Towards New Goals E-Book

Bernadino Schwimmeltrik

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: ÖffliBöffli & Friends
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 639

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Join them in their exciting adventures in time, space and history. Visit cavemen, Neanderthals and a newly discovered planet inhabited by robots. Travel with them to the bottom of the ocean and through the galaxies. Be transported by dragons, whales and submarines. Meet Aztecs, Romans, Vikings and Conquistadors. Fight with Francis Drake as he vanquishes the Spanish Armada. Sail along the Nile, the Mississippi and the Yellow River. Accompany the three friends as they protect a noble French family from the guillotine, rescue slaves from evil captors, and save a village from a plague of rats. See the pyramids of Egypt and the Great Wall of China being built. Survive with them as they fight snowstorms and sandstorms, deserts and waterfalls, pirate attacks, tsunamis and two-headed snakes.

Leseprobe

Adventures in Time and Space

Towards New Goals

This book was originally published in Swedish in 2022 under the title

Mot Nya Mål

It was revised and translated into English in 2024

ISBN978-91-527-4682-0

Published by FIDUSIA BOKFÖRLAG 2024

© Copyright Bjarke Olsen

www.fidusia.se

[email protected]

Illustrations: Bildmaster Ljusdal

Translation: Jack Hoffmann

Print: Digitaltrycknu i Kungsbacka AB 2024

Author’s Note

I have written this rollicking adventure book for older children and young adults in which the main characters travel through time and space.  

The journey began over thirty years ago in the sauna. My youngest son, then aged five or six, was not very keen on this Nordic recreation. I told him stories to divert his attention. He was soon an avid fan of the bath, not because of the steam and the heat, but because of the stories I was dreaming up.  

I wondered for many years whether I should gather the stories into a book. In 2018, I took the plunge and started writing. It turned out to be a stimulating and engaging pastime – conflating fact and fantasy, mixing past and future, contrasting good and evil and offering morsels of moral, religious and political thought without trying to be an ethical compass.  

The book was published in Swedish in 2022 and has met with great success. This encouraged me to go further.  

The work has now been revised, beautifully illustrated and translated into English.  

Perhaps I am Baron von Münchausen's reincarnation!  

Enjoy the book and judge for yourself!  

Bernardino Schwimmeltrik  

Meet Our Main Characters

ÖffliBöffli, Pelle Pistol and Kalle Kanon are animals, but they have human characteristics and co-mingle on equal footing with people.

ÖffliBöffli is a cheerful, optimistic young pig. He is thirsty for knowledge. He spent six years in the village school in Swineburn, Sweden, where he was born. Even though he learned to read and write, it was not a very good school. His thirst had to be quenched elsewhere. He devoured every book in the school library and many of those from the library in the nearest big town. He soon had a smattering of mathematics, physics, history, geography, anatomy and a host of other subjects. When he was older, he supplemented his learning by attending night school. However, he realised that his knowledge was superficial. He had hoped to go to university, but the family’s finances did not allow that.

ÖffliBöffli is a shy fellow. He is not very tall nor is he physically strong but what he lacks in muscle he is well compensated for by his knowledge. He can contribute to any conversation with snippets of information on a host of subjects.

Pelle Pistol is a black and white cat. He had been Master-at-Arms to the King of France. He is always elegantly dressed in an immaculate red uniform with a wide white collar. On his head, he sports a broad-brimmed hat with an ostrich feather which quivers in the breeze. A pair of flintlock pistols nestle in their holsters at his hip. The pistol on the left is accompanied by a slim rapier. He has a fine, lush moustache which he preens constantly. He is fashion-conscious and somewhat vain. He enjoys fine wine and gourmet food. He would rather laze in the sun than work. But he is brave and is an excellent marksman.

Kalle Kanon is a tough, sturdy bulldog with a stern demeanour and a heart of gold. He had been Master of artillery in the army of the French King where he and Pelle Pistol met. They have been friends through thick and thin ever since. Kalle Kanon is enormously strong, devoid of fear and inordinately courageous. He compensates for what he lacks in intellect with practicality and pragmatism. He is always ready for action, a good meal and a pint or two of ale. He is short-tempered and quick with his fists. He is no conversationalist. His remarks are gruff, curt and to the point. No idle chatter. No banal banter. Only the task is important. And he always gets the job done.

Their adventures bind these three diverse personalities together in mutual love, respect and loyalty.

They support each other through hell and high water. They become closer than brothers.

Chapter 1

ÖffliBöffli Leaves Home

It was a cold and windy evening. Clouds scurried across the sky. Now and then, a streak of moonlight lit the road where a small creature struggled forward against the headwind. It was wearing a winter coat which was many sizes too big for it. On its back, it bore a small duffel bag.

If you looked closely, you could see that the creature was a small pig walking on his hindlegs with a strange gait.

Now, dear Reader, you might think it strange that a pig would be wearing a coat and a duffel bag and moreover, that it was walking on its hindlegs, but that was a different world from ours. Some animals, not all, had developed human traits. They walked upright, like humans, had arms instead of forelegs, wore clothes and most miraculously of all, had the ability to speak every language in the Universe.

The piglet's name wasÖffliBöffli. His father had been a seaman. He disappeared after a voyage across the ocean years before. His mother, Porketta, had been left alone to provide for her string of piglets of whom ÖffliBöffli was the oldest. Thus, his dream of studying at university had been shattered.

ÖffliBöffli had grown tired of the narrowness of his life and of those around him. He felt wiser and more mature than his peers. He needed to expand his horizons. He had had enough of his friends, even his teacher, calling him names like know-all, smart-aleck, clever-clogs. To them, he replied, 'I think the adjective you are seeking is ''pedantic''. However, it's the Germans who have the perfect word - ''besserwisser'', one who ''knows better.'' '

Yes, he believed he was ready to manage on his own. It was time to make his way in the wide world.

And that is where we meet him now. ÖffliBöffli is leaving home to fulfil his dream of acquiring knowledge. He is wearing his father’s winter coat. It had hung unused in a cupboard where his father had left it. It was old, but it was warm.

He pulls its collar up over his ears and trudges onwards towards his destiny.

He had read of the great continent to the west. Many of the inhabitants of Swineburn had emigrated there and started new lives for themselves. So ÖffliBöffli had decided to go there too. But first, he needed to cross the great sea. He had not yet planned how to manage that. He would play it by ear.

Progress was slow. Night had fallen. The road curved and he saw light coming from a farmstead which lay near the road.

‘What luck!’ thought ÖffliBöffli. ‘I’ll go and ask if I may spend the night.’ He was hoping for a little warmth, especially for his feet, which felt like blocks of ice.

Just before reaching the manor house, he noticed a barn. That was a lucky turn, as we will see.

