Then the wind howls and she hears the cries of lost souls in it. At any rate, that’s what happened last year.’

‘It was also my fault,’ Paul admitted. ‘I had found a wonderfully scary tale in an old book of local legends. So I got dressed up as an old soothsayer and entered the camp to tell it to them, just before darkness fell. Since then, Doro hasn’t been able to get it out of her head.

She read it later on and found out that the events in the story took place somewhere fairly close to our campsite. Anyway, I think she will settle down when we have arrived and everything’s normal.’

I hope so, Bastian thought. ‘What sort of legend is it? I mean, what’s it about>‘

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘Injustice, betrayal and death.’ Paul stressed each word as he spoke it. ‘Like many legends from the old days. Would you like to hear it?’

‘Sure’ This reply seemed to make Paul happy. He beamed at them all, asking, ‘Any objections?’

‘Not from me,’ Iris murmured.’ I like your bedtime stories and, thank goodness, Doro’s not here.’

‘Good. So give ear and hearken to my tale of events long past. The legend that I am about to relate is called “The Bloody Crypt”.’

Paul stared at them all in turn, his gaze lingering for a few seconds on each person. ‘In the old days the Count of Falkenwurth ruled over the land,’ he began. ‘The Count fathered two children. The elder was a bastard, begotten on a servant girl, but the younger had been born in wedlock, and was the Count’s heir. The Count’s lady was both beautiful and arrogant – she was not disposed to have the bastard son in her vicinity and she forced her husband to drive the child and his mother away from the castle. The Count was not unduly concerned and did not hesitate long before sending the two of them away, with no money or possessions. They were driven out with nothing but the clothes they wearing, to encounter an uncertain fate.

Ludolf, the Count’s legitimate son, grew into an indulged young man, who lacked for nothing.

Tristan, the bastard, survived from alms and thievery. His mother was racked by coughing, and surrendered her soul before he reached his fourteenth year. It was only through his skill at thieving that Tristan remained alive, but he was consumed by a desire for justice. His mother had not concealed his noble origins from him, and he would constantly hammer on the door of Falkenwurth Castle, demanding to see his father, but he was never admitted.

The years passed and the Count grew old and sickly, and it was rumoured that his days were numbered. The news reached Tristan, and he set out once again for his father’s castle, this time, to make his peace with him. He wanted to forgive him all his hard-heartedness and he hoped for a small inheritance, to enable him to live. However, the guards at the Castle gate drove him off, as before.

Then the Count died. Tristan knew that he would now never gain admittance to the Castle and besought some of his friends to accompany him, because he hoped that a whole troupe of petitioners would not be dismissed as easily as a single man. None of them bore arms, they were poor folk, beggars, jugglers and peasants, most of them had no notion where to find their next meal, let alone the money for a sword.

Once again, the guards barred the gateway with their lances, pouring insults on Tristan, kicking him with their heavy boots, and threatening to feed him and his pack to the hounds.

This time, though, he did not allow himself to be driven off so easily; he stayed and shouted at the walls. He yelled as loud as he could, in the hope that his brother would hear him. © 2011 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘I want nothing from you, Ludolf!’ he shouted. ‘Not your title, nor your money, nor your lands!

I only want to pray beside my father’s grave and make my peace with him.’

Paul glared at Bastian as if he were one of the uncouth guards. It was warm in their compartment and a fine layer of sweat glistened on his brow.

‘After half an hour, quite unexpectedly, the castle gates were opened. Tristan and his companions were allowed inside. Ludolf himself came to greet them and laid meat, bread and wine before them.

‘Our father died a peaceful death,’ he told them. ‘I do not wish to deny you a prayer beside his tomb.’

They dined together and as night fell, Ludolf offered to conduct Tristan and his companions into the family crypt.’

Pauls’ eyes were glittering as he continued. ‘They descended into the castle vaults, accompanied by three servants bearing brands. When they stepped into the crypt, Tristan and his friends realised they had walked into a trap. The light from the torches picked out the metallic gleam of swords and armour. Ludolf had ordered his men to lie in wait for them inside the crypt.

‘Since you have such a deep longing to see our father, you will be glad when I send you to join him,’ he taunted. The soldiers rushed at Tristan’s companions, who defended themselves desperately with their bare hands. A terrible battle was waged around the tombs.

The soldiers drove their swords into the bodies of the defenceless men, and poked them with their halliards, and lopped their heads off. Within the space of a few minutes, Tristan’s men were all dead, with only he still living. In his desperation, he grabbed the dead count’s sword that was lying on his stone monument. ‘We are brothers’, he yelled. ‘If you truly wish to see me dead, then fight me. Let fate determine whether or not I merit death!’

Ludolf merely laughed. He waved at his soldiers to make an end of the bloodbath. Tristan defended himself with all his strength and slew two of his opponents, before he was wounded so severely that his weapons slid from his grasp. They drove him to his knees in front of his father’s tombstone and this time, it was Ludolf who grasped his father’s sword. He raised it above his head like an executioner’s axe, and stared deep into his brother’s eyes.

