A long time ago…

The little witch repeated the charm, again and again, her eyes fixed on the fire. Gusts of wind from the seaside blew the flames apart, and drops of salty water hit her face. The charm she was conjuring by far exceeded any magic she had ever attempted. She focused intently. No more did she perceive the world around her; the whole universe concentrated into one fiery centre. The blaze began turning blue as fine grains of sand poured on her bare skin. Voices of her ancestors gradually joined her chant, and far away, a seabird’s squawk resounded. With immense power, a wave of excitement lifted her high and drove her towards the cliffs. A cry leapt from her finely shaped lips. Her pupils dilated as she watched a small head with a beak, and then eyes take form in the middle of the flames, and soon a minuscule, blood-coloured bird flew out from the fire and headed straight for her left hand. Before hitting her freshly bandaged wound, the little witch caught the bird in her palm and snuggled it to her cheek.

“Wait for me,” she whispered, “I shall return.” And she let it go. The bird wavered in the strong wind and circled clumsily above her head.

“Go home!” the witch cried and turned away. Balancing in the wind squalls with difficulty, the bird hovered uncertainly above the girl then flew towards the roofs of a large house outlined in the distance.

The little witch covered the remains of the fire and began her descent down the steep cliff. She advanced quickly; clearly, she had trekked this way before. Her feet soon touched the wet surface of a stone platform. The sea was rough, waves beating against the rocks. Here and there, showers of cold water struck her small body. She would have to hurry to escape the rising tides. The girl sighed with relief when she reached the tidal cave. Its entrance was underwater so, without hesitation, she jumped into the churning waves.

Shortly she emerged inside the rocky cavern. The only opening by which the rays of the setting sun could penetrate was right above her head. She felt a gentle pull of the sea current dragging her into the depths of the cave. The thrill overwhelmed her again,…one more look at the gold-coloured sky. Sudden sorrow stung the girl’s heart. Who knew if she would see it again? With her mind made up, she clenched her teeth, took a deep breath, and threw herself towards the gateway. A strong undertow seized her immediately and spun her ahead.

It was a fantastic sensation. The girl flew faster than ever before, faster than she could ever have imagined. A thin film of water between her body and the rock tickled her naked skin, and she could almost feel herself piercing the layers of time. Short of breath, the witch was euphoric. Suddenly, she felt like she was breaking through an invisible membrane, and a second later was shot above the surface of the water. In profound darkness, her eyes shone with a green light.

“The Land of Dragons,” she whispered.

1.      THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT

It was the night before Christmas. The smells of freshly waxed furniture, Christmas tree and roast turkey spread throughout the big house. Lost in her thoughts, a little girl stood by the window, staring out at snowy roofs and silvery hills behind, fading slowly into the night. Suddenly, Grandma put a hand on her shoulder and, looking cautiously out into the darkness, she closed the heavy curtains.  The surprised child looked up, but the old lady smiled:

“Just hold on a little longer, the dinner is almost ready.”

The girl was starving because Grandma insisted on following an old and, as the girl thought, stupid tradition and they were fasting since morning.

“Mum said children, scientists and travellers don’t have to fast,” she tried to bring some sense to Grandma, but she only laughed.

“I did hear about the children and travellers, but your mum was crafty in adding those scientists to the list so she could stuff herself as well.”

The girl could do nothing but wait. It was to be the first Christmas without her mother. Trying to distract herself from feeling lonely, she spent the day in the kitchen with her grandmother.

Watching Grandma working in the kitchen was a real spectacle. When, for example, she made scrambled eggs, she would flip six eggs up at once and slice them in the air with a knife. The shells would fall directly into the bin, while the yolks and whites landed smack-bang in the middle of the frying pan. Everything just seemed to fly in the air around her, and all the ingredients she needed seemed to always be right at hand. The girl’s mother would say that it was due to her peculiar career as a well-renowned acrobat in the circus. Even now, at nearly seventy years of age, she could still walk the tightrope without the slightest hesitation. To the girl, it looked at times like a wild, magic dance. Once she could have sworn that she saw a spice box full of cinnamon open itself in the air and sprinkle onto an apple pie. But when she looked at Grandma with her mouth agape, she just smiled at her, singing something cheerfully, her hand shaking the spice box to the rhythm.

The old lady was indeed an excellent cook, yet, for some reason, she would always become deeply offended dare anybody praised her skill. “Oh, really? So you’re saying I have nothing better to think about than cooking?” she would say, though it was obvious that she loved to cook.

But the little girl wasn’t thinking about that now. It was Christmas, and she wasn’t looking forward to it at all, so much so that she had even forgotten about presents. Suddenly quiet music filled the air.

“Dinner’s ready, have you washed your hands?” Grandma asked sternly, but just one look at the spotless child with sad eyes made her regret her harsh tone. “Come on, my dear, it’s time for dinner.”

