The round cross E-Book

Nikolaus Minas

• Herausgeber: via tolino media
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Peter works for a travel magazine, and in his spare time he likes to play “Machimasu”, a modern indoor sport. He leads a normal bachelor's life. This changes abruptly when three dwarves take him on a daring sleigh ride. The dwarves disappear again straight away, but the bruises on Peter's bottom and the broken sledge are not his imagination. When he discovers a talking yellow-bellied toad shortly afterwards, he realizes that he is involved in something big. Together with librarian Annabelle, he embarks on the adventure of his life, in which tickle-mosquitoes and clothes worms are the least of the dangers....

Leseprobe

Inhaltsverzeichnis

( ) ( ) Part I. Secrets ( ) ( )

1. Book: Spring

Chapter 1: A slightly different sleigh ride

Chapter 2: The Talking Pond

Chapter 3: The Game in the Dark

2. Book: Summer

Chapter 1: The Woman in Gray

Chapter 2: The Eternal Competition

Chapter 3: The Great Quest

( ) ( ) Part II. Good and Evil ( ) ( )

1. Book: Summer

Chapter 1: The Round Cross

Chapter 2: The Gate

Chapter 3: The Realm of the Fairies

2. Book: Autumn

Chapter 1: The Locked Gate

Chapter 2: The Blue Tunnel

Chapter 3: The Decision

Impressum

( ) ( ) Part I. Secrets ( ) ( )

1. Book: Spring

Chapter 1: A slightly different sleigh ride

Outside the window, a biting cold wind swirled thick snowflakes through the air, furious that it couldn't harm the warmth that reigned in Peter's study. Peter stood at one of the two windows of the tower where his study was located, staring out sullenly. He sighed audibly. Now it was already early March and an end to the long and snowy winter (a "winter of the century", as the meteorologists said) was no more in sight than a meteorologist who could truthfully predict what the weather would be like the next day. Weather forecasts had been predicting for a week that milder sea air would finally put an end to the masses of snow and low temperatures. However, the next day, the weather forecasters had to apologize each time and postponed the weather change for yet another day.

Peter observed the small courtyard that was located between the round tower, his small house and the still intact barn, which he used as a garage and tool shed. In the darkness, lit only by the large outdoor lantern next to the front door, it looked as if the snowflakes formed into two denser, cloud-like formations that were fighting each other. One cloud rolled over the other, seemingly merging with it, and then, spitting out snowflakes, shot to the side and charged again at the other cloud.

Peter, fascinated by the spectacle, shivered despite the cozy warmth inside the tower. This could have stemmed from the idea that it could really be creatures of cold and snow fighting a fierce battle down there. But it probably was simply because he had to go through this icy weather to get into the house – with a tempting warm bed and maybe some hot grog and a few pages of a good book before bed.

He sighed again, turned away from the window, and decided to do some more work.

He sat down at his old cherry-wood desk and tried to concentrate his thoughts on work. Peter was a journalist for a travel magazine and, among other things, his field of work included a task that he particularly enjoyed because he could often enjoy himself (sometimes even laugh out loud). He had to check the material sent in by "normal" travelers who felt kissed by the muse to see whether it was suitable for printing in the magazine and then put it into a suitable form. In front of him were some photos and a six-page "manuscript". These had been submitted by an elderly lady who had ended up in Mauritius (possibly due to a booking mistake in the travel agency, as he mischievously thought). The photos were mainly landscapes and were quite respectable. The "manuscript", however, consisted of rather incoherent keywords teeming with longing comparisons with the island of Mallorca. Peter considered the document to be absolutely useless. Nevertheless, his boss liked the idea of an older woman supplementing her income with travel reports and had asked him to at least try to turn the stammering into a readable article.

On this Friday, he had pulled himself together to take home the material for the decisive all-or-nothing attempt. Throughout the evening, however, he had only managed a few beginnings on his computer and deleted them again a few minutes later. He picked up one of the pictures, which showed a harbor framing another old large tower.

Since he wasn't focused on it anyway, his thoughts involuntarily wandered to the time when he had seen the tower in which he now sat for the first time since his childhood. As a child, he had regularly visited the small farm that had belonged to his uncle Bert during the school holidays. For his training, however, he had ended up in a large city far away in the north of the country. In the meantime, the contact with his uncle had fallen asleep except for the standard "Christmas-Easter-Birthday"-greeting cards. Uncle Bert had died three years ago and had bequeathed the farm to him as his only still living relative. When Peter had seen the property three years ago, for the first time after an eternity, he had been horrified at first. The farm had been in a pitiful state: one of the two barns had completely collapsed, the other half dilapidated, the roof of the house had leaked and the half-timbering was crying out for renovation. Only the tower was in relatively good condition. Its walls consisted of light ochre-brown stone up to just above the oak door. On top of this construction were walls about seven and a half yards high, which had been built with timber framing. The copper-clad roof, which could already be seen from the valley road, shimmered in the sunshine in many shades of green, from the color of withering grass over emerald green to a hue that predominates in fir forests flooded by the light of a low sun.

At the time, Peter had wondered if he shouldn't just sell the farm and then forget about it. However, as he strolled a little along the small patch of meadow in front of the farm, saddened by his uncle's death and frustrated by the deterioration the farm had been subjected to since his last visit, he realized once again what a beautiful place this was. He stood in the middle of a blooming, juicy green carpet full of rich red poppies, subtle purple meadow foamweed, spring-sunny yellow dandelions and light pink meadow clover. When he had come up the small road, which branched off from the valley road towards Engelskirchen and led uphill in several curves, first through mixed deciduous forest, before it ran over the small meadow just before the farm, he had not really noticed the splendor of the blossoms. But when he bent down and discovered among the meadow flowers some green-winged orchids – a species whose flowers are shaped like a small fool's cap – the thought occurred to him whether it would not be worthwhile to get the farm back in shape and live here.