Tristan realised that his last moments were upon him, and he suddenly grew very calm. The fear that had caused him to tremble vanished and in its stead came a cold and all-embracing hatred. As he gazed back at Ludolf, he uttered this terrible curse: He cursed his father and his brother, the castle and its inhabitants, the ground on which they stood, and each person who ever set foot on it again. ‘In death I will bestride my Father’s inheritance,’ he shouted, ‘this is now my land, it is the land of the bastards and the rejected, of the thieves, the despised and betrayed! They alone will find peace here. All others who venture onto my realm will regret it forever. They are mine; I will never let them leave. Their © 2011 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de

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Poznanski, Saeculum bones will snap, and their skin will slough from their flesh. Maggots shall consume their vitals and their limbs shall grow weak. The earth shall swallow them up, one after the other, at night-time the dead will climb out of their graves and their cries shall cast them all into despair. The land shall be cursed – until justice is done! Just as I pour out my blood in this crypt and quit this life, so one day shall you do likewise, Ludolf. If not you, then another in your stead, a true heir. A legitimate brother, beloved and acknowledged, like you, Ludolf.

That which I now suffer, he too shall suffer.’

Ludolf was white with fury. ‘You want to frighten my men to kill me, with your curse?’ he howled. ‘But it’s of no import, since it comes from the lips of a whore’s son!’

In the compartment, total silence reigned. The moving train provided a constant background noise, but Bastian was only dimly aware of it. He understood Doro better now; his inner eye was filled with horribly real and vivid images. A chill draught from the Middle Ages wafted through their compartment.

Without further ado, Ludolf chopped his brother’s head off. Tristan’s blood spurted onto his father’s effigy and flowed towards his legs. Since that time, the Count’s ghost has been wandering through the forest at night-time, and can find no rest. Ludolf gave orders for the crypt to be sealed, and that no word of those events was to be uttered. However, the soldiers who had witnessed the curse did spread the account. A few months later, a fire broke out in the castle, in which almost all the inhabitants perished. The survivors saw in this the workings of the Curse, and most of them fled, while others attempted to slay Ludolf, but were seized and condemned. After that, there were no more attempts on the young Count’s life, but his realm fell into decay and his castle was not rebuilt. Then the Black Death arrived, and Ludolf fell victim to it during the first weeks. Nowhere else in the land did it rage so furiously as in his fiefdom. Ludolf’s realm was now called the Cursed Land. The people who travelled through it would journey far out of their way to avoid the blackened ruins. Soon, grass and forest grew over the ruined stones and today nobody is quite sure where the castle used to stand. Travellers, though, tell of a dark form that wanders through the forest at night-time.

Others say that they heard screams, shrill and anguished sounds like the dying screams of Tristan’s companions.’

Nobody in the compartment moved. Paul sat there, completely silent, staring into distance.

‘Hell’s bells! You make goosepimples come out all over my back every time you tell it,’ Rocky spoke at last. ‘Thanks. I love being scared to death.’

‘So we are travelling towards that cursed place?’ Bastian asked. ‘Of course it’s unsettling for anyone who’s superstitious.’

‘Yes, and Doro believes in curses,’ Sandra said. ‘Fortunately she also believes in countercurses and will definitely weave loads of protective spells. Couldn’t be greener.’

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Poznanski, Saeculum The compartment fell silent again, and all they could hear were the wheels rattling on the tracks. Bastian could feel his tiredness weighing down on him. He glanced at the window.

Trees were whizzing past, and houses. He yawned. Iris’ face was half-turned towards him.

Was she sleeping? He was not sure. She was breathing calmly and clutching her harp case on her lap as if it were a talisman. Bastian’s gaze fell on the window again. Trees, houses, trees.

He must have fallen asleep at some time or other, because he was suddenly woken by a penetrating whistle. Outside, it was already nearly night-time.

‘Just an hour till we reach Munich,’ Sandra told him, handing him a half-empty bottle of Coke.

‘D’you fancy a final treat in Now time?’

He drank it, though it was flat. His stomach was now telling him clearly that he was hungry.

No problem, Sandra had some cheese sandwiches and muesli bars ready, especially for him. ‘I want you to have fun on this trip,’ she said. ‘I feel a bit responsible for you, for dragging you along,’ she added, producing a packet of Haribos. ‘Eat now, tomorrow they’ll be banned.’

Bastian did as he was told, then he went to stretch his legs. Once outside the compartment, he found Lars with his head sticking out of one of the train windows, to catch the breeze. He was holding his lance again, and a great many travellers shook their heads as they passed.

When he saw Bastian he turned round. ‘So, are you looking forward to this?’

‘Yes, a bit. But I’m finding it all very strange.’