The girl quietly nodded and sat down at the table. She had only lived with Grandma for a short time and still was not used to how exquisitely her grandma could lay the table. Tonight the decorations were truly magnificent, with burning candles floating in a glass bowl, a small Christmas tree decorated with real sweets and a special Christmas serving set. Christmas cookies, which Grandma baked only once a year, were laid out in beautiful patterns on silver trays, while a tempting aroma wafted from the soup bowl sitting in the middle of the table. The girl quickly glanced at the cookies and wriggled with contentment – Grandma had baked her favourite hazelnut tartlets.

“Just wait.” Grandmother smiled at her. “This dinner has its own special order, and the cookies come at the end.”

“And what about…?”

“Don’t you worry, I didn’t forget him,” interrupted her Grandmother, peering over at the small white dog eating with a tremendous appetite from a bowl placed near the fireplace. The girl had got him for Christmas a year ago. He arrived in a wicker basket, like the kind you take on picnics. “There’ll be a toy picnic set in there,” she had thought and started to unwrap the other presents, which had seemed more interesting. She had leaned comfortably against the basket, and all of a sudden started in fright. Hearing a scratching noise from inside she shouted with joy: “It’s a pet!” She had hoped for a second that it would be a baby polar bear, or a little mole, or… a dog! She turned to peer inside and sure enough, wagging its tail and scrambling to escape the basket was a white puppy.

“So, what are you going to call him?” asked her mum, smiling. It was a tough question. In fact, it took almost two hours until the girl finally decided on a name that she was perfectly happy with. “He’s as white as snow. I’ll give him an Eskimo name—Nanuk.”

That was her last Christmas together with her mother, and it was the best Christmas ever.

The starved girl immediately busied herself with the soup. The meal was delicious; even the spicy mushrooms, which the girl only ate at Grandma’s insistence that she must try at least a little bit from every dish, tasted wonderful.

“May I have a tart now?”

“Of course you may,” said Grandma. “Or would you like to see your presents first?”

The girl turned with astonishment. She could have sworn that when they went to the table, there was nothing under the tree. However, there was now a large pile of presents all wrapped up in a glittery paper there. Even the Christmas tree itself had changed. Its branches had turned silver, and the bells that decorated it were gently ringing.

“Wait a minute,” cried the girl, “something’s missing!” She ran into her room. “I hope she’ll like it,” she slipped a roll of paper, tied with a ribbon, under the Christmas tree.

“So, are we ready to start?” asked Grandma. The girl nodded and grabbed the biggest parcel. Peeling back the neat wrapping she squealed with joy—it was a real artist’s easel! The second parcel had oil paints inside and paintbrushes!

“Thank you! Thank you!” The overjoyed girl embraced her somewhat startled Grandmother, who was not used to such displays of excitement.

In another package, she unwrapped some clothes and in a smaller parcel found gourmet dog biscuits. She smiled at Grandma. She was happy that she had remembered her little dog. Then, lower under the branches, she caught sight of something else. She stretched over for the parcel, unwrapping it impatiently. Inside she found a red woolen sweater, but when she unfolded it, she discovered that it wasn’t quite finished—the sleeves and buttons had yet to be stitched on. She looked at Grandma with confusion.

“Your mother started knitting this, but never finished it. At first, I thought I would finish it for you, but then I changed my mind. This way, you’ll have it forever.”

The girl pressed the sweater to her face. A familiar scent rose from the wool…

“It’s late. I’d better go to bed.” Her voice broke, and she ran up to her room, big tears rolling down her cheeks.

For a long time, Grandmother sat motionless at the table. Wood crackled in the fireplace, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the drawing she had found rolled into a tube under the tree. Her big kitchen had been skillfully drawn in the picture. A barefooted little girl sat at the table and standing next to her, on both sides, two ladies juggled eggs. All of a sudden, she shivered. Snow slid down the tree in the garden, and a sound of flapping wings died away in the darkness. The old lady walked to the window and peeked out. Throbbing phantom pain in her missing little finger had returned with severe intensity. They were running out of time. For the first time in her long life, she was truly scared.

It was the first Monday morning after the Christmas break, and the girl was already awake. Though she could have stayed in bed for at least an hour longer, the thought of Miss Greta’s large, beak-like nose sent chills down her spine. She lay in bed, thinking that since she was already up, she may as well get dressed and take Nanuk for a walk.

Just as her feet hit the floor, the door flew open, and Grandma strode in. She came swiftly over to the girl’s bed, sat down on edge, took her hand, and looked into her eyes with an intense expression. “I’m glad you’re awake. Something horrible has happened. Otto’s colleagues have just called from Brazil to tell me that he has gone missing.”

Uncle Otto was Grandfather’s nephew, an archaeologist, whom Grandma adored and who would visit her often. He was a tall, rather irresponsible, as the girl’s mum used to say, young man, tanned from frequent work in the sun. The girl couldn’t imagine Otto without a smile on his face, with his wavy blonde hair, green eyes, kind features, and soft, almost feminine lips. She loved the sparkles in his eyes when they lit up; she immediately knew that he was plotting some mischief. He was also the only person who could make Grandmother laugh.