When, on a short walk in the woods, he found a few specimens of another orchid species, namely the red helleborine, he was convinced that he would not soon get another chance to own his own property in such a beautiful environment. His mind was made up: he would ask someone who was familiar with the restoration of old buildings whether the farm could be restored to a habitable condition at a reasonable financial cost. And he could do his work from anywhere on earth that was blessed with an internet connection.

The very next day he went to the nearby small town of Mauckewicke. There, a former friend named Jorek Jordanek now ran a travel agency. Jorek, or "Jojo" as he was called everywhere, was a few years older than Peter and used to be something of a big brother to him. Peter had always admired him precisely because of his craftsmanship and ingenuity – and Jojo had immediately been willing to help Peter with his decision.

He looked at the yard that same afternoon and gave a rough estimate of the amount of building materials that would swallow up about half of Peter's bank balance. When Jojo offered to lend a hand on the weekends and help Peter buy the materials, his decision was made.

In the following two months, the both of them first took on the tower (in which surprisingly little had to be invested) and completely demolished the already collapsed barn and planted a vegetable garden instead. Jojo had been very enthusiastic when Peter had accepted his suggestion to "renaturalize" this barn. In another two months, the other barn was made usable again and finally the residential building was restored, although it turned out that the damage here only affected the exterior, namely the roof and the external half-timbering.

The time, which was not only occupied by hard work, but also the joys of playing sports and chess as well as having intensive discussions, had deepened the friendship between them again.

Peter had thanked Jojo for his help with a business idea that had come to him a few years ago: it was the organization of adventure trips, in which the travel participant(s) (mostly couples or families with children) had to specify the desired travel duration, the desired means of transport and the desired destination area and then received a game plan, which affected the itinerary and stay at the destination. The subject of the game board was always that the traveler had to solve a task in the course of the journey. Most of the time, they took on the role of detectives or researchers and had to follow clues that they received from different people during the journey. The schedule also listed places of interest, indicating the average amount of time spent on sightseeing. If the task was solved, you were rewarded with a cash voucher that you could redeem or use as a deposit for your next trip or excursion. This idea was so overwhelmingly received by the clientele that Jojo ended up with little free time. He was always planning new routes with ever new tasks and had developed the basic idea even further. For example, he had hired a number of elderly ladies as "whistleblowers", who at the same time entertained the travellers with coffee and – mostly homemade – cake and to whom he paid flat fees per traveller. So it had happened that they rarely saw each other now.

Peter sighed a third time and thought that, in retrospect, he must have been very happy about the decision to settle down here. To make matters worse, he had very quickly found a better job in a publishing house in Immerbach. After the renovations were completed, he had furnished the house partly with his own furniture and partly with his uncle's furniture (some of which in good condition he had given to Jojo), taking care not to cramp the living space too much with furniture. The tower was a prime example of this.

In the tower room there were only his desk, a chair, a wastebasket, a bookshelf, an oil painting, a fan heater and a plant.

In the middle of the room was the old cherry wood desk, which he himself had bought at a flea market at the beginning of his apprenticeship and had refurbished with a great deal of work (with the most scrupulous observance of the instructions in a book for hobby restorers). In order to be able to set up the desk here, he had to disassemble it down in the courtyard and glue it back together up here. On the desk was his computer and a large monitor. The printer stood next to the desk in front of a small wicker wastebasket.

At a not very great distance to the side of the desk were the two windows of the tower. The window sill of the window facing the courtyard (and under which was the trap-door that gave access to the tower room) was completely free, and on the other window-sill stood Wilfried in his blue planter. Wilfried was a tree fern (Latin: Dicksonia antarctica) that Peter's father had given him for his ninth or tenth birthday. Wilfried had originally been located in the living room of the house, but had been at the mercy of the attacks of St. Benedict Junior, or Junior for short. Junior was a jet-black tom with dark amber eyes who had run into Peter during the first phase of renovation. From the pattern of the fur, the cat had reminded him of St. Benedict, one of Uncle Bert's farm cats. He thought that this could very well be a descendant of St. Benedict and had christened the cat St. Benedict Junior and later just called it Junior for the sake of simplicity. Junior had made it a sport to take out his excess energy (or the annoyance of Peter's frugality with the expensive "gourmet treats for the discerning cat") on Wilfried: every time Junior left the house, he hit one of the fronds of the tree fern with its claws extended makes a powerful side swing. When Junior entered the house, he carefully crawled across the ground to the plant and then jumped into the middle of the greenery, biting here and there with his sharp teeth. After Wilfried's natural elegance and vitality had clearly diminished, Peter had decided to give him a cat-proof exile up here in the tower. This step had brought about Wilfried's full recovery. Junior had quickly overcome his initial bitterness at Wilfried's sudden escape from his sphere of influence by choosing Peter's slippers as his victim. Only a few prominent scratch marks on the door of the tower testified to his attempts to make "contact" with Wilfried.

On the wall between the trapdoor and the other window was the bookcase, which housed only a few older books. If you then let your gaze follow the round wall, you could see an oil painting in the middle between the two windows. It was a copy of the painting "The Blank Signature" by the Belgian painter René Magritte, the original of which hung in the National Gallery of Art in Washington. The painting, which his uncle Bert had acquired from a friend in the seventies, because it had fascinated him immensely, was painted with oil on canvas and was about 80 cm high and 60 cm wide. It depicted a lady sitting upright, dressed in a gray-purple costume, riding a light brown horse through a deciduous forest. The special thing about the picture was that the horse and rider were literally dismembered by the trees or the spaces between the trees: while the horse's hind part disappeared behind a tree that was in the background of the picture, the middle part of the horse with saddle and lady was in front of a tree, which was more in the foreground of the picture. A gap between the trees allowed only the green foliage in the background of the forest and forest floor to shine through (thus "obscuring" the part between the saddle and the horse's head), before the animal's head and front legs were seen again in front of a tree in the foreground of the picture.