Lars nodded. ‘It does feel really weird to start with, walking around in old-fashioned gear with a sword in your belt, but you get the hang of it soon,’ he sighed. ‘Anyway, we’re sitting in the same compartment as Doro. Just be glad that you’ve been spared that experience.’

‘Why d’you say that?’

‘She’s still trying to get us to turn back. Just now, she’s sitting in there –’ he waved at the compartment door, which was just behind them, to the right. ‘- and singing dirges. Celtic dirges.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘You can say that again.’ Lars drew his spear in to allow an elderly man past. ‘She wanted us all to sing along. We’re supposed to be gathering propitious spirits around us, to help us counter the curse.’

Behind them, a door slid open and Alma and Arno came out with their terrier-like mongrel, to the sound of muffled singing. The dog was the only one that did not look depressed.

‘Nobody can stand that,’ Arno grumbled, shaking his head. ‘We’re going to the restaurant.’

Bastian watched them walk away. They looked astonishingly similar from behind – small, round, blond and somehow comic.

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘That’s right. What about you?’

‘German studies. I just love reading and writing.’

‘Sure. Medieval romances?’

Lars squinted at him. ‘No, but they’d make a nice challenge. It’s never occurred to me.

Actually, I’m not one of the group’s medieval experts; I met Paul at a gig only a couple of years ago. He thought it would do me good. Make a change from all that reading. Fresh air.

Girls in bodices.

‘Very thoughtful of Paul,’ Bastian grinned.

‘Wasn’t it? But that’s the way he is. He takes trouble with people he takes a fancy to.’ Lars looked away with a thoughtful expression.

It was drizzling when they arrived in Munich. Paul suggested they spend the next hour in the Coffee Fellows cafe drinking coffee and eating bagels. Bastian was still feeling a bit nauseated by all the Haribos and decided he’d rather keep Alma company while she took her dog for walkies.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Roderick.’

When he heard his name the dog raised his head and wagged his tail.

‘He’s a fine dog.’

‘He is, isn’t he?’

They walked once round the block, with Roderick trying to leave an odour trail every few meters.

‘Are you Ok with the way the gathering is happening in the same place as last year?’ Bastian asked, before they entered the cafe where the rest of the group were sitting.

‘Yes! It’s a lovely bit of country, really ancient woodland. I can well understand the organising team wanting to return there.’

‘Hmm. The thing is, the others, well, Dodo, actually, thinks it’s a weird, even a spooky, spot.

What’s your view?’

Alma pulled the lead in and Roderick whimpered unhappily. ‘There are no weird places,’ she said. ‘There are only weird people.’ [...]

Clambering up cliffs. Standing still, shouting. Listening to the forest, resounding with its usual combination of birdsong and buzzing insects. But no human sounds, no cry for help, nothing.

His anxiety about Wart had developed into a leaden weight. For all that he had merely been © 2011 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de

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Poznanski, Saeculum worried yesterday, Bastian was now filled with a chill sense of dread, which was steadily turning into certainty. Something had happened to him. Something that was preventing Wart from replying. Rocky was also looking dreadfully anxious, though Ralf did not appear to be entertaining any gloomy thoughts.

‘Do not fear for your safety,’ he shouted. ‘So long as Alaric of Thanning is your leader, there is nothing you need fear.’ He glared wildly in all directions as he spoke, ‘Who knows, maybe the enemy has taken Theodore hostage! We must be prepared for anything!’ He thinks it’s still just a load of fun Bastian took a deep breath as he climbed over a fallen tree. But what does it matter, what does it matter, if we can’t find Wart. He stood upright again and yelled his name, as loud as he could. No reply. Wart appeared to have vanished off the face of the earth.

The earth will swallow you up, a foolish voice giggled inside his head, and he responded furiously by punching a tree trunk.

Then, as if the fellowship of the trees was getting its own back, Bastian tripped over a root and landed on his stomach. He stayed put, and closed his eyes. It was early in the day to feel so exhausted. Had the same thing happened to Wart? A fall, and no strength for getting up again? But the storms would certainly have got him on his feet and brought him back to the camp. Assuming, he knew where he was.

Something small was poking into Bastian’s chin. He wiped it away and raised his head – then he spotted it. Something grey and metallic was gleaming only a few steps away.

He picked it up. His throat felt choked and he couldn’t swallow. He had found Wart’s neckchain.

‘Here, come and see.’

Rocky came up, snuffling, ‘That’s his, for sure. But...’ he broke off, and Bastian knew what he had been about to ask. How had Wart managed to lose his neck-chain? Had he thrown it away, on account of the storm? Or had he lost it in a fight?

Bastian’s thoughts turned remorselessly to the steps that he and Iris had heard during the previous night. Was there someone in the forest? Someone who was not one of them?

He cleared his throat, ‘In any case, Wart was here. Which direction does our camp lie?’

Ralf pointed to the left, and Lars pointed back the way they’d come.

‘Great.’

