Nettlewooz Vol. 1. Stefan Seitz

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СКАЧАТЬ I wouldn’t say no to some of those. Okay?”

      “Fine,” Primus replied. “Sunflower seeds and redcurrants. I won’t be long.”

      With these words, Primus vanished in a puff of white smoke from which a little bat emerged. His extreme old age was, so it seemed, not the only extraordinary thing about him. For Primus could change his form at any time of the day or night. And as the alternative form he took was that of a bat, he could fly, too.

      He was still wearing his top hat, which was of course rather smaller now. He had a thick black coat, big eyes and two long canine teeth which glistened in the moonlight and made him look like an archetypal vampire bat … or, at any rate, a vampire bat in a hat.

      Primus didn’t look particularly scary, but quite scary enough for the fearful villagers of Burdock Village. They either ran away screaming when they saw him, or chased after him with shovels and pitchforks. Whichever way, Primus always enjoyed it enormously.

      He was, however, not a vampire. Quite the opposite. It wouldn’t have crossed his mind to suck anyone’s blood, given that he normally ate precisely nothing. He didn’t need to eat or drink. He never felt hungry, either – although he seemed unaware of all these things, and just ate whatever he fancied at any particular moment. This tended to be sweets, biscuits and tasty cakes.

      The best cakes had long been made by the Burdock Village Patisserie. A splendid shop, where he had long been one of the most loyal customers – albeit an uninvited one.

      He now flapped his way over to the opposite side of his garret and sailed merrily over the banisters and down to the sitting room. This was where Primus spent most of his time when he wasn’t in bed. It contained a huge oak armchair, scuffed and with threadbare upholstery. Little Bucklewhee was always hoping that the springs might burst through the leather and that he could snaffle one which he could use to lick his clock back into shape. Next to the chair was a table with a pile of dusty books on it – although there was nothing unusual about this, as the whole room was full of books. They were scattered across the floor, and stacked up against the walls. There was one door, which led into the kitchen. The kitchen led on to the tower’s spiral staircase, which in turn led to the front door.

      Primus, however, had long preferred to use his own special exit. He tucked his head in and headed for a hole in the window pane. Like an arrow, he shot through the hole, then swooped down into the garden.

      “Hey!” came a voice from the darkness. “Might I ask why you two were making such a racket up there? Nobody can get a wink of sleep with that going on.”

      Primus looked down. On a compost heap right next to the garden wall sat a round, orange pumpkin named Snigg.

      Snigg was the size of an exercise ball and had glowing eyes and a gigantic mouth. He was a gardener or something along those lines. He couldn’t say precisely what he did. At any rate, he had started the compost heap himself, and was inordinately proud of this achievement. This compost heap also served as his bed and pantry. He was forever rummaging around in it, hoping to find something edible among the old leaves. Breakfast in bed was what he called this activity – his favourite pastime by miles.

      Just a few feet away from the compost heap, a hollow oak tree rose into the sky. Its branches reached almost to the ground. Snigg’s fond hope was that his dream home would have its own roof once the leaves started to sprout on the tree. However, he was overlooking the fact that his compost heap consisted mostly of the leaves that had once been part of this same tree, before it had died off years ago.

      His cheeks were stuffed full of apple as he spat the core onto the grass. Then he hopped nimbly onto the garden wall. You had to hand it to him: rotund Snigg might be, but he was astonishingly agile.

      “Sorry, can’t stop,” Primus called as he flew past. “I need to get to the patisserie. Any requests?”

      Snigg’s eyes opened wide. No question could have pleased him more.

      “I don’t mind,” he said with delight. “Just bring whatever you can carry. It’s all delicious.”

      The pumpkin was about to wax lyrical, but Primus was already on his way.

      “Just watch out!” he bellowed anxiously into the darkness. “I’ve heard that it’s going to be foggy in the north.” He paused. “And we don’t want anything to happen to the cakes!”

      Primus zoomed through the night like the wind, passing a couple of beehives before whizzing straight down the hill. At the bottom of the hill he crossed a little wooden bridge and carried straight on into the Dark Forest. Here, the Snail Creek, which had its source in the distant Plumbum Peaks, flowed just a few paces from Thistleway. Primus looked straight ahead. The huge trees rose blackly into the sky, obscuring his flight path. At the point where Thistleway plunged into the forest, however, the trees leaned over to create a gap which led into the nocturnal darkness of the forest. Without a moment’s hesitation, Primus shot through the gap.

      The darkness couldn’t have been any more impenetrable. After all the years, though, Primus could have found his way to Burdock Village with his eyes shut. Straight past the oak tree, then a slight turn to the right, tuck your head in, then straight ahead again. In the middle of the forest, he reached a crossroads. It was the sole one for miles around, and it even offered a signpost. Turn right for Wiseville, straight ahead for Burdock Village, and left for the Western Swamps. However, this latter path didn’t take you very far as it was blocked off only a short way down. Danger of Death, a sign declared. The Western Swamps were largely uncharted and extremely dangerous. Rumour had it, though, that the warning on the sign didn’t refer to the bubbling swamp but to something entirely different. There was supposed to be a black hut somewhere in the vicinity. A hut in which the Devil apparently lived.

      Primus, however, had always been quite certain that people were actually thinking of himself and the old tower, and he always turned the signpost to point in a different direction. After all, it didn’t much matter which way you went in the forest. It was spooky come what may.

      Small lights had often been seen twinkling through the trees at night. Lights which looked exactly like the brightly lit windows of an inn. Many a tired traveller had followed these will-o’-the-wisps, had lost their way, and had been lured deep into the undergrowth. There the lights suddenly disappeared, leaving the traveller up the proverbial creek without a paddle. Then there were all the magical springs, trails of mist, and mysterious plants. Tendrils of thorns would quickly transform themselves into dangerous nets in which they would capture their prey and never release it. Tufts of grass would start moving, or would run across the forest floor, as if led by a ghostly hand. However, the worst thing of all was the stinking puffball mushrooms. These grew in rows at the edge of the path, and burst if you so much as brushed against them. Their fruiting bodies were filled with a powder which stank so badly of cow-sheds and bad eggs that it was impossible to breathe.

      Primus wasn’t in the slightest bit bothered by any of this. As he flew by, he merely turned the signpost round and flapped onwards.

      As he finally neared the northern edge of the forest, he remembered Snigg’s words. It’s going to be foggy in the north, the pumpkin had called. He was evidently not mistaken, for with every flap of his wings, it grew increasingly misty. However, the mist in the woods was as nothing compared with what met Primus when he reached the meadow behind the final trees. A white wall. Primus had not remotely been expecting this kind of dense fog – and particularly not at this time of year. There was no sign of Burdock Village. Even on the best of days, there wasn’t any kind of street lighting apart from the sole lantern which stood in the market place.

      Primus СКАЧАТЬ