Between this picture and the window on the courtyard side stood the electric fan heater.

The fan started up again after the room temperature had dropped imperceptibly, and with its soft murmur it brought Peter back to the present. He looked again at the holiday picture of the Mauritius traveler and looked at his wristwatch. It was close to midnight and he realized that he had become quite tired. He certainly wouldn't be able to do anything sensible today, so he decided to brave the blowing snow and go over to the house. He turned off the computer and ceiling lights, turned the fan heater down to just above frost, opened the trap door and climbed down the narrow spiral staircase, which was poorly lit by sparse lighting. He prepared himself for the wind to throw unpleasant cold and snowflakes in his face and opened the tower door. The wind even blew a terribly severe cold in his face and showered him with snowflakes. He tugged wildly at his clothes and hair. He quickly locked the door and ran over to the house, probably with a personal speed record. Without looking back, he unlocked the door and disappeared inside to go to bed.

If Peter had turned around again after unlocking the front door and looked up at the tower window, he might have been able to see the monitor going back into operation at the top of the tower, despite the heavy snowfall.

During the night, Peter woke up several times. The wind had picked up and was howling loudly around the house. Peter fancied he heard other noises between the howling of the wind, some kind of crunching and groaning, but Heaven knew which rafters of the barn had loosened and now thought he had to play along with the concert of the winter storm. In any case, he was lying in the warm bed (into which Junior, who had curled up at the foot of the bed, had also retreated shortly after Peter) and was not at all interested in what was going on outside at the moment.

Towards morning the storm subsided, which Peter only registered half asleep. Peter also didn't notice that Junior got up at this time to check outside and possibly do one of his businesses, but shortly afterwards crept back mewing with a confused and frightened expression in his amber eyes.

On Saturday morning, he noticed that the wind had left behind a decent amount of snow. After breakfast, Peter went outside to clear the yard area before driving his SUV into town. The air was bitingly cold, the snow crunched softly underfoot and the sky was a slightly yellowish gray, which suggested more snowfall, but not an imminent end of winter. Peter noticed that the snow was literally flattened in some parts of the courtyard area and formed slight hollows. At these points, he had to push the snow shovel much harder into the snow. He couldn't make sense of this apparition. He also found it strange that there were traces of an animal in the snow, which led to the tower door and formed some circles there. These could easily have come from Junior, if they hadn't come from the forest below the meadow, where they led again. Upon closer examination, he determined that the tracks probably came from a fox. It was a mystery, however, what the animal had been looking for there.

Peter stayed in Mauckewicke until about noon. He first bought groceries for the whole coming week and then had lunch at a small Greek restaurant. While it had snowed lightly during the morning, the cloud cover loosened up during lunch and the sun peeked through the clouds. Peter decided to stroll through the small town and honour Jojo with a surprise visit, perhaps to spend the afternoon playing a game of chess or a few games of carrom. Maybe he could invite his friend to one of the well-stocked cafés. When he arrived at the other end of Mauckewicke, Jojo's landlady, who lived in the same house, told him that his friend was away again on "some kind of travel thing". She prophesied to Peter that if his friend did not begin to respect the weekend as a period of recuperation, he would not have any of the hard-earned money, as he would surely succumb to a heart attack in the next three years. Peter had no choice but to walk back, yet he wasn't particularly sorry for that, as he really enjoyed getting a few rays of sunshine again after the weeks of only gray skies, even if they didn't warm up the cold air in any way. He ate a piece of marzipan cake with candied fruit alone in a café and allowed himself a small pot of cocoa, which was still made with milk and cream.

Then he drove back home, although he could only manage the small side road to the farm in four-wheel drive, as the clear sky made for severe cold and correspondingly slippery conditions, especially now in the late afternoon. He put the cart in the barn and went over to the house. He noticed that on the light blanket of snow that had formed in the morning, animal tracks – this time apparently those of two foxes – again led to the tower door and then disappeared back into the forest. He decided to keep Junior's cat door locked that night just to be on the safe side.

Peter watched the news on TV during dinner, which consisted of a few slices of a sesame bread he had bought fresh today. The weather forecast was presented by a resigned meteorologist who, with a weary smile, came to the conclusion that winter would probably not be dispelled anytime soon. Peter then took a long hot bath and went to bed early. He took a quick look out of the bedroom window at the courtyard and the tower, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. It was a full moon and the yard was lit up as brightly as only a full moon can do at night with the help of the reflection of light through the snow. Everything lay there peacefully. With a reassured hum, Peter turned away from the window and slipped under the covers. Junior, who had been lying in the middle of the bed, meowed in protest because he had to leave the already warmed seat in the center, but then snuggled into Peter's bent legs.

A few minutes later the light of the monitor in the tower came on again, and another quarter of an hour later a group of three foxes approached from the forest below the small meadow and made their way to the tower. The foxes stared up at the window above them, and then put their heads together in consultation. Then the heaviest of the animals sprang up to the doorknob and clung to it with teeth and paws. The handle moved downwards. The other two foxes scratched at the crack in the door with their front paws and tried to open the door in this way. Since it was completed, this attempt failed and the animals finally gave up. They slinked back into the forest, turning around and looking back at the tower as if something new might happen there at any moment.