“Unfortunately, this news isn’t exactly current,” Grandma continued, ”he disappeared during a violent storm three days ago. They had to travel through the jungle to the nearest town to get a connection. Apparently, all their equipment had been destroyed by the storm. I must leave at once and find out what’s going on. I’ll be away for three days, and you must promise me that you won’t leave the house until I return.”

“And what about the school?”

“I’ll call the school. I’ll tell them that you can’t come in. I’m serious; you must not go out at all. Not a step out that door! There is someone who could hurt you badly, and I’m afraid they are responsible for Otto’s disappearance. I’ve neglected to mention it before my dear, I didn’t think it would be necessary, but I have powerful enemies…”

“I don’t understand… Enemies?!” The girl found it hard to believe.

“Do as I say, for now, we’ll talk when I return. Unfortunately, I have no time for explanations; I’m leaving in an hour.”

The girl jumped out of bed, wanting to help Grandma pack, but she had already handled everything, and so they went down for breakfast. While they ate, Grandma instructed what she could and could not do – even the obvious things, such as letting nobody, absolutely nobody in, except for her friend Laura, who was to keep her company.

“And if for any reason, Laura isn’t alone, you mustn’t let her in! Remember the time when that old man followed you? That was not just by chance. I knew how to deal with him, but if you were alone… As I’ve told you before, this house is built in such a way that it won’t let anybody in if you don’t allow it. So whatever happens, you mustn’t step outside the door! Out there, you’re helpless.”

“Why would anyone want to get me?” questioned the girl but the memory of the old man made her shudder.

It happened about a month ago when she walked back from school alone. Laura was ill, and the girl headed to her house to tell her about the homework they had been given. But all the way there she had a peculiar feeling that somebody was following her. She looked over her shoulder constantly, and just when she was about to walk down the street leading to the town square, she saw him. An old, balding man with a withering look, wearing a long, dishevelled grey coat.He stared at her. As soon as they made eye contact, he quickly turned away, pretending that he was looking in a shop window. The girl crouched down and squeezed between passers-by. She swept past them skilfully, her little heart beating wildly, and ran straight home, only daring to stop when she was already at the corner of her street. She looked back, but there was nobody around. Suddenly, the entire situation appeared ridiculous – why would anybody want to follow her? It’s silly to get frightened just because somebody had looked at her! Taking a deep breath, she turned around and almost screamed from fright. She had nearly bumped into the same man! He was much taller than she had thought; his head, which sat strangely between his shoulders, was tilted to one side. The grimace on his face, as the girl later realized, was supposed to be a smile.

“Hello, dear! I haven’t frightened you, have I?” he said in a hoarse voice. “You live in that big house at the end of the street, don’t you?”

The girl only stared at him silently.

“I’ve heard that your grandma has a house stuffed full of junk that she would like to get rid of.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” the girl shrugged and turned away.

“Wait, wait, my dear.” The old man sank his long, bony fingers into her arm. “I’d rather go with you and ask your grandma myself.”

“I’m not allowed to take strangers home!” The girl tried to twist out of his painful grip. “And to talk to strange people!” She wanted to jerk herself out of his grasp, but the man’s fingers sank even deeper into her shoulder, and she cried out with pain: “Ow! That hurts!”

“I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” grunted the old man, but his grip remained as strong as before. “I can’t see very well anymore,” he lied. “Why don’t you help and take an old man to your grandma? You’ll see – she’ll be glad to see me.”

“Sure she will,” thought the girl, and because that disgusting man held her tightly, she could do nothing else but lead him home, even though he seemed to know the way already. She tried to escape from his grasp several times, but after every such attempt, he squeezed even more, so eventually, she stopped struggling. By the time they had arrived at grandma’s house, the girl was so angry that she couldn’t wait to see her grandma throw him out faster than he could say “Good day ma’am…”

“I hope she’s at home.” Chills ran down her spine, but as they drew nearer to the house, the heavy door threw itself open, and grandma stood there as if she had been expecting them. The grip of the man’s fingers relaxed. Grandma pulled the girl inside.

“Go to your room,” she said in a calm voice, not letting her eyes stray from the uninvited guest.

They were quiet for a while. Grandmother stood in the doorway, blocking the man’s view inside and the girl slipped behind her, frowning at him. Finally, the old man couldn’t withstand the grandmother’s intense stare any longer. He averted his eyes and wrinkled his face into a crooked smile:

“I beg your pardon for being so forward, ma’am. I’m an antique dealer, I have a shop in the town square, and surely you’ve already noticed…”

He stopped, probably waiting for her to nod, or to respond in some way, but her face was deadpan. The emboldened girl folded her arms and glared at the man from behind grandma’s back.

“Well, I have that… that shop in the town square,” the man faltered, “so I thought… well, in this beautiful old house you surely have some junk just taking up room and getting in your way.”

And everything fell quiet again. Grandma didn’t move – she only fixed her gaze on the intruder’s face, as if she was looking for something.