At the barn door stood a tiny man. He was barely a metre tall. He had a long grey beard which reached all the way down to his knees. In his right hand, he held a long, gnarled stick against which he leaned. On his head, he wore a red knitted hat like the ones worn by gnomes.

‘Who are you who comes this late at night?’ asked the tiny fellow.

‘My name is ÖffliBöffli and I’m trying to find a place to spend this cold night.’

‘Well, hello! My name is Billy and my wife’s name is Tilly. We are barn elves. We make sure that everything runs as it should and we correct anything that doesn’t,’ said Billy proudly.

Behind him, a little old woman, even shorter than Billy, peeped with a shy smile.

‘You’re lucky that you met us first and didn’t bump into Farmer Buller,’ said the old woman.

‘Who’s that?’ asked ÖffliBöffli.

‘Buller has bats in his belfry, although he doesn’t realize it,’ answered Billy and continued. ‘He’s a very mean man. He loves roast pork with crunchy crackling. Over the years, many pigs and piglets have disappeared from the neighbouring farms without a trace. After each pig goes missing, Buller walks around patting his fat, round belly and emitting loud belches of contentment. That’s how Buller got his nickname “Belcher.” ’

ÖffliBöffli broke into a cold sweat. A deathly pallour replaced his normal merry pink.

‘Uh-oh! It sounds too dangerous for me to stop here. So, I’ll just continue my journey even though I’m freezing in this cold,’ ÖffliBöffli whispered in horror.

‘No, no! Come with us,’ said Tilly, ‘and we’ll find you a safe, warm place in the hayloft. You can have a bite to eat and rest until morning before you go on your way.’

They showed ÖffliBöffli to the far end of the hayloft. Tilly brought him a large bowl of steaming oatmeal porridge with a huge glob of butter melting deliciously on its surface. This was accompanied by an urn of full-cream milk. The three of them gathered around a barrel equipped with spoons made of horn and ate. Sated and satisfied, Billy and Tilly wiped their spoons in their armpits and hid them under a floorboard. ÖffliBöffli thought this a bit strange, but to be polite, he did the same. He felt so much better now with his stomach full of porridge and milk. His normal piggy pinkness had returned. They were now all rather drowsy and thought only of sleep. ÖffliBöffli burrowed deeply into the straw so that only his snout protruded. Soon, the three of them were snoring in pleasant harmony.

The next morning, when the sun showed its pale face just above the horizon, a noisy rooster wakened the farm’s inhabitants, both human, animal and elfish.

‘Cock-a-doodle doo! The day is newwww! Rise and shine! All of youuu!’ he crowed loudly from the top of the manure pile.

Up on the hayloft, ÖffliBöffli arose, brushed off the straw that clung to him and rubbed his eyes. He saw that Billy and Tilly were sitting at breakfast, spooning yesterday’s leftover cold porridge. Tilly had already been out milking and had filled her pail with frothy, lukewarm milk.

‘I’m glad the rooster woke me,’ said ÖffliBöffli sleepily.

‘His name is Tupolev,’ informed Billy. ‘And he’s a damned nuisance!’

‘Tupolev? That’s a Russian aircraft,’ said ÖffliBöffli. ‘It’s not a very reliable plane. It has difficulty staying in the air. Always crashing,’ he added.

Both Billy and Tilly laughed gleefully.

‘Ha-Ha! Just you wait and see!’

They watched as Tupolev flapped his wings violently and flaunted his shiny tail feathers to the hens. When a gust of wind blew air under his wings, he began to fly. However, the journey was a short one. Tupolev crashed. A big pile of feathers lay motionless on the ground.

‘See! We told you so!’ shouted Billy and Tilly in glee.

Alarmed, all the hens started scampering aimlessly around, clucking and cackling, dimwittedly circling their fallen hero.

‘They are running around like headless chickens.’ joked ÖffliBöffli, much to the delight of the two elderly elves.

‘Oh clack-cluck! Alack! Alack! Our Tupolev is dead! How terrible! What a disaster! Who will now wake us in the morning?’ screeched the hens, desperately scratching the earth around Tupolev.

But then, Tupolev opened one eye and then the other. The cackling of the hens had revived him. No, he was not dead. He had merely blacked out when he hit the ground. Even though he was a trifle unsteadily on his feet, Tupolev stood up proudly and brushed off his plumage.

‘Enough now of all your silly cackling. I’m alive and everything is fine,’ said Tupolev.

The hens returned to their nests and began to lay their daily batch of eggs.

‘Where do you plan to go?’ asked Tilly

‘I have read about the great continent in the west where I hope to expand my horizons,’ replied ÖffliBöffli. ‘But I don’t know how I’ll get there.’

‘Well, you must certainly start by travelling south where you’ll have to cross Porkland Strait,’ advised Billy. ‘I don’t know much more than that as I’ve never been outside this parish. I’m sure you’ll find a ship that’ll take you to your promised land.’

ÖffliBöffli finished his breakfast and put on his oversized coat as the new day was again cold and windy. They accompanied him to the barn door where ÖffliBöffli looked nervously around for any trace of Farmer Buller, the Belcher.

‘No, no! Don’t worry!’ reassured Tilly, guessing the reason for his discomfort. ‘He’s a lazy devil and never rises this early.’

Relieved, ÖffliBöffli hugged Billy and Tilly, thanked them sincerely for their kindness and set off on the next stretch of his journey.

Despite the cold, it was a lovely day with clear blue skies and only a few clouds far off on the horizon. The winding dirt road meandered along but progressed gradually in the right direction. After a brisk walk, ÖffliBöffli approached Porkland Strait. He knew that he should not use the bridge that spanned it. It was guarded. He had no documents. If caught on it, he would be arrested as a vagrant. ÖffliBöffli veered off the road towards the water’s edge well away from the bridge. He saw that most of the strait was covered with ice. But in the middle, he noticed a narrow channel of flowing water.

‘How am I going to cross?’ he thought.

Just then he spied a large ice floe floating slowly down through the channel.

‘If I jump onto the ice floe, maybe I can manage to reach the other side,’ he said to himself.

He hopped onto the ice floe, and it floated away. Off he drifted, slowly but surely. His makeshift raft approached the opposite bank. ÖffliBöffli was about to jump off. But then the inevitable happened. He stumbled on the slippery ice and fell into the ice-cold water. He tried to heave himself back onto the ice but in vain. His trotters could find no toehold. He splashed around in panic. It was terrifyingly cold. Soon stiffness began spreading through his body.

He thought, ‘Is this how I am to end my great adventure before it’s even begun?’