‘I know,’ Iris clambered onto one of the rocks. She turned round slowly, peering through slitted eyes. ‘The lake lies in that direction, it’s visible just past the next slope. So our camp must be ... there.’ She pointed her finger in the opposite direction, somewhat to the right. ‘If all else fails, we should follow the smaller stream, which is the one that flows straight though the bottom of our meadow.’

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘Assuredly. Thou shouldst be better acquainted with thy land, Alaric.’

Ralf’s face lit up with a smile on hearing his character’s name. ‘Thou art indeed right,’ he called. ‘But I have been concentrating so hard on the battle against foes and dark forces that I have scarcely been able to wander through my territory.’ He frowned as he looked around.

‘I propose we take a break, have a bite to eat, and discuss our next step.’

A lake. Wart may possibly have been able to struggle through to it, to get a drink. Or to bathe his wounds. They decided to aim for it. It lay, embedded in the forest like a dark mirror, surrounded by tall green trees. They walked up to the water, which was so clear that every pebble was clearly visible. Bastian bent down and dipped his hands in it, disturbing a pair of ducks who paddled away quacking loudly. A shimmering blue dragonfly zoomed straight past Rocky’s head and landed on a fern frond. Inspite of being so worried about Wart, Bastian just had to smile. Everything in this place was ... just right. He couldn’t find a better way to describe it. It was good. The idea that anything bad could have happened in such lovely surroundings suddenly seemed completely wrong, although that was clearly nonsense.

People are just as likely to have accidents in lovely places as in ugly places. All the same, he was feeling more confident as he dipped his hands into the icy water and drank.

They stilled their thirst, then settled down on a grassy spot on the bank. What was the time, they wondered? Eight? Half-past eight? Bastian kept on catching himself glancing at his left wrist, where his watch no longer was. In any case, it was already warm and flies and midges were circling round the group. Bastian’s stomach was complaining loudly. He had not eaten anything since yesterday evening.

‘Have any of you got a bite to eat?’ he asked, not very hopefully.

Ralf was furious and pulled himself up straight, ‘Is this how thou chooses to address us?’ he shouted. ‘Hast thou forgotten who thou is? Thy speech is more than unmannerly.’

Bastian closed his eyes. Honestly, this fancy mode of address, regardless of whether someone was missing, or a storm was raging, or the heavens were crashing down, was only too typical of his noble self, Alaric of Whatyoumacallit, who insisted on observing the etiquette of their role-play.

‘Well,’ Bastian replied grimly. ‘I only ventured to ask whether one of my worthy companions may possibly have brought something edible along, for I am famished.’

This served to summon a smile to Ralf’s shiny face. ‘I regret that my stomach is growling too; sadly I cannot serve thee.’

Once again it was Rocky who produced some dried-out salami and a few hunks of stale bread from his pouch. They all helped themselves, apart from Iris. She was staring fixedly at the lake, almost without blinking. ‘Fish,’ she murmured.

‘What good tidings!’ Ralf cried and his pupils dilated as his mind duly registered a new idea.

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Poznanski, Saeculum only hunting and will surprise us with his bag. Hares, or a deer! Thou shalt see, thy worries are unfounded.’

Bastian had to try hard to stay calm. ‘And what dost thou think Theodor will have slain them with? Is he supposed to have throttled the deer? His bow and quiver, and all his arrows are in the camp – he’s only got the sword with him.’ And it’s made of wood.

Ralf shrugged off his objections, saying, ‘He’s a poacher; he hunts with snares and pits, mayhap with the sword as well.’

A rustling noise, followed by some cracking sounds, interrupted him before Bastian did. They whirled round; someone was in the forest, not far off, who was drawing closer with every step he or she took.

It might be Wart. With any luck. In which case all they had to do was find Lisbeth’s medallion and then everything would be all right again. Bastian was wishing so hard for this that for a moment he really thought it was Wart walking into the clearing. Only then did he recognise Paul, who waved at them.

‘Greetings!’ he called. He held his hands up, palms forwards, saying, ‘I come in peace and without arms.’

‘And I too greet you!’ Ralf replied. ‘Dost thou wish to sit with us? We are taking our rest after our strenuous travels.’

A few deft leaps brought Paul up to them. He bowed gracefully and sat down. He was wearing the same clothes as at the Medieval Fair; dark hose, a light-coloured shirt and a leather jerkin, but his shoes were different. Light brown leather boots, which came almost up to his knees.

‘A good place for a rest - your leader appears to be an experienced man,’ he commented.

Ralf tried not to show how pleased he was, but his flushed round cheeks were a dead giveaway.

‘Tell me do, what is the purpose of thy travels?’ Paul enquired.

‘We are engaged in a quest.’

‘Stay! Let me surmise – you are seeking the Devil’s Stone, are you not?’ He lowered his voice, and went on, ‘I have heard of it and bring you warning – you will be watched by demons!’

‘No,’ said Bastian, ‘we are looking for a friend. He disappeared yesterday evening and we are very worried about him.’