“Everybody’s got some…” started the old man again. Suddenly grandma smiled slightly and said, “Come in.”

A triumphant spark blazed in the man’s eyes, and the girl could not believe her ears. “What?! How can she possibly let him in?”

“Go to your room,” grandma told her strictly, “Now!”

The girl was offended. She turned and went upstairs, but her curiosity prevailed, and she ducked down behind the balustrades upon the landing.

Grandma seated the stranger at the big kitchen table. She stood with her back to him, picking out some herbs and spices from the shelf and pouring them into a small kettle. The old man sat on the edge of his chair and looked around stealthily.

The girl didn’t like that at all. “He might steal something,” she thought to herself.

“Maybe we should have a look at the attic,” the man urged grandma.

Ignoring him, grandma concentrated on stirring something on the stove.

“Or in the cellar,” he said, and shifted nervously on the chair. But as far as grandma was concerned, he might as well have not even been there. She poured some beverage into a cup, but didn’t turn around yet; she seemed to be waiting for something. The girl felt a tingling tension rising in the air. The old man suddenly rose from his seat, and grandma turned to him at that exact moment.

“You’re thirsty, drink!” she commanded in a steady voice.

The man obediently took the steaming concoction and drank. Now Grandma didn’t take her eyes off him until he drained the cup, then she took it and said, “And now go!”

And he simply left. Grandma watched him for a while, and after he disappeared around the corner, she closed the door. Still, with her back to the girl, she said:

“You can come down now. I thought it would be more difficult than that. Are you hungry?”

The astonished girl emerged from behind the balusters. She was indeed hungry.

A few days later, when she was coming back from school, she saw the old man again. He scared her a bit when he suddenly appeared from behind the corner, but he walked past her as if she didn’t even exist. She ran into him several times afterwards, and apparently, he did have a shop somewhere in the town square. He never spoke to her again; in fact, he didn’t seem to see her at all. But adults often ignore children, so she didn’t think a great deal of it, until now.

“Do you think he could come back?”

“No, not him. Someone else, someone far more dangerous. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to explain everything now. Please, just promise me that you won’t even stick a toe out of the house.”

The girl promised, and before she could fully comprehend what was going on, Grandma turned and was off.

The girl felt scared and alone almost as soon as the old lady shut the door. She had lived with her grandmother for only a few months since her mother had died. Before, she had lived in a modern, white villa on a hill high above the sea. From the terrace, one could see the horizon—far, far away over the roofs and little islands in the bay. She liked to draw with her coloured chalks on white paving stones. Blue for the water, white sails and seagulls, yellow for the sun and green for trees, people were pink, yellow, and brown. When visitors came – which was quite often – they admired her drawings, which also gradually filled the brick wall around the garden. If it hadn’t been for the rain, she wouldn’t have had anywhere to draw after a while. Whenever she finished a picture, her mother took a photograph which the girl would then keep in a box hidden under her bed.

The girl was extremely gifted,  but nobody realised it.  Not her mother, not the people who visited them, not even her teachers could truly appreciate her drawings. They only found them adorable.

“When you see them, you can’t help but smile,” they used to say. And really, everybody smiled, forgetting the bad mood they had been in just moments earlier.

Before the little girl moved in, Grandma had lived alone. Her grandfather had died two years earlier. To the girl, it seemed like an eternity passed since then, so much had happened after he passed away.

Grandma lived in an old town, high in the mountains. If you were to drive there, you wouldn’t be able to see it from a distance through the thick, impenetrable woods. Only after your car would drive over the steep hill, pitched towers and steep slate roofs of a castle, perched on the top of a cliff above the town, would appear. Your car would have to zigzag for a long time and climb up and down the road, and only then would you be able to recognise the small town nestled deep in the valley and the tower of an old house, close to castle’s battlements, where the girl’s grandmother lived.

Grandma’s house, overlooking the town, was huge. The basement and the ground floor were built of massive granite blocks, while the levels above were made of wood and the roof was tiled with slate. Grandmother proudly used to say that the house was even older than the castle towering above it. The ceilings were black; beams were of dark wood, darkened even more with age and smoke rising from the fireplace, torches, and tallow candles.

What was strange, Grandma never locked the front door behind her, and when the girl asked why, she said that nobody could steal anything from the house, anyway. The girl didn’t believe her, but the house itself seemed to be such a cold, dark, and eerie place that maybe it really could scare burglars away. She couldn’t have imagined ever spending a night there on her own. There was constant creaking and groaning within the house at night, as is in every old building built with lots of wood.

The girl’s mother had been a physicist, and a very successful one—the youngest director of an academic institution in the country. The girl’s father was a journalist. They had separated a long time ago when the girl was just a few months old. He went back to Spain and later married a divorced lady with three children. The last time she had seen him was so long ago that she couldn’t even remember what he looked like anymore.  He never visited, never wrote, and never called. The girl didn’t think about him, and she wouldn’t have noticed that he hadn’t come to her mother’s funeral if Otto’s mother, aunt Natalie, who couldn’t forgive him, hadn’t complained.

