The 13.5 Lives of Captain Bluebear

by Walter Moers

  Dragons

  Atlantis had its dragons too, of course – over five hundred of them, so it was said, though they were never seen. Sewer Dragons lived in the subterranean part of the city (of which more later) because they really belonged to the Scaleworm family, whose members favoured cool, damp, unstressful conditions on account of their high blood pressure. For the present, all I shall say of them is this: Yes, they really can breathe fire; no, they don’t abduct damsels in distress; yes, they have human voices (at least, the one I encountered did); and yes, they can become very, very vicious if you cross their path at the wrong moment.

  Duodwarfs

  Duodwarfs walked around all over the place, quarrelling with themselves. Pathetic creatures belonging to the genus Contradicens, they comprised a speaking head and a speaking stomach that were always at odds over everything, no matter what.

  Chimeras

  Chimeras were extremely annoying and unpopular creatures. Members of the overweight Pressuresprite family, they were enabled by their batlike wings to gain access to any bedroom by night, there to perch on the chests of slumbering citizens and give them nightmares. This did no one any good, not even the Chimeras themselves, so the Norselanders (with the Gryphons’ tacit consent) declared them fair game. The only result, however, was that the Chimeras transferred their roosts and hatcheries to even more secluded places, of which Atlantis had plenty. It was even rumoured that the Chimeras had discovered the secret tunnels leading to the Atlantean pyramids and installed themselves there.

  Popples

  The Popples, who were wood goblins and skilled craftsmen, did a roaring trade in pixie stars, which they produced with the aid of fretsaws. Pixie stars were thought to be the only effective antidote to Chimeras – if sawn aright, and only Popples were reputed to be able to saw them correctly. At least one pixie star hung in almost every Atlantean house, yet the nightmares occasioned by Chimeras persisted. This gave rise to a rumour, not only that Popples turned out shoddy work occasionally, but that they were really in cahoots with the Chimeras.

  Vampires

  Vampires are a subject in themselves. Atlantis teemed with them, and one really shouldn’t lump them all together. For a start, it entirely depended what they lived on, and very few of them lived on blood. Those that did were unpleasant creatures of whom most lived in the ruins of the Italian cathedral, which no one in his right mind entered after sunset. Contrary to all modern descriptions, bloodsucking vampires looked like big, dark-furred cats with baboonlike faces and the short, leathery wings of a bat. Also contrary to all the legends about them, they were not necessarily dependent on blood and quite capable of living on a normal diet – even on garbage, if they pulled themselves together.

  There were also blood-drinking vampires that acquired their blood by legal means. They purchased it from one of the numerous Atlantean bloodbroking establishments. These vampires included Dwerrogs (ferretlike creatures with projecting teeth and good manners), Yhôllian Bloodslurpers (obese mountain demons with two faces), and Transylvanian Werewolves, which traditionally ran the said bloodbroking businesses.

  Olfactils

  The remaining, considerably more innocuous vampires were dependent on smell, touch, and hearing. One example of the first category was the Olfactil, an extremely thin vampire some four feet long and equipped with as many as fifteen noses. Olfactils fed exclusively on body odours of all kinds. Although superficially unattractive, this habit had a very practical side. If you smelt strongly of sweat after taking physical exercise, an Olfactil had only to nestle against you for a few seconds and inhale through its numerous noses for the unpleasant smell to disappear completely.

  There was also a rather less popular and considerably smaller Olfactil variety with only four noses but eight legs. It specialized in halitosis, and would clamber on to the faces of sleeping people at night to inhale their mouth odour. To wake up in the small hours and find a little, snuffling Olfactil on your cheek could be a traumatic experience.

  Earspoonlets

  Even more innocuous and equally beneficial to society were the acoustic vampires popularly known as Earspoonlets, which lived on speech. They were little bigger than dachshunds but had hearing organs of which a young elephant need not have been ashamed. They spent most of their time lying around in public places and pricking up their ears – an extremely amusing sight.