Paul’s expressed changed instantly as he asked, ‘Who?’ ‘Wart’.

‘He meaneth Theodore the Poacher, ‘Ralf interjected. ‘Surely he has gone hunting and...’

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Poznanski, Saeculum Paul waved at him abruptly to silence him, a gesture which gave Bastian an unpleasant tingling sensation, without his knowing why. It was probably because he couldn’t for the life of him stand any kind of domineering behaviour.

‘How long has Wart been gone?’

The concern in Paul’s voice made Bastian like him all over again and he replied, ‘He helped me clean out the latrines yesterday and then he wanted to go after the others... He set out about one and a half or two hours before the storm broke.’

‘Oh God,’ Paul whispered, ‘and you’ve found no sign of him?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘That’s bad. Listen, we need to launch a focussed search. Let’s split up.’ He looked at Lars, and asked, ‘Was he alone when he set out?’

‘Seems to have been.’

‘Shit. Didn’t I tell you all specially never to leave the camp on your own?’

‘So you did,’ Lars replied. He lent on his spear and relapsed into silence.

Paul looked at each of them impatiently, then leapt to his feet, saying, ‘I will search the woods on the far side of the lake with Mona, and you had better make a sweep to the right, and follow the stream. It would be a good if you didn’t all stick together, but kept a bit of a distance from each other, to improve your chances of finding something. This evening one of us will come by for a news update.’

While Paul was speaking, Ralf’s expression was growing steadily sterner. ‘My friend,’ he said, his voice filled with disapproval, ‘Was it not said that there would be no interruption during all the days of our emplacement here? That we should sustain a medieval way of life?

Those were thine very own words and now...’

Paul gripped his shoulder so firmly that Ralf squealed. ‘Haven’t you understood that one of our group is missing? Can’t you imagine what will happen if we don’t find him?’ He released Ralf and adjusted his jerkin. ‘Everything will have its moment, my esteemed Alaric, everything will have its moment,’ he said quietly.

They marched back to the camp, trying not to lose sight of the stream. On his left, Bastian could hear Lars panting as he knocked branches aside to make it easier to struggle through the undergrowth.

‘What’s Paul going to do now?’ Bastian called to him. ‘Is there an emergency plan?’

‘Paul always has a plan,’ Lars said, after giving the matter some thought. ‘Always.’

‘How far could Wart have got before the storm came?’ Bastian didn’t usually do his thinking out loud, but now it was helping him to see things clearly. ‘Even if he’d lost his way, he would have to have heard our shouts.’ Unless, of course, he had gone in the opposite direction. But then, they’d found his neck-chain. Had he lost it, or cast it off, as a final, desperate sign, before he was carried off into the undergrowth? © 2011 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de

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Poznanski, Saeculum Nonsense. Wart was a big, fit chap. Someone would have had to knock him down before they could have taken him off by force. Unfortunately, that’s not impossible. However, there’s no reason for thinking along such pessimistic lines, maybe he’s back in the camp and they would see him, when they got there! That notion was not too unlikely. Bastian started walking faster until his way was barred by a rocky outcrop that was at least four meters high. ‘Lars?’ he called. ‘Look out! I’ll take a right and walk round this side, and you can take the left side, OK?’ ‘Fine by me. But after that, no more deviations, OK? I’m starving and need to get my teeth into something.’ He leant on his spear and added, ‘If I find Wart, I’ll whistle.’ Lars blew through his front teeth and made a noise like a departing train. ‘Like that.’

‘Great.’ Bastian tried to copy his whistle, but failed totally. If in doubt, he would rather shout.

There was the rock. Bastian moved to the right and climbed up a bank. The others were more or less on the same level. He could hear them but not see them. Then he caught sight of Iris swinging over a fallen tree. She waved at him and shrugged her shoulders dejectedly.

It was clear what that meant. No Wart.

He’ll be in the camp, Bastian told himself comfortingly. He is sure to be in the camp.

Scratched and exhausted, he walked into the clearing with Iris and stood there, searching for Wart ‘s tall shape through narrowed eyes. ‘Can you spot him, Iris?’

‘No, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m going to ask Rocky.’

Bastian glanced over his shoulder at the forest edge, where Lars would shortly be appearing; he was clearly taking his time, so Bastian walked over to where Sandra was sitting, leaning against a rock wall, holding an arm round Lisbeth to comfort her.

‘Have you seen Wart? Has he been here?’

‘No,’ Sandra replied absent-mindedly, stroking Lisbeth’s hair with a rhythmical motion while she spoke. ‘I’ve not left this place for a minute, and would certainly have noticed him.’

Bastian collapsed onto the grass just there, where he was standing. It simply wasn’t possible.

Wart could not have got so far away. Even if he had fallen off one of the high cliffs, they would have found him at its foot. Lars didn’t appear to have found him either, because he hadn’t whistled. Or...

