Jens Hoffmann - Simon Knox and the Prophecy of Asragur

There he splashed some water on this face, brushed his teeth and quickly ran the comb once through his hair. "That'll have to do for now", thought Simon, quickly putting on his jeans and t-shirt, randomly stuffing the most necessary things in his travel bag and ran down the stairs into the kitchen, where his mother was sitting behind her newspaper and acting as cool as a cucumber.

She raised her eyebrows over a corner of the paper and looked at Simon. "Good morning, sweetheart. I hope you slept well?" Somehow she had managed to wrap her hair around those huge light-blue curlers.

"Hmm", mumbled Simon. "Is there anymore orange juice?"

"Sit down and eat your eggs, dear, I'll bring you a glass", Patricia replied, laid the paper aside, went to the fridge and returned to the table with a glass of juice. Simon listlessly poked around at his omelette. She studied him.

"Tell me, young man, were you walking around on the roof again last night? Haven't I told you, several times now, not to roll marbles down the gutter? One of these days you're going to tumble down yourself and then all I can do is call the fire brigade, an ambulance and who knows what else. That's not really necessary, is it?" She put the glass of orange juice on the table, all the time keeping a watchful eye on him. It seemed that she was really expecting an answer from him so early in the morning.

"No, that wasn't me", Simon murmured. "I've already rolled all of my marbles down into the rain barrel. I need to fish them out before we leave," he replied absently. Simon was still thinking about that strange platelet he had found between the roof shingles.

Did he really see a face in front of his window last night? And what about that weird scratching sound on the window pane? It seems his mother had also heard something. It was better to keep his thoughts to himself, before he made a fool of himself. Maybe he ought to tell Richie about his discovery after all they had agreed to write to each other.

Patricia hesitated and seemed to be waiting for a more detailed explanation from her son; but then gave up.

"Well then, it must have been a couple of cats", she sighed, sitting back down, making sure her curlers were in place and turning her attention back to the newspaper.

When breakfast was finished, the dishes done and Simon's lunch packed for the trip, he ambled to the rain barrel. He was now hanging upside-down with legs kicking in the air over the battered barrel, which was in the cover of a wild hedge behind the house. With an effort, he retrieved all of the colored marbles from the murky water and dropped them into a small brown leather bag.

Fortunately there was not much rainwater in the barrel so that he crawled back out fairly dry. He looked down: "Thank goodness nothing's dirty", he thought. His mother wouldn't hesitate for a moment to have him change his clothes. And that's the last thing he wanted to do.

"I have to call Richie!", the thought suddenly hit him. "I have to tell him about my discovery!" Simon ran up the stairs to the house two at a time. Standing in the hallway, he stopped and listened. It seemed like his mother was in the bathroom devoting herself to her curlers. He went over to the small, round wooden table next to the stairs, where the telephone was and dialed the Dawson's number. After the third ring, the phone was answered by the shrill but friendly voice of Emma Dawson, Richie's mother.

"Good morning, Mrs. Dawson. This is Simon. May I speak to Richie, please?"

"Simon, how good of you to call one more time", greeting him cheerfully. "I thought you would already be on the way to your aunt. Or will you be leaving tomorrow? Have you already packed, how is Patricia?" She was firing one question after the other at him. Taken aback Simon replied: "Um, yes, today. I'm leaving today. I just have to speak with Richie beforehand!"

"Richard, Richard", Emma Dawson called throughout the house. "Just a moment please, Simon. He'll be right here. Riiichaard! Simon's on the phone. Hurry up, he doesn't have much time!", she shouted loud enough that the neighbors surely knew that he was on the phone. Simon could hear Richie storming down the stairs and Emma Dawson whispering: "... now you can tell him the good news yourself."

"Sure, mum, thanks", Richie panted completely out of breath, snatching the receiver from his mother before she had the chance to pass along all her best regards to Simon's mother.

"Hi Simon", Richie wheezed into the receiver.

"I have something to tell you", both of them hastened to share the news they had.

"OK, you first", said Simon. What did your mother mean by good news?", he wanted to know.

"You won't believe it", Richie began. "My father is going on an expedition during school holidays and I get to go with him", Richie informed his friend excitedly. Simon gave a loud groan and wondered what was so good about this news.

Richie's father, Professor Gerald Dawson, was a biologist and head of the research department for a pharmaceutical company. It wasn't any surprise to Simon that Professor Dawson was once again going on a trip to the far reaches of the world to look for unknown plants. But it surprised Simon that Richie was allowed to accompany his father this time on an expedition that was not completely free of danger.

"We are going to Exmoor, where he wants to compare deposits of certain lichens and mosses with those of Dartmoor", Richie said, drawing Simon back from his thoughts. "In any case he will try to prove that the " Opegrapha fumosa ", an exceedingly rare species of lichens, is not only endemically native to Exmoor", Richie proudly concluded his brief excursion into domestic flora.

"You're travelling to Exmoor?", asked Simon in disbelief as he began to get the point.

"Yes, isn't that great?", Richie rejoiced, jumping for joy and just missed falling on Daphne, the Dawson's chubby cat, who was purring around his legs.

"We'll be staying in a small guest house in Ilfracombe", he continued. "You get it? That means we can spend the school holidays together and have all kinds of fun, Simon. We are leaving bright and early on Wednesday", Richie said, beside himself with joy.

"Oh man, Richie, that's awesome!", Simon enthused.

"You also wanted to tell me something", Richie reminded him.

"Simon, are you ready? We are leaving in five minutes, otherwise you'll miss your train", warned his mother's voice from the bathroom.

"OK, Mum, I'll hurry!", Simon shouted up the stairs.

"Richie, I have to get a few things together here. I'll tell you everything on Wednesday. Let's meet at 3 in the afternoon, in front of Mr. Twiggle's Ice Cream Parlour in Ilfracombe."

"Okey-dokey, I can even take my bicycle along. Dad said, we will drive the delivery truck from his lab", Richie explained, happy that he wouldn't have to use some old rusty bike in Ilfracombe.

They ended the call and Simon raced up the stairs. It won't hurt to take along the album and pictures of ships, he decided and really looked forward to spending holidays with his best friend.

Pensively, his eyes roamed over the desk. That bright round thing was still where he had left it and gleamed in the morning sun. He took in its details again and ran his fingers over the smooth surface. Try as he might, he just couldn't figure out where the strange platelet came from and why it had suddenly appeared on the roof.

"What are you?", he asked thoughtfully. But the scale-shaped thing would not yet reveal its secret. Simon sighed. He would surely figure it out together with Richie. So he packed the shining platelet next to the photo album and photos in a side pocket of the travel bag, snapped it shut and slid down the banister to the hallway.

The summer break promised to become a great adventure and he looked forward more and more to the time he would be spending with Richie; apart from that, there were also Aunt Abygale's blueberry pie and gingerbread cookies that she always had freshly baked in supply.