The 13.5 Lives of Captain Bluebear

by Walter Moers

  From the

  ‘Encyclopedia of Marvels, Life Forms and Other Phenomena of Zamonia and its Environs’

  by Professor Abdullah Nightingale

  Spiderwitch, The. The Common Spiderwitch or Witch Spider [Tarantula valkyria] belongs to the family of four-lunged megaspiders, e.g. the bird-eating spider, but attains a considerably larger size. Its predatory techniques have never been fully investigated because no researcher has ever got near enough and lived to report his findings. The Spiderwitch is classified among those Zamonian life forms which employ unfair methods of luring their quarry, e.g. →Carnivorous Oyster, The, →Gourmetica insularis, The, and the venomous →Frog Prince. The Spiderwitch is usually black, with dense, shaggy, reddish brown or fox-red hair and coppery fur on the flattened extremities of its legs and palps. It is held in low esteem by other creatures because of its bad manners and malicious nature, one exception being the Tarantula Tick, a parasite that lives in its fur. Its bite [depending on the victim’s size] can be innocuous, injurious to health, or absolutely fatal. An adult Bollogg, for example, will scarcely notice its bite, whereas a 200-foot-long water snail can suffer for several weeks from inflammation of the jaw area accompanied by dizzy spells and breathlessness. In creatures less than 50 feet long the bite is not only lethal but inevitably causes the victim to dissolve entirely into a viscous, readily digestible liquid, similar in appearance to white of egg, which the Spiderwitch sucks up with its mandibles. It can attain a height of 25 feet, has four to eight legs depending on its age [it is born with four legs and acquires another pair every hundred years], twelve eyes, four beaklike mouths, and, on the top of its head, a funnel-shaped, sharply tapering horn which vaguely remembles a witch’s hat and has given it its name. It probably uses this horn to skewer its victims and transport them to its storage net. The Spiderwitch can excrete a sticky solution that induces delusions of a wish-fulfilling kind; in other words, hallucinations that conjure up a vision of what the victim most ardently desires. The Spiderwitch coats its webs in this secretion. Because it cannot be fitted into any evolutionary pattern, the creature is assumed to have entered Zamonia by way of a comet strike or a dimensional hiatus. It nests exclusively in the Great Forest. That is why the reader is here advised, most strongly, to give the place a wide berth.

  Many thanks, Professor Nightingale! I had learned all about the Great Forest at the Nocturnal Academy. I knew that it covered 17,000 square miles and was a densely wooded tract of land whose luxuriant forms of vegetation ranged from evergreen trees to mosses and subterranean truffles. I could cite the Latin names of every plant in the forest and ascertain the age of every tree by means of bark analysis, but I did not learn that it was inhabited by an omnivorous Spiderwitch until I awoke in its web.

  I was probably the last person to grasp this fact, as many readers will have guessed, but love – as everyone knows – is blind. The beautiful girl bluebear wasn’t what she seemed. Not only was she no girl bluebear; she wasn’t even a girl or anything at all. She was merely an illusion, a figment of my imagination generated by the hypnotic vapours emanating from the fluid to which I was adhering. I thought I’d spent whole days in the clearing, whereas everything had occurred within the space of a few minutes, or only seconds. I had probably hurled myself at the spider’s sticky web with open arms, and now I was caught fast in it like a common house fly.

  I began by endeavouring to free my paws. The adhesive substance was viscous; I could move my paws a good inch to and fro, but I couldn’t, however hard I tried, detach them from the web. I mobilized my reserves of optimism. Perhaps there wasn’t any Spiderwitch in this area; perhaps it had merely spun a web and moved to another part of the forest. That was possible, after all, wasn’t it? Who was to say it would definitely return?

  From the

  ‘Encyclopedia of Marvels, Life Forms and Other Phenomena of Zamonia and its Environs’

  by Professor Abdullah Nightingale

  Spiderwitch, The [cont.]. Once the Spiderwitch has spun a web it leaves it and goes off to spin more webs in other places. Thereafter the creature checks its skilfully constructed traps for prey at regular intervals. It may be days or weeks before it returns to a web, but return it will, on that you may safely stake your last cent, your sanity, and the health of your entire family.

