by Walter Moers
The moon … This reference to the earth’s satellite reminded Gustave unpleasantly of his unfinished tasks.
‘So when do I find my damsel in distress?’
They were gliding along through a dense cloud of steam. Once out the other side, they found themselves back over open sea.
‘It won’t be long now,’ said the gryphon. ‘You see that commotion in the water down there?’
Gustave screwed up his eyes.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Shoals? Eddies?’
‘No, dragons.’
They flew a little lower—low enough for Gustave to make out a number of scaly monsters splashing around in the shallows or wriggling across the sun-baked rocks. Creatures of alarming size, they made a powerful, predatory impression and seemed to consist of nothing but muscles, sinews and impenetrable scales. They moved with remarkable speed and grace for their size, both on land and water. Living, invulnerable fighting machines, they were equipped with teeth and claws as big and sharp as sabres. Was he really supposed to fight them with his spindly lance?
‘I think …’ muttered the gryphon, peering at something in the distance, ‘I think …’
‘What?’
‘Yes, at last!’ the mythical beast cried triumphantly. ‘There, dead ahead! A damsel in distress!’
Gustave leant forwards and narrowed his eyes until they were slits. Yes, he could now make out a girl chained to a rock by the ankle.
What was more, wallowing in the foaming waves below her was a dragon at least twenty or thirty feet long, a winged monster with green scales and awe-inspiring claws and teeth.
‘Look, the dragon’s going to devour her!’ Gustave yelled as the creature glided through the waves towards the weeping girl and opened its jaws.
‘Nonsense, it’s only showing off.’
The gryphon seemed to be right, because the dragon dived just before reaching its prey and wallowed in the waves once more, then raised its hideous head above the water and gave an ear-splitting roar—a display of savagery whose sole purpose was to inspire terror in its captive.
‘Still,’ said the gryphon, ‘we seem to have got here at just the right moment. Let’s go. I’d advise you to aim your lance at the beast.’
Gustave lowered his lance and the gryphon went into a nose dive. The dragon, which had scented its attackers long ago, awaited them with fangs bared, snarling and emitting smoke from its gaping jaws.
‘You must skewer it before it spits fire!’ shouted the gryphon.
Gustave had forgotten all about the dragon’s fire-spitting facility. The creature breathed in with a vile, gurgling sound which suggested that it was accumulating vast quantities of viscous saliva.
When they were only a few feet from the dragon’s head, the gryphon abruptly used its wings as air brakes and brought them to a sudden halt. Instead of transfixing the dragon’s throat, Gustave’s lance stopped short of its target by a matter of inches. Quick as lightning, the dragon sank its teeth in the wooden shaft.
The shaft splintered, and Gustave was pitched out of the saddle. He flew through the air, turned several somersaults, and, with a mighty splash, landed on his back in the sea. The air inside his armour kept him afloat for a moment or two, but it soon began to leak out.
The gryphon hovered overhead, flapping its wings with an air of serene indifference.
‘Why did you do that?’ called Gustave.
‘Orders from higher authority,’ the mythical beast replied.
‘But why don’t you come to my rescue?’ Gustave gurgled, his mouth already filling with sea water.
‘Nothing personal,’ the gryphon said apologetically. ‘I’m a servant of Death, after all.’
Gustave was sinking. Huge air bubbles exploded round him as the water closed over his head. He sank quickly, but not for very long. Like a silver-plated figurehead, he came to rest on the algae-rich sludge a few feet down. He made no attempt to escape from his perilous predicament. Overcome with leaden fatigue, he felt the sea water gently pressing his eyelids shut.
‘I’m tired,’ he thought. ‘I want to sleep. I’ve sailed across the sea and been pursued by a Siamese Twins Tornado. I’ve defied Death and ridden a gryphon. I’ve seen a great many naked girls and fought a dragon. I’ve sunk to the bed of the ocean. I want to lie here and sleep.’
The water was warm and made him almost weightless despite the armour that was pinning him down on the seabed. He blinked, about to shut his eyes for ever, when some coloured ribbons floated into his field of vision. He forced his eyelids open with an effort: dancing past his face, as red and luminous as lava, was a jellyfish with hundreds of translucent yellow tentacles.
