The City of Dreaming Books

by Walter Moers

  ‘Even I was there too,’ said the Uggly, hanging her head in shame.

  ‘And so was the mayor!’ Kibitzer added. ‘But those were just test runs on Smyke’s part. Before long he induced us to do some really important things for him. Successful booksellers sold him their businesses for a song. Many bequeathed him their stock and then committed suicide. Others, like us two, joined the Triadic Booksellers’ Association, whose members have to pay him fifty per cent of their takings. The city council passed nonsensical laws whose sole beneficiary was Smyke himself.’

  The Uggly took up the thread. ‘The intervals between the concerts steadily diminished until we never came to our senses at all. Smyke directed the destinies of Bookholm like a conductor directing an orchestra. And then your, er . . . your friend here arrived in the city.’

  She glanced towards the cave in which Homuncolossus was lurking. The groan of impatience that issued from it made her and the Nocturnomath flinch.

  ‘We first heard of him when he was already in Smyke’s clutches,’ Inazia went on. ‘Smyke showed us and one or two others what this young genius had written. He also initiated us into his disgraceful plan to transform him into a monster and banish him to the catacombs, so that he could rid them of Bookhunters.’

  ‘You knew of his plan?’ I asked in horror.

  ‘Not only that,’ Kibitzer replied quietly. ‘We made an important contribution to it. Listen carefully, because now comes the really shameful part of our story and we’re here to make amends. The fact is, Smyke could never have fulfilled his plan without our active assistance.’

  ‘You ought to add that we cooperated with pleasure,’ the Uggly put in, ‘- indeed, with fanatical enthusiasm. Our brains were so addled, so manipulated, that we considered Smyke and his paranoid ideas to be infallible. We gave him all the help he requested. Take the paper your poor friend consists of. Do you know who supplied it?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘How should I?’

  ‘I did!’ she gasped. ‘It comes from some ancient Bookemistic tomes of which only my bookshop possesses a stock.’

  The Uggly’s eyelids flickered at the sound of a faint rustle from the cave next door. She was too scared to continue, so the Nocturnomath took over.

  ‘And I constructed his eye mechanism,’ he said, ‘using a book on the optics of nightingaloscopes by Professor Abdul Nightingale. His eyes have diamond lenses ground by me personally. I also made a few other contributions to his body. His liver is good for a thousand years.’

  ‘You mean you helped to put him together?’ I asked in disgust.

  ‘No,’ said the Uggly, ‘we only supplied the components. We never set foot in Smyke’s secret laboratory, nor did we ever see the Shadow King completed. Until today.’

  An angry growl issued from the adjacent cave. The pair of them exchanged anxious glances.

  ‘We’re almost done - I’ll make it quick,’ Kibitzer said apologetically. ‘Well, that was that for the moment. The Shadow King became a legend and Smyke became more and more powerful.’

  ‘And then you arrived in the city and jolted us out of our stupor,’ said the Uggly. She uttered the words like a curse.

  ‘We both recognised the handwriting of the person we’d helped to transform into a monster,’ said Kibitzer. ‘It was like awaking from a nightmare. We were in shock at first and it was a while before we could really rouse ourselves to help you. But by then it was too late.’

  ‘You’d already disappeared,’ the Uggly went on. ‘Smyke made no secret of what he’d done with you - he blithely told his inner circle about the Lindworm he’d consigned to the catacombs. He cherishes a special hatred for Lindworm Castle. Once he has extended his power beyond the confines of Bookholm, it will be right at the top of his list for destruction.’

  ‘So we took to plugging our ears with wax whenever we went to a trombophone concert,’ said Kibitzer. ‘We still belong to the Triadic Circle, but Smyke has lost his power over us. We’ve become spies and renegades.’

  ‘We used to be Smyke’s accomplices,’ Inazia said. ‘Now we’re traitors. That’s our story in a nutshell.’

  I needed time to digest all this, but there was one thing I still failed to understand.

  ‘How did you know exactly when we would turn up here?’

  The Uggly cleared her throat with a horrible retching sound. ‘I foretold your future the first time we met,’ she said. ‘Don’t you remember?’

  ‘I vaguely recall some fanciful remarks that might have meant anything,’ I replied truthfully.