  So I was hopelessly stuck, and the Spiderwitch would beyond a doubt be coming back to liquidize me with its bodily fluids. What use was the encyclopedia in my head if it never supplied me with vital information until too late? Why hadn’t Nightingale told us anything in class about Spiderwitches and their hypnotic secretions? I was beginning to have considerable doubts about the Nocturnal Academy’s educational system.

  The cobweb to end all cobwebs

  I submitted the cobweb to detailed scrutiny for the first time. To give the Spiderwitch its due, it was a masterpiece of the weaver’s craft. The creature had not only stretched ropes taut between the trees and attached them to each other, but filled every interstice with smaller cobwebs spun from threads of steadily diminishing thickness. If one looked very closely, one could see that these smaller cobwebs were themselves filled with even smaller ones in which, if I’d had a magnifying glass, I would doubtless have discovered smaller ones still. Any living creature, be it never so microscopically small, would have been trapped by this diabolical snare.

  It wasn’t just a cobweb, it was a work of genius. Had a cup been awarded for insidious trapping techniques, it would have gone to that treacherous snare. The spider appeared to devote all its energies and intelligence to constructing these masterly examples of the predator’s art, of which there were probably thousands in the Great Forest. No wonder these woods were now destitute of animals. The last surviving deer and bird, the last surviving beetle, butterfly and mayfly must ultimately have become entangled in one of the Spiderwitch’s webs.

  It is doubtful if there is a more horrible way to die than in the mandibles of a Spiderwitch. It very carefully coats its victim in an acidic, nauseating fluid that begins by eating away the skin and then, with excruciating lentitude, turns the flesh into porridgelike, readily digestible sludge. The victim experiences unendurable pain as his bones are …

  Thanks very much, but I’d sooner not know all the gory details! It might be nice if the encyclopedia could give me a few practical tips from time to time. For instance, on how to extricate oneself from a Spiderwitch’s web.

  Once a living creature has become entangled in a Spiderwitch’s web, only the spider itself can free it. This it does by means of the liquefactive process described in detail above. Where research into the relevant field is concerned, the Spiderwitch’s secretion is considered to be the undisputed king of liquid adhesives. There is no chemical, vegetable or other compound that can dissolve the said secretion.

  That was nice to know. Not only was I trapped in the web of the Zamonian continent’s most bestial life form, which would sooner or later pass by and turn me into porridge – no, it had also been scientifically demonstrated beyond a doubt that the adhesive imprisoning me was indissoluble.

  Except by water.

  What?

  Except by water. Remarkably enough, only ordinary spring, rain or tap water is capable of neutralizing the adhesive properties of the Spiderwitch’s secretion.

  Aha, water. There was water, certainly, a whole streamful of it, but all of fifty feet away. How could I get to it? Could the encyclopedia suggest some answer to this problem? Hello? Come in, encyclopedia! The forest remained silent.

  Perhaps the spider had only just spun its web and wouldn’t return for a week or two at least. It might well rain in the interim. Then I could free myself with ease and quit the forest in a hurry.

  Great Forest, The [cont.]. The Great Forest gets most of its water from the numerous underground streams that permeate the soil. It very seldom rains in the Great Forest – only, in fact, on the occasion of one of the rare Gloomberg Tempests. If a Gloomberg Tempest has just occurred it may be months, if n
ot years, before the next rain can be expected.

  Information of this kind was enough to blight anyone’s hopes. My optimism was gradually yielding to more realistic considerations. Perhaps the spider had spun the web a long time ago and was coming to collect its prey at this moment. It might even have been lurking in the undergrowth all this time, feasting its eyes on the sight of its helpless victim.

  What was that? Had I just heard a rustle in the bushes?

  No, of course not. I was well on the way to losing my mind from fear. It was only some branches stirring in the wind.

  There it was again! That wasn’t the wind: some leaves in the undergrowth across the way were waving to and fro in an unnatural manner. There was something alive in there! What sort of creature could it be? The Great Forest was deserted save for the Spiderwitch and me.

  Another rustling sound, louder and more prolonged than before.

  The undergrowth parted, and an incredibly hideous, repulsive-looking creature slunk slowly towards me.

