by Walter Moers
‘The other was that they come to terms with the Smarmies. The result? Fame, money, literary prizes, immortality. Weren’t those the true objectives of any writer?
‘No, cried another Lindworm. Truth and beauty – those were the virtues, the grand aspirations a writer should cultivate, nothing else. He was shouted down.
‘The previous speaker took the floor again. He spoke very loudly and deliberately: They, the inhabitants of Lindworm Castle, were on the brink of an abyss. Would it not be appropriate for them to dance to the music of the stars?
‘He had put his finger on the salient point: “the abyss” was artistic anonymity; “the music of the stars” was public acclaim.
‘“I want to make my mark!” shouted one Lindworm.
‘“I want some good reviews!” shouted another.
‘A babble of voices filled the market place. Everyone talked at once. “This is a commercial sell-out!” cried one very elderly Lindworm, but that was the last critical comment to be heard. It was decided to invite the Smarmies to a big reception in the market place. For the first time ever, and only for their most devoted admirers, the Lindworms would throw open their castle gates. It was the beginning of a golden future.’
Rumo was growing impatient. He wondered when Smyke would get down to business again.
‘The great day soon came. A long ceremonial procession of Smarmies wound its way up into the castle, scattering flowers and laudatory leaflets as it went. There was music, singing and red wine for all. When the Smarmies reached the market place, their portly leader waddled forward. Beckoning the mayor to his side, he made an announcement: “This is the dawn of a new era. It will be an era devoid of Lindworms.”
‘The Lindworms looked startled.
‘“It will be an era in which the dissemination of Lindworm literature is prohibited on pain of death – an era in which being a Lindworm carries the death penalty.”
‘The mayor stared at him in horror. Was this a joke? How dared the fellow profane this solemn occasion in such an unseemly fashion? Then the Smarmies’ leader reached under his robe, drew out a dagger and held it to the mayor’s throat.
‘“Seriously, folks!” he cried. “It’s up to you. If you want to survive, you must answer a few simple questions. Where’s your diamond the size of a house? Where’s your lake filled with emeralds? Where’s your tunnel to the centre of the earth?”’
Rumo gave a start. Had the Smarmies come armed?
‘Several Lindworms cried out in alarm as the Smarmies tore off their colourful robes. Swords, daggers and suits of armour came to light beneath them.
‘“Yes, that’s how it is! No more soft soap!” the leader said with a laugh. He released the mayor and left the dirty work to his soldiers.’
Rumo gasped. The Smarmies were even worse than the Copper Killers! Even he had been taken in by them.
‘Yes,’ said Smyke, ‘the Smarmies were really ex-soldiers who had all taken part in some of the sieges of Lindworm Castle. Their bodies were covered with burns, their faces glowed with hatred. Not long ago some of them had met up in a disreputable Grailsundian tavern and talked themselves into a rage. The innkeeper was the Smarmies’ corpulent commander, and it was he who had devised the cunning plan to mobilise all the soldiers wounded while besieging Lindworm Castle and capture the stronghold by devious means. And the plan had really worked!’
Rumo growled. What a low-down, dirty trick!
‘On one side were the heavily armed, battle-hardened, vengeful, bloodthirsty soldiers; on the other the effete, poetry-writing, unarmed Lindworms – bereft of their boiling pitch and molten lead. The final battle for Lindworm Castle seemed to be developing into a very unequal contest.’
Rumo nodded gravely. It would be no battle, just an even more frightful massacre than the one the Copper Killers had perpetrated on their creators.
‘But then …’ – something in Smyke’s tone made Rumo prick up his ears again – ‘a remarkable thing happened. It came as a surprise to the soldiers, but even more so to the Lindworms themselves. For a few moments absolute silence reigned in the market place. Even the soldiers froze as if sensing imminent disaster. Then a change came over the Lindworms’ appearance, their manner, their eyes and faces. Their whimpers of fear gave way to terrifying, predatory snarls; they bared their carefully hidden fangs, their jaws opened wide like bear traps, slaver overflowed their chops, and their throats emitted sounds that would have sent a troop of red gorillas clambering up the nearest tree in double-quick time. Some of them tore off their silken robes and displayed their mighty packets of muscle. Yes, the slumbering instincts of the Lindworms’ huge carnivorous ancestors had been awakened by this immediate threat. In an instant’ – Smyke snapped his fingers – ‘the effeminate dwellers in an ivory tower had turned into ravening primeval lizards.’