But suddenly help came from an unexpected quarter. In the river’s depths lived the mysterious River Fairy who was infamous for enticing young people to him with his enchanting violin playing. Once the children entered the river, they were never seen again. But for some inexplicable reason, the river Fairy took pity on ÖffliBöffli. Perhaps he didn’t eat pork. With a strong arm on ÖffliBöffli’s rump, he shoved him back onto the ice.

ÖffliBöffli was never to learn where the help had come from. Shivering with cold, he scrambled to his feet and began to walk. He had made it to the other shore! He was frozen, but he was alive. He started jogging at a furious pace to regain his body heat. Luck was again on his side.

In the middle of nowhere, a shed appeared. ÖffliBöffli stumbled in. It looked abandoned. Quickly he removed his wet clothes. Fortunately, his duffel bag had remained watertight. He took out dry clothes. He lit a small fire to warm himself and dry his wet clothes. As he sat there philosophising about his narrow escape, straw rustled and a head appeared. A very large rat advanced and glared at ÖffliBöffli. Incongruously, he was wearing a golden crown.

‘Who are you?’ asked the rat rudely.

‘My name is ÖffliBöffli. I come from a small village called Swineburn. I’m trying to find a ship to take me to the big continent to the west. Who are you?’

‘I am Ratafaria,’ replied the grinning rat, hissing through two sharp protruding front teeth and twitching his long whiskers menacingly.

‘I’m the king of this realm and it’s me who decides everybody’s fate. I’m no ordinary household rat, you see. I’m an extremely distinguished muskrat. You can’t just spend the night here without paying, so let me see what you have in your duffel bag.’

Ratafaria started rummaging through ÖffliBöffli’s bag looking for something of value. Out rolled one round yellow cheese that Porketta had given ÖffliBöffli amongst his provisions for the road.

ÖffliBöffli had no choice but to say, ‘Help yourself!’ as he was suddenly surrounded by an entire army of evil-looking rat soldiers. They stood drooling at the cheese.

‘OK then. You may stay,’ said Ratafaria. ‘But make sure to be out of here by tomorrow morning.

Chapter 2

ÖffliBöffli Enlists on a Tub

The next morning, before the sun had broken the horizon, ÖffliBöffli continued on his journey without a backward glance or word of farewell to the horde of rats. After a long and tiring walk, he saw the skyline of the port city he was aiming to reach. He went straight to the harbour hoping to find a ship that could take him across the sea. There were quite a few ships moored there but none seemed big or robust enough for the ocean. Then he noticed one that looked only slightly more promising. The name Voluptuous Queen was painted in large letters both fore and aft. She was an ancient steamer on her last legs. She seemed to be held together only by rust. It was a tub more than a boat. Steam hissed from her funnel sending a white cloud scudding in the wind.

‘ “Has-been Queen” would be more appropriate,’ thought ÖffliBöffli.

He walked up to the gangway. He heard shouts and singing coming from an open vent. He followed the sound and knocked on a door that hung loosely on its hinges.

A voice from within roared, ‘Enter!’

He opened the door. Among mounds of empty bottles, sat four unkempt fellows clutching glasses of grog.

‘Who the hell are you?’ slurred a massive chap. On his head was perched a captain’s cap.

He was Captain Brusque, a nasty-looking type. A large scar, glowing red, ran from his right ear to the tip of his chin. First mate Slick, his twin brother Brick and the ship’s cook known as Carl Cabbage glowered angrily at ÖffliBöffli. Carl was notorious for serving watery cabbage soup in which floated microscopic pieces of meat of indeterminable origin.

‘I was wondering whether I might find a job with you as a deckhand or something like that. I need to earn a passage to the great country in the west,’ replied ÖffliBöffli who was diffident and not a little frightened in this harsh environment.

‘What kind of work can you do?’ demanded Slick and Brisk in unison.

‘Well, I used to muck out the pigsty at home, so I can perhaps do something like that here if you like,’ replied ÖffliBöffli, surprised at his own sarcasm.

He was answered by a collective roar of laughter.

‘Well, these mates are surely a bunch of pigs, so okay, I’ll hire you. You should feel at home here!’ said Captain Brusque. ‘You won’t get paid but you can work your way across the ocean. Make sure you work hard! And no whining! What’s your name?’

‘ÖffliBöffli.’

Again, all four howled with mirth.

‘Is that a name? It sounds more like the snorting of a pig. And you look like a pig! You’re making my mouth water,’ said Carl Cabbage.

‘We’ll call you Bacon-and-Eggs and perhaps we’ll eat you!’ was Slusk’s input.

‘I’m crackling with laughter!’ added Slisk.

ÖffliBöffli reddened with anger and dared to say, ‘That kind of diet is filled with cholesterol and can give you heart problems.’

Captain Brusque banged the table in delight. ‘Sounds like I’ll have to promote you to ship’s doctor.’

They shoved ÖffliBöffli out of the room with another guffaw and slammed the door, which slid even further off its hinges. Their partying continued with much noise and brainless banter. ÖffliBöffli timidly explored the ship. It was filthy. Debris littered the deck. He made his way around untidy piles of boxes and scattered rubbish. He came to the top of the slope to the prow of the ship. He peeped into a space beneath the prow which was almost completely dark. He could just make out a coil of heavy steel chain emerging through the hawsehole, the hole through which the anchor chain runs when a ship drops anchor. ÖffliBöffli had read that many a stowaway had hidden in such a chain locker. He knew that this was a terrible mistake because when the anchor is released and the chain runs out, mincemeat is the result.

Instead, ÖffliBöffli managed to find a tiny cabin which seemed to be free. He quickly dusted and cleaned it until it was quite cosy. Here, he fell into a deep sleep wrapped in a small blanket from his knapsack. Early the next morning, he was rudely awakened when First Mate Slick kicked open the cabin door.

He roared, ‘Up with you, you lazy lump of pork,’ as he yanked ÖffliBöffli’s blanket away. ‘Get to the galley and fry the bacon and eggs! Chop, chop! I’m hungry as a wolf!’

ÖffliBöffli hurried to his feet and scurried across the deck trying to dress himself at the same time. When he reached the galley, he learned that Carl Cabbage had been kicked off the ship after a drunken fight. He lit the stove and started frying bacon and eggs for the hungry crew.

‘I’ve been promoted,’ he thought.

Shortly after breakfast, the steam whistle blew a series of hoarse signals and the ship steamed out of the harbour heading toward the west. The sea was as clear as a mirror Not a ripple broke its surface.

Day followed day, week followed week until the wind warmed ÖffliBöffli’s skin and the sea was sapphire blue instead of dismal grey. Despite the unfriendliness of all around him and their disgusting culinary jokes involving pork products, ÖffliBöffli had time to enjoy the pleasures of life at sea.