Did he drown? In the lake? The notion that that wonderful place could be a death spot made Bastian feel sick. Or was the fact that this was the first time he had allowed himself to consider the very possibility that had been looming over the day since waking.

Death.

Nonsense, total nonsense. Wart was certainly not dead – he was young and strong and this was not the first time he had gone walking in the forest. Bastian ran his hands through his

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Poznanski, Saeculum damp and sweaty hair. He needed a drink, urgently, to clear his head. Maybe then he would at least get a grip on why Sandra was still hugging Lisbeth and rocking her gently to and fro.

‘Is it because of Wart that she’s so upset?’

Sandra eyed him reproachfully and he realised that he’d got it completely wrong.

‘This business with Wart is upsetting her, but its... about her medallion. It still hasn’t turned up. George has been searching for a wolf for hours, he is absolutely furious,’ she gave a brief laugh. ‘Maybe Wart took it with him, when he left us.’

‘What? Are you all crazy? A person has disappeared and you are getting in a twist because of a shitty lump of metal?’ He was shouting and knew that he would regret it straightaway, because Lisbeth was now sobbing and Sandra was scowling.

‘You haven’t got a clue!’ she told him.

‘Well, do me favour and tell me about it. Even if that thing were full of diamonds, how could it possibly be more important than our friend’s wellbeing? Haven’t you realised that something really bad could have happened? Heck, why do I say could!’ At this point, he noticed that he was shouting again, but he didn’t want to stop, it felt so good. ‘Maybe he’s lying somewhere with a broken back, at the foot of some cliff or other. Maybe he’s dead, that’s not at all unlikely, because we’d surely have heard him calling for help, if he’s not. But you’re right, none of that’s nearly as important as Lisbeth losing a fashion accessory.’

Lisbeth twisted away from Sandra’s arms and leapt up, only to rush off. Her legs were unsteady as she ran into the woods, brushing past Doro so roughly that she nearly fell into the ditch, and then knocking into Arno before disappearing between two trees.

‘Well done!’ Sandra threw him a deeply scornful glance as she took off after her friend.

Bastian drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was still glowing with that great feeling, which seemed to have driven off the unbearable pressure inside him, although it was now mingled with a growing awareness that he’d been an idiot. All the while, the word that he did not want to think about kept on wandering through his subconscious like a ghost.

He stood up and walked towards Iris, who was sitting beside the cold fireplace, trying to remove all the twigs that had got caught in her hair when she’d been ploughing straight through the forest. Rocky was lying the ground, on his back, gasping. Like a lump of rock thrown down by an earthquake.

‘Nobody has seen him.’

Iris nodded gloomily. ‘I know. By the way, that was a nice little performance that you put on over there.’

‘Oh, shit, sorry. I still don’t get how little they care about Wart.’

They were watching Ralf as he came out of the toilet. He did not even glance at them, but walked straight over to Alma and Arno. Roderick’s tail was wagging and he flopped over onto his back to have his tummy scratched. © 2011 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘He’s still furious because Paul dared to use a mobile. I don’t get it,’ said Bastian.

‘He totally admires Paul.’ Iris was struggling with a thin twig that was clinging to her hair with its rough bark. ‘He does his level best to impress him. You know, in real life, Ralf is a sad loser who has no friends. He lives with his grandmother.’ She finally won the struggle with the twig and tossed it away, so that it traced a great arc as it fell. ‘He can’t adjust to the fact the things are not turning out as expected.’ She looked straight at Bastian, ‘I can understand him. He’ll get over it, just give him time.’

‘That’s OK. Sorry. But, imagining what could have happened makes me feel sick.’

‘Yes,’ Iris was rubbing her temples as she gazed at Ralf, who was tickling Roderick’s tummy so enthusiastically that the little dog was whimpering and one of its hind legs was jerking wildly. ‘And that was despite having Lars with us. He can usually find anything. Tracking is a hobby with him.’ She thought for a minute and went on, ‘But, after last night’s rain... I don’t think he’ll have left any tracks.’ Iris looked around, noted Ralf, and then stared at the edge of the forest. ‘Where is Lars anyway? He was walking beside you, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, we split up just before getting back. He must have reached the end of the forest by now!’ Bastian was also looking around, although the others were no more than dim shapes to him.

Over there were Alma, Arno and Ralf, and Sandra and Lisbeth were beside the rock wall.

George was crawling through the grass on his own. Doro and Nathan were squatting near the ditches, and Rocky was busy trying to light the fire. No Lars. ‘Maybe he really did find something and I just didn’t hear him whistle!’ Bastian jumped up and rushed towards the forest, with Iris close behind him. They raced up to the edge of the forest, ignoring Rocky’s ‘Wait for me!’, and dashed back under the cool forest canopy. Bastian found the spot where he had last seen Lars easily enough.

‘Lars, hey, Lars! Where are you hiding?’

The flies buzzed mockingly in reply.

‘Lars, Hi! Lars!’