The creature’s movements were so graceful and harmonious, so airy and enchanting, that Gustave felt sure he had never seen anything lovelier. Its transparent body almost imperceptibly pulsated from time to time, and delicate undulations rippled along its glassy tentacles. Forever twisting and turning, rising and falling, cavorting and pirouetting with the utmost grace, it seemed to move in time to voices singing a faint, mournful song in the ocean depths. The sound reminded Gustave of an aeolian harp vibrating in the wind.
‘That’s not an aeolian harp, that’s seahorses neighing.’ The jellyfish laughed, and its body shook with gentle convulsions. ‘Under water it sounds like music. Nice, don’t you think?’
‘Who are you?’ asked Gustave. In his present situation, a talking jellyfish seemed quite as natural to him as the fact that he was addressing it under water without having to open his mouth.
‘I’m The Last Jellyfish!’ the gelatinous creature replied, describing some calligraphic curlicues with its tentacles.
‘You mean you belong to a dying breed of jellyfish?’
‘No, I’m merely the last jellyfish you’ll ever see.’ The transparent denizen of the deep gave another laugh. ‘You’re drowning. You’re the one who’ll soon be extinct.’
‘I know. It’s this stupid armour.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ said the jellyfish, ‘dying is quite easy. A door opens and you go inside. It’s no big deal.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I told you: I’m The Last Jellyfish. Everyone who’s drowning sees me. The sight comes free of charge, like the seahorses’ chorus. People who burn to death see butterflies the size of newspapers and hear classical music. Close your eyes.’
Gustave did as he was told. Shutting his eyes, he instantly saw a pair of tall white doors with a bust perched on the lintel above them. The doors slowly opened, and a young woman appeared in the crack between them. Gustave recognised her at once.
It was Dementia, Death’s crazy sister, but she didn’t look as dishevelled as she had on board the Aventure. Her hair was elaborately braided, and her face, no longer convulsed with insanity, wore a thoroughly kind and friendly expression.
‘Oh, it’s you, Gustave!’ she called. ‘Do come in.’
‘It’s always like this when you’re drowning,’ the jellyfish warbled. ‘A touch of mental derangement, a glimpse of the lovely Dementia, the company of a beautiful jellyfish, and some melodious singing— they make the process of dying less painful, tralala!’
Dementia smiled, and Gustave felt strongly tempted to accept her invitation.
‘You shouldn’t spurn Death’s schizophrenic sister,’ purred the jellyfish. ‘She can protect you from the worst. Drowning is said to be one of the most unpleasant ways to die.’
But then, floating like a pale moon above and beyond Dementia’s braided hair, Gustave caught sight of Death’s bony skull. In a flash, all his weariness left him. He opened his eyes wide and shouted, ‘No! I’m too young to die! I’m only twelve!’ The words, which issued from his helmet in the form of plump air bubbles, went spiralling up to the surface of the sea and burst there unheard.
Gustave’s wild struggles churned up the water around him. Once graceful, the jellyfish’s movements now looked frantic and awkward. It lurched to and fro, its tentacles became entangled, a
nd its glassy body went all misshapen.
‘Blah!’ it gurgled indignantly, and, enshrouding itself in a mass of tentacles, it glided off into the dark green depths.
Gustave tried to free himself from his armour. He wrenched at the buckles and leather straps until his breastplate finally came off. He slipped out of his metal greaves, stripped off his brassards, and looked up. The huge dragon was still overhead, forever turning on its own axis like a crocodile tearing at its prey. The long jets of flame it kept emitting made the water seethe. If Gustave emerged from the waves, he could choose between being devoured, ripped to shreds by the creature’s claws, burnt to death, or boiled alive. The dragon was thirsting for his blood.
So he resisted the urge to surface at once. Bending down to retrieve his sword, he withdrew it from the scabbard and held it above his head with both hands. Then, bending his knees, he pushed off the seabed with all his might and shot upwards like a swordfish skewering its prey. The blade embedded itself deep in the frenzied dragon’s soft underbelly. The huge creature went into even more violent convulsions and let out an ear-splitting roar. The sea around it became tinged with purple liquid.
