Rumo: And His Miraculous Adventures

by Walter Moers

  The creature’s trumpetings and the sound of its fall went echoing round the cavern. More sharp reports rang out, this time from many parts of the roof at once, and a barrage of enormous stalactites came raining down on the Vrahoks, the Yetis and the lake. Numerous punts were hit and sank into the oil and dozens of Vrahoks met the same fate. Panic broke out among them. They stampeded in all directions, howling, whistling and bellowing, colliding and falling on top of each other. Netherworld had never heard such a pandemonium.

  ‘The roof’s caving in!’ someone shouted. The Wolpertings came to life with a jerk, but it was a moment before they could tear their eyes away from the horrific spectacle. Then they turned and started to run, faster and faster. Rumo seized Rala’s paw and they sprinted off together.

  Far behind them colossal stalactites continued to fall into the lake, churning the oil into waves that knocked many Vrahoks off their feet and swamped the Yetis’ punts.

  The Wolpertings ran for their lives. Stalactites started to fall and explode among their fleeing figures, even on dry land, and showers of small stones came rattling down on them.

  The Vrahoks’ trumpetings died away. The few that were still on their feet lashed the air with their tentacles. A rumble louder than any previous sound filled the cavern and a huge black mass of sand, soil and rock engulfed the surviving monsters, burying them beneath it. The echoes reverberated around the cavern a while longer; then silence fell.

  The Wolpertings were still running, but now the first of them slowed down. Rumo and Rala, too, came to a halt and looked back.

  A dense cloud of stone dust was billowing into the air, shutting out the nightmarish scene like a curtain. They all looked up. The roof of the cavern was still intact; it had merely unleashed an avalanche of rock sufficient to destroy the biggest creatures in Netherworld – and, with them, Skullop the Scyther and his gallant Dead Yetis.

  Mayor Jowly of Gloomberg was standing not far from Rala and Rumo. He patted the dust from his fur, looked around and said, ‘Right, now let’s all go home.’

  The alchemist’s triumph

  The fight was over, but the real battle, the truly great one, had still to be fought. Tykhon Zyphos’s Subcutaneous Suicide Squad arose from the dust of Friftar, former royal councillor and director of the Theatre of Death, who had died in such agony.

  Having finally laid Friftar low, stopped his heart beating and devoured his limbs and organs cell by cell, the Subcutaneous Suicide Squad abandoned the meagre remains of its vanquished foe, a handful of bone dust. In search of new life to destroy, it soared across the theatre’s deserted auditorium, through the prisoners’ empty cell block and over the Copper Killers’ gallery, but all it found were bodies in which its work had already been accomplished by others. The invisible microscopic army reached the outer wall of the theatre and surmounted it.

  At last! Below the Subcutaneous Suicide Squad, stretching away in all directions, lay a city filled with life, so it swooped down on Hel in fulfilment of Tykhon Zyphos’s dying curse: ‘May Hel and all who dwell there be destroyed from within just like me!’

  Black Dome Square

  Wolpertings were setting foot in Black Dome Square for the first time since Rumo had descended into Netherworld. They emerged from the gloomy shaft one by one. Twilight was falling, but the dark-blue sky was almost cloudless. The Wolpertings drank in the fresh air and bathed in the warming rays of the setting sun. Many shook themselves as if trying to slough off the smell and recollection of Netherworld.

  More and more of them gathered round the black hole until the entire square and the surrounding streets were thronged with Wolpertings. No one made a move to leave. All were waiting for some pronouncement that would relieve the tension by drawing a permanent line between their recent experiences and their future existence.

  All eyes turned to the mayor, who had sought, found and polished the appropriate words while climbing the long staircase. Jowly of Gloomberg cleared his throat, the murmurs died away, and he uttered the historic sentence:

  ‘It’ll take a damned big lid to plug a hole as ugly as this.’