  Earspoonlets were capable of storing up all they heard for months and regurgitating it before it was fully digested. Thus, they were much in demand as itinerant purveyors of information or witnesses of arguments. You could easily annoy them by noiselessly opening and shutting your mouth as if talking. This made them bounce around like mad things, vainly trying to catch the words they thought they were missing.

  Pixies

  The pixies or elves were not quite as likeable, and certainly not as cute and innocent, as their modern reputation would have us believe. More like unpleasant insects – like highly intelligent wasps, so to speak – they were absolutely mad about anything sweet, which was why no one anywhere in Atlantis could eat a slice of cake without sharing it with at least one elf. The killing of pixies was prohibited because it not only brought bad luck but was even alleged to spell the downfall of Atlantis. This rumour had gained such general currency that no one could recall where it had originated, but I secretly suspected that it came from the pixies themselves. They probably kept whispering it in the inhabitants’ ears at night, the cunning little creatures.

  Fangfangs

  As for the Fangfangs, they were genuinely disagreeable individuals! They were really forest demons from the thickets on the outskirts of the city and had no business in a civilized metropolis, but once in a while a drunken gang of them would stray into Atlantis. Not even the Yetis at the gates could turn them away because Fangfangs were not subject to any definite exclusion order.

  The Norselanders had been drafting one for years, but not, it was whispered, with any great enthusiasm because they themselves were indirectly related to the intruders. Discounting their size and close-set human ears, Fangfangs bore a close superficial resemblance to Norselanders.

  The uncouth creatures were very tall, even by Atlantean standards, and could attain a height of thirty feet. They always operated in groups of 150 to 200, and the destructive power of such a contingent was equal to that of a medium-sized Bollogg. If a gang of them entered Atlantis, a fight was bound to break out sooner or later. It was usually the Bluddums they came to blows with, or, oddly enough, the diminutive Tangawangas, who would stand no nonsense from anyone. Whenever this happened, it took a dozen Gryphons to restore order and escort the troublemakers out of the city.

  Hackonians

  The Hackonians were quite another kettle of fish: universally popular, soft-hearted, incorrigibly romantic, and never at a loss for a word of praise.

  They were also known as Blarneykites because they spent the whole time paying people unsolicited compliments, flattering them, admiring their work or their appearance, and – without payment-rhapsodizing about everything and everyone in general. If you were feeling a bit depressed, your best plan was to visit a Hackonian tavern, where your spirits were bound to be restored.

  The Hackonians came from Hackonshire in south-west Zamonia, a region separated from the rest of the continent by a long trench. Legend had it that Wotan, a god with little appreciation of good nature, was so infuriated by the Hackonians’ amiability that he severed their homeland from Zamonia with his huge axe. However, the resulting cleft was more likely to have been an ancient canal excavated by Zamonia’s earliest Venetian Midgets.

  Mandragors

  Raving Maenads

  The Mandragors resident in Atlantis were rather affectionate semi-human plants of the deadly nightshade family. Originally from Greece, they had rootlike arms and legs that enabled them to cling to people. This they constantly did, because it was all they’d learnt to do. They were eternally mystified by their failure to be richly rewarded for this trick, as th
ey had been in their native habitat, where it was customary to pay Mandragors for their embraces because they were reputed to bring you good luck when ploughing. Also from Greece but quite different in temperament were the Raving Maenads, devotees of the god Dionysus who liked to dress up in animal skins and dance through the streets until they passed out. They had women’s bodies and wildcats’ faces, and were always accompanied by a band of Satyrs, gifted flautists and winebibbers with human features and muscular, goatlike legs. The Venetian Midgets were mineworker trolls from Tuscany, extremely industrious and fond of singing but proud, vindictive, and inveterate strikers on principle.

  Witthogs

  Anyone looking for an intellectual challenge sought out the Witthogs. These were very slim, philosophically gifted semi-pigs with a markedly ascetic streak. They lived exclusively on tea, milky porridge, and conversation. There were two or three of them to be found in every tearoom in Atlantis, and it was only too easy to be drawn into a philosophical debate. If you weren’t careful, a Witthog would argue the chair away from under you and sit down on it himself. You had only to make some untenable assertion, and a Witthog would flatly contradict it. You did well not to overstep the mark, however, because a Witthog was always prepared to fight a duel on behalf of his own opinion. And Witthogs were amazingly nimble swordsmen.