  ‘He will descend into the depths!’ Inazia snarled. ‘He will be banished to the realm of the Animatomes, the Living Books! He will consort with Him whom everyone knows but knows not who He is !’

  Yes, I thought, those really were the words she had uttered - a rather puzzling prophecy at the time. But that still didn’t answer my question.

  ‘It isn’t a gift,’ she went on, ‘it’s a curse. That prophecy was just a typical Ugglian reflex - nothing special, utterly imprecise - so I performed an oneiromantic analysis on myself. That’s one of the most accurate prognostic methods in existence, but it’s also an exceptionally painful procedure. It makes you weep blood and can drive you insane. Kibitzer had to hypnotise me, strap me to a bed of nails and sprinkle me with ox gall all night long.’

  ‘It was awful,’ Kibitzer said with a shudder.

  ‘But that combination of nightmare visions and confession under torture represents the most accurate and honest forecast of the future any Uggly can make. I foresaw your fate in every detail, down to the present moment. Kibitzer didn’t believe me either, not at first, but here we are: in the right place at the right time. Now he’s lost his bet. He owes me a signed first edition of Nightingale’s treatise on constructing submarines out of nautilus shells.’

  ‘It’s worth a fortune!’ sighed Kibitzer.

  ‘How much longer are you going to be?’ Homuncolossus bellowed.

  ‘Well,’ Kibitzer whispered, ‘here we are. We’ve admitted our guilt. It would be only right if the Shadow King killed us for our misdeeds, but perhaps we can atone for them by doing him a favour.’

  ‘Hm,’ I said. ‘He sounds pretty peeved. What have you got to offer?’

  ‘The route to the Smykean family library,’ said Kibitzer. ‘Would that do?’

  ‘You know how to get there?’

  ‘I didn’t build the labyrinth myself,’ he said, ‘but I completely renovated it three years ago.’

  The Nightingalian Impossibility Key

  ‘Are you sure we can trust them?’ Homuncolossus asked, loudly enough to be heard with ease by Kibitzer and the Uggly, who were walking on ahead.

  ‘Who can be trusted down here?’ I rejoined.

  ‘I can,’ said Homuncolossus. ‘For instance, when I vow to rip the brains out of anyone who tries to hoodwink me. Even if he possesses three of them.’

  Kibitzer gave an agonised groan. ‘I know what a burden of guilt we’re carrying,’ he said, ‘but we really mean to do our utmost to make up for it. At least give us a chance to do so.’

  ‘What choice do we have?’ I asked Homuncolossus. ‘Have you a better idea?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Kibitzer, coming to a halt.

  We looked around. There was nothing special about this narrow passage lined with books.

  Kibitzer half withdrew an unremarkable-looking book from the shelves and stepped back. The spine of the book opened to reveal a glass mechanism.

  ‘That’s the lock of the labyrinth,’ said the Nocturnomath. ‘And I have the key that fits it.’

  ‘There’s a key to the labyrinth?’ Homuncolossus asked.

  ‘Every labyrinth needs a key,’ Kibitzer replied. ‘Sometimes it exists only in the mind of its inventor. In this case it’s a Nightingalian impossibility key.’

  He felt in his pocket and removed a tiny object. We had to bend down to see it at all. It seemed to consist of glass or crystal, but for
some absurd reason it defied close examination however hard I looked. I can’t put it any other way: that key was a sheer impossibility.

  ‘Fascinating, isn’t it?’ Kibitzer asked in a dreamy voice. ‘I cut it myself out of a single diamond, following the instructions in Nightingale’s manuals.’

  The Nocturnomath inserted the tiny key in the glass lock.

  ‘I used it to activate the mechanical labyrinth after renovating it. Now I can deactivate it. Watch!’

  He turned the key. The glass mechanism emitted a series of melodious clicks and ticks and the passage began to move. Bookcases slid forwards and sideways, rotated 180 degrees or changed places. Within seconds the passage looked completely different. Even if one had memorised a few details, none of them would now be in the same location.

  ‘That’s the whole secret,’ said Kibitzer. ‘Every passage automatically reconstructs itself once you’ve walked along it. The mechanism has now been turned off.’