  It was no Spiderwitch; it was the Troglotroll.

  An old acquaintance

  ‘Ak-ak-ak!’ he cackled. ‘I may look like a Troglotroll, but don’t be misled. I’m really a forester – the Great Forest’s forester-in-chief. Incognito, of course, hence my deceptively genuine-looking Troglotroll disguise. Does that sound relatively convincing, at least, or should I admit right away that I’m a Troglotroll?’

  ‘Cut it out!’ I snapped. ‘I’m in an extremely unpleasant predicament. There’s some water over there. If you’d be good enough to –’

  ‘One moment,’ the Troglotroll broke in, lounging comfortably on the grass. ‘How did you get into that mess? I mean, you’ve got to be pretty stupid to get caught in one of those things. I’ve seen them all over the forest, but I’d never have taken it into my head to try and kiss one. Ugh, looks like a huge spider’s web. Anyone who isn’t absolutely cuckoo would give it a wide berth.’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Er, this liquid here makes you think the web is the loveliest thing imaginable, not a web at all … It positively hypnotizes you and, er … it’s very hard to explain … How come you weren’t taken in by one?’

  The Troglotroll sniffed a bit, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘No idea. Perhaps because I can’t imagine anything lovely, just horrid, nasty things. Ak-ak!’

  ‘It doesn’t matter anyway, not now. Would you be kind enough to scoop some water out of the stream and sprinkle it over my hands? It’s the only thing that’ll release me.’

  ‘Is that all? Just some water from the stream?’

  ‘Precisely. I’d be most grateful.’

  ‘All right.’ The gnome wagged his head and waddled over to the stream. Kneeling down, he cupped some water in his hands and carried it carefully over to me like a waiter with a trayful of champagne glasses.

  Just before reaching the web he stopped short.

  ‘Hurry up!’ I called impatiently. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I came within an ace of forgetting I’m a Troglotroll. I’m behaving like a Boy Scout!’

  ‘That’s neither here nor there,’ I said, trying to sound as casual as possible, because I already guessed which way the wind was blowing. ‘Just bring the stuff here.’

  The Troglotroll let the water trickle slowly through his fingers into the grass. ‘Phew!’ he said. ‘Only just stopped myself in the nick of time. I very nearly performed a good deed.’ He wiped some imaginary sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

  ‘Hey! Would you please fetch some more water and release me at last? The spider may turn up at any moment. This is no joke.’

  ‘I’m not being funny, I’m a Troglotroll. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our little adventure in the mountains?’

  ‘No, I haven’t forgotten it, but I forgive you. Leading someone astray is rather different from leaving them to be devoured by a giant spider. You wouldn’t do a thing like that.’

  ‘Yes, I would. It’s my job.’

  ‘You wouldn’t!’

  ‘Now listen, my boy!’ said the Troglotroll, very serious all of a sudden, and there was a look of genuine regret in his eyes. ‘You don’t seem to grasp what a fix you’re in. I’m a Troglotroll, the most abominable creature in Zamonia. I couldn’t help you even if I wanted to – which I don’t! It’s simply not in my nature. All I want, and all I can do, is not to help you! In present circumstances, I’m the most treacherous person you could possibly have met. I mean, it would be only too easy for me to help you – child’s play, in fact – but I won’t. Lurking back there in the forest is a giant spider as big as a house, and all I’d have to do to save you is fetch a little water. But I’d sooner leave you to your uncertain – no, your absolutely certain fate. Only a Troglotroll could do that. You’ve got a greater chance of being released by the spider itself than by a Troglotroll. Put that in your pipe and smoke it!’

  And the Troglotroll disappeared into the undergrowth.

  ‘I’m really sorry!’ he called. ‘That’s to say, I’m not even that, ak-ak-ak!’

  I flew into a rage I’d never have thought myself capable of. Shrieking and vituperating, I tore at the spider’s web and yelled curses so vile that not even as hated a creature as the Troglotroll had heard them before (neither had I). Seemingly endowed by my maniacal fury with colossal strength, I wrenched at the sticky rope until the anchor trees shook, tugged at the cobweb until the blood pounded in my temples. It did, in fact, stretch a little and became steadily thinner. I tugged still harder, emitting noises like a weightlifter on the verge of rupturing himself. The spider’s rope became as thin as a silken thread, expanded until it was almost invisible – but it didn’t snap.

