by Walter Moers
Fredda giggled, looking thoroughly bashful. She was not only taller but – if such a term may be applied to an Alpine Imp – prettier. Her hair no longer stood on end; it hung down in a smoothly-combed curtain and had acquired a silky sheen. She was holding her memo pad in her hand.
Although I was suitably flabbergasted, I managed to introduce her to Chemluth. Fredda giggled even more nervously. As for Chemluth, he looked as if he had been smitten by greased lightning.
‘Gah,’ he grunted, looking mesmerized. ‘Lots of hair.’
Fredda handed me one of her memo slips, the way she used to at the Nocturnal Academy.
* * *
Hello, Bluebear, I’ve been expecting you – I’ve made the necessary arrangements. They told me you were coming.
* * *
‘How long have you been here?’ I asked. ‘What is this place, anyway?’ Fredda handed me another slip of paper.
* * *
I reached Atlantis from the Nocturnal Academy by a fairly direct route. The labyrinth presented no problem. I simply got out through one of the holes in the mountain and then climbed down it. I’m an Alpine Imp, after all.
* * *
‘But how did you get to Atlantis?’
* * *
I took the route through Southern Zamonia, which cut across the Demerara Desert for part of the way. I was making for the Impic Alps, actually, but then I sighted the Humongous Range. That was a challenge I couldn’t resist, being a mountaineer. Beyond it lay Atlantis, but I found that big-city life didn’t suit me. That’s why I went underground. And, well, here I am.
* * *
I noticed that some of the levers on one of the big machines were moving although no one was operating them. Small tools were floating through the air as if suspended on invisible wires.
Fredda handed me another slip of paper.
* * *
Those are the Invisibles. They really are invisible, you know. They came from another planet many thousands of years ago.
* * *
What could I say to that? So as not to seem too unsophisticated, I behaved as if it would take more than that to impress me.
‘But how did you find me? How did you know I was in Atlantis?’
* * *
I knew it from the very first day. It was one of the Invisibles who rescued you and your friend from the Kackertratts. He talked about it down here – said you were a bear with blue fur. That’s how I knew you were in the city. But later on you could hardly be missed. Bluebear the King of Lies, the master congladiator! You were in all the newspapers – you were the talk of Atlantis! I even knew what you had for breakfast every day. We got our first-hand information from the Wolpertinger who escorted you part of the way. Rumo’s one of us. We have a lot of allies on the surface.
* * *
I blushed. The bombastic interviews I’d given must have sounded pretty ludicrous to someone who knew me personally. I hastily changed the subject.
‘So the rumours about the Invisibles are true. But what do they want? What exactly goes on here?’
* * *
We’re about to leave on a long journey. The longest journey ever undertaken in the biggest spaceship that ever existed.
* * *
What journey? What spaceship? And who was ‘we’? I wasn’t planning to go on any journey.
* * *
We’re taking off for the Planet of the Invisibles, and the spaceship is Atlantis itself! The Invisibles have been at work on it for thousands of years. It’ll soon be time to leave.
* * *
Just a minute! Leave me out of it! I didn’t intend to join any invisible beings on a flight to their native planet. My own planet was good enough for me, and I said as much to Fredda.
* * *
But human beings are taking over more and more of the earth. They now control nearly all the continents, leaving no room for life forms that differ from themselves. Dwarfs, gnomes, goblins, elves – they all have to live in hiding. Zamonia is the only exception – it still gives such creatures houseroom. But sooner or later Zamonia will sink into the sea, the Invisibles worked that out thousands of years ago. On their planet there’ll be plenty of room for all of us. For you as well.
* * *
The sinking business was no problem from my point of view. Being a sea-going bear, I could happily survive afloat. Human beings presented no problem either. I’d got on perfectly well with them in Tornado City.
‘I’ll need a bit of time to think it over. You don’t just go rushing into a thing like that.’