  ‘It’s even more ingenious than Shadowhall Castle,’ Homuncolossus said admiringly.

  ‘Shadowhall Castle?’ Kibitzer asked eagerly. ‘You mean it really exists?’

  ‘It’s a ventilation system,’ I said.

  The two booksellers stared at me.

  ‘Er, yes, it’s a ventilation system installed by a giant with a hundred noses,’ I tried to explain. ‘It’s inhabited by Animatomes and Weeping Shadows, and - oh, all right, forget it!’

  They nodded, looking relieved.

  ‘Right,’ said Kibitzer, ‘the labyrinth has now been delabyrinthised. You need only follow your noses and sooner or later you’ll come out in Smyke’s family library. Then our job will be done.’

  ‘Good,’ said Homuncolossus. He removed the Nightingalian impossibility key from the lock, threw it on the ground and stamped on it. ‘Just to be on the safe side,’ he said. ‘Now we’re quits. Goodbye.’ He turned to go.

  ‘One moment!’ Inazia called. ‘Are you really sure you want to go there?’

  ‘Is there any alternative?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not saying this because I want to stop you - destiny is unstoppable - but I’ve foreseen your future. And believe me, it wasn’t a pretty sight.’

  ‘I know what my future looks like,’ Homuncolossus said firmly. ‘We’re going.’

  I nodded.

  ‘As you wish.’ The Uggly heaved a deep sigh. ‘In that case, Kibitzer, we must hurry back and leave Bookholm at once.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Kibitzer.

  ‘Because it’s our destiny,’ said the Uggly. She took him by the arm and dragged him away.

  The Beginning and the End

  It was a thoroughly agreeable sensation, dear readers, walking through a delabyrinthised labyrinth after spending so much time in labyrinths that functioned only too well. No confusing intersections, no dead ends, no more racking one’s brains as to which turning to take, just a winding passage that would sooner or later bring us to our destination.

  ‘Have you kept that will somewhere safe?’ I asked Homuncolossus.

  ‘I have,’ he replied.

  I forbore to ask where someone without any clothes or pockets would keep an object as tiny as an eyelash ‘safe’.

  ‘What will you do to Smyke when we see him?’ I pursued.

  ‘I shall kill him.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s the best form of punishment for him,’ I said. ‘Do you really think it’s appropriate? He tormented you far more ingeniously. He locked you up in a dungeon and threw away the key. You could pay him back in the same coin.’

  ‘I know what you’re getting at,’ said Homuncolossus, ‘but you’re wasting your breath. My mind is made up.’ He raised his head. ‘Do you smell that?’

  We came to a halt and I sniffed the air. ‘Old books,’ I said. ‘So what?’

  ‘A large number of old books,’ said Homuncolossus.

  I took another sniff.

  ‘A very, very large number of very, very old books,’ I said.

  We quickened our pace. When we rounded the next bend we were confronted by a spacious cave overgrown with stalactites and stalagmites. Lined with books and generously lit by numerous candles, it was clearly an annexe of the Smykean family library.

  ‘We must make for the central cave,’ said Homuncolossus.

  We traversed several more caves, each bigger and more brightly lit than the last. The candlelight conveyed the reassuring impression that they were outposts of civilisation, but I knew only too well that we were nearing the nerve centre of Pfistomel Smyke’s budding empire.

  And then, at long last, we entered the central cave. I almost wept at the sight. The library of the Smykes! This was where my troubles had begun and this was where everything would end. Well, not everything, or so I hoped, but at least Pfistomel Smyke’s reign of terror. The library looked just as it had when the Toxicotome knocked me out: the countless shelves hewn into the rock, the wooden and iron bookcases as tall as bell towers, the incredibly long ladders, the barrels, crates and massive piles of ancient volumes. And there - yes, there was the Toxicotome! It still lay open on the ground where I had dropped it. Smyke hadn’t even bothered to put it away.

  ‘What a waste,’ Homuncolossus said contemptuously. ‘To think of this intellectual treasure chamber. in the hands of a criminal!’

  ‘It could be yours,’ I whispered, ‘if you go about it the right way. Legally, I mean.’