The girl didn’t really know what had happened. The afternoon when her mother never came home seemed like a horrible dream. A few people came by, and they had been very compassionate, but the girl didn’t want to listen to anyone anymore. Only when Grandma arrived, still catching her breath, solemn and stern with misty eyes, did the girl burst into tears. She was told that her mum had died during an unsuccessful experiment with plasma, but nobody explained what exactly had happened. And truthfully, she wasn’t really interested. It had seemed so unimportant at the time…

Otto was late for the funeral. Usually, the girl would run up and hug him around the waist, and he would pick her up and throw her in the air, but now she almost didn’t recognise her beloved uncle. He looked different, awfully pale. He walked up to her and stroked her head gently; she could hardly feel his touch. Then he collapsed onto his knees, hugged her, and started to cry. And because she had never seen him cry before, she burst into tears again and became even more aware of what had happened.

After the funeral, when Grandma and Otto were opening all the cupboards and drawers, looking through some papers and bills and sorting them out, the girl just stood solemnly. Her shoulders sagging she desperately wanted them to stop and just sit down, and hold each other tightly.

First days in Grandma’s house were terrible. The girl felt a dreadful emptiness so immense that at times, not a single thought occupied her mind only sadness. The sorrow outweighed everything. Never before had she thought that something like this could happen. The very idea that her mother could die seemed so incomprehensible. All of a sudden, her life was divided into two parts—then and now. It was hard to walk into her mother’s bedroom for the last time, and then to close the door forever. To walk past the house that was no longer theirs, to see mum’s flowers dying in the garden. Visiting the cemetery, and buying roses for her mother’s grave: “These were Mum’s favourite…”

Only Nanuk was happy as always; he didn’t seem to notice any significant change in his life. He had been to grandma’s house many times before, and he was not at all bothered that this time they stayed for quite a long time. He wagged his tail as he always did, and he definitely didn’t lose his appetite. Even his old kennel was moved for him to the verandah in front of the grandma’s house, so he was perfectly content.

The girl didn’t like her new home. She begged her grandmother not to sell their house and urged her to stay there, but Grandma wouldn’t hear a word of it.

“I’m too old. I’m used to the clean mountain air. The city is too big, noisy and dirty. And I have so many things. I couldn’t possibly fit them all in this house.”

Otto stayed with the girl and Grandma for a while, but after a few weeks, he left for South America. The girl suspected that it was her grandmother’s doing again. She hovered around Grandma’s study, trying to catch pieces of their conversation through the open door.

“It will be a challenging expedition. It may take you more than a year,” she overheard the grandmother. “Don’t worry about the girl. I’ll look after her better than you could. I’m still strong, but who knows what may come to pass in a couple of years. I’m getting old, and anything could happen. Then you won’t be able to travel so much!”

The girl heard Otto make some kind of unconvincing objection, but Grandma ignored him and continued: “Look at this photograph. Those ruins over there by the river look like the remains of a colossal bridge. And if it was indeed a bridge, then you also need to explore the other side of the river. The bridge had to lead somewhere! I have a lot of good friends in Brazil. I’m sure they will help you…”

So a few days later, Otto packed his bags and left, and the girl remained alone with her grandma.

The girl’s room was upstairs and had formerly belonged to her mother. Grandma’s bedroom was far away, at the other end of the long corridor, and around the corner. The girl didn’t dare peep out of her room at night, afraid that there could be a person, or a “monster” hiding behind all those heavy, eerie drapes covering the windows. Then there were those huge, creaky, antique cupboards, but the worst of all were the suits of armour, swords, axes, and flails. At night, when the wind crept in, the drapes fluttered, and the amour started to clatter. It was as if something terrible, dressed in metal plates and chains, were coming towards her room. This always frightened her so much that she had to call out to her grandma. The old lady usually took too long to come and comfort her. However, one night, when the same thing had happened several times, Grandma had asked her to stop calling her in that way.

“This house is big, and I can’t hear as well as I used to. Here, take this bell. If you need anything, just ring. I can hear it in the cellar too.”

“What are you doing in the cellar at night?”

“I’m organising my archive.”

“Every night?” wondered the girl, even though she wasn’t sure what this archive was.

Grandma smiled faintly. “I have so much stuff in the cellar that I could spend years down there. But sleep now. I’m here; there’s nothing to worry about.”

The girl tucked herself under the covers again. Grandma turned off the light and left.

“She was in such a hurry that she forgot to kiss me goodnight,” the girl sighed. She remembered her last evening together with her mother. She had walked into the study, hugged Mum from behind, and laid head on her shoulder. Mum had stroked, or rather patted, her hand, then turned to kiss her on the cheek. She smiled, and in that smile was all the warmth the girl could ever have imagined. Mum had shown her what she was working on and tried to explain it, and for a short moment, the girl thought that maybe she did understand after all.

