“Sulphur and brimstone!”
The great magician was foaming at the mouth. What a mess the robber Hotzenplotz had got him into! But there was still a way out. All he needed was Kasperl’s pointed cap. Then he could bring Kasperl there by magic too.
He had to take care not to make Seppel suspicious. Petrosilius Zackleman thought of a clever trick.
“Do you think I’m going to believe that you’re really Seppel?” he said. “Prove it!”
“Certainly,” said Seppel, “just tell me how.”
“Well—I’ll believe you if you give me Kasperl’s cap.”
“Kasperl’s cap?” said Seppel. “Oh, I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, you see, the robber Hotzenplotz has burned it.”
“Burned it?” cried Zackleman.
“That’s right,” said Seppel. “He threw it in the fire before my very eyes. From sheer spite.”
“Spite?” The great magician’s fist crashed down on the table. “Stupidity! Idiocy! Oh, Hotzenplotz, you stupid imbecile! You’ll drive me up the wall!” Petrosilius Zackleman ran up and down his study several times, shouting with rage.
Then he stopped in front of Seppel. “Whose boot are you holding?” he asked. “Does it belong to Hotzenplotz?”
“Yes,” said Seppel.
“Then give it to me! I’ll soon get hold of the wretch!” Hurriedly Petrosilius Zackleman drew another magic circle. This time he put the robber Hotzenplotz’s boot on the place where the lines crossed. He raised his arms and waved them in the air again, calling in a voice of thunder:
“Come to me, come to me.
Come wherever you may be.
Let the owner of the boot be here
Where the boot is let the man appear.
Abracadabra!”
For the second time the magic spell worked. There was a crash, a flame shot up—and there stood the robber Hotzenplotz in the middle of the magic circle, looking as if he had grown out of the floor. He was wearing his warm dressing gown, and he had no shoes on. At first he looked absurdly puzzled. Then he began to laugh.
“Zackleman!” he cried. “Ha, ha, old friend—what a joker you are! That’s magic for you! He just casts a spell and spirits me from my cave to his study!—Why, look, Kasperl’s here too! I was just racking my brains to think where he could have gone. . .”
“Shut up!” interrupted the great magician Petrosilius Zackleman. “In the first place, this is Seppel, not Kasperl. In the second place, stop laughing in that silly way this minute, or I might forget myself.”
“Whatever’s wrong with you, Zackleman, old fellow?” asked the robber Hotzenplotz. “Why are you in such a temper?”
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong! The lad you sold me yesterday has escaped. He wasn’t the stupid Seppel at all. He was Kasperl.”
“Well, imagine that!” said Hotzenplotz. “But you’re a great magician. Why don’t you bring the runaway back by magic?”
“Exactly what I would have done by this time, if I could. But I can’t.”
“Can’t you?” inquired Hotzenplotz.
“No, I can’t,” said Petrosilius Zackleman. “And why not? Because you went and burned his cap! It’s enough to drive me crazy. Oh, you cuckoo of a robber, you silly cuckoo!”
Hotzenplotz drew himself up.
“Zackleman!” he cried. “I won’t put up with that sort of language. You’re going too far. Me—a cuckoo? You will kindly take that back!”
“You think so?” The great magician bared his teeth in a grin and snapped his fingers for his magic wand. “If I called you a silly cuckoo I was quite right. I’m a magician of my word. Abracadabra. . .”
He muttered a spell, and Hotzenplotz turned into a cuckoo. A real cuckoo, making frightened noises and hopping from one leg to another, flapping its wings.
“Never thought of that one, did you?” mocked Zackleman. “Wait a minute, there’s more to come!”
He snapped his fingers, and a birdcage appeared by magic. He seized the cuckoo and put it inside the cage.
“There, my friend, you can sit there and wonder what’s to become of you. And now for you, Seppel!”
Seppel had been watching in fear and trembling while the robber Hotzenplotz was changed into a cuckoo. Now the great magician turned to him. His heart fell into his boots. He felt sure that Petrosilius Zackleman was going to cast a spell on him.
However, he was wrong.