  We surveyed the subterranean mountain range of books, still overwhelmed by its sheer extent. Then I gave a start: one of the untidy mounds of books appeared to be stirring. I thought it was some Animatomes that had somehow found their way here and been awakened by our presence, but it was just a few ordinary books slithering to the ground. Less reassuring was the fact that the mound continued to stir.

  ‘Homuncolossus!’ I hissed.

  He had noticed the same thing long ago and was watching intently. Book after book slid to the ground. Moments later a figure emerged from the summit of the mound. It was a Bookhunter! He was dressed from head to foot in black leather, wore a mosaic death’s-head mask and was armed with a heavy crossbow, which he levelled at us. It was the one who had threatened to hack off my paws in Bookholm’s black market.

  Not far from him a second Bookhunter emerged from another pile of books. His armour was made entirely of brass and he was fitting an arrow into the string of the huge bow he carried.

  And then the process was repeated in quick succession. A big barrel of books started to sway, toppled over and disgorged another Bookhunter, likewise armed to the teeth. The books in one of the rock-hewn bookcases fell out, shelf after shelf of them, and on each shelf lay a Bookhunter. Seven tall bookcases butted up against the wall of the cave fell forward, one after another, to reveal two armed figures standing behind each. Like a corpse arising from a coffin, a mailed warrior emerged from the midst of an untidy heap of tattered volumes on a big wooden table.

  There were far more Bookhunters than there had been in the Leather Grotto - scores of them, in fact. Numbering well over a hundred, they probably included every surviving Bookhunter in the catacombs.

  Finally, a heap of yellowed parchment scrolls enclosing an enormous stalagmite collapsed and a mighty cloud of dust went billowing into the air. When the dust subsided, there stood Rongkong Koma, the most fearsome Bookhunter of all. He had put on an especially festive-looking suit of red-lacquered armour but wore no helmet as usual. His frightful face wore a triumphant smile.

  ‘Welcome,’ he called to me. ‘It’s a long time since we saw each other. You’re looking well. You’ve lost weight.’

  He rested his hands on the hilt of his weapon, a monstrous cross between an axe and a sword, which was stuck in a broad leather belt. Then he mounted a wooden platform that afforded a clear view of the library.

  He pointed to Homuncolossus. ‘That creature beside you - that ugly monster - can only be the Shadow King. It’s good to see you at last, Shadow King! We’ve only met in the dark until no
w. What a hideous gargoyle you are!’

  ‘I should have killed him while I had the chance,’ Homuncolossus muttered.

  ‘My Bookhunters weren’t prepared for your cowardly attack on the Leather Grotto,’ called Rongkong Koma. ‘But we’re all the readier for you this time and we’re ten times as many.’

  Several Bookhunters were holding the tips of their arrows in candle flames, I saw. They must have been soaked in oil, because they caught fire at once.

  Rongkong Koma was still pointing at the Shadow King. ‘I suppose you thought your treacherous attack had scared us into abandoning our profession. I’m bound to admit that my followers’ morale really did take a dive - it was all I could do to remotivate them. In the end, though, you only achieved the opposite of your intention. Now all the Bookhunters in the catacombs have banded together - under my leadership! - to put an end to you, Shadow King! We’ve never been stronger!’

  The Bookhunters uttered a bellow of assent and clattered their weapons.

  ‘I should have killed them all while I had the chance,’ whispered Homuncolossus.

  ‘After your appearance in the Leather Grotto it was only a matter of time before you turned up here,’ Rongkong Koma went on. ‘Pfistomel Smyke guessed you would do so as soon as we told him. And here’s something else you should know before you die, Shadow King: you’re going to make us all, every last one of us, immensely rich. Once we’ve disposed of you, Smyke is allowing each of us to take as many books from this library as he can carry.’

  The Bookhunters gave another yell.

  ‘What do Kibitzer and Inazia get out of this?’ asked Homuncolossus.

  Rongkong Koma stopped short. ‘You do your only friends in Bookholm an injustice,’ he said. ‘No, they genuinely wanted to help you. The Nocturnomath and the Uggly were behaving so suspiciously, Smyke kept them under surveillance. We gave the two of them free rein. Someone had to let you into the library, after all.’