One day, while he was serving lunch, the atmosphere in the mess was very heated. The crew spoke in raised voices and with much swearing. The coxswain had overheard a conversation amongst the officers discussing the cargo and the ship’s route. It seemed that the ship was sailing to a destination to offload an illicit cargo of weapons and military equipment. The ruthless dictator of the country had paid a fortune for the cargo as no legitimate supplier would do business with him. He needed the weapons to enable his army and secret police to suppress his own people.

‘It’s “copperband” and totally illegal,’ a sailor shouted in a loud voice.

‘Idiot! It’s “contraband”, not “copper band”, you numbskull,’ replied the bosun. ‘But I agree. It’ll be a catastrophe if we get caught by a patrol. We’ll be implicated. We have to act together in this, no matter what.’

ÖffliBöffli tried to slink out of the mess unnoticed but a sailor blocked his way and shouted, ‘Look! The Pork Chop has been eavesdropping! He is not one of us! He’ll snitch on us!’

ÖffliBöffli turned as pale as pork fat.

Two of the crew held him down. He couldn’t move.

‘Let’s toss him over the side to the sharks.’

‘No!’ shouted the bosun, who still retained some small remnant of humanity, ‘Let’s put him on a raft with water and bread so he at least has some chance of survival.’

And that’s what they did. A makeshift raft was heaved overboard. ÖffliBöffli, clutching a bag containing water and bread, was tossed after it. With great effort, he scrambled onboard the raft. He saw the ship continue on its course with its billowing funnel. It soon disappeared below the horizon. ÖffliBöffli was all alone at sea. No sign of life nor land could be seen. Strangely, he thought only of his last link to his father which was left hanging in his tiny cabin.

After sloshing aimlessly about for a few days, the water and bread ran out. He had no way of protecting himself against the sun and the heat. He became increasingly dizzy. He lost all sense of reality and orientation. He hallucinated. At times he saw ships approaching, at others, he saw land.

But nothing was real.

Chapter 3

ÖffliBöffli Meets Pelle Pistol and Kalle Kanon

Sometime after ÖffliBöffli had completely lost unconscious, the raft was lifted by a giant wave and carried over a coral reef before landing softly on a chalk-white beach. ÖffliBöffli had, in the meantime, unbeknown to himself, spun backwards in time. He had crossed a timeline into the year 1684.

Two figures came walking along the beach in search of flotsam, jetsam and whatever else of interest which the sea might have cast up onto the strand.

‘Hello! Look! What’s that over there?’ exclaimed one.

‘Let’s go and check,’ replied the other as they trotted up to ÖffliBöffli and the stranded raft.

‘What kind of strange creature is that?’ asked an elegant black-and-white cat with a wide-brimmed hat. He had two large pistols in his belt and looked quite dangerous.

‘Let’s turn it over and see if it’s alive,’ answered a muscular bulldog.

Carefully, they turned ÖffliBöffli over and established that he was still breathing. They gave him some water to drink which he accepted eagerly. He gradually regained his strength.

‘Who are you?’ they asked.

‘My name is ÖffliBöffli. That’s my raft over there.’

‘I suppose we should introduce ourselves. My name is Pelle Pistol and I am a Colonel in the Rifle Brigade. My colleague here is Kalle Kanon. He’s an artilleryman,’ said the cat.

‘I’m most grateful to meet you. I think you have saved my life. Thank you,’ said ÖffliBöffli. ‘Please excuse my wretched state,’ he added looking down at his sun-scorched skin and tattered clothing. ‘I’m not as elegant as the two of you,’ he smiled. ‘Those are grand, old-fashioned suits you’re wearing. Are you on your way to a fancy dress party?’

‘Fancy dress party? What do you mean? Are you making fun of us?’ growled the bulldog.

‘No. This is the latest, finest fashion. This is how I always dress. I am especially aware of dressing stylishly,’ added the cat, twirling his elegant moustache.

‘Yes, but it looks like the style of dress of around the 17th century, if my memory serves me correctly.’

‘You are quite right. But why are you surprised?’ It is 1684,’ answered the cat.

ÖffliBöffli’s eyes widened in amazement. He couldn’t believe his ears.

‘How can that possibly be?’ When I left home, just a few weeks ago, it was 1884!’ said ÖffliBöffli in a shocked whisper.

‘What nonsense! Do you expect us to believe that?’ growled Kalle Kanon, baring his formidable teeth.

‘That’s two centuries into the future!’ Pelle Pistol snorted mockingly, but a bit more kindly than his colleague.

None of the three could have imagined that ÖffliBöffli had been transported back in time to the 17th century.

‘Wait a bit! I’ve read about time travel, but never believed it was possible. Perhaps that’s what has happened!’ exclaimed ÖffliBöffli.

‘Time travel?’ That sounds like a load of malarkey!’ barked Kalle Kanon.

‘Yes, I agree, but do you have an alternative explanation?’ asked ÖffliBöffli.

‘Maybe you’ve just lost your marbles.’ was Kalle Kanon’s snarled reply.

‘Calm down, Kalle Kanon. Let’s not be unkind. If this fellow’s telling the truth, we can learn a lot from him and if he’s nuts, as you imply, we should help and protect him,’ said Pelle Pistol.

‘You’re always so gullible! But alright, let’s take him along and see how things develop.’

‘We are on a desert island. No one here besides us,’ said Pelle Pistol. ‘So now you know what you’re in for.’

‘You are very kind. Thank you. Now please tell me how you two got here,’ said ÖffliBöffli.

‘Aha! That’s a very long story. And you must have a tale to tell too. So why don’t we find a shady spot, open a coconut or two and start wagging our chins?’ suggested Pelle Pistol.

Kalle Kanon merely growled, but less impatiently than before.

They proceeded up the beach to a grove of palms and sat down in the sand. Pelle Pistol picked up one of the many coconuts that were scattered about, cracked it open with a swift rap of his sword and offered it to ÖffliBöffli. He drank the milk to the last drop and devoured the sweet, white, oily flesh.

‘Absolutely delicious! I’ve neither seen nor tasted one before but I remember pictures of them in a book I once read. Cocos nucifera is its botanical name, I believe.’

‘Grrrr!’ growled Kalle Kanon.

‘Well, let’s get started,’ suggested Pelle Pistol, ‘There’s lots to tell, but I’ll try to be brief. I was born in the slums of Marseilles. My mother died in childbirth. I never knew my father. I was brought up by foster parents who already had thirteen mouths to feed. I had no education and no future. My only way of survival was to join the army. By chance, standing in the queue at the enlistment station, I met Kalle Kanon. His background was similar to mine, except that he was born in Leiden in the Netherlands. We were both sixteen and too young to enlist but they were more interested in one’s stature than one’s age. Kalle Kanon was already almost two metres tall and I was not much shorter. We were accepted into the service of King Louis XIV of France. I ended up in the infantry, where I was rather good with my rapier and damn good with my pistols.’