“Can you peel potatoes?” asked the great magician.
“Yes,” said Seppel, who couldn’t see where this question was leading.
“Good. Off you go to the castle kitchen then. When I come home tomorrow morning, I want to have fried potatoes. You can hang the birdcage up in the kitchen. Make Hotzenplotz sing to you while you work. When you’ve peeled twelve buckets full of potatoes and cut them into small pieces, you can lie down and go to sleep, but not before.”
“What about you?” asked Seppel.
“I’m going to fly on my magic robe and look for Kasperl. He’ll never slip through my fingers! I shall find him, as sure as I’m the great magician Petrosilius Zackleman—and then I shall make mincemeat of him!”
The great magician Petrosilius Zackleman put on his night-time spectacles, so as to see better in the dark. Then he hurried up to the castle turret, mounted his magic robe and took off.
He flew all over the countryside, keeping a sharp lookout, but all in vain. He could find no trace of Kasperl.
Meanwhile, the moon had risen over the open heath. The fairyweed immediately began to gleam with a silvery light among the roots of the old pine tree.
Quickly Kasperl picked a bunch of the flowers. Now Petrosilius Zackleman couldn’t see him, even with his special night-time spectacles.
Kasperl set off to walk back, holding the fairyweed in his pocket with his right hand. Twice—three times—Zackleman flew by overhead on his magic robe. Kasperl hunched his shoulders and ducked his head. Even if he had not ducked, Zackleman couldn’t have seen him, although the magician was flying so low that Kasperl felt the rush of air as he passed.
The fairyweed made him invisible, but that was not all. Now that the herb was in his pocket, Kasperl didn’t feel tired any longer. His legs seemed to be walking of their own accord. In the faint light of dawn he reached the castle safe and sound.
The gate was shut. Kasperl touched it with the fairyweed and it opened to let him in. At that very moment he heard a tremendous rushing sound in the air above him. Looking up, he saw that Zackleman had just landed on the castle turret. He hoped that Zackleman had not noticed anything peculiar.
But the wicked magician Petrosilius Zackleman had noticed something. A few minutes ago the gate of his castle had opened and shut again all by itself.
“Oho!” he exclaimed. “Goblins and hobgoblins, what’s all this? Someone I can’t see has come into my castle. But who? And how the devil, how did he do it?”
Petrosilius Zackleman snapped his fingers for his magic wand.
“Whoever it is,” he cried in a fury, “I’ll find him. I’ll punish him for his impertinence. Thunder and lightning, sulphur and brimstone, I’ll punish him horribly!”
The great magician ran down the spiral staircase to the ground floor, three steps at a time. By this time Kasperl was on his way to the cellar. He was running down the dark passage towards the toad’s pool. He had no lantern this time, but he didn’t need one; with the fairyweed in his hand he could see in the dark like a cat. The first door—then the second door—and now the third door. . .
“Here I am!” he cried. “I’ve got it. Tell me what to do.”
“Give me your hand and help me out.”
Kasperl lay flat on the floor and stretched out the hand holding the fairyweed to the toad in the pool.
“No, the other one!” croaked the toad. “You must help me out of the water first.”
Kasperl could hear a loud, angry voice just outside the cellar. Petrosilius Zackleman had noti
ced that the cellar door was open, and a terrible suspicion flashed into his mind. Cursing and raging, he clattered down the steps. It would be only a matter of minutes before he reached them.
“Quick!” cried the toad.
Kasperl seized her with his left hand and put her down on the floor beside him. Zackleman was coming nearer and nearer. The cellar echoed with his shouts and screams of fury.
“Quick!” said the toad again. “Touch me with the fairyweed.”
Kasperl obeyed.
At that moment the wicked magician Petrosilius Zackleman stormed through the last door. But all of a sudden he stopped dead in his tracks.
Kasperl was frightened too—but not at the sight of the wicked magician. He was startled by the light that flooded the cellar. It was a blinding light. Kasperl had to close his eyes. When he opened them again he saw a beautiful lady standing beside him.