Sometime later, a light wind enveloped the moon in thin clouds, so that it could only be seen as a silvery silhouette. The wind swept across the courtyard and blew away the tracks of the foxes...

The next morning greeted the world around Mauckewicke and Engelskirchen with a bright sun and a wonderful blue sky, but also with temperatures of a few degrees below zero. After inspecting the tower door and finding nothing suspicious there, Peter let Junior out into the fresh air and decided to take a long walk in the woods.

He put on a thick winter jacket, gloves and his dark blue pointed hat made of angora wool, which he had knitted himself on some boring days during his training, which had earned him the ridicule of his friends, who had congratulated him for his perfection in "girl hobbies" for a few days and had asked him if he would also be available for a date. Today he was proud of this useful proof of artistic creativity. He made his way past the barn to the forest behind the farm that continued uphill. As he passed the barn, he heard scratching and scraping noises from inside. He thought that there was some animal there (possibly a weasel or a marten) and that he had better check before going for a walk. He opened the door to the barn and walked past his SUV into the back where the noises were coming from – and rebounded in surprise. What he saw seemed so grotesque to him that he couldn­'t make a sound on his way to laughing or screaming: there were apparently three dwarves standing in front of him!

The three of them wore completely clichéd green pointed caps, were wrapped in dark green coats, had a round figure and didn't even reach Peter's navel. They were gathered around an old sledge which they had placed upright, and were now evidently trying to rub the rusty runners clean again with pieces of wood. However, they didn't look at Peter with any fear or surprise, but rather with questioning.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Peter managed to produce the first questioning sounds, which he was finally able to summarize with the words "Who the hell are you?" in a form that everyone could understand.

"What do we look like?" asked one of the dwarves, who looked a little older and rounder than the other two. He was also the only one who wore glasses, silvery round glasses that were so close to his eyes that they risked flattening his bushy eyebrows. The question was asked in a dark, shrewd voice, and was accentuated in a very friendly manner, though – as it seemed to Peter – with a slight sarcastic undertone.

"Well, what do we look like?" asked the second of the dwarves, who looked as if he was going to burst out laughing at any moment. The ends of his thick, upturned moustache were already quivering suspiciously. He emphasized his question with noticeable mockery.

"Well, man, who or what do you think we could be?" asked the third dwarf, who looked a little slimmer and younger than the other two. He asked this question with an almost sneering undertone. This obviously caused problems for the second dwarf to control himself. He snorted after trying in vain to press his lips tightly together; but an indulgent and admonishing look from the old man and a reproachful and arrogant look from the younger brought him to rest again.

Peter looked from one to the other, and then asked very timidly:

"D-w-a-r-v-e-s?"

"A truly Einsteinian conclusion, man," said the eldest of the dwarves, raising the index finger of his left hand and nodding his head in admiration. The other two dwarves nodded to each other with a smile, and the one with the huge moustache said with relief:

"He's got it!"

Peter had now overcome his first surprise, and asked:

"What are you doing here and where are you from? Do you really exist or am I suffering from hallucinations now?"

"Firstly, you can see that, secondly, it is none of your business, thirdly, yes, and fourthly, no," said the eldest dwarf, who was probably something of a spokesman for the strange troop.

"But I don't understand anything anymore. I think you owe me a more detailed explanation," Peter said.

The youngest dwarf, who at the end had worked the runners again with a piece of wood, now said curtly:

"Do we want to put down roots here? Instead of continuing to engage in conversation, you'd better help, man."

With these words, the dwarves prepared to lift the sleigh and leave the barn with it. Peter had known that there was an old sleigh from the past lying around in the back of the barn, but all of a sudden the sledge seemed rather long to him. So he pitched in, since he couldn't expect a longer explanation – at least for now – and trotted after the dwarves. At the same time, he fumbled in his pockets for his smartphone to take a photo of the trio. It was clear that anyone he would tell about this event would think he was crazy. However, he searched in vain. Then he remembered that he had left the device on the kitchen table and groaned in annoyance. The dwarves left the barn and turned towards the forest above the farm. They walked purposefully towards a spot that turned out to be the cave entrance when they got closer. Peter knew very well that there had never been a cave here before, but he was still so perplexed that nothing could surprise him at the moment. The dwarves parked the sledge in front of the cave entrance. A few feet behind it, it was pitch dark. Peter couldn't see anything, except that the cave entrance and also the walls were covered with thick ice.

"Well, man, are you with us or are you too cowardly for a little sleigh ride?" asked the youngest of the dwarves in an arrogant tone, looking at Peter curiously.

"You want to go in there?" asked Peter, "where are you going?"

"If you don't go with me, man, you'll never know," said the older dwarf, holding up his left index finger again instructively.

"Well, von Brünn, do you want to sit in the front?" he then asked the youngest dwarf, who had pushed the sledge up to the cave entrance. He nodded briefly and was the first to sit on the sled.

"Von Oggenfock? Do you want to take second place?" the eldest dwarf turned to the one with the moustache.

"Certainly, Professor," he said, and sat down behind the waiting ‘von Brünn’.

"Then let's go," said the eldest, taking a seat and asking over his right shoulder:

"One place is still available. Make up your mind, man!"

Peter didn't think twice and squeezed behind the eldest, who had been addressed as "Professor". He didn't have much room and was already thinking about getting off again, when the three dwarves shouted loudly "Huiiii!" and pushed off with their feet and pushed the sledge into the darkness.

The cave, which exuded icy coldness, led steeply into the depths after only a few yards. The sled quickly picked up speed and whizzed along faster and faster on the icy ground. Peter guessed that the cave had a relatively small diameter. He crouched as low as he could and clung to the wood of the sled, as the ground was slightly uneven in places and he was in danger of slipping off the sled. After a short time, the cave didn't just lead straight ahead, but began to run in curves. The dwarves must have known the spot with the first bend somehow, as they were laughing loudly just before they were shouting "Hoho!!" and "Yaaahuuuuu!!". In the cave, the shouts echoed many times, as if Peter were traveling with a whole busload of dwarves.