* * *
There’s no time left. I told you: we’re leaving any minute. The whole of Atlantis will soon be lifting off into space. If you don’t want to come with us you’ll have to run for it at once. You’d better make for the harbour and get aboard a ship, it’s your only chance. Personally, though, I’d advise you to come with us.
* * *
I had to make up my mind in double-quick time. I explained the situation to Chemluth, but he scarcely heard me and couldn’t take his eyes off Fredda, who was giggling, shuffling her feet, and tearing her memo slips into tiny little pieces.
‘Who is she, gah, a goddess? Such a lot of hair,’ he purred dreamily into his moustache. ‘I must be feverish, I’m feeling hot and cold at the same time …’
‘Pull yourself together,’ I told him. ‘We must make up our minds. Fredda wants us to go with her to an alien planet.’
‘An alien planet? With Fredda? Good idea, gah! Variety is the spice of life. Let’s do it! We’ll make out all right – I’ll sing, you dance. All that lovely hair!’ He treated Fredda to one of his fiery looks. He certainly couldn’t be accused of indecision or lack of daring.
I devoted the little time I had for reflection to scanning the hall. It was a scene of such great activity that no one took any notice of me. Waterkins were busy screwing up strange gadgets, Yetis appeared to be conversing with thin air (Invisibles, presumably), tools flew hither and thither, lightning flashed … To tell the truth, this was hardly the kind of crew I cared to voyage through space with.
I belonged at sea. How could I be sure the Invisibles’ planet had any seas at all?
‘Oh yes, there are seas on our planet,’ said a voice behind me.
The Invisible
I turned round. There was no one to be seen, just a small screwdriver rotating in thin air. The Invisibles took some getting used to. Were they mind-readers too?
‘Yes, we are,’ said the strange voice. It sounded like a small trumpet endowed with the power of speech. ‘Yes, we do have seas, but they consist of electricity. Everything’s electric there. I’m not sure it would suit you.’
‘Not from the sound of it, but I’m open to persuasion. What else is different on your planet?’
‘Everything, actually,’ tooted the voice. ‘We won’t try to talk you into it. All we know is, life on earth isn’t getting any easier for creatures like you. The decision is yours.’
‘Your seas consist of electricity, you say?’
‘Yes indeed. Everything’s electric. Excuse me, time is short. I have to adjust the transistors.’ The screwdriver floated off.
I decide to stay
I didn’t have to think for long. I was determined to remain on earth.
‘How do I get to the harbour?’
Fredda wasn’t sentimentally inclined, thank goodness.
* * *
It’s out of the question, I’m afraid. No one who knows the way will take you there now, it’s too late for that, and you’ll never find the way by yourself.
* * *
‘I’ll take you there,’ said the Troglotroll. ‘I still owe you one. I left you in the lurch twice but I’ve only saved your life once. Once more, and we’ll be quits, ak-ak-ak. It’s my chance to balance the books.’
Where Chemluth and Fredda were concerned, my farewells were mercifully brief for want of time.
‘We’ll send you a postcard when we get to the other planet, gah?
’ said Chemluth.
He winked at me and took Fredda’s hand. They waved to me and the Troglotroll as we made our way across the great hall to the exit.
We sprinted through the sewers, vaulting over pools of viscous liquid. The harbour was already within range of our noses. It smelt of salt water and rotting fish, engine oil and freedom. Anyone else would probably have choked on the mixture, but I breathed it in like fresh mountain air.
‘We’re near the outer harbour now,’ said the Troglotroll. ‘That’s where the smaller ships drop anchor. It’s easier to get a berth on them than on the big ones. We’ll stow away if necessary.’
‘We? I thought you were going back to Atlantis.’
‘I’d sooner come with you, if you’ve no objection. I don’t know if the Invisibles are to be trusted. You can’t look them in the eye, ak-ak-ak!’
It wouldn’t be easy to sign on with the Troglotroll in tow, but I could hardly turn him down after all he’d done for me.
