Dralon and The Adventure in the Contrary World (English version)

The Road That's Not There

Abigore descended the winding stairs, supported by Gastogne, his trusted talking cane. He went as fast as a supercentenarian could go – especially one afflicted by rheumatism and cataracts. At every step, he pushed aside piles of ticking clocks which obstructed his way. When he arrived on the ground floor, he limped through the long corridor covered by worn-out purple wallpaper, which was barely visible under rows of family portraits. His numerous and varied family had seen generations of magicians, wizards, and fortune tellers: Aunt Siberia Arckright, Aunt Malvasia Toddington, Uncle Corvelio, Aunt Partenope Finnigan, Great-great-grandfather Malverick of Canterbury, Great-grandmother Timeline Tubble, Great-uncle the Duke of Horwood, Great-grandfather Eric Chessmate, and then... him. Abigore's eyes stopped, as if attracted by a magnet, on the painting by Sir Vinyl Thinkeling Doyle, his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-uncle on his mother's side.

It was thanks to Sir Doyle that, in the year 1119, the earth had avoided a perennial lunar eclipse. Doyle had also discovered the medicinal properties of shooting star dust mixed with wild moss and devil-fish tears, had invented extraordinary spells, such as the one which removes and restores powers, and had blended innovative and prodigious potions, such as the Tempus Duraturis Stregorum. For these and many more reasons, Sir Doyle was considered one of the most brilliant alchemists and astrologers in the history of magic. It was he who bequeathed to Abigore the most valuable title of Reader and Translator of Enchanted Signs. It was a title which many aspired to obtain, and for which Abigore was undoubtedly grateful, even if it had caused him much trouble and worry over the course of his long life.

Abigore didn't know why, but his uncle's portrait had always made him shudder. Maybe it was the grim colors, or the enquiring eyes which seemed to judge him with reproach and sternness. He had never liked that painting, not at all.

He stared for some moments at those hypnotic eyes. He had a strong feeling Doyle was about to tell him something, as if he wanted to share with him an oppressing secret. Maybe he wanted to warn his nephew of imminent danger. Or, more likely, Abigore thought, he wanted to criticize his miserable and incapable descendent who had become, against all expectations, the shame and disgrace of his family name.

Abigore sniffled and snorted bitterly at his forefather, lifting his chin in defiance. He fixed the crooked frame with the tip of his cane, then continued to hobble along the tight corridor which kept rising, descending, twisting, narrowing, and tilting as it became longer and more convoluted. Any common visitor would wonder what architectural genius had created such a useless gallery without doors, windows, openings, handles, locks, holes, nor fissures.

The only things that were plentiful in this place were the unbearable smell of mold that saturated even the walls, the webs which climbed everywhere like ivy branches, and the extensive collection of disturbing family paintings which roughly patched the bare tunnel as remnants of material patch-up a worn out dress.

This is just what a common visitor would see. A close and careful – very careful – look would reveal more secrets than one could imagine.

After what seemed to be an interminable time, Abigore finally arrived in front of a dusty and rough, grey stonewall. He brought his handkerchief to his forehead. Then, still panting after the wearisome walk, he stopped to listen. The excited voices of the Puddleclock brothers in the hall and the complaints of Mrs. Briggs, the old Indian governess who was stressing out in the kitchen over a turkey to be stuffed for dinner, were faint, as if coming from another house. Everything else was as quiet as usual.

Confused, he scratched his tangled grey hair. With some uncertainty he stroke the naked stone with his cane, hoping something would happen. Everything kept still and silent.