“Don’t worry too much,” laughed Mum. “Most grownups don’t understand it, either. Only a handful of people in the world understand the particle spin principle of the space-time tunnels.”

There were some loops on the screen surrounded by colourful dots circling around them, like around electromagnetic coils. A stain that mum called plasma crawled throughout all this commotion. The girl didn’t like it; it seemed to be chasing the dots, wanting to devour them, and they desperately dashed out of its way, often escaping at the last second. She said this to mum, but she only laughed. The plasma killed her the very next day.

As days rolled by, living with Grandma actually turned out to be rather interesting. The girl was amazed by how many things she hadn’t even noticed before. Also, Grandma behaved differently than she had anticipated. In fact, she spent more time with her than her mother used to. Her mum had had to work a lot, often staying back until late. Quite often, she would wake the girl in the morning with a kiss, already dressed, with a handbag over her shoulder. Then there would be a whiff of perfume around her, and suddenly she was gone, just a trace of her fragrance remained. In the afternoon, when the girl would return from school, a hint of that scent still lingered. Only in the evening were they together once more.

Grandma, on the other hand, sat with the girl almost every day, telling her the most unusual fairy tales. There were stories about two old and mighty witches, who were very powerful yet so ancient that their only remaining interest seemed to be cooking. Or she would tell stories about dwarves who bought themselves wives, in exchange for precious gold, stories about dragons that could transform themselves into princes, or about pirates and water-sprites. Grandma must’ve made them up herself because they were unlike any stories the girl had read in the books she had devoured to pass the time. When she asked her about them, Grandma only gave her a mischievous grin and said that as a little girl she had lived in a magical land, and she had lost her pinkie when she tried to escape. The girl knew she was teasing, of course. Her mother had told her a long time ago that Grandma had lost her little finger in some sort of accident at the circus, and if there was one person who should have known the truth it was the girl’s mother!

The school the girl now attended was an old, historic building. It was the same school her mother had attended long ago. Its original purpose had not been that of a school but of the house of a wealthy nobleman. The classrooms were the same size as his rooms once were – some huge, others tiny. The girl mostly preferred to stay in the classroom in the attic where the art classes were held. Her art teacher, who was also her roll call teacher, was a nice old man. He was the very first person she had met when Grandma had led her to the schoolyard. It turned out that he had taught her mother, too, and he still remembered her. He welcomed the girl kindly, led her to the classroom, and asked her where she’d like to sit. There were a few empty seats at the back, so she nodded in that direction. But then she noticed Laura – whom she already knew – waving at her and preparing the seat next to her.

Later that morning, the girl drew a picture. There were flowers and trees and a rainbow in a blue sky. The teacher was thoroughly impressed; he hung the picture up on the wall and told her that he would be pleased if she could attend his afternoon art classes.

During the break, other children surrounded the girl and were very friendly. All in all, the first day at her new school would have gone better than the girl had expected if it hadn’t been for the last lesson, which was History.

The girl was welcomed coldly, if at all. The teacher acted as though she was invisible, and even when the other children tried to point out the new pupil, all she could say was “I know.” She didn’t ask the girl’s name or where she was from, but sat at the head of the class and continued to ignore her.

“It’s obvious that she does know, and she doesn’t like me,” thought the girl. “But I don’t like her, either.”

Miss Greta’s face had an interesting, belligerent character. Her big, hooked nose had, crisscross wrinkles at the top, giving the impression that it started somewhere deep under her forehead. The way it jutted out from between her small round eyes reminded the girl of a bird, and she started to draw her, without thinking. A sharp profile with long, thick, curly hair pulled away from her face and crumpled at the back into an unruly bun. A few disobedient curls dangled right down to her waist. The girl turned them into feathers; she accentuated her round dark eyes, a beak-like nose…

It was only a quick sketch, and just when she was starting to scribble her collar, the teacher noticed the girl’s absorbed look and the flashing of her pencil.

“Ha!” shouted Miss Greta. “Hand that over! Yes, you…!” She glanced at the paper and recognised herself instantly.

“This is dis-gus-ting! How dare you show such disrespect as to ridicule people in such a way! School is an establishment of learning, NOT a place to sit and draw such idiocy!” she barked angrily.

She straightened up, planning to take the girl to the principal and show him the drawing right away, but quickly changed her mind. The sketch was very convincing, and if her colleagues saw it… She snatched the paper from the girl, tore it into small pieces and threw them into the bin.

“In the good old days, corporal punishment was allowed in schools. Back when there was discipline in the classroom, but now, now…” Her hand, holding a pointer, was shaking from the repressed urge to strike out.

“Excuse me, but I…”

“You keep your mouth shut! I did not say you could speak! You’ve earned yourself detention! On your first day of school. Never has a student displayed such insolence so hastily like you have today! You should be ashamed! A child from ‘that’ house! Nothing good ever came out of there! My great-grandfather used to say that ‘that’ house must be cursed, no decent people ever lived there!” Miss Greta spat with hatred.