‘There’s a tunnel up ahead. It leads to Hulk Basin, where decommissioned vessels rot away. Once past there, we’ll be in the outer harbour.’
We climbed out of a manhole. Darkness had fallen by now, and towering over us was a massive black wall I at first mistook for a starless night sky. Then I was fiercely assailed by a familiar smell of rusty iron and hot engine oil.
‘Come!’ said a voice in my head – one I hadn’t heard for a very long time. ‘Come aboard the Moloch!’
The Troglotroll looked at me and shrugged. ‘I couldn’t help it,’ he said. ‘I’m a Troglotroll.’
Several big black hands seized me from behind and pulled a sack over my head. Then they tied up the sack and carried me off.
My life in Atlantis had been brought to a swift, surprising, and inauspicious end.
Inside the sack
ALL I AT first perceived of the Moloch was her smell. Thick though it was, the sack in which I was imprisoned did not exclude that mixture of engine oil and rusty iron, funnel smoke and coal dust, with which the ship had announced her presence days in advance during the third of my lives. There were also the familiar sounds she made even when stationary: the steady pounding of huge pistons, the manifold banging and hammering of the creatures at work throughout her hull with tools of various kinds, the panting of the engines in her iron belly.
Then the noises grew louder and the pounding of the pistons fiercer. With a rumble, the ship’s propellers began to turn. Valves hissed steam and metal grated on metal as the iron monster awoke.
The Moloch was getting under way.
By now, I suspected my captors had forgotten me. I’d made several attempts to extricate myself from the sack, but it seemed to be made of very tough leather or some equally stout material.
It was also clear that the sack had been tied up with rope, which greatly restricted my freedom of movement. From the way I’d been treated, I had little reason to suppose that my captors had anything very pleasant in store for me. I cursed myself for having been hoodwinked by the Troglotroll yet again.
I was gradually running out of air. That’s to say, the air in the sack was becoming progressively staler. Every breath I took consumed a little more of its life-giving properties, so I decided to ration it by taking only one breath a minute.
Hmpf. One minute.
Hmpf. One minute.
Hmpf. One minute.
Hmpf. One minute.
Hmpf. One minute.
Hmpf. One minute.
Hmpf. One minute.
The rumbling and pounding persisted, and I could now detect a little motion. It indicated that we must be well out to sea.
Maybe I should draw attention to myself, I thought. I groaned and grunted and rolled around in my sack insofar as I was able, but nothing happened. Better to keep still, I told myself; it would use up less air.
Hmpf. One minute.
Hmpf. One minute.
Hmpf. One minute.
After an hour – I had taken sixty breaths, so an hour must have passed – I made some more signs of life. I called for help and rolled to and fro, but still nothing happened. I decided to breathe only once every two minutes.
Hmpf. Two minutes.
Hmpf. Two minutes.
Hmpf. Two minutes.
After another hour – I’d taken thirty breaths – I started to feel frightened. Could they have put me in the sack to suffocate me?
The air had acquired the consistency of stale porridge, it was so hard to suck in. From now on I breathed only once every three minutes.
Hmpf. Three minutes.
Hmpf. Three minutes.
Hmpf. Three minutes.
After the third hour (twenty breaths) I was in a state resembling Carefree Catalepsy. Everything had become wholly unimportant to me, and the lack of oxygen in my brain induced peculiar hallucinations. Tiny elves populated the sack, tickled my nostrils, and crawled into my ears. I called to them to leave me in peace. They didn’t go away, but I heard a voice say:
‘Hey, we almost forgot about him!’
The sack was opened and air streamed in, but I was still so stupefied that I actually saw a whole flock of elves flutter out of the opening.
The next thing I saw was more blackness: the blackness of the smoke in which the Moloch was always shrouded. It was some days before I became even relatively inured to the omnipresent soot. All aboard the iron ship were permanently engulfed in a fine mist of coal dust. You could never see the entire deck, only those parts of it which the smoke deigned to unveil. You would glimpse a few square yards of pitch-black deck, or one of the rusty funnels, or, if you were lucky, a patch of sky, before another cloud of smoke enshrouded the whole scene once more.