Kalle interrupted rudely. ‘Come on! You were just a shrimp with a lot of luck and never much good in a brawl. I’m the tough one, the real warrior. I can lift a basketful of ten-pound shot in one hand. I can prime a cannon in ten seconds flat and hit a target two hundred paces away. And my fists are like hammers and always at the ready.’

‘Yes, yes! Whatever you say! Anyway, we fought together in The Thirty Years’ War.’

‘1618 to 1648!’ This time, it was ÖffliBöffli who interrupted.

‘Correct. We got in just at the end. Against the Spanish.’

‘They didn’t stand a chance against us! They only know how to fight bulls.’ added Kalle Kanon.

‘From there, it started going downhill. We fought in many less important wars. Finally, I got into trouble for duelling and coincidentally, at more or less the same time, Kalle Kanon decided that he was a better general than the one leading us and started giving him rude, unsolicited advice.’

‘He was a useless nincompoop, a dunderhead! Wasn’t fit to lead school girls let alone soldiers! Had the brain of a tadpole and the muscles of a toad!’

‘Whatever! It ended badly for both of us. We were arrested, put in irons, flung into the hold of a freighter and shipped off to prison on Devil’s Island.’

‘Devil’s Island?’ But that’s not possible! It was only established in 1852!’ said ÖffliBöffli.

‘Was it?’ I don’t know because we never got there. Our vessel was attacked by pirates hoping for rich booty. Instead, they got a load of stinking prisoners. Holding their noses, they offered us a choice between walking the plank, still in our shackles, or joining them. What would you have chosen?’

‘Scylla and Charybdis,’ whispered ÖffliBöffli.

‘What are you muttering about?’ barked Kalle Kanon.

‘Nnnothing! Sorry! So, you are pirates then?’ asked ÖffliBöffli timidly.

‘Yes, but very humane ones.’ replied Pelle Pistol with a smile. ‘The pirate captain’s name was Von Zinkenbeck. A nasty Hollander, but good at his trade. We sailed, fought and plundered with him and his crew for a few years. Made a bit of money. Had some fun. But after our last mission, where we captured an exceptionally bountiful cargo, the old codger became greedy. The holds were packed full of riches - gold, silver, pearls and diamonds. Usually, the loot was shared fifty-fifty, captain and crew. Now Von Zinkenbeck decided to keep three-quarters for himself. We others would get only a quarter. Kalle Kanon and I challenged him.’

‘Yes, the measly Dutchman was doing the dirty on us. Us, who always did the nasty work. Without me, Von Zinkenbeck could never have taken the ship. It was heavily armed with cannons. I sent several cannonades into her battery deck and knocked out most of them. He just stood there, munching his cigar with a glass to his eye. Unfair perisher! And after all that, our reward was to be marooned here,’ growled Kalle Kanon in his deep bass voice.

‘But why only the two of you?’ What about the rest of the crew?’

‘Those yellow-livered lubbers were too cowardly to support us and accepted Von Zinkenbeck’s decision without a murmur, like pussy cats! Oops! Sorry Pelle Pistol!’

‘No problem! I’ve been hearing your blustering most of my life. Now, ÖffliBöffli, tell us your story.’

‘My tale is insignificant compared with yours, I’m afraid. I grew up in a tiny village called Swineburn, in the north of Sweden.I was brought up by a loving, caring mother who had eight other mouths to feed without my father, who disappeared after a voyage across the ocean. He was a sailor. I am the oldest of my siblings. I became enchanted with books and wanted to expand my humble horizons. I wanted to experience the world I’d read about. I’ve not faced the adversity you have on my way. I met kind elves who saved me from a pork-loving farmer. I was rescued from icy waters by some strange force. I lost some cheese to a greedy rat king and have been tormented by scoundrels on a leaky boat. They kindly put me out to sea on that raft over there. So far, my biggest adventure has apparently been passing through time and meeting you both here. It seems that the three of us are stranded here. We are, in fact, prisoners on this island with no way out.’

‘Well, there might be a way out. We’re building a boat so that we can try to get to Port Rial which is a safe haven where pirates gather. There, we’ll enlist anew on a pirate ship. “Enlistment” is the land lubbers’ word for that kind of work. If we’re lucky, Captain Von Zinkenbeck will also be there with his ship The Golden Swan,’ said Pelle Pistol.

‘Yes, then we can settle the score with that blackguard,’ snarled Kalle Kanon.

‘Well, I’m game,’ said ÖffliBöffli. ‘Show me the boat you’re building.’

‘Right. Let’s go. It’s a bit of a way,’ said Pelle Pistol.

They walked towards the centre of the island. They climbed up a mountainside. They passed tall trees, vines and thorny bushes. The sun burned mercilessly down. Sweat dripped in great cascades down their bodies. They panted from their exertion. At times, Pelle Pistol and Kalle Kanon had to slash a path through the undergrowth with their swords. After some hours, they reached the top of the mountain which presented an incredibly beautiful view of the island. They could again see the sea and the beach they had left. It was apparent that the island resembled a crescent moon with one tip in the south and the other in the north. In this arc, a coral reef was visible. Waves broke upon it leaving white foam in their wake. In the lagoon beside the reef, the water was a brilliant bluish-green. The surface was perfectly smooth. Not a ripple disturbed it. An inviting chalk-white beach enfolded it. The bay resembled a horseshoe. The two sailors pointed out an opening in the coral reef through which there was ample space to manoeuvre a boat.

‘We should call the island Crescent Island and the bay Horseshoe Bay,’ suggested ÖffliBöffli.

‘Oh, how jolly!’ Kalle Kanon grunted sarcastically, ‘Now our island’s got a name that no one will ever use!’

Pelle Pistol sighed in agreement.

At last, they arrived at the ‘boat’, which turned out to be not much more than a raft made of tree trunks tied together with coconut fibre ropes. In the middle of the raft, a thatch of palm leaves provided a sunshade.

‘As you can see, we’ve almost completed the craft. We still need to construct a mast and sails. And a steering oar,’ said Pelle Pistol, wiping the sweat from his impressive moustache.

‘As for provisions, we’ll take a big batch of coconuts, which will provide both milk to drink and meat to eat,’ said Kalle Kanon.

‘We should also harvest other fruit like pineapples, peaches and bananas. For variety,’ added Pelle Pistol.

ÖffliBöffli got busy weaving a sail out of coconut fibre and raffia.

‘Raffia of the species taedigera, I believe,’ he announced, but they ignored him.