The girl would have liked going to her new school if it hadn’t been for Miss Greta. Fridays were the only good days because she had no lessons with her. But as early as Sunday morning, as soon as she woke up, she remembered that the first class on Monday would be History, and after that, she would be nervous for the rest of the day. The teacher always found a reason to punish or at least humiliate her, and hardly a lesson passed without Miss Greta threatening to hit her. When the girl mentioned it to Grandma, she only grinned.

“Typical! You don’t know, but her family has lived here in the town for generations. The first Pretzeller moved here in the fifteenth century, at the time of Inquisition. He was a founder of the local dynasty of executioners. I think they all have corporal punishment in their blood. I’m surprised that Greta decided to become a teacher. The slaughterhouse would have suited her far better!”

The girl had made several good friends at school, and she and Laura were almost inseparable. Yet she had a feeling that some children made a deliberate effort to steer clear of her and noticed that they would whisper amongst themselves when her back was turned. Now and then, she also noticed similar glances on streets, or in shops. She knew that some people avoided Grandma and that some of them were even afraid of her, but what surprised her most was how quickly the locals branded her as suspicious, often without having spoken to her even once.

“People in small towns know each other so well they can tell you what each of them had for breakfast. They have a rigid and limited perception of the world and their place in it. Quite often, even wearing something different, like that bright pink skirt of yours, can be enough for them to think you’re suspicious,” Grandma told her. “But you mustn’t let that trouble you. You have to be stronger than their prejudices, and they’ll start to respect you.”

“Do you mean they’ll start to be afraid of me like they are of you?”

“I don’t think anyone here is afraid of me,” Grandma objected. “I simply don’t poke my nose into their affairs, and they leave me alone!”

Nevertheless, the girl maintained her own opinion. After all, it was clear to everyone that Grandma was a constant target of gossip.

“You shouldn’t be so surprised,” Laura’s mother told her once. “Your grandmother is the most mysterious person in the town. You have to understand that not much happens around here. When a circus comes, people talk about it for weeks after it leaves. Your grandma is a welcome source of rumours, and as far as I can see, she doesn’t mind at all.”

The girl had to admit that she was right. Grandma really didn’t care. Though it was difficult for her. She was bothered when mindless children at school teased her for living in a house where witches used to eat children, or even worse – when they laughed at her that she was getting chubby and that her grandma was fattening her up so she could cook her for dinner.

She quietly examined herself in the mirror to see whether she was getting fat, but she found quite the opposite. She was too slender, even skinny.

“What, are you crazy?” Grandma chuckled when she caught her. “You’re just like your mother. You can eat anything and never get fat.”

However, when the girl rather ashamedly told her about this malicious gossip concerning witches eating children, Grandma got pretty annoyed.

“It’s unbelievable! There seems to be no end to this rubbish. Just so you know, your great-great-grandmother was a very educated and sensitive person. Napoleonic wars had just finished, and the world was full of orphans. She felt truly sorry for them, so she brought a lot of them to live here. She found foster parents for some and some she simply sent to school. I’d like to know who came up with the idea of a child-eating witch, nearly three hundred years after the last trial of a ‘witch’ in the region, but the very notion that such slander has survived to this very day proves that human idiocy knows no bounds.”

Grandmother, all worked up now, talked at length about trials of “witches”, about human stupidity, greed and false accusations. The girl listened and wondered how she knew so much about it. She spoke with such erudition as if she had devoted all her life to studying this subject. She suddenly understood what Otto meant when he talked so admiringly about Grandma’s incredible knowledge of history. At the same time, the girl felt deep sorrow for all those unfortunate women who were actually murdered by superstitious and ignorant people.

So when Miss Greta gave them an assignment later that week – an essay with an open theme, the girl wrote a fiery defense of wrongfully accused and convicted “witches” who ended up being publicly slaughtered by ruthless executioners. In her conclusion, she made sure to include Grandma’s words about human stupidity knowing no bounds.

You should have seen Miss Greta reading the essay! Her head nearly exploded from outrage at such disrespect as she ran into the girl’s classroom, ignoring the math lesson she was interrupting. In a voice trembling in anger, she asked for the girl and in front of the surprised teacher, grabbed her by her arm and shoved her all the way to the principal’s office. Only after the astonished principal had read the essay for the third time to Miss Greta in a sharp tone, emphasizing that her name and, in fact, any other name, was not mentioned in the text, did she reluctantly accept that she had most likely misunderstood the girl’s work.

Though deep down inside, she was certain that this sly little “witch” had tricked her, so when the principal declared that the essay was exceptionally written and deserved to be published in their school magazine, it pierced her heart like a knife. There is no need to say that if History classes had been a struggle for the girl before, they became utterly unbearable after this incident. She was seriously afraid that Miss Greta would force her to repeat the year, despite her having worked hard and was well prepared for every single lesson. Grandma, however, seemed to find the whole thing laughable, and the essay delighted her. She immediately attached a copy to the letter she was sending Otto.