The first curve described a wide curve to the left, in which the carriage moved away from the cave floor as if in a centrifuge and now swept along the right wall. Peter began to suspect how a bobsleigh athlete might feel when the bobsleigh whizzed into a banked turn. However, unlike him, the bobsleigh athlete sat safely enveloped, while a slight inattention could throw him off his vehicle, which also had everything other than the stability of a bobsleigh. Peter hoped that the sleigh would not suddenly disintegrate into its components. The curve spiraled further and further and then led even steeper downwards. The sled was pressed up to the ceiling of the cave and Peter thought of earlier rides in amusement parks with roller coasters, which sometimes included lateral spiral turns. Compared to the current ride, however, these experiences seemed as harmless to him as a ride on the children's carousel.

With a half loop downwards, the cave passage described a round arc and the cave ceiling became the cave floor again.

Under other circumstances, Peter might have felt nauseous, but the icy cold, which had made his fingers numb despite the gloves, turned his nose into an unfeeling icicle and made his ears ache despite his angora cap, counteracted any nausea.

For a short distance, the ice channel ran almost horizontally, but it was peppered with alternating right and left turns, so that the sled climbed the side walls to the left and right at high speed. Peter prayed that the sledge would not tip over, but his head was torn alternately to his right and left shoulders.

Then a round patch of light, towards which the sledge was heading, approached with almost incomprehensible speed. Peter noticed that the cave passage widened considerably and finally led into a gigantic hall. It was filled with a steel-blue light, the origin of which was not apparent. In this diffuse light, Peter saw huge icicles hanging above him from an unrecognizable ceiling. Next to the lane, larger and smaller "termite mounds" of ice grew out of the hall floor, so that it seemed as if the sled was moving through a heathland with shrubs and cypress-like growths of ice.

Their now audibly creaking vehicle carried the three dwarves and their human companion through this wonderful world of cold and frozen water, which forced fascinated awe through ever new shapes and lighter and darker light reflections of different shades of blue. Even the dwarves, who had repeatedly made squeaking noises and roaring laughter when the sledge turned into a new curve or hopped over an unevenness in the ground, now silently marveled at the ice formations above and beside them.

The hall had numerous branches, but the sleigh drove undeterred along a main corridor. It suddenly seemed to Peter that the air was getting even more icy and the wind was getting stronger, even though the ground had not tilted anymore. A singing wind noise made itself felt and intensified into a low hiss. Finally, the source of the blowing wind was at a point from which several side passages branched off. There the wind was blowing from the side, and, in the distance, it seemed to Peter that he could made out some huge, white, elongated round creatures with large black beady eyes, which looked like gigantic seals without fins, staring in wonder at the passing intruder.

Peter, however, didn't have time to think about whether this was just another illusion of light and ice, as he saw a dark blue-black wall of hard ice looming in front of him, towards which the sled was heading at undiminished speed.

There was no way out in sight, and the thought flashed through Peter's mind that he would never have thought of such a grotesque end to his not-so-long life. To the outside world he would simply have vanished into thin air. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't notice if he was smashed against the ice wall in a matter of seconds with three seemingly insane and suicidal gnomes and a pile of wood and iron.

When, however, the dwarves suddenly shouted as if on a command "Haaaiiiiiijaah!", Peter opened his eyes again. He saw the huge wall of ice hurtling straight towards him. The dwarves put their left feet on the ground at the same time as they shouted, and the sledge swung its hind end to the right and hurled into a small passage that had been at the left foot of the wall. This led downwards at an angle of about 45 degrees, so that the sled quickly accelerated again. The walls of this corridor were full of ice crystals the size of a pin or a fist. They glistened in a bright, medium-blue, intense light, creating the illusion of driving through a chamber of blue gemstones.

Suddenly, Peter like a heavy load was pressing on his shoulders, as the sled passed through a deep "U" at top speed and then moved upward. Apparently, it went up very, very steeply. So steep that Peter had to cling to the seat boards with his almost numb hands to keep from slipping off the back of the sled.

During this ascent, the vehicle slowed down continuously. In front of them, or rather above them, the top of this "hill" could be seen, but it was now approaching more and more slowly.

Peter felt a tickling tingling sensation in his stomach as he thought that the sled might lose its ride altogether and slide backwards back down the mountain. The professor sitting in front of him muttered:

"Could we have been mistaken and our new friend was a little too light? Well, be that as it may, if our accelerated mass doesn't have enough momentum, the whole thing could still develop into quite a fun and exciting adventure."

The emphasis on the last words, however, made it clear that the professor would like to do without this form of subterranean experiences.

Meanwhile the sledge crept very slowly towards the rounded top of the mountain and slowed down at the moment when the bow of the sledge overhung the top. The sleigh came to a pendulum and the four passengers held their breath expectantly. The second the sleigh began to tilt backwards, Peter instinctively threw his arms forward and with this movement also pushed the dwarves forward a little bit on the seat. As a result, the front part got a clear preponderance and with a three-part "Yieeeehh!" (Peter couldn't even get out a faint beep because of his palpitations) the sled quickly picked up speed again. Von Brünn, who was sitting in front, raised his left hand and turned his palm backwards towards von Oggenfock, who was sitting in the middle. He first raised his right hand and turned its palm towards the professor. Then, at the same time, the professor clapped his right hand against von Oggenfock's right, and von Oggenfock clapped his left hand against Brünn's left. They shouted enthusiastically "Yuuhaaaahhh!" and crouched down on the sled so that it could go even faster.