After some days, the canvas was large enough to be called, with some stretch of the imagination, a sail. They attached it to a long, flexible stake so that it could be hoisted up the mast which was by now in place. Kalle Kanon was busy carving a steering oar with his axe.

Finally, one day, the craft was ready for launching. A moonlit night descended. A blue-black sky was littered with stars which shone and sparkled like diamonds. Not a wind stirred. The three sat around a fire grilling fillets of a large reddish fish.

‘Sea bass,’ ÖffliBöffli informed them, without offering its official Latin name.

He had found and prepared sweet potatoes as a side dish. He grilled bananas for dessert.

‘You’re not a bad little shrimp, after all,’ grunted Kalle Kanon, holding up a half coconut in the direction of ÖffliBöffli, smiling for the first time that ÖffliBöffli had witnessed.

‘Hear, hear! I’ll drink to that,’ agreed Pelle, raising his coconut.

ÖffliBöffli blushed. Perhaps there was a tear in his eye.

The delightful meal was both a celebration and a farewell. They had decided to set out to sea the very next day.

Early the next morning, they launched the raft out into the shallows and climbed on board. Kalle Kanon hoisted the sail while Pelle Pistol controlled the steering oar. The gentle off-shore wind barely filled the sail but slowly the raft slid forward. Now it was merely a matter of hoping for good weather without storms and for the wind to blow in the right direction. They had no compass or any other navigation instrument. They had to sail by the sun. They were heading due west, as far as they knew. Slowly, sleepily, the raft drifted forward. Gradually, Crescent Island disappeared below the horizon. Nothing but the ocean was visible in all directions There was only emptiness.

Not entirely!

Suddenly, a triangular fin cut through the surface of the sea. A shark appeared! Its back was grey-blue. Its belly was white. It opened its jaws to reveal several rows of wicked, triangular teeth. It looked terrifyingly dangerous. The shark circled the raft several times in an ever-diminishing spiral. It was nerve-wracking. The three sweated in fear with racing pulses, waiting for the attack. But then the shark turned tail and trailed behind the raft at a greater distance than before.

‘Phew!’ sighed ÖffliBöffli. ‘Perhaps he’ll depart and leave us alone.’

He had barely uttered the words before the shark accelerated and swam at top speed towards the raft. The water was whipped to foam around the triangular fin which slashed the surface of the water. The shark smashed into the raft. Its fin cut the ropes that held the tree trunks together. The raft was split in two. The beast turned around and rushed towards the raft with open jaws. Its gleaming rows of sharp teeth bracketed its evil, red mouth.

Their end was nigh. But when the shark was almost upon them, Pelle Pistol emptied both of his pistols in a single burst directly down the shark’s throat. Kalle Kanon hacked into the shark’s head with his battle axe, almost splitting it in two. The shark turned belly up. Blood stained the water. It floated in the pinkness.

‘Phew!’ exclaimed ÖffliBöffli once more. ‘That was a close shave! We’ve had enough excitement for a while!’

‘No time to relax though. We have to splice the raft together again,’ said Pelle Pistol.

They managed to unite the two halves of the raft and restore it to its former size. However, they had lost the mast and sail and were now at the mercy of wind and weather. They were becalmed. The raft was motionless.

‘We’re getting nowhere,’ grunted Kalle Kanon.

‘ “As silent as a painted ship upon a painted ocean,” ’ quoted ÖffliBöffli.

‘What!’

‘Coleridge.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Sorry. Just a poem I learned at school.’

‘The current’s risen but I’ve no idea where it’s taking us. We can vaguely guess the compass direction, but that’s about it,’ said Pelle

The hours dragged on and turned into days. The coconuts had disappeared in the shark attack. They caught an occasional fish which kept them going. On one occasion, they landed in the middle of a school of flying fish. Eleven of them fell onto the raft and it was an easy matter to gather them.

‘They look like herring with wings and taste like herring too,’ was ÖffliBöffli’s opinion.

‘Herringus peculiaris?’ retorted Kalle Kanon.

They collected rainwater using a cloth stretched over a vessel. They didn’t get much, but it was enough to stave off dehydration. Boredom was an increasing problem too.

One morning, a very large sea turtle appeared. It swam inquisitively alongside the raft. ÖffliBöffli quickly made a noose which he placed around the turtle’s neck. Now they had an engine which pulled them forward at a leisurely pace. The weather was still calm but then some black clouds became visible on the horizon.

‘Hm,’ said Pelle Pistol. ‘It looks like bad weather ahead. Perhaps even a real storm is brewing. But there’s nothing we can do about it except tie ourselves to the raft so that we don’t end up overboard.’

Kalle snorted his agreement. ÖffliBöffli released the turtle and thanked her for her help. She immediately dived to the safety of the depths as she too could sense the ominous weather. The sky had turned a menacing blackish blue. It was eerily quiet. Nothing stirred. Then a wind appeared. It rose from strength to strength. It swept the small raft hither and thither. The puny craft was hoisted violently up and down, a pitiful cork in the titanic might of the sea. A white pillar appeared on the horizon. It barrelled closer and closer, its girth expanding. Various objects had been sucked up into the vortex.

ÖffliBöffli, Pelle Pistol and Kalle Kanon lay down flat on the raft and lashed themselves to its timbers. The tornado sucked the raft into its belly. The raft spun around like a carousel on a fairground with such fury that all three succumbed to violent dizziness and finally lost consciousness. The raft soared higher and higher until it reached an altitude where the air was so thin that they gasped for breath. How long that persisted, they had no idea.

They returned to consciousness with a thud when the raft landed back on Earth in the middle of a primitive village. Confused, they squinted around. They saw a bunch of huts in a circle around an open place. A crowd had gathered. An imposing figure approached the trio amid much bowing. He was chanting an incomprehensible litany, like a priest. At the feet of ÖffliBöffli, Pelle Pistol and Kalle Kanon, he threw himself flat on his belly.

Chapter 4

The Friends Meet the Muskrat People

‘I greet you, Envoys of the Great God Owee-UhaUha, who restored the sky with light and warmth after the great darkness! I am King Ris-Rotto of the Muskrat People. I welcome you to my kingdom!’

Beside Ris-Rotto stood a woman who was introduced as Queen Ris-Lotto. Her face was decorated with white and black lines that extended from her ears to the tip of her chin. Like Ris-Rotto, she wore a braided crown on her head. It was made of bark intertwined with colourful bird feathers. An especially long, beautiful plume hung from her neck and down her back, almost reaching her waist.

A little further away sat another important person. He was the shaman, Lurian. He rattled a gourd filled with small stones and waved his talismans. At regular intervals, he threw the stones onto the ground and studied them very carefully. Depending on how the stones fell in relation to each other, he could read the patterns of the future. Lurian was second only to the king. When important decisions were to be made, Lurian was always consulted to ensure that the decisions would please the gods.

