Somewhere towards the end of town, in a small cottage surrounded by a spacious garden, lived the red-haired Anne with her mother. Her father, whom she visited from time to time in a distant town, had left the house long ago – so long ago that she could no longer remember it clearly. Actually, her real name was Anne Ravenhead, but everyone simply called her ‘Firecurl’. It didn’t bother her; somehow the name suited her perfectly.

 Chapter One: The River in the Box

Somewhere towards the end of town, in a small cottage surrounded by a spacious garden, lived the red-haired Anne with her mother. Her father, whom she visited from time to time in a distant town, had left the house long ago – so long ago that she could no longer remember it clearly. Actually, her real name was Anne Ravenhead, but everyone simply called her ‘Firecurl’. It didn’t bother her; somehow the name suited her perfectly.

Anne was nine years old, but tall for her age, with a round, freckled face, a little snub nose, and a wild fringe that constantly flopped into her eyes. Although she was already quite a big girl, she still loved playing with toys – of which there were heaps in the house. I say ‘heaps’ because most of them could be found scattered all around in the form of piles of broken parts and pieces. You see, Anne had a terrible temper. She wasn’t easy to live with – especially for the toys, though they never complained. It wasn’t that she didn’t love them or care for them – on the contrary, Anne was usually a very considerate child – but sometimes…

Sometimes she would be overtaken by a sudden fury, and then hard times would come for the toys. The sweet, kind-hearted girl would vanish as if by magic, replaced by a sullen, rather nasty creature who stalked about, looking for something – or someone – to pick a fight with. Woe betide any toys that crossed her path during those times! Usually, all that remained of them were torn pieces or broken bits. Mum, who got extremely annoyed by this, had more than once threatened serious punishment. Somehow, though, it always turned out that either the punishment wasn’t so very serious, or Mum, who was incredibly busy, simply forgot about it – and after a few days, everything would be forgiven and forgotten. Much to the despair of the poor toys, of course.

The story I want to tell you began on just such a difficult day. In fact, it was a beautiful day – for everyone except Anne. It was the beginning of the summer holidays: warm enough to play outside all day long, but not yet so hot as to be uncomfortable.

Firecurl had spent almost the whole day in the garden, trying to finish the tepee she had started building a few days earlier. But it was tough going. Nothing ever seemed to work properly. Something would always fall apart, or else it would look so silly that she would pull it down herself. Mum, as always, was preoccupied with urgent work, sitting at her computer all day, tense and distracted, and so she was no help. To make matters worse, every other child in the neighbourhood seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. After long hours of stubborn effort, Anne finally decided it wasn’t worth the trouble and went back indoors.

The cottage, though small, was cosy and charming. On the ground floor there was a large kitchen-dining room, next to it Mum’s bedroom, and beyond that the ‘everything room’: a big storage space full of old and useless things. Anne sometimes spent entire days there, inventing adventures full of winding paths and labyrinths. But today she wasn’t in the mood. She went straight upstairs instead, where Mum’s study and her own room were.

To say that Anne’s room usually looked tidy would be an exaggeration. With Mum’s help, she managed to keep it more or less in order – but only on days better than today. Frankly, her room today looked as if a herd of frisky baby elephants had just stampeded through it. Pens, pencils, and crayons were strewn across the desk. Several unfinished drawings lay near the overturned chair. The bed, which in the morning she had tried to turn into an enchanted castle, now suspiciously resembled the abandoned tepee in the garden. The contents of most of the shelves and boxes were scattered over the floor – the result of her desperate search for tools for the building project. And her poor toys, forlorn and battered, lay everywhere, in every possible and impossible corner of the room.

Anne entered the room, shooting murderous glances in every direction, looking for something to take her anger out on. But it didn’t come to that. With one glance, she realised that someone had been rummaging through her things – and there was no way she was going to let that go unpunished.

‘Who dared?’ she spluttered in rage, then shouted at the top of her lungs, ‘Muuu-uum!’