Nothing.

Bastian saw his own bewilderment reflected in Iris’s face.

They split up, in order to search both sides of the rocky outcrop. Bastian wanted to keep Iris in sight for fear that she might vanish as well, once she had disappeared from view. But Iris was having none of it, saying, ‘I’ll scream like a spitted pig as soon as anything suspicious happens, OK. And you do the same; we’ve all heard you and know you can!’

Now, he could hear her footsteps, the snapping twigs and rustling leaves on the other side of the rock. He was making lots of noise too, pushing through dense undergrowth and beating back low hanging branches. He narrowed his eyes until they were almost closed, and ripped bushes apart to peer into the brushwood without much hope. © 2011 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de

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Poznanski, Saeculum ‘Lars?’ she was calling again.

‘Maybe he turned round. Went back to the lake,’ Iris wondered. ‘To Paul. They are close friends, after all.’

‘I’m not so sure. He was hungry and wanted to get back to the camp.’

Bastian walked on a bit, trying to shout ‘Lars’, but the name stuck in his throat. He bent down.

‘Have you found something? A track?’

He held the spear up speechlessly.

Iris drew nearer, ‘Yes, it’s his. That means Lars can’t be far off, because he’d never let it out of his sight...’

‘Lars!’ Bastian yelled, ‘Answer, if you can hear me!’

They listened for footsteps or a shout. Nothing.

‘Why on earth would he throw his spear away?’

‘Maybe he had to make a run for it. Quickly,’ Iris replied quietly. She walked on a bit, her eyes riveted to the ground.

But there isn’t anyone to run away from. Bastian carefully searched the place where he had found the spear. There was something sticking out of the ground, something like a little wooden label... he drew it out. The rusty red falcon spread its wings over another rhyming message. Bastian deciphered the faded letters with difficulty.

I know who pursues you and from whom you flee This should start you pondering He is also close to you, though him you cannot see And he wants to give you something.

Bastian raised his eyebrows and turned the bark message over. Once again, a message that made no sense whatever. Much better not to show it to anyone, as the verse would just distract them from looking for Wart, which they weren’t taking seriously enough as it was.

They returned to camp, very downcast. ‘No Wart, and no Lars,’ Iris muttered. ‘They can’t just have vanished.’

Behind them, the forest rustled, and all at once, Bastian had an uncanny feeling that it was a huge dark beast, which breathed, and lived, and which had already swallowed up their second companion.

[...]

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Poznanski, Saeculum Bastian was in one search troop, along with Iris, Nathan and Alma; the second one consisted of Ralf, Arno, Rocky, Carina and Dodo, while Paul had set off with George, Lisbeth and Mona. George had initially protested that Lisbeth should on no account take part in the search, because of her bruise, but Lisbeth had insisted on looking for Sandra. So he had given way.

‘We are fortunate to have Doro with us,’ Ralf was saying over and over again, rubbing his hands as he spoke. Shortly after rising, he had dressed himself in a breastplate and helmet, in spite of Paul pointing out how inconvenient it would be for clambering through the forest.

‘Doro will warn us when peril looms and, this time, we will heed her,’ he said.

Doro will totally get on your nerves, Bastian thought, but he kept it to himself. ‘Ralf, you walk back the way we came yesterday,’ Paul ordered. ‘Look out especially for cliff and caves – it’s possible that one of the three is hiding or has fallen. Keep on calling to each other. And, above all, make sure you don’t lose anyone. Don’t leave anyone behind.’

They set off, all five of them.

‘Iris, Nathan, Bastian, Alma – you take the area on the other side of the ditches. There’s some very dense patches of forest there, so watch out, and don’t get lost. We’ll start searching in the direction of the lake, and then we’ll curve back towards the right. Good luck!’

To start with, their route was easy to traverse. Alma was walking in front, with Bastian following close behind. Roderick was racing about, dribbling with excitement. It was a wonderful morning. Rays of sunshine painted the tree tops golden, and the air was filled the scent of woodland flowers and damp earth. The birds were singing and seemed to be saying that everything was alright. Surely nothing bad could happen in a place where the birds could sang like that.

From time to time, they shouted the names of their missing friends. They could hear the others calling in the distance. Rocky’s voice carried well, as did Paul’s. Every so often, they could hear Carina, Ralf or George. But there was no reply to any of their calls.

As Paul had said, the forest soon grew very dense and they had to fight their way through deep thickets. Alma never stopped grumbling because her hair was constantly getting snagged in the branches.

‘This isn’t working,’ said Bastian when they had all stopped to get their breath back. ‘If we keep on walking in single file, we will only manage to search a small strip. Anyway, a blind man could see that it’s been years since anyone tried to battle through this jungle. ‘ They turned round and headed off towards the right. The going was better here, but Bastian still couldn’t imagine anyone feeling at ease in the place at night-time. Even in full daylight, it was a difficult terrain, carpeted with a deep layer of tangled ferns and brambles that they had to wade through like pond water. Compared with that, clambering over the mossy rounded rocks was almost a pleasure. © 2011 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de

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Poznanski, Saeculum Roderick bounded along beside them, constantly vanishing into the sea of vegetation. He would race ahead, wait with wagging tail, and then run on. Even if he did pick up a trail, he wouldn’t be the slightest bit interested in following it.