Ris-Rotto stood up and led the three envoys to a large platform. He placed ÖffliBöffli and Kalle Kanon to his right. Pelle Pistol was seated to the left of Queen Ris-Lotto.

Pointing curiously at the pistols, Ris-Rotto asked Pelle Pistol, ‘What are those strange, curved objects you have in your belt?’

‘They are fire tubes that can produce thunder and lightning,’ Pelle Pistol replied as he drew both weapons.

He aimed at a coconut at the top of a palm tree and fired. With a bang, a burst of flame and a cloud of gun smoke, the bullet dislodged a coconut, which landed at Ris-Rotto’s feet. Ris-Rotto jolted in shock and almost fell off his throne. Pelle Pistol’s second shot hit another coconut, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

The entire crowd threw themselves flat on the ground and screamed ‘Owee!! Owee!! Owee!!’ in pure terror.

After a while, when the people realised that nothing dangerous had happened, they all rose again and stared in amazement at Pelle Pistol and his firearms. An ear-splitting cheer broke out among the king’s people hailing the three prophets, the envoys of Owee-UhaUha.

King Ris-Rotto stood up and banged his royal staff vigorously on the ground. Silence fell over the entire assembly.

‘We will now have a grand Kulabalaj celebration in honour of the arrival of these three wise men from Owee-UhaUha, who gave us back light and warmth,’ proclaimed King Ris-Rotto.

An ear-splitting cheer erupted from the people in response to the King’s speech. Soon, a wide selection of delicacies - exotic fruits, grilled seafood and fish, were laid out in immense quantities. Coconut milk, pineapple juice, and fermented cassava beer were served with the food. Everyone partook in the festive meal, while an ensemble of drums and strange string instruments played soft, harmonious music.

Soon the young people started dancing to the music in a swaying rhythm. Then the music intensified, provoking fierce competition to be the fastest and most expert dancer. Feats of breathtaking acrobatics and high leaps followed. Then came a competition involving passing one’s body, knees first, under a bamboo bar placed only one meter above the ground. The dancer had to proceed beneath the bar without collapsing to the ground, and without dislodging the bar. In addition, directly under the bar, a small sharp bamboo spike had been placed. The dancer had to manoeuvre beneath the bar without the bamboo spike injuring his torso. If drops of blood appeared, the dancer would be disqualified. After a sweaty half hour, the winner was crowned and summoned to King Ris-Rotto to receive the prize - a beautiful necklace of shells which the king placed around the winner’s neck.

Applause and cheers, especially from the young girls, reached a crescendo. The girls’ screams of approval reached a pitch so high that they cut through the air like a razor through soft butter. All the girls then crowded around to touch the champion.

ÖffliBöffli, Pelle Pistol, and Kalle Kanon watched the spectacle with wide eyes. They had never experienced anything like it before.

‘Poor champion,’ said ÖffliBöffli, ‘He risks being torn to pieces by his fans.’

‘Yes, what a fate!’ added Pelle Pistol.

The grand celebration continued with undiminished vigour until dawn. Then one by one, the participants collapsed after hours of performing at their highest energy level. King Ris-Rotto had grown tired much earlier and sat snoring on his throne. Queen Ris-Lotto had long since retired to her inner chambers.

‘Hey, you fellows!’ barked Kalle Kanon. ‘Let’s find our rooms in the palace and enjoy the comfy hammocks.’

Thus ended the grandest celebration in living memory. The next day, many islanders lolled their heads and dragged their feet in sheer exhaustion after the memorable night.

Far inland, there rose a gigantic cone-shaped mountain. It was so high that eternal snow, white as a daisy, covered its peak throughout the year. It was the volcano Fu-Egon. The Muskrat people believed it was the dwelling place of their Great God, Owee-UhaUha. Sometimes Fu-Egon burped up columns of smoke. Very rarely, it spewed fire and ash. It was one of shaman Lurian’s tasks to interpret what the Great god was telling them.

ÖffliBöffli, Pelle Pistol, and Kalle Kanon spent their time fishing in the blue, shimmering, crystal-clear water. They waded out until the water reached their knees and then stood completely still waiting for a fish to come close enough to spear. After many misses, Pelle Pistol became really good at spearing fish. He sometimes used his rapier instead of a spear. The other two also succeeded from time to time. Then it was just a matter of getting the catch grilled.

One day the trio met a family of fishermen who were diving for oysters and mussels. If they were lucky, they might find pearls inside the oysters. The finest pearls were perfectly round and had a faint pink lustre. These pearls were highly sought after and had to be shown immediately to King Ris-Rotto, who took his rightful share of the treasure. The fishermen were called Mother-of-Pearl and Father-of-Pearl. Their twelve children, arranged like a string of small pearls in order of age, stood next to their parents.

ÖffliBöffli, Pelle Pistol, and Kalle Kanon were invited onto the pearl fisherman’s boat. A good distance out in the lagoon, at a depth of about forty meters, Father-of-Pear dropped anchor. The oldest of the small Pearls got ready to dive. Each had a net bag hanging from a strap over his shoulder and carried a weight attached to a long line. With the weight in their arms, they jumped into the water and quickly reached the seabed and collected shellfish into their bags. When it was full, they pulled the line as a signal to haul up the catch. The divers then slowly rose to the surface. A well-trained, skilled diver could hold his breath underwater for about four minutes.

‘I’m impressed that they can dive so deeply and for so long,’ ÖffliBöffli said to  Father-of-Pearl and Mother-of-Pearl.

‘One has to be young and well-trained,’ replied Father-of-Pearl. ‘I am now too old to dive. But I teach the art to my children. In due time, they will pass it on to their children too.’

With everyone back on board, they paddled back to the shore and opened the oysters to check if there were pearls inside. Pearls were picked out and placed in a cloth bag. The shellfish were then sold at a stand. Later, Mother-of Pearl would show King Ris-Rotto the day’s pearls so that he could choose the best ones.

ÖffliBöffli, Pelle Pistol, and Kalle Kanon had had a very pleasant day. However, ÖffliBöffli’s pink piggy skin had turned violently red from the sun. It stung and itched, so he was less content than the others.

And so, the days went by. One day was much like the next. But that was soon to change.

A rumbling sound was heard, followed by vibration of the ground. Everyone ran around in panic. What was happening? Then they looked up at Fu-Egon and understood.

‘Oh dear!’ exclaimed ÖffliBöffli. ‘Fu-Egon has awakened and he’s grumpy and angry.’