She shone like the sun. Everything about her was so beautiful that Kasperl could hardly take it all in—her face, her hands, her hair and her long golden dress.
“Oh!” thought Kasperl. “I’ll be dazzled if I look any longer. . .”
Should he look away? But he couldn’t look away either. So he prudently closed one eye and looked at the fairy out of the other.
Petrosilius Zackleman was standing by the cellar wall as if he had been struck by lightning. His face was white as chalk, his knees were knocking, large beads of perspiration ran down his face. He tried to speak, but he had lost his voice. He was so dazed that the magic wand slipped from his hand.
The wand fell to the ground. The fairy Amaryllis touched it lightly with the toe of her shoe. It rolled over and over and fell into the pool with a splash.
At last Petrosilius Zackleman plucked up his courage.
“Curses!” he screamed.
He jumped forward to save the magic wand. Too late! His fingers grabbed the empty air. He lost his footing, overbalanced—and before Kasperl and the fairy Amaryllis could help him he plunged into the deep water.
There was a last terrible scream.
Then he was swallowed up. Gurgling and bubbling, the deep water of the toad’s pool closed over the wicked magician Petrosilius Zackleman.
Seppel had been peeling potatoes half the night. It was very difficult to keep awake, but he was too frightened of the great magician Zackleman to go to sleep. Not until the last potato was peeled and cut up did he slump forward on the kitchen stool, when he fell asleep on the spot.
Seppel slept with his head resting on the edge of the table. In his dreams he was still at work. There was a great mountain of potatoes in front of him; he went on and on peeling them, but he never came to the end. The mountain never looked any smaller, in fact it was growing bigger and broader.
At last Petrosilius Zackleman came into the castle kitchen. When he saw that poor Seppel was still peeling potatoes he began to scold him. He raged and stormed so furiously that Seppel tumbled off the stool—and woke up.
He sat on the kitchen floor rubbing his eyes. He saw that the sun had risen, and realized that he had been dreaming. But Zackleman’s fury had not been a dream—that was real enough! The whole enchanted castle was echoing with his roars of rage.
The cuckoo in the birdcage had woken up, too. It was fluttering about calling “Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” until Seppel was deafened.
“Shut your beak!” cried Seppel.
He went to the kitchen door to listen. What could be wrong? Why was the great magician making all that noise?
Suddenly Petrosilius Zackleman stopped shouting. For a while everything was absolutely quiet. Then the voice of the great magician rang out again. He sounded angrier than ever this time. But it lasted only for a moment or so.
“What can be the matter?” thought Seppel.
He turned the door knob, opened the door, and went out into the hall.
There was no one there, no sound to be heard. . .
Wait a minute—a light was shining on the cellar steps. There were voices. Someone was climbing the steps. It was not the great magician Petrosilius Zackleman. It was Kasperl!
Seppel shouted for joy, and ran to meet Kasperl with open arms.
“Kasperl!”
He was so pleased he could have squashed Kasperl flat.
“Seppel!” cried Kasperl. “I thought you were in the robber’s cave. What are you doing here?”
“Me?” said Seppel. “I’ve been peeling potatoes. And now I’m as happy as a king! But tell me. . .”
Suddenly Seppel caught sight of the fairy Amaryllis. She had followed Kasperl up the cellar steps. Seppel’s eyes and mouth fell wide open when he saw her.
“Who’s that lady?” he asked.
“She’s a fairy lady,” said Kasperl. “The fairy Amaryllis.”
“What a lovely name! It’s just right for her.”
“Do you think so?” said the fairy Amaryllis, smiling. “But who are you?”
“Him?” said Kasperl, for Seppel was too amazed to answer. “He’s my friend Seppel. The best friend in the whole world. I don’t know what he’s doing here, though; he’ll have to tell me himself. Go on, Seppel!”
However, the fairy Amaryllis interrupted. “He can tell you outside,” she said. “Come out with me. Now that Petrosilius Zackleman is dead, his castle must not be left standing.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Kasperl.
“Wait and see,” said the fairy Amaryllis. She took Kasperl by one hand and Seppel by the other. She was going to lead the two friends out of the castle.