The sledge reached a hellish speed and plunged down a dead straight ice gully that was of a glowing deep blue. At its lower end, the gully led to a flat-looking stretch that was only visible in shadows.

As they approached, Peter suddenly realized that this route was indeed flat, but of a condition that could make your blood freeze in your veins (which was not much missing anyway in the Siberian cold). The piece that was lost in the darkness in front of them was nothing more than the ridge-like, elongated top of a mountain of ice. A few yards below this peak, nothing could be seen, but it was clear to each of the four that there was a deep abyss to the left and right of the pointed track that opened up in front of them. The sledge whizzed down from the gully onto this ridge in such a way that the sled runners touched down just under eight inches to the right and left below the tip, and the razor-sharp tip itself scraped menacingly past just one inch below the middle row of seats.

The dwarves and man acted in tacit agreement — by not acting at all. They held on to the sled with both hands, didn't say (or scream) a word, and breathed in and out very, very carefully. They deliberately tried to stiffen themselves and not to throw the sledge off balance by some careless movement. Inevitably, it would have tipped to one side or the other and they would have smashed somewhere deep down.

Their vehicle hissed with a dangerous-sounding, singing sound over the pointed track, which fortunately only led straight ahead. Every curve would have meant their end, as the centrifugal forces would have thrown the sled into the abyss. Suddenly, it became brighter from the front. A quick puff of air tore their caps off their heads, but none of them thought for a second about raising a hand to hold on to their headgear. Even Peter's self-made piece couldn't resist this gust of wind. The caps sailed into the abyss and were lost forever – but Peter was happy to pay that price if he stayed alive for it!

In the brightening light, Peter could see that the pointed track led back to wider terrain, in which, however, black specks could be seen. As the sledge was heading towards this spot at an unbridled speed, it was quickly apparent that the black specks were pieces of rock that broke through the icy surface in some places. The walls of the cave, which became quite narrow again, were also­ strewn with rock. In places, boulders protruded into the corridor.

The sledge roared from the pointed ice rink onto this reassuringly stable ground, which, as it turned out, led uphill again, albeit only very slightly.

Peter let out a sigh of relief, only to realize that this new floor was not as dangerous, but brought new risks of injury. The sledge only had to hit one of the cave walls – and a slight right turn was already approaching – and it would certainly tip over. In this case, they were likely to injure themselves heavily, if not life-threateningly, on the rock pieces.

The dwarves, all of whom had themselves firmly in their hands again, roared enthusiastically "Eeeejukk!” and used their feet to steer the sleigh so that it drifted around the right-hand bend. Peter had enough to do with avoiding the boulders jutting into the passage from above with his head ­.

Behind the right-hand bend it became noticeably brighter again and you could see a bright spot straight ahead, towards which the sled was moving. In the meantime, he had already passed a few places where the icy ground was noticeably crisscrossed by rocks. At these points, the four passengers were shaken up and there was a screeching sound every time, which was accompanied by sparks that flew up behind the sled. The circular, bright spot grew larger and larger, and Peter fervently hoped that it was the destination of this diabolical journey. About seventeen yards in front of this spot, which had become blindingly bright, a round rock protruded from the ground, narrowing the lane more than halfway from the left side.

The dwarves tried to steer around the stone to the right, but the remaining space was simply too tight. There was a hard jolt when the sledge touched the rock with its left hind end, and Peter would certainly have fallen off if he hadn't mobilized his last reserves of strength and clung to it convulsively, dodging the rock with his left leg.

As a result of this collision, the sled was thrown into a violent spinning left turn. He whirled, still at a decent speed, toward the bright spot. At the moment when Peter felt dangerously dizzy and was about to lose his footing, the damaged vehicle reached the blinding spot and hopped through it back into the outside world.

The passage through the cave had also run diagonally upwards during the last stretch and, in connection with the speed of the sledge, looked like a cannon barrel – but like one into which too little powder was loaded and in which the bullet only just flew out of the tube and then fell vertically to the ground.

Accordingly, the sled bounced a little bit out of the cave exit and then crashed onto a hard, smooth surface of ice. This turned out to be the frozen surface of a small pond. The sled slammed into the ice surface, immediately breaking into three pieces through the merciless impact, so that the occupants were whirled onto the ice without much choice. The ice rink protested against this disturbance of the winter calm with a few groans. In addition, some cracks formed on the surface, accompanied by singing splinter sounds.

Peter lay dazed on the surface of the pond for a short while, and then picked himself up. He discovered that the "landing site" was a small pond located not very far from his home on one of the hilly meadows in the direction of Mauckewicke, near the edge of a forest. It was here that he had often played as a boy; he remembered that he had once caught a male alpine newt here during the Easter holidays. He had been so fascinated by its wonderfully blue-colored back with yellow sprinkles in the small dorsal crest and the bright orange belly that he carefully put the animal in his jacket pocket and took it with him to the farm. When he asked Uncle Bert for a large glass of water in which the newt would live from now on, Uncle Bert made it clear to him what captivity meant for animals. He went back to the pond with Peter, and asked him if he didn't think that this beautiful creature deserved a better place than just a glass, in which he would no doubt feel very lonely. Here in the pond, he has company and here Peter can observe the animal in its natural environment. Peter had then carefully put the newt back into the water. Uncle Bert had put his hands on Peter's shoulders and said:

"My boy, I'm proud of you. You made the right decision­."

And now, as a grown man, he had landed on this very pond after a crazy sleigh ride with three equally crazy companions. The dwarves had already risen and gathered around the wreckage of the sledge. As Peter approached, the professor bowed almost to the ground and said:

"Well, man, we can't help but congratulate you on your courage. Even if it was nothing more than a nice little Sunday sleigh ride" – the other dwarves smiled at these words – "many of your kind would certainly have preferred to do without the ride."