‘What is it?’ Mum called back. She wasn’t in the best of moods herself, being desperately late with another translation. ‘Can’t you keep your voice down?’

‘Have you been tidying my room?’

‘Tidying? Hardly. I was just looking for my scissors. And I still need them, by the way.’

‘You’ll find them in the bathroom,’ Anne snapped.

‘In the bathroom? Whatever for?’

‘My new doll had lice. I had to do something about it.’

‘You – what?’

Anne watched as Mum charged into the bathroom – and then reappeared, holding a mutilated, bald-headed doll.

‘This… this is outrageous!’ Mum was so furious that Anne was taken aback. ‘We only bought her a week ago, and now she’s ruined! Well, you’re not getting away with it this time. Listen carefully: no new toys until Christmas. I’ve had it with all this smashing and breaking!’

Firecurl was hesitating – should she carry on sulking, or admit her guilt – when the doorbell rang. She seized the excuse gladly and tore down the stairs. Perhaps in the confusion she could come up with something better than a sheepish apology.

Downstairs, however, an even bigger surprise awaited her, one that made her forget the doll entirely. Standing at the door was a tall, elderly gentleman. He looked so strange that Anne was startled at first. He was wearing a long coat that almost swept the ground (Anne broke into a sweat just thinking how hot he must be in it), and perched atop his head was a tall top hat decorated with shining golden stars. His gaunt, angular face, topped with a thick beard that reached down to his chest, might have looked rather frightening – if not for his eyes, which gleamed with such mischievous good humour even under the heaviest eyebrows Anne had ever seen.

‘Good evening,’ said the gentleman. His voice sounded unexpectedly young. ‘My name is Nerod Laptsev. I deal in toys. May I come in for a moment?’

Anne was so surprised that, before she really knew what was happening, she was already leading him up the wooden staircase. The old, battered trunk he dragged behind him squeaked at every step.

‘Mum, Mum! Mr… umm…’ Anne turned to the old man for help.

‘Laptsev. Nerod Laptsev,’ he supplied, smiling.

‘Mr Laptsev sells toys. His whole big trunk is full of them!’

Completely forgetting about the ruined doll, Anne was already dreaming about the marvellous treasures hidden inside the old trunk.

‘Perhaps I can explain a little better,’ said Mr Laptsev. ‘The word “salesman” is a little misleading, I’m afraid. I belong to an ancient, though sadly dwindling, guild. Among ourselves, we call ourselves “toy keepers”. But as that term means little to most people, we prefer to introduce ourselves as salesmen. I hope you will forgive this small… inaccuracy.’

Mum, who had been listening closely, now fixed Mr Laptsev with a long, wary stare. He, however, seemed completely unfazed, standing calmly in the middle of the landing, leaning on his large trunk.

‘Would you mind explaining a little more precisely what it is you do?’ she asked. ‘Some kind of restoration work, I suppose?’

‘Oh no, dear lady,’ replied Mr Laptsev with a little bow. ‘My main task is to seek out and rescue toys belonging to endangered species.’

‘Endangered species? Toys?’ Mum burst out laughing. ‘Then you’ve come to the right place! Our house is full of them. Mr Laptsev, you’re about to strike the bargain of your life!’

The old gentleman gave a courteous bow.

‘Exactly so, Madam.’

Now Mum really did look confused, though she did her best not to show it.

‘Well now, let’s be serious,’ she said, much more coolly. ‘What is it you’re trying to sell us?’

‘I fear I may sound rude, Madam, but there is always only one answer I give to that question: nothing.’

‘I’m sorry, but I still don’t quite understand. Are you selling toys, or buying them?’

‘Let us rather say, dear lady, that I exchange toys – if I happen to find any that interest me, of course.’

Mum’s face visibly relaxed.

‘Ah, now I’m beginning to understand. You’re a collector. But I don’t think you’ll have much luck here. Nothing around this house survives longer than a few months. Poor things.’