Rumo clenched his little fists and punched the air in excitement. There was going to be a fight after all!
‘It was only now that the real battle for Lindworm Castle began – a bloodbath compared to which the Battle of Nurn Forest must have been a minor skirmish. The Lindworms possessed no weapons; they were their own weapons – perfectly constructed fighting machines more deadly even than the Copper Killers and equipped with dragons’ armoured scales instead of iron shields, razor-sharp fangs instead of daggers, gigantic claws instead of sabres.
‘But don’t imagine that the soldiers dropped their weapons in alarm. They were dumbfounded by the sight of the Lindworms’ gaping jaws, not having expected to encounter any resistance, but they were the most experienced warriors in Zamonia, veterans whose mettle had been tested in countless battles, countless ordeals by fire. They had dealt with dangers quite different from those presented by a bunch of wild beasts. Besides, they were armed to the teeth and dinosaurs were not invulnerable.
‘The carnage was appalling. Unprecedented scenes unfolded in the alleyways of Lindworm Castle. It was men versus primeval beasts, sabres versus fangs, swords versus claws. The dinosaurs roared, the soldiers bellowed, blades buried themselves in saurian bodies, heads were ripped off by saurian teeth, blood spurted, fragments of flesh flew in all directions, spears pierced the great lizards’ scaly armour, dragonlike tails sliced bodies in half at a single stroke. The battle raged all day, and there was no one anywhere on the castle rock who remained unstained with blood, whether his own or that of his foes.
‘Half the inhabitants of Lindworm Castle lost their lives that day, but the only one of the Smarmies to survive, so it’s said, was their leader. Nobody knows his name and nobody knows how he escaped the slaughter. When nightfall came, anyone wishing to traverse the castle’s alleyways had to step over mounds of corpses. The blood was ankle-deep. It flowed into the sewers and down the mountainside, staining the entire castle blood-red.’
Rumo was breathing heavily. It had been more of a fight than he’d expected.
‘And that, my boy,’ Smyke concluded, ‘was the story of the sieges of Lindworm Castle. There are many lessons to be drawn from it. Pick one when you get a chance.’
And he rolled his eyes and slowly submerged.
Growing pains
Rumo had acquired twenty-five new teeth in the eight weeks he’d spent as a prisoner on Roaming Rock. Many were broad, short and blunt, others long with needle-sharp points or flat and thin with cutting edges as keen as a knife. The pain inflicted by Rumo’s sprouting teeth had become an unpredictable visitor that kept moving around his mouth.
Sometimes it lodged at the back of the upper jaw, sometimes at the front of the lower jaw, sometimes in the left cheek, sometimes in the right, and sometimes in three or four places at once. Rumo’s efforts to ignore it were aided by the rewards this agony brought in its train. Whenever a place stopped hurting it meant that nature had presented him with a new work of art.
Besides, he had learnt how to use these new tools of his. There was a piece of driftwood lying in the corner of his niche and he chewed it as often as he could. After only a few days
it looked as if it had been attacked by termites.
Rumo noticed other changes in his body. His funny little forepaws were developing into slender hands composed of three fingers and a thumb armed with sharp, graceful claws. The most fascinating thing was that he could now grasp objects with them. This gave him a wonderfully pleasurable sensation, as if he had been presented with additional power over things. The muscles in his hind legs were swelling and his fur was becoming smoother. Everything about him seemed to be growing tauter, more supple, bigger and stronger. His coat was losing its pinkish shade and turning white as snow. He didn’t look as cute, but this was offset by his increasingly handsome appearance. His snub nose was developing into a thin, elegant muzzle, his baby fat into symmetrical rows of stomach muscles and his forelegs were becoming athletic, muscular arms. His shoulders were growing broader while his waist remained slim, his big saucer eyes were narrowing into mysterious, predatory slits. Rumo was growing up, an abnormally rapid process in the case of a Wolperting.