They were now walking in a part of the forest that was clearly more ancient. It was dominated by huge tall trees which allowed hardly any daylight to penetrate. A stream ran through it, the waters almost black in the gloom, edged by tall ferns and rotten logs. The air was filled with the scent of resin and moss, and the muddy ground felt soggy, as if they were on a bog.

‘Sandra!’ Bastian yelled as loud as he could. No reply, only the constant rustling of the trees and the sounds of creatures dashing into the undergrowth.

They were not going to find anyone here. Every step that Bastian took made him more convinced of this. Hadn’t they lost their way for a while, too?

Now they could see more cliffs surging up in front of them, huge stratified rock formations, surrounded by smaller rocks that poked through the thickets and clumps of young trees like so many mushrooms.

Bastian slumped, exhausted, onto one of these rocks and took some deep breaths.

Nathan passed his waterskin round and groaned, ‘I’ve had nothing to eat today.’

‘None of us have.’ Up till that moment, Bastian had not been aware of his rumbling stomach, but now he realised he was feeling really sick. He gulped enough water to make his stomach feel full, and glanced around dejectedly.

Iris was searching in her pouch; she brought out a few leaves. ‘Sage,’ she told them. ‘All you need do is chew it. It helps against hungry feelings and it’s an alternative way of brushing your teeth. Really.’

It helped a bit. Their famished feelings subsided to a bearable ache in the stomach area.

Unfortunately, the leaves did nothing to dispel Bastian’s dejection. Surely, they’d only been walking for a couple of hours, but he could see his own exhaustion reflected in the others’ eyes.

‘Wart!’ he yelled again, ‘Sandra! Lars!’ The dark pines absorbed the sound. Nobody replied, apart from the wind, which was rising. It was enough to drive one to despair. ‘We’re going back, all agreed? We won’t find anyone here. Maybe the others have been luckier. If we go on walking, we’ll very likely lose our way.’

Alma replied doubtfully, ‘So you want us to go back empty-handed?’

‘Yes, and with empty stomachs. We’ll never get anywhere with our search like this. We need to get help from outside, or we’ll find we’ve a catastrophe on our hands. Three people have vanished. We can’t sort this on our own.’

He spat out his sage leaves and wiped his mouth. ‘We need to ask the police to send out a search party. Sniffer dogs. Helicopters. To Hell with the Middle Ages.’

‘Bastian’s right, let’s go back!’ Iris agreed. © 2011 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de

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Poznanski, Saeculum Nathan look relieved but Alma still had her doubts, though she agreed with them.

‘Let’s go then. If Rocky hasn’t got back yet, I’ll take care of the cooking.’

She stood up and cast her eyes about: ‘Roderick?’

Bastian closed his eyes; so the dog was lost now.

‘Roderick! Roddy! Here, laddie, come here!’

Nothing. Alma was close to tears.

‘He’ll find us,’ Iris tried to comfort her. ‘He’s much better at getting around than the lot of us put together. Maybe he’s hungry as well, and is off chasing a mouse or a rabbit right now?’

‘Do you think so? I don’t know. I haven’t been looking after him properly, ’ Alma wailed frantically. ‘I don’t even know how long he’s been gone for.’

Nobody had seen him run off. ‘He was with us when we were beside the stream, looking a whole lot fitter than the rest of us,’ Nathan recalled.

‘Roderick!’ Alma had not given up. ‘Come along, sweetie! Roddy!’

There was no point, Bastian wanted to say, but then he heard a rustling sound coming towards them through the undergrowth. A sound of whimpering. Roderick now appeared, coming from the direction of the camp, having apparently covered quite a distance.

‘Roddie, good lad! Where have you been? What have you got there?’ Alma rushed up to her dog, ‘Oh, Roderick’s found a bone! What a big one! Well done!’

So that’s turned out alright, thought Bastian, although it hadn’t been so worrying, given it was only the dog. And at least he’s found something to put his teeth into. What a big thing, for goodness sake, must be a badger...

He looked more closely at it and froze. He felt winded, as if someone had punched him in the chest. ‘Roderick?’ he gasped. The dog wagged its tail, but retreated when Bastian came closer.

‘Shh. Let me see it.’

Grrr. Roderick realised that he had designs on his precious find and had no intention of giving it up, for all that he could hardly lift it. But Bastian had already seen enough. He lowered himself onto a stump and Roderick responded by wagging his tail. The dog was clearly delighted. He lay down and started to gnaw at a trochanter major. Bastian’s stomach was heaving.

© 2011 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de

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