  My strength eventually deserted me, and the thread contracted into a thick rope once more. I roared and raved, hurled imprecations after the troll, assured him that I would pursue him to all eternity and described what I would do to him. I kicked up what was probably the loudest din the Great Forest had heard in its many thousand years of existence. Until it suddenly dawned on me what I was really doing, in other words, personally ringing the Spiderwitch’s dinner bell.

  Nowhere does a noise sound louder than in a forest where no other noises can be heard. It might be thought that a mountain valley or a cathedral would produce the loudest echoes, but they sound far more impressive in deserted woods. Undiluted by the hooting of owls or the rustle of insects or other noises, they rebound from tree to tree, leaf to leaf, pine needle to pine needle, until they combine to produce a monster of a sound far louder than their original cause. That is frightening enough in itself, but in this case there wasn’t just a monster of a sound: there was the sound of a monster.

  Spiders move silently as a rule, but that applies only to the lightweights. I was here dealing with a three-ton spider, and I could already hear it in the distance as it drove its yards-long legs into the forest floor like a piledriver. At first the ground just vibrated gently, but then my ears detected an eightfold tread that seemed to be making for me fast and purposefully.

  Boom! (one) Boom! (two) Boom! (three) Boom! (four) Boom! (five) Boom! (six) Boom! (seven) Boom! (eight). Eight booms. Eight legs. So the spider was fully mature.

  Sailing over the clearing at an altitude of several miles was a tiny rain cloud, probably a belated leftover from the Gloomberg Tempest. I stared at this cloud. Perhaps I could persuade it to shed a few drops by telekinesis. I stared until my eyes almost popped out of my head. I commanded it, again and again, to rain on the spot. For a moment it seemed to pause immediately overhead, perhaps because the wind had dropped, but then it sailed blithely on until it disappeared behind the canopy of foliage, leaving nothing behind but clear blue sky. That was probably the last chance of rain for months to come, if not years.

  BOOM! (Water!) BOOM! (Water!) BOOM! (Water!) BOOM! (Water!) BOOM! (Water!) BOOM! (Water!) BOOM! (Water!) BOOM! (Water!)

  ‘Water! Water! Water!’ Like a man dying of th
irst, I could think of nothing else.

  From the

  ‘Encyclopedia of Marvels, Life Forms and Other Phenomena of Zamonia and its Environs’

  by Professor Abdullah Nightingale

  Water, Zamonian. In Zamonia, water occurs in many very different forms, not only as a liquid, but also as a solid [ice] or a vapour [mist]. Solidified water, a rarer variety, is a byproduct of aquashoes [→Professor Nightingale’s Solid Soup]. The largest reservoir in Zamonia is the Zamonian Sea, which surrounds the continent, though this is hard to render drinkable and must be desalinated at great expense.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  For this reason, drinking water is extracted mainly from rivers, lakes, and underground watercourses. Sweet water is found exclusively in the subterranean caverns of the →Demerara Desert, red and green water in the caves beneath the Muchwater Marshes, where it is a product of the discoloration caused by Slipper Animalcules during the mating season.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  Magnetic spring water, which can flow uphill, is sometimes found on the slopes of the Gloomberg Mountains, which have a substantial iron content. The Trappist monks of the Church of the Chastened Chestnut used this water to make their so-called Uphill Beer, intending to revolutionize the brewing industry and facilitate consumption [it was hoped that a tankard need only be put to the drinker’s lips, not tilted]. Their experiment was an abysmal failure, however, because the beer rose into the air of its own accord and floated off into the blue.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  The encyclopedia’s useless items of information were only making my situation worse. I would have given anything to be able to switch it off.

  Birolanian Birchwater, which is sometimes excreted during heatwaves by the Birolanian Turf Birch, is regarded in certain circles as a sacred liquid endowed with a miraculous ability to cure incurable diseases. Other natural sources of liquid for use in an emergency include rain clouds, the morning dew on vegetable foliage, pressed cacti, camedar humps [→Camedar, The], and human tears and saliva, which are 90 per cent water.