  Midgard Serpents and Twerpps

  From time to time a colourful Midgard Serpent would slither through the streets, as long and massive as an anaconda but harmless as an earthworm. Scurrying along behind it came the swarms of Twerpps who collected the serpent’s slimy trail in buckets to make a soup alleged to render one immortal. (This was never proved because the Twerpps, who lived to at least a thousand in any case, consumed it all themselves.)

  Baalbek Wormlets

  Baalbek Wormlets were nothing of the kind – that’s to say, they weren’t wormlets or even worms, but big, spotty giants with bulls’ heads and three sinewy arms. No one knew how they got their name, because they bore not the slightest resemblance to worms and came from Easter Island, not Baalbek. They had good manners but peculiar habits, one of which was to bury themselves waist-deep in loose sand and mutter unintelligible prayers.

  It would be an impossible task to enumerate all the life forms that inhabited Atlantis. Here are a few of the continent’s many other ethnic groups and tribes: Danish Dunefolk, Halfway Humans from the Humongous Mountains, Antarctic Fridgitrolls, Japanese Bonsai Mites, Monastocalves, Melusines, Ghorks, Obliviogs, Nineslayers, Gibbetkins, Elverines, Norns, Lemurs, Poophs, Ronkers, Rumple-stilts, Burrps, Thimbleskins, Dogheads, Auntifers, Anklemen, Paradise Worms, Bozzums, Waterkins, Gogmagogs, Semi-mummies, Pratts, Voltigorks, Cinnamen, Swamazons, Ventisnipes, Bovisimians, Cucumbrians, Zebraskans, Aquadjinns, Shadow Pygmies, Hellrazors, Swamp Orks, Snowscoops, Silvanosprites, Peat Witches, and a whole host of almost unclassifiable mini-groups and lone individuals of every kind. Even Bolloggs were admitted to Atlantis, though only if less than fifty feet in height and equipped with a head.

  A bluebear attracted no attention in such surroundings.

  The Invisibles

  Oh yes, to complete the picture I should add that there were also the so-called Invisibles, social misfits and radical dropouts who had retreated to the ancient, disused sewers of Atlantis. They never showed themselves in the streets by day. Only at night (and very seldom even then) did they crawl out of their tunnels and into the open to perform the few really essential tasks that compelled them to remain in contact with the world above.

  There was even a rumour that the ones who did come to the surface were not true Invisibles but their aides and intermediaries. Genuine Invisibles were said to be really invisible and not of this world. This, at any rate, was what parents told disobedient children, not forgetting to add a dire warning that Invisibles had a fondness for kidnapping fractious youngsters and hauling them off to their catacombs.

  The creatures that lived beneath the streets were rather like the sacred cows of Atlantis. Although they made no contribution to the common good, the city’s inhabitants cherished a natural respect for them, partly out of fear and partly from superstition. At all events, it was the Atlanteans’ inviolable custom to throw surplus foodstuffs, obsolete household equipment and other donations into the ancient sewers as sacrificial offerings to those who dwelt in darkness. All they would hear was an eager, rustling sound in the depths, and the gifts disappeared.

  This was why Atlantis had no beggars, no pavement dwellers, and no genuine poor – or none that were visible, at least. Anyone who couldn’t cope with the world of daylight vanished into the sewers and was never seen again.

  Atlantean architecture

  The city displayed every conceivable form of architecture plus a few more besides. Representatives of every nation that ever sailed the seas in ships had visited Atlantis at some stage and left their architectural traces behind.

  The descendants of some Egyptian pirates had erected – as Egyptians tend to do – several huge sandstone pyramids whose entrances were still being sought when I arrived in Atlantis. The dead were reputed not only to live inside them but to go about their daily business there in the normal way. These gruesome rumours did not deter Atlanteans from using the terraces, which were almost completely overgrown with grass and creeper, as picnic sites on fine summer days. At night, however, when the pyramids creaked and groaned and weird bell music issued from deep inside, they gave them a wide berth.