Toiling away on deck were hundreds of smoke-and coal-blackened creatures who went about their work mechanically, paying me little heed. They were Zamonians of all kinds. Trolls, dwarfs, Poophs – every variety seemed to be represented.
I was still inside the sack, half conscious with only my head sticking out. No one took any notice of me. My captors had tied me up in a bundle and left me to my fate. I wriggled out of my cocoon and tottered over to the rail. We couldn’t be all that far from land – perhaps I should simply jump. I looked down. The sea was a good three hundred feet below me. Three hundred feet … Could I make it?
Then I saw there wasn’t any sea, just thousands of sharks jostling round the hull and snapping at anything thrown over the side.
At that moment a strong breeze sprang up and rent the Moloch’s pall of smoke in half. A big patch of blue sky became visible. I could even make out the coast of Zamonia.
And Atlantis.
Atlantis achieves lift-off
It was hovering in the sky some five miles above the coastline. The whole city had risen from the ground like a huge, screw-shaped plug, a spaceship of soil and rock with a city on top. Shafts of greased lightning were sporadically darting from the hole it had left behind. Now and then, clods of earth the size of houses broke off the inverted cone and fell, but in general the spaceship seemed to be a remarkably stable structure. I had no idea how the Invisibles had engineered this feat, but I wasn’t surprised that it had taken them several thousand years.
Then the smoke closed in again like a black curtain.
Two soot-stained Yetis came up behind me and grabbed me by the shoulders.
‘Are you a bear?’ said one of them.
I nodded.
‘Then it’s into the Infurno with you.’
The Infurno
The Infurno was the red-hot heart of the Moloch, an engine room containing more than a thousand coal-and wood-burning furnaces – one for each of the ship’s funnels. Each furnace was manned by a gang of taciturn black bears, distant relatives of mine with blank, sad, incurious eyes, who ceaselessly fed the flames with tree trunks or shovelfuls of coal. I was assigned to one of those gangs. A Yeti thrust a shovel into my hand and told me to get stoking. Still dazed by my recent experiences, I set to work.
I would have welco
med at least a few minutes’ peace and quiet to reflect on my predicament, but this wasn’t easy aboard the Moloch. What with the constant din, the murderous heat of the furnaces, the smoke and the hard labour, there was no opportunity to let your thoughts roam far afield. If you took a few steps away from your furnace or lowered your shovel, even for a moment, a couple of Yetis would materialize, teeth bared, and order you back to work. I made a few attempts to establish contact with my fellow slaves, but they just stared at me uncomprehendingly or cast fearful glances at the Yetis.
At night the gang shuffled into a dormitory beneath the Infurno, where we were given hunks of bread and bowls of water and allowed to stretch out in hammocks for a few hours. I used to fall asleep at once, as if someone had hit me over the head with a club.
Hard labour
It’s remarkable how apathetic you can become when engaged in hard manual labour. Sometimes I shovelled coal, sometimes I pushed handcarts filled with briquettes, sometimes I hauled tree stumps. For days on end I toted sacks of anthracite from the gloomy bowels of the Moloch up a flight of steps a hundred yards high. There were also logs to split, tree trunks to saw, coal to stack, bellows to pump, ashes to be dumped over the side.
My black bear colleagues slaved away like robots, feeding the ever-hungry furnaces and scrubbing the decks and engines to prevent them from being buried in soot. None of them ever spoke a word to me, and even among themselves they merely grunted when absolutely necessary. Without realizing it, I was becoming one of them.
I soon abandoned all attempts to communicate and lapsed, like them, into routine mechanical drudgery. I lived my life to the rhythmical throb of the Moloch’s engines – indeed, I became as much a cog in the machine as all the rest. The only bright spot in our existence was the brief spell we spent in our hammocks, regaining our strength, and the prospect of a bowl of soup and a mug of water.