‘I can actually see you growing,’ Smyke told him. ‘You walk across the cave and you’re a head taller when you reach the other side.’
Rumo gave a sheepish laugh. He had been unable to squeeze into his niche for several days. Like all the rest, he now had to remain in the cave when the Demonocles came visiting, and they couldn’t fail to notice him in the end. Their mouths watered at the sight of such an interesting beast. Lions and red gorillas were considered great delicacies, and it delighted them to watch their muscles and sinews twitch as they skinned them alive. But this creature – this horned dog with dark eyes and silky white fur – was unlike any animal they had ever kept on Roaming Rock before. It promised to be even more delicious than all the big game they had ever torn to pieces. The Demonocles treated Rumo as if he were maturing in their cave like an exceptionally precious bottle of vintage wine.
Rumo thought his hour had struck whenever the one-eyed monsters came to gawp at him, which they continually did. Smyke had urged him to walk on all fours and he did so whenever Demonocles were present, but that could not disguise his attractions. The cave was sometimes visited by Demonocles who thrust him into a corner, grunting and smacking their lips – their way, it seemed, of discussing his physical development. They pinched his legs and stomach muscles, sniffed his fur, plucked out hairs and examined them. The saliva gushed from their stinking mouths as they rejoiced in his lightning reflexes, and he could tell that it was all they could do not to sink their fangs into him on the spot. Every time they departed without dragging him away he felt he had been born anew.
Rumo’s physical development was matched by his linguistic progress. He was now capable of conversing fluently with Smyke. Although his own use of words was still on a par with that of a traveller who has been studying a foreign language for only a few weeks, he could understand nearly everything.
The Wolpertings
‘What’s happening to me?’ Rumo asked Smyke one night. The waves were breaking against Roaming Rock with exceptional violence, filling its interior with a thunderous, awe-inspiring roar. ‘Why am I growing so fast?’
‘Because you’re a Wolperting,’ Smyke replied.
Rumo put his head on one side, as he always did when an answer dissatisfied him.
Smyke sighed. ‘Oh well,’ he said, ‘I think it’s about time you learnt something about yourself and your breed. I don’t know all that much, but …’
‘Go on!’ Rumo commanded.
Smyke drew a deep breath. ‘There’s a saying about Wolpertings that probably conveys more about them than any other. It’s: You might as well tangle with a Wolperting.’ Smyke grinned. ‘The Zamonians often use that phrase when they want to dissuade someone from doing something incredibly stupid, something that could be lethal or is doomed to failure. Wolpertings have inherited the characteristics of wolves and deer. That makes them strong, wild, skittish, nimble and dangerous. They have instincts and reflexes possessed by no other living creature in Zamonia and their sensory organs have developed in a unique way. They can see with their noses and ears if need be. They’re so fast and agile that their movements sometimes convey a magical impression.’
Rumo pricked up his ears. Although Smyke was using rather high-flown language, he gathered that he was trying to explain that Wolpertings were very special creatures. Why had he withheld this gratifying information for so long?
‘Wolpertings fall into two categories: the wild ones, who never learn to speak and spend their lives on all fours, and the civilised ones, who sooner or later stand up on their hind legs and start to speak. When Wolperting whelps reach the age at which they develop their first fangs it becomes apparent which they are, wild or civilised. You clearly belong to the second category.’
The words that had slumbered inside Rumo, the peculiar mixture of thoughts and sensations that had arisen within him … He was beginning to understand them now.
‘Intellectually, wild Wolpertings are more or less on a par with wolves and live mainly in the forests and steppes of Zamonia. Many of them can even be tamed and spend their lives on farms, where they act as well-tended watchdogs.’
Smyke gave Rumo a long look before he went on. Yes, he had decided to tell him the truth, even if he couldn’t grasp it yet.
‘You’re an orphan, Rumo. It’s one of the ruthless traditions of your breed that Wolperting parents, both wild and civilised, abandon their newborn whelps in the wilderness soon after birth. If they develop into wild Wolpertings they’ve already found their natural habitat. If they’re capable of speech they have to find their way to civilisation unaided.’