In retrospect, I might have preferred that too, thought Peter, who gradually felt secure on his feet again and slowly regained feeling in his hands, which he rubbed together violently, his ears and his nose.

"But you," continued the dwarf, "have dared the journey, and have not broken it off in the meantime."

Why didn't anyone explain to me that this was possible, Peter thought, and hoped that the dwarves couldn't read minds. The professor added:

"Allow me, man, to introduce you to your traveling companions. The youngest and strongest of us is Flotto von Brünn, who took the first place on the sled."

Von Brünn did not smile at Peter, but he indicated a curt bow.

"Second place went to Digga von Oggenfock" – he crossed his arms with a self-satisfied grin –

"And I am Professor Hugeminus von Knotth."

Peter looked at the dwarves expectantly, but that seemed to be the only explanation at first. In any case, the dwarves stared at him expectantly, and Peter introduced himself:

"And I'm Peter Feldman," Peter said. The dwarves looked a little irritated and the professor asked, "Uhh, Feldman? Just Feldman?"

"Von Feldman," Peter hastened to correct, since the dwarves apparently could only do something with names in which the predicate "von" appeared. They breathed a sigh of relief, and the professor was about to say something again, when von Brünn, who was constantly watching the forest higher up, cut it off with a quick wave of his hand and hissed:

"Professor! Look, up there! A foks!"

Peter looked up at the forest and asked:

"A fox? Don’t tell me that dwarves who go on a nice little Sunday ­sleigh ride underground are afraid of a fox."

"Not a fox, you fool, a foks!" exclaimed von Brünn, pronouncing the last word like "fok-ss". It was not until the second time the dwarf uttered this word that Peter noticed this strange emphasis. He asked:

"A foks?" - with a particularly clear emphasis he pronounced the word like "fock---sss". "What's that supposed to be?"

He peered intently up at the forest, realizing that it was already afternoon and the sleigh ride must have taken hours. The only thing he could see was that a reddish snout peeked out from behind a tree in the first row of trees. This seemed to come from a fox that was hiding there.

"So it's just a fox," he exclaimed, turning to the dwarves.

However, they were gone! They were simply gone, without a trace!

Peter looked confused from where they had just stood to the spot where the cave exit had been. This, too, was no longer to be seen. There was only snow-covered meadow area. Only the meager remains of the sledge were scattered on the ice — otherwise there was nothing to indicate that Peter had just had the strangest experience of his life. He glanced quickly up at the forest, where there was nothing to be seen, either. He couldn't explain the whole thing, but at least the remains of the sledge and the impact point that could still be clearly seen on the ice testified that the peculiar sledding had really taken place.

When he picked up the fragments, he realized that it wouldn't have done him any good if he had had the mobile phone with him: it would have dissolved into its components, if not already during the journey, at the latest when it hit the ice. Peter shrugged his shoulders and wandered back to the farm, lost in thought, looking around again and again to see if he could spot the dwarves (or anything else out of the ordinary). However, everywhere there was only the wintry landscape to be seen.

When he returned home, he saw at a glance that the entrance to the cave had disappeared. In the barn, in the tower and also in the house everything looked as usual. There was simply nothing left to indicate what had happened here and now. There were also no signs, that Junior had noticed anything unusual. With the same reproachful meow as always when his food bowl was empty, he pointed this out to Peter, who had dropped straight onto the couch. He then nudged Peter with his muzzle until he stood up and cleared the “vacuum” in the food bowl.

After taking a hot shower, he found in the mirror that his butt would be riddled with bruises the next day. Over two hot cups of fruit tea, Peter pondered what this adventure might mean. Meanwhile, he searched the internet for information about similar experiences. However, he could only find obvious nonsense that had been put online by some unrealistic crackpots for "self-therapy".

His thoughts kept wandering back to the darkness of the underground cave and he experienced the moments of shock of the near-impact on the ice wall and the "dance" on the narrow ridge several times that evening.

At night he slept very badly. He dreamed of three huge polar bears that suddenly appeared from behind the trees during a walk in the woods and chased him. They left him only one way out, and that was a sofa-sized sleigh. The polar bears forced him to sit on the front of the sled and pushed it in the best bobsleigh manner. One by one, the bears jumped on the sled and it raced through the forest, always within a hair's breadth of the trees. Finally, the sledge headed for a gorge over which only a narrow snow bridge led. More than once the tip of the sledge went over the abyss and Peter looked into dizzying depths. Suddenly, he heard a dull rumble in front of him and saw a huge snow globe rolling towards the bridge from the front. The bears laughed and pointed backwards with their huge paws. Peter was astonished to see that the snow bridge behind them had collapsed and was falling into the ravine in great pieces. When the snow globe had rolled onto the bridge, it shook noticeably and now also collapsed from the front. Everything plunged into the depths. The bears let out a muffled laugh, which was thrown back threateningly from the walls of the ravine. Peter screamed "Nooooooo!!” – and woke up.

He lay drenched in sweat on the floor next to the bed, St. Benedict Junior crouched in front of him, licking his front paws and looking at Peter with mild pity.

He climbed back into bed and finally fell asleep again. He didn't dream any more, but woke up several times with a jolt, as if he had heard noises. The only thing he could hear, however, were the sounds of light rain falling on the roof.

That night, the outside air became much warmer. At the same time as the onset of rain, the snow masses slowly began to melt.

A long winter was coming to an end.