‘Dragon-juice,’ thought Gustave as he reached the surface at last. ‘Aaah!’ he went, greedily sucking in great lungfuls of oxygen. The water, which was still boiling in many places, steamed and gave off hissing bubbles. Gustave paddled around aimlessly, panting hard. The gryphon, flapping its wings at regular intervals, had maintained its position overhead.
‘I always hoped things would turn out all right for you,’ it called. ‘Or does that sound insincere?’
‘Too right it does!’ Gustave shouted back. ‘This was a put-up job. At least get me out of here!’
‘I shouldn’t really do that,’ said the gryphon, ‘but I will, all the same.’ It swooped down, gripped Gustave by the shoulders, and hauled him out of the water.
‘You won’t believe me, naturally, but I only wanted to save you from a worse fate. Another few minutes, and you’ll wish you were back on the seabed.’
‘Don’t talk nonsense!’ snapped Gustave. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I already told you: fighting the dragon is the pleasanter part of the task.’
Gustave declined to pay any further heed to the gryphon’s blatherings. ‘Put me ashore on that rock,’ he commanded, ‘so I can release the girl from her chains.’
With a sigh, the gryphon deposited the dripping youngster at the captive damsel’s feet.
Gustave took his first look at her from close at hand. Her hair fell to her hips in golden ringlets, her milk-white skin and regular features were as preternaturally flawless as—yes, as those of a classical marble statue. Her unclothed body accorded so perfectly with Gustave’s ideal conception of beauty that … But he was compelled to lower his gaze, overwhelmed by a sensation that forbade him to feast his eyes on the helpless girl’s form any longer.
Gustave had just fallen in love for the very first time, and that emotion, which is granted to every human being only once, was unlike any he had ever experienced before.
At last he ventured to look up again. There was such a strange expression in the girl’s sea-blue eyes that he couldn’t immediately interpret it. Gratitude? (She seemed to be struck dumb.) Timidity? (She seemed unable to look him in the eye.) Eternal love? (Her ecstatic gaze seemed focused on the far distant future.)
‘I thought the boy was meant to wind up dead,’ she said at length in a cold, sarcastic voice. She was, in fact, addressing the gryphon, for her eyes had really been focused on the mythical beast hovering in the background.
‘What’s the meaning of this idiotic business?’ she went on. ‘He’s killed my pet dragon. Who’s going to replace it? I’ve hung around here in the spray for hours on end. My skin has gone all soft, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m suffering from sunburn.’ She slipped out of her chains with ease and covered her nakedness with her flowing tresses.
‘You’ll receive compensation,’ the gryphon told her in a coolly condescending tone. ‘Events took an unforeseen turn. I can’t help that, I’m just a servant of Death.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ The girl gave a disdainful laugh. Without sparing Gustave another glance, she proceeded to clamber nimbly up the rocks.
Gustave’s heart broke. It broke into two precisely equal parts, the one that belonged irrevocably to the lovely damsel, and the other that was all he had left. An icy void seemed to open up inside him. It was worse than any physical pain he had ever endured.
The gryphon glided down and rested one wing on Gustave’s shoulder. ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ it said. ‘There are worse things in life than dragons. Falling in love, for instance.’
WHEN THE GRYPHON bore him away from the Island of Damsels in Distress, Gustave was in a condition resembling rigor mortis. White as a sheet and glassy-eyed, he sat astride the creature, heedless of the cold air rushing past, even though he had few clothes on and his hair was still wet with sea water.
‘You’d welcome Death in your present state,’ remarked the gryphon, which occasionally turned to give its passenger a look of concern and tried to cheer him up. If it hadn’t been for the gryphon, Gustave would probably have sunk down on the damsel’s rock, consumed with despair, and been devoured by the next dragon to come along. As it was, the creature had eventually convinced him that it would be smarter to climb aboard and let himself be conveyed to the scene of his next task. There he would be provided with fresh clothes and equipment and a suitable means of transportation.