“Don’t worry, you definitely won’t have to repeat the year,” she reassured the girl. “Miss Greta would like to get rid of you just as badly as you’d like to be rid of her.”

Once the girl started going to school again, her world slowly got back on track. She missed a lot of things in her new life, and a lot of things were different, but the change brought about something the girl had never had before. She had never had such a good friend like Laura. Each morning on their way to school, they would wait for each other at the corner, and after a day full of lessons, they would walk home together. Even when the girl was at home, she wasn’t alone for long. In a few days after she had moved in, children from the neighbourhood began to gather around the front gate, clearly waiting for her to come out.

Before, when she had come over for the holidays, Grandma had forbidden her to let “strange children” into the house. This time though, the girl was defiant.

“I’m allowed to play in their houses, so they will come and play here! At least in our backyard and my room. I don’t see why you’re so impolite. I’ve already been to Anita’s house five times, and I ate at least twenty cookies there. I’ve been to Karin’s four times, and I had ten cookies there and three puddings, and when I was at—”

“Well, all right! You can invite them here, or our neighbours will start complaining about me. I’ll bake something.”

“Could you make some blueberry cupcakes, please?”

Grandmother cleaned out a part of the huge attic for the children to play in. When the girl climbed up, she couldn’t believe her eyes. It didn’t look as gloomy as before. All the mess and junk that had filled the attic had disappeared, and even the smell of old dust was gone. Everything was clean, and the timber beams had been freshly painted.

“See,” grandma puffed after she had climbed up after her, “there are no spider webs here anymore, there’s enough space here for you to ride a scooter. Of course, only when it rains – otherwise I want you to be outside in the fresh air.”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll invite my friends here when the weather’s bad. You can stay with us and show us some acrobatic tricks.”

“Oh yes, and you’ll tear the house down!”

The children loved it up there. They climbed up high, and grandma had to suspend a safety net under the most dangerous places so they wouldn’t hurt themselves if they fell. Sometimes in the evening, when grandma was in a very good mood, and the girl had nagged her for long enough, she taught her some simple acrobatic tricks, like walking the tightrope, somersaults in the air, and juggling, and the girl would show off in front of her friends afterwards.

Throughout the house there were big, old-fashioned handles on doors and, apart from the girl, none of the children could open them. The girl couldn’t understand why.

“It’s not locked.”

“Then the handle must be broken, or the door is stuck!” they argued.

And so she had to go downstairs and open the doors for them. But then yet another door could not open, even though the girl would swear they were working perfectly just a minute ago. In the end, her friends gave up on trying to enter any room; they headed straight to the playroom in the attic.

But when Grandma wasn’t at home, the girl wasn’t allowed to let anyone in. She begged for special permission for Laura, and to change Grandma’s mind; she announced that until Laura was allowed to come, she wouldn’t eat anything, absolutely nothing, not even pancakes. She had managed to stick to her guns and eat nothing until the evening and then, although her stomach was rumbling loudly and she felt like she could have even eaten rusty nails, with her teeth clenched she had to watch Grandma stuffing herself with pancakes with whipped cream, chocolate, and wild strawberries. Her favourite!

“I think I’ll have a few more,” Grandma seemed to be in seventh heaven. “These are probably the best pancakes I’ve ever made.”

The girl sat stubbornly facing the window, refusing to look at her.

“I don’t know why I have such a sweet tooth today,” Grandma continued relentlessly, “I’ve just remembered that vanilla and strawberry ice cream. You know, the one you liked so much the other day. I’ll have a little with the pancakes. Don’t you just love it when the ice cream melts slowly on top of warm, sweet chocolate?”

The girl covered her ears with hands, and when Grandma put a huge plateful of pancakes in front of her, a mist spread before her eyes. She looked at her accusingly, but to her surprise, Grandma had a subtle smile on the face and was watching her with a satisfied, slightly inquisitive look.

“All right, then,” the girl heard her saying, “Laura is allowed to come, even when I’m away, but only Laura! And eat up now; otherwise, your ice cream will melt.”

The girl, contented, nodded politely and controlled herself tremendously as she sliced off a piece of the pancake. Slowly, with dignity, she placed it in her mouth. They really were the best pancakes she had ever tasted! Before she knew it, her mouth was stuffed, and she was chewing uncontrollably. Chocolate dribbled all over her chin. She glanced at Grandma for a moment and saw a hint of amusement on her face. At first, she felt insulted, but then she decided not to worry.

This had happened only a few weeks before Christmas, and now the girl counted the hours until Laura came to visit after school. She was excited because Grandma had arranged with Laura’s mother that while she was away, Laura could stay overnight.

They had a great time together, they even jumped on their beds until late into the evening, and then they fell asleep, exhausted. If only Grandma had seen them…

The girl wasn’t worried about Otto. She was sure that Grandma was capable of anything, and finding a lost archaeologist in the jungle should not pose too much of a problem.

In the afternoon, however, Grandma phoned with bad news. “I couldn’t find Otto. I’m coming back. I’ll be home tomorrow evening.”