Chapter 2: The Talking Pond

The next morning, Peter was able to convince himself by looking out of the window that he had not dreamed the sounds of rain at night: even now it was still raining, but no heavy thick drops were falling, but only fine droplets were drizzling down from the sky in a dense tangle. A light haze rose from the snow surfaces, which in places condensed into fog banks. Although it had started to thaw, the roads were very slippery, as the packed snow initially caused the rain to freeze.

On the way to work, Peter had two near-accidents, but they ended lightly: on the way down to the valley road, he had to brake because of a reddish-brown animal (probably a fox) and almost drove into a tree, and on the stretch through Mauckewicke a Porsche took the right of way, which came slithering back and forth out of a driveway. Peter braked and was promptly rewarded by the driver of an antique yellow Citroën 2CV (popularly known as "the ugly duckling") with a spirited and persistent honking concert.

Because of these events and a traffic jam in front of Immerbach, he arrived at the office completely irritated. His mood deteriorated even more when he remembered that he still had to write the old lady's travelogue.

As he tackled the report, he kept thinking about the sleigh ride with the dwarves. He just couldn't come to terms with the fact that he couldn't do anything active to shed light on the matter. Then it occurred to him that he could at least pay a visit to the local library. There had to be some books there that dealt with the local fairy tales and legends. Maybe something came out of it.

With this idea, his mood improved a little, and when he finally finished the Mauritius report, his good mood was restored. Since he had liked almost nothing of the scribbles of the sender, he had let the pictures speak for themselves and kept the contribution to a minimum.

After work, he drove to the library, which was located in one of the older parts of Immerbach. It was housed in an old city villa, the neat outer walls of which had been defaced by some madman with the slogans "Foreigners out" and "No asylum seekers in Immerbach" spray-painted in red paint.

The high-ceilinged rooms in which the books were housed were rather gloomy and rather uninviting due to their dark furniture. The soles of Peter's shoes squeaked on the parquet floor, even as he slowed down the vigor with which he had stormed into the library and more or less crept through the rooms. The people in the reading room and at the bookshelves stared at him punishingly. Peter smiled apologetically back – and continued to squeal in the direction of the central file.

The indexes of keywords and authors were located in the basement, where there was no one except Peter. In the index of keywords, he went through the terms "fairy tales", "legends", "dwarves", "gnomes" and "goblins". Among the latter headings, he found nothing, but fourteen book titles dealing with fairy tales, sagas and legends. He noted down the locations on the shelves and started searching, squealing slightly. The first seven books were not on the shelf, so they had to have already been borrowed. A five-volume series of foreign fairy tales was available, but it was of no use to him. The penultimate book on his list was borrowed again – and the same happened to him with the last title.

Fairy tale books had to be the last hit in Immerbach readers, Peter thought slightly disappointed. He didn't want to throw in the towel directly and went to the desk with the two librarians to ask if there was a way he could get the books at short notice. The normal route was too cumbersome and too long for him. This consisted of pre-ordering the books and then hoping that they would be returned as quickly as possible and that the librarians would respond accordingly and actually put the books back for him

One of the two librarians was an elderly woman who gave him a long, disapproving look as he squeaked toward the desk. Peter slowed down to a snail's pace to keep the background noise as low as possible, and finally turned to the younger of the two women, who might be about his own age, maybe a year or two younger than him. In contrast to her colleague, she had even smiled at him, albeit with a slightly mocking expression in her eyes.

"Hello," Peter said at a volume he thought was appropriate, but this brought a violent and commanding "Shhhh!” of the older woman.

"Hello," Peter tried again in a whisper, giving the older librarian a scrutinizing look to make sure, that his current volume was approved. "I'm looking for some books. These must be borrowed. Could you possibly tell me who borrowed these books, as I desperately need them?"

The elderly library clerk, although the question was not addressed to her, shook her head in resignation at such a nonsensical question. She probably approved with Peter's whisper and disappeared in the direction of the reading room to check on him. She left the further treatment of this obviously inexperienced and insolent library user to her colleague, who, in her opinion, still had a lot to learn. May she gain experience with this brazen, loud guy.

"Good afternoon," the librarian replied in a routine-sounding volume that was only a little above Peter's level of whispering, but could already be described as "talking".

"Unfortunately, I can't tell you who borrowed the books you'd like to read. On one hand, this would involve a great deal of effort and, on the other hand, it would of course violate the rules of data protection."

She added hesitantly, "You understand, don't you?"

Peter wondered how to answer. He was aware that, strictly speaking, the young woman was not allowed to tell him the names of the borrowers, but he had somehow hoped that she would anyway. He tried again, appealing to her pity:

"I urgently need the books for a scientific paper. Can't you make an exception?"

The woman shook her head.

"No, I'm sorry. The only option you have would be to pre-order the books."

Peter took a closer look at his counterpart. The woman was a good head shorter than him. Her figure could not be guessed under the wide long sweatshirt, although she did not seem to be the slimmest. However, she had a narrow face, dominated by her gray-green eyes and relatively long nose. Her lips were rather narrow. With this lady, it seemed to Peter, it was probably best not to tangle with. Her barely shoulder-length, dark blonde, smoothly coiffed hair reinforced the stern impression. He tried one last time before giving in and pre-ordering the books:

"And what if I tell you that these books are vital to me?"

"What kind of books would you like to have? Have you really looked at the bookshelves?"

"Well... they are storybooks. I checked the locations on the shelves very carefully, but the books are all borrowed. Can't you really help me? Please...", he concluded his plea and sent a warm look into her gray-green eyes. Something was really stirring there. It seemed to him that a watchful and interested expression had come into her eyes.

"If you tell me why the books are so important to you that you can't wait a few weeks for them, I'll try my best.” she proposed. Tilting her head slightly and looking at him expectantly and intently, she asked “Well?"