The sea displayed scarcely a ripple as they sped across it to a peninsula not far away, which itself formed part of a largish land mass. Gustave could see from above that the peninsula was densely wooded, and that looming in the interior was a bleak mountain range. The gryphon glided down and landed on the very tip of the tongue of land. Gustave dismounted and listened apathetically to its instructions on his future movements.
‘From here on, you can only proceed by land. Flying is impossible in this air space, and I’m not designed to travel on foot. You’ll be wondering why on earth a forest reputed to be swarming with goblins and other horrific creatures could be less of a threat than the sky above it.’
Gustave did not pursue this point, so the gryphon went on, ‘I’ll tell you why: because that air space up there is full of appalling dangers! There are holes in the sky that are said to lead to other dimensions. The ethereal ocean above this territory is dominated by flying serpents and other malign creatures.’
‘I can’t see any,’ said Gustave, unimpressed.
‘But you can see the air quivering above the treetops?’
Gustave nodded. ‘It’s hot, that’s all—heated by the perpetual sunshine.’
‘Don’t you believe it! Those are aeolian slicers. They’re like glass—transparent and almost invisible, but sharp as cut-throat razors. You don’t notice them until after they’ve reduced you to slices.’
Gustave was growing tired of the mythical beast’s dissertation.
‘You can rest here awhile,’ it continued. ‘Your new travelling companion is on the way with your equipment. He’ll be here before long.’ The gryphon rose into the air. ‘As for your love-sickness,’ it added, ‘it’ll pass. The more your first love hurts, the quicker you’ll forget how wonderful it was. You won’t find that much of a comfort at present, but you will, believe me.’
Gustave sank to the ground, stretched out in the long grass, heaved a deep sigh, and instantly fell asleep.
GUSTAVE WAS ROUSED by a clatter of hoofs. He opened his eyes and sleepily raised his head. All he could make out at first was a wavering figure, a creature with four legs and a human torso. Another mythical creature? A centaur?
He blinked, and his vision cleared. A magnificent silver-grey horse came trotting out of the forest with a knight on its back. The latter, who was wearing a fearsome-looking suit of black armour and a helmet with the visor closed, carried a long wooden lance in his right hand and a spiked ball-and-chain i
n his left.
The knight levelled his lance and cleared his throat.
‘Get ready for your last task!’ he called to Gustave, who was laboriously scrambling to his feet. The voice was deep and metallic, as though the armour itself were speaking.
‘What does he mean, my last task?’ thought Gustave, bewildered. ‘And why a knight?’ No one had ever said anything about doing battle with a knight. He straightened up with an effort, brushing the earth and leaves off his arms and legs. It was only then that he remembered how scantily attired he was.
Gustave decided to clear the air by appealing to reason. The knight, who was doubtless his new travelling companion, had evidently been given the wrong instructions. Someone had definitely blundered. Either that, or the figure in black was playing a silly practical joke on him.
‘Now look here,’ Gustave began, but the pugnacious warrior had spurred his horse and was galloping towards him. The ball-and-chain whistled through the air as he whirled it around his head, dust and clumps of grass went flying, and the forest floor shook in time to the charger’s hoofbeats.
Gustave tried to react as the situation warranted: he reached for his sword, but it wasn’t there any more. It was embedded in the belly of a hapless dragon lying dead on the seabed.
‘I’m a servant of Death!’ bellowed the black knight, digging his spurs into the charger’s flanks.
‘That’s no surprise,’ Gustave muttered to himself as he desperately scanned his surroundings for somewhere to take cover.
The whistle of the ball-and-chain and the thunder of hoofs combined to create a kind of music that grew louder and more menacing as the horse bounded nearer. The knight himself emitted an awe-inspiring sound which had probably served him well in many a battle—a cross between a growl and a rising scream. Its effect was not lost on Gustave, who at last decided that discretion was the better part of valour. His intention was to sprint into the nearby forest, where a horse would find it hard to follow and the knight, in his heavy armour, would also have problems. But he couldn’t move. His feet seemed to be rooted to the spot—he couldn’t budge them even an inch.