  Arabs had constructed minarets and labyrinthine kasbahs made up of low, whitewashed buildings. They were also responsible for those urban districts that consisted almost entirely of tents. The Italians, who had built vast cathedrals with lavishly decorated interiors and erected huge, ostentatious statues, preferred to live in narrow alleyways flanked by houses with peeling stucco walls and washing lines suspended between them. The Italians were also fond of ruins, so they partially demolished their showplaces and abandoned them to the weeds and wild vine. What made these ruins so interesting, once they had been gnawed by the teeth of time, was that they were ruins of ruins – and more ruined than that you can’t get.

  The Menhir Gnomes from Normandy had erected monoliths in every sizeable square and opened little cafés around the sides. There they served coffee so strong that it made your head wobble for hours afterwards if you weren’t used to it. At night the Granite Dwarfs from the South of England, who were at loggerheads with the Menhir Dwarfs, knocked the monoliths over or constructed bizarre sculptures with them. It was one of Atlantis’s abiding mysteries where the little creatures found the strength to do this. The most superficially primitive but – because of their monstrous size – visually impressive buildings in Atlantis had been erected by the Australian Ant People. These were anthills of immense proportions, many of their towers being several miles high. The Ant People, human below the waist and formicine above, were respected for their diligence. The streets were spotless, thanks to the indefatigable way in which they collected refuse free of charge and incorporated it in their towers. Thus the latter were really nothing more than ever-growing rubbish dumps with firmly cemented exteriors.

  The Ant People’s physical strength was impressive. They could carry objects a hundred times their own weight, but they were less well endowed with intelligence. It was impossible to converse with them about anything apart from refuse collection and anthill construction, and even that had to be done in a sign language for which you really needed two antennae growing out of your head. (You could also put your fists to your ears and waggle your forefingers, but, as I have already implied, it wasn’t worth the effort.) Most of the city’s temples were Indian, but so were the numerous rice kitchens on the outskirts, which were run by Semielephants.

  These creatures were largely human but endowed with a pale blue elephantine head and six arms, which rendered them even more suited to running a fast-food restaurant than the four-armed Poophs (though the latter were better cooks). Since they could also use their trunks for prehensile purposes, th
ey were capable of simultaneously stirring saucepans, shaking frying pans, filling plates, slicing onions, rinsing rice, washing up, and taking the customers’ money. Though delicious, all their curry dishes tasted the same.

  The Japanese Bonsai Mites inhabited a bonsai plantation of around twenty square yards, the smallest urban district in Atlantis but immense by their standards. The Bonsai quarter, whose inmates were little more than one inch high, was regarded as one of the city’s favourite tourist attractions and enjoyed special protection. Enclosed by a strong wire-mesh fence, it could only be viewed from outside and was additionally guarded by an impressive contingent of Yetis. A glass roof shielded it from the elements, because a single raindrop would have been sufficient to kill a Bonsai Mite stone dead.

  Big as skyscrapers, Atlantis’s warlike-looking sandstone castles with hundreds of arrow slits had been built by Saracen pirates but were now used mainly for storing junk. Proliferating inside them, so it was said, were innumerable Kackertratts, extremely unpopular creatures of which more in due course.

  There were whole city districts whose builders had vanished without trace, strange towers and halls constructed of materials to be found nowhere else in Zamonia, plastics and metals of sensational durability. Most of these buildings consisted of a material resembling burnished copper but much harder and more imperishable. Although they had allegedly stood for thousands of years, no downpours or meteor storms had dulled or scratched their gleaming surfaces. Their windows were huge, circular, multicoloured crystals that concentrated the light in a very economical way and distributed it over the interior spaces. The floors and ceilings were made of a glasslike substance that glowed green in the dark and seemed to breathe. Erected in the squares in these city districts were monstrous statues five times as big as those of the Italians. Portrayals of creatures unlike anything that existed in Zamonia or elsewhere in the world, these statues were – surprisingly enough – of polished wood, though the wood came from trees as hard and durable as high-grade steel.