Rumo was feeling overtaxed. Words like orphan, ruthless, habitat and civilisation meant nothing to him. ‘So where am I going?’ he asked.
Smyke laughed. ‘You’re going nowhere. You’re on Roaming Rock.’
Rumo cocked his head again.
‘Listen,’ said Smyke, lowering his voice. ‘If I told you of a plan to escape from this cave and release the others, what would you think of it?’
‘It would be good,’ said Rumo.
‘What if I said you’re the most important part of this plan?’
‘I’d be proud,’ said Rumo.
‘And what if I said you’d have to risk your life in order to carry it out?’
‘I’d be even prouder.’
‘Good. I’ll give the plan some more thought and tell you about it when the time is ripe,’ said Smyke, holding out one of his little hands. Rumo shook it. It was moist and sticky, but he felt very honoured all the same.
Smyke taught Rumo something new about fighting every day. Tricks and technique were seldom mentioned. Smyke enjoyed lecturing on the theoretical aspects of combat, and there were times when Rumo didn’t understand a word. One day, for instance, Smyke told him, ‘It’s trite but true to say that thinking too much while you’re fighting is a positive disadvantage. Don’t get me wrong: a good fighter mustn’t be a brainless idiot. He must simply have the strength to decide to act rather than think at the crucial moment. No, what am I saying? Strength doesn’t come into it. The opposite is true. The decision mustn’t be an effort. It must be like relieving yourself.’
Rumo gave a puzzled growl and knitted his brow.
‘When you pass water you’re releasing something pent up inside you, right? It’s like being set free – it’s easy, satisfying and positively enjoyable: you simply let go. If you wanted to you could pass water all day long, wherever you happen to be, but you don’t. Instead of making a mess you hold it in until it hurts. Then you let it flow and it’s a relief, am I right? Well, that’s just the way you should fight: as if you were peeing.’
Rumo was bewildered. Smyke had been rhapsodising about heroic battles and victories the whole time, and now he was talking about passing water. Wolpertings urinated often, like any Zamonian life form whose veins contained the blood of primeval dogs, but he couldn’t fathom what his fat friend was getting at.
‘Think about it!’ said Smyke.
Rumo recalled Smyke’s remarks later on, when he was relieving himself in a dark corner of the cave, but he still didn’t understand. What had peeing to do with fighting?
Rumo dreams of vengeance
By now, nearly all the Hackonians who had raised Rumo were gone. The Demonocles had dragged them out of the cave one by one and none had ever returned. Rumo lamented their disappearance because by this time he knew what had happened to them. In addition to teeth and muscles, he was developing an unpleasant feeling as regards the Demonocles. It was a hopeless, helpless, desperate emotion – a wish to make the Demonocles pay for what they had done to his dead friends. In other words he thirsted for revenge. He knew at the same time that he was powerless against the Demonocles, being so small and weak by comparison. He was growing, yes, and growing fast, but even if he developed into the strongest and most dangerous Wolperting of all time, what could one solitary creature do against hundreds of Demonocles? He couldn’t expect any assistance from the surviving Hackonian dwarfs, nor from Smyke, that ungainly tub of lard. Even if the strongest creatures in the cave, the wild beasts, joined forces with him, they wouldn’t stand a chance against the one-eyed giants.
What on earth could Smyke’s plan be?
Giant-repellent
The prisoners in the cave had resigned themselves to their fate as time went by. They’d grasped that it was pointless to spend the whole day weeping and wailing. Not even fear lasts for ever; sooner or later everlasting danger transforms it into apathy. Although the Hackonians’ hearts still missed a beat whenever a Demonocle entered the cave, they had devised ways of making themselves look as inconspicuous, unattractive and unappetising as possible. Many of them had smeared themselves with slime from Smyke’s pool, which Rumo, being free to move around, gladly distributed among them. Word had spread that movement whetted the Demonocles’ appetite, so they kept as still as possible or pretended to be asleep whenever one of them inspected the cave.