But Seppel let go of her hand.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I’ve got to fetch something.”
He ran to the kitchen and took down the birdcage.
“What!” said Kasperl, when Seppel joined them again. “A bird?”
“That’s right,” said Seppel, grinning, “it’s a cuckoo— rather a funny sort of cuckoo.”
Then they both followed the fairy Amaryllis out of the castle gate. Once they were outside, the fairy told them to go a little farther away, as far as the wood. She herself stayed behind. When Kasperl and Seppel had reached the wood, she turned to the castle and raised her hand. The walls silently crumpled and fell. There was nothing left of Zackleman’s enchanted castle but a heap of broken stones and tiles. The toad’s pool was buried beneath the ruins. The fairy Amaryllis made a hedge of thorns grow up around the ruins of the castle. Then she turned her back on the ruin and went up to the two friends. She didn’t walk; she floated. The leaves and grass bent as she passed over them.
“I have to thank you, Kasperl,” she said. “You can be sure I shall never forget what you have done for me.”
She took a thin gold ring from her finger.
“Take this ring and keep it safe,” she said. “It is a wishing ring. It will give you three wishes. Whatever they are, if you say them aloud and turn the ring on your finger, they will be granted. Now give me your hand, Kasperl.”
Kasperl let the fairy Amaryllis put the ring on his finger. He said “Thank you.” But the fairy Amaryllis said that she was the one who should be thanking him.
“Now I am going home to fairyland,” she said. “Goodbye, both of you, good luck, and a safe return home! I wish you health and happiness and merry hearts, today, tomorrow and always!”
With these words she floated away. Kasperl and Seppel waved their handkerchiefs. As she flew she began to look thin and transparent, until at last she faded away altogether and vanished out of sight.
It was some time before Kasperl and Seppel could speak a word. Then they both began talking at once. They both shouted at the tops of their voices for several minutes. Kasperl was shouting at Seppel and Seppel was shouting at Kasperl. Each of them was telling his own story and neither was listening to the other. Kasperl gave up first. He put his hand over Seppel’s mouth.
“Hey, stop!” he cried. “This is no good. We must take turns.”
“All right,” said Seppel. “Let’s count our buttons to see who is first. Right?�
�
They both began counting their coat buttons.
“Me—you—me—you. . .”
As it happened they each had five buttons on their coats. “Me!” said Seppel when he got to the fifth button. At once he started telling his story all over again. But Kasperl, too, said “Me!” when he counted his fifth button, so there they were, both talking at once again.
“I tell you what,” said Seppel, realizing that something must have gone wrong. “We’ll have to do it another way. Let’s try a counting-out rhyme—that ought to work!”
He solemnly licked his forefinger three times. Pointing to Kasperl and himself in turn he counted:
“Eeny—meeny—miny—mo. . .”
He finished up pointing at Kasperl; so now it was settled.
“Well then,” said Kasperl. “Just listen to this, Seppel. . .”
Kasperl told Seppel all his adventures from beginning to end. He was talking nineteen to a dozen. As Seppel listened, his ears went scarlet and he grew hot with excitement. He hung on Kasperl’s words, hardly daring to breathe. When Kasperl told him about the dreadful end of Petrosilius Zackleman, he clapped his hands together.
“Oh, Kasperl!” he cried. “If only I’d known!”
“Why?” asked Kasperl.
“Well, if I’d known I’d never have spent half the night peeling potatoes for him.”
Then it was Seppel’s turn. He told Kasperl what a bad time he had had in the robber’s cave—and how Hotzenplotz had burned Kasperl’s cap.
“What? My beautiful cap?” cried Kasperl furiously. “This is too much! We must put that brute Hotzenplotz behind bars.”
Seppel decided that this was the right moment.
“Calm down,” he said quietly. “He is behind bars!”
“Behind bars—?” asked Kasperl.
“He’s in this cage. He’s the cuckoo. You do look surprised, Kasperl! I’ll tell you all about it.”
Seppel went on with his story. When he finished, Kasperl was hot with excitement too.
The Robber Hotzenplotz Page 5