  No one spoke, no one moved, no one said ‘Hear, hear!’ or clapped. They weren’t exactly the words the Wolpertings had been expecting – words that would do justice to their tribulations and merit inclusion in the city’s annals. They knew they were the right words, however, so they went their separate ways, the skilled craftsmen among them already devoting thought to what material such a ‘lid’ should be made of.

  ‘Did I say something wrong?’ the mayor asked.

  ‘No,’ replied someone, ‘you hit the nail on the head.’ It was Volzotan Smyke, who was standing beside him with Professor Ostafan Kolibri.

  The mayor wondered briefly whether ‘hitting the nail on the head’ was a snide reference to the notch in his cranium. Then he brushed the thought aside. He was on duty. The presence of outsiders in the city created an entirely new and, politically speaking, extremely awkward situation. Hitherto, no outsiders had been admitted on principle, but he could hardly throw them out. They had been largely instrumental in the rescue. He himself owed them his release from imprisonment. They had saved Rala’s life. What was wanted now was a hospitable gesture of some kind. Heavens alive, this was a situation that required him to devise a diplomatically sensitive form of words for the second time in a few minutes!

  ‘We should be glad to share our city with any well-disposed wayfarers,’ Jowly of Gloomberg said at length. Phew! Fortunately, the traditional greeting laid down by the Atlantean Hiker’s Code had popped into his head just in time. He had merely substituted ‘city’ for ‘campfire’ and pluralised ‘wayfarer’.

  ‘Oh,’ Smyke replied. ‘We thank you for your offer of hospitality –’

  ‘– and promise,’ Professor Kolibri chimed in gravely, ‘not to take undue advantage of it.’

  That takes care of them, thought the mayor, feeling relieved, but what am I to do with the other outsiders – the ones that hail from Netherworld? He looked over at them anxiously.

  Yukobak and Ribble were standing together in the last rays of the setting sun.

  ‘The air is breathable,’ said Yukobak, panting hard. ‘If it’s poisonous, the poison must be slow-acting.’

  ‘The sun doesn’t seem to be scorching us,’ said Ribble, shielding himself with his pincers. ‘It isn’t melting us or anything.’

  ‘Wait until midday tomorrow.’ Urs was standing beside them, grinning. ‘That’s when it attains its full intensity.’

  Yukobak looked surprised. ‘You mean the sunshine varies in strength?’

  ‘The sun’ll go down at any moment,’ Urs told him. ‘Then it won’t shine at all – then it’ll get cold and dark. Where do you intend to spend the night?’

  Yukobak shrugged.

  ‘We haven’t thought about it yet,’ Ribble replied.

  ‘Come to my place, then. I’ve an idea there’ll be a room going begging at our house in Hoth Street from now on.’ Urs jerked his head in the direction of Rumo and Rala, who were still standing silently in the middle of the square.

  Wolperting comes back to life

  ‘Would you care to see me home?’ Rala asked at length. ‘It’ll be dark soon and the streets in this city are said to be exceptionally dangerous.’

  ‘All right,’ said Rumo.

  They walked through the streets in silence. The houses were coming back to life. Shutters were flung open, candles lit, blankets shaken. Laughter and the clatter of crockery could be heard on all sides. Wolperting was being aired.

  At last they reached Rala’s door. Rala looked at Rumo. She raised her left forearm and parted the silky fur to reveal a painless scar. It read:

  Rumo

  Then she went into the house, leaving the door ajar behind her.

  Rumo shut his eyes.

  Yes, there it was, the Silver Thread, and it led through the doorway into Rala’s house.

  ‘Go on!’ said Dandelion.

  Rumo followed Ra
la inside, his legs shaky, his paw tightly gripping the hilt of his sword as if in search of support.

  ‘Show her the casket,’ Dandelion whispered. ‘Show her the casket of Nurn Forest oak.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Krindle, ‘it’ll knock her sideways.’

  At this point the drawer marked R slides shut.

  It closes for discretion’s sake, because Rala must now introduce Rumo to the miracle of love.

  For some miracles can only occur in the dark.