A black column of smoke filled with ash and pumice rose vertically into the sky. The lower part of the smoke column was like a fireworks display, with glowing lava erupting from the volcano and flowing down the mountain. The lava flow burned everything in its path, both the low vegetation and the tall trees. It sizzled as it flowed into streams, cooking the fish instantly. Large clouds of steam settled like fog on the surroundings.

King Ris-Rotto and Lurian held a crisis council meeting with the elders to decide how to deal with Fu-Egon’s anger. Lurian prattled, rattled his gourd, shook his talismans, and recited inaudible words in a trance. Occasionally, he turned up the whites of his eyes and fell silent.

‘Summon Owee-UhaUha’s three disciples! Maybe they have an explanation for Fu-Egon’s anger,’ suggested King Ris-Rotto nervously.

A servant ran off to collect the three friends. Although he felt a bit unsure of himself, ÖffliBöffli spoke up first because he had read a lot about volcanic eruptions.

‘I think we can take it easy. When the lava flow reaches further down the valley, it will cool and solidify before it reaches here,’ claimed ÖffliBöffli.

His friends looked admiringly at him. They had not known that he possessed such knowledge. But ÖffliBöffli’s advice was ignored when Lurian suddenly woke up with a scream and began dancing around like a madman, waving his arms and kicking his legs. The gourd in his one hand made rattling sounds to accompany his screams. With his other hand, Lurian frantically waved a whip of many colourful ribbons. Then he collapsed groaning and exhausted to the ground.  He fell into a trance and recited a string of incomprehensible gibberish. He staggered around the square like a drunk while rotating the gourd and shaking the whip, mumbling to himself. It seemed as if his life was escaping through his bloodshot eyes.  At last, Lurian approached King Ris-Rotto and began reciting his message.

‘Owee-UhaUha is angry at our enemies on the other side of the mountain, the Shangahari people. They have not shown our God proper respect. They have not brought the offerings that Owee-UhaUha demands in order to be satisfied and to leave us in peace.’

King Ris-Rotto nodded understandingly and asked, ‘What should we do to appease Owee-UhaUha’s anger?’

‘We must go to war and crush the Shangahari and ensure that they submit to Owee-UhaUha and acknowledge our rightful supremacy,’ replied Lurian.

Ris-Rotto rubbed his chin thoughtfully and stared intently at Lurian. He tried to imagine what it would mean if they won the war, or worse if they lost it. It would mean the end for Ris-Rotto and his dynasty. Ris-Rotto’s eldest son, Ris-Snotto, would never become king and continue the family line. Lurian continued to scream and dance in front of the entire crowd which had come out to see what the spectacle was all about. A deep groan arose from the crowd when they understood the situation.

A high-pitched voice began to shout, ‘Down with Shangahari! They have insulted Owee-UhaUha! We must seek revenge!’

Soon the whole crowd picked up the chant, ‘Down with Shangahari! Revenge!’

As Ris-Rotto was about to lose control of the situation, he rose with all his royal dignity and banged the royal sceptre forcefully several times on the ground. The crowd fell silent.

Ris-Rotto spoke in a deep, powerful voice, ‘Calm yourselves! We must call a meeting of The Supreme Council to seek a wise decision. We will announce the decision here tomorrow,’ concluded Ris-Rotto.

The Supreme Council and Ris-Rotto withdrew to the council chamber for deliberation. Lurian was not a member. He remained outside, deep in thought.

When Ris-Rotto and the twelve councilmen were

gathered around the huge round table, Ris-Rotto pounded his gavel and opened the meeting.

‘Everyone knows that we are here because the Shangahari have angered Owee-UhaUha. It affects us, who have done everything to appease Owee-UhaUha. The question now is how it would be possible for us to restore peace.’

Senior Councilman Villevacklig spoke, ‘It is clear that we have a very serious situation that we must in some way address. But how should we go about it?’

‘I do not think more offerings would help, no matter how many and how fine they are,’ added Councilman Wisnu.

The discussion ebbed and flowed through the night. In the end, Ris-Rotto concluded, ‘Then there is only one possibility left! War with Shangahari!’

Chapter 5

The War against Shangahari

All the councillors around the table nodded in agreement.

‘I suggest we follow the method we have used since time immemorial. The war shall be decided by a duel between our best warrior and Shangahari’s finest fighter,’ FjolligaFolmer proposed.

The council agreed unanimously to this proposal.

‘So be it!’ proclaimed King Ris-Rotto, slamming his gavel so forcefully on the table that it collapsed in splinters.

Ris-Rotto sent a messenger to King Shangalang of Shangahari with a challenge to meet for a war duel on the great plain. King Shangalang was just as anxious as Ris-Rotto about the future. He too had sought to understand Owee-UhaUha’s anger. He sent the messenger back with the reply that he accepted the challenge. They would meet on the great plain on the seventh day after the full moon.

When the day arrived, the entire Muskrat people marched to the great plain, The people of Shangahari did the same. Upon arrival, they lined up in parallel lines facing each other with a buffer zone between them. The two kings with their courts stood in front of their people. Behind them, in the second row, stood war-ready warriors, their faces daubed with war paint, armed with spears, clubs, and shields decorated with bright colours. Behind them stood the women and children.

According to their ancient tradition of war, the bravest and most renowned warrior, Klubola, was summoned before King Ris-Rotto. Klubola had fought many duels and had never lost a battle. Klubola’s entire body was painted with white, red, and blue lines and symbols. He had metal anklets that jingled as he moved. In his right hand, he held an intimidating spear, and in his left, a large oval shield covered with leather and painted with the colours of the Muskrat people.

‘Are you ready to defend your people and the honour of your King?’ asked Ris-Rotto.

‘To my last drop of blood, my King,’ said Klubola, kneeling.

‘Then take up your position twenty-five paces in front of our line,’ the King instructed.

As Klubola advanced, Shangahari’s greatest warrior did the same.

From each side, ear-splitting music erupted from drums, cymbals, and trumpets made from gigantic sea shells. The orchestras of both peoples competed to outdo each other. After a while, the kings stepped in front of their lines and lifted their royal staffs causing the music to stop abruptly. Three individuals from each village stepped forward and stood on each side. These were the judges who would determine the victor of the duel.

The Muskrat people were represented by the three wise men ÖffliBöffli, Pelle Pistol and Kalle Kanon. The wisest men of the Shangahari people stood next to the three representatives of the Muskrats.

Pelle Pistol raised one of his pistols and fired a shot into the air. Both fighters started shouting curses at each other while bouncing up and down at an increasingly frenzied pace. They shook their shields and brandished their spears threateningly. Each fighter was cheered on by his own people who bellowed shouts and insults at the opponent and his tribe. The fighters never got closer to each other than fifty paces, so the risk of bloodshed was non-existent.