‘That does not matter,’ replied Mr Laptsev. ‘May I take a closer look?’

‘If you’ve been to war, you might just survive the sight. Go ahead.’

The next fifteen minutes were pure torture for Anne. She was so curious to see what was inside the trunk that she could hardly keep herself from urging Mr Laptsev to hurry. And yet he, as if deliberately, seemed completely absorbed, slowly and meticulously examining all the toys he found in the room. For some he even used a small magnifying glass he pulled from his pocket.

Every now and then he muttered under his breath, and once or twice he jotted something down in a tiny notebook. Mum, back at her computer, clattered away at the keyboard, clearly unfazed by his presence. But for Anne, time dragged by like thick treacle. Several times she tried to signal her impatience by coughing loudly. For a moment, she even thought about prompting him to get a move on – but surprisingly, she didn’t dare. Something about him made her feel awkward. And besides, most of the toys really did look so battered and broken that she felt a little ashamed. What if he found nothing interesting? What if he left without even opening the trunk?

For a fleeting second, Firecurl felt a pang of regret – if only there were a single whole toy left! But Anne was a practical girl and rarely wasted time on such thoughts. If he liked something, great; if not – well, so be it.

‘Hmm…’ Mr Laptsev finally said at last. ‘I see. You were quite right, Madam,’ he added, turning to Mum, who had immediately appeared at the door. ‘There is nothing here… substantial. However, to make sure you do not feel I have wasted your time, I should like to show you a little surprise. Otherwise, my visit would hardly have been worth the trouble – wouldn’t you agree?’

He bent over the trunk, opened it, and slowly drew out a large, flat box. It was strange: Anne could have sworn the box was bigger than the trunk – yet she had seen him pull it out before her very eyes. She had little time to ponder this, however, because the old man was already opening the box and placing it carefully on the floor.

At first, Anne thought it might be some kind of television – someone had once told her that in Japan they had televisions you could watch from all sides. But almost immediately she realised this was something far stranger. Mum, who was not slow to understand either, had already crouched down beside the box, examining it with a kind of cautious reverence.

Inside the box, a river was flowing.

Of course, the river was just one part of it – it was obvious this was some kind of game, although Anne had never seen anything remotely like it before. In the far left-hand corner, directly beneath Mr Laptsev’s resting elbow, rose a mountain – so high and steep that Anne couldn’t imagine how it fitted inside a box so flat. The river cleft the mountain in two, rushing furiously through the narrow canyon between the halves, before calming and spreading wide over the hilly countryside that made up the rest of the game. The hills were mostly covered in dense forest, but here and there were clearings where tiny creatures – no bigger than bugs – moved about. Scattered throughout were charming miniature buildings: a watermill, a little fishing jetty, a treehouse perched in the branches of a giant tree, reached by an ingenious system of tiny ladders. Even the clouds drifting just under the lid looked astonishingly real, moving slowly across the mountaintops.

The sight was so incredible that Anne couldn’t utter a word. She simply stood staring, wide-eyed and unblinking. The old man, clearly pleased by the effect he had produced, smiled softly.

‘That’s amazing!’ said Mum after a long silence. ‘I can hardly believe my eyes. Whatever will technology come up with next!’

‘Well, a somewhat forgotten technology, if you’ll allow me to say so, Madam. This game is much older than we might imagine.’

Anne’s head was spinning with excitement. She had so many questions that she didn’t know where to begin. What kind of a game was this? Where had the old man found it? What did he mean by “old”, when everything about it looked brand new?

But there was no time for questions. Before she could stop herself, she had already blurted out, ‘I want it!’ And then all other thoughts vanished from her mind – the only thing she knew for certain was that she would rather die on the spot than part from the magical game.

Mum, who had herself been unable to tear her eyes from the box, reluctantly straightened up and put an arm around Anne’s shoulders.

‘Ah, darling, I don’t think we could ever afford such a luxury. That game must cost a fortune.’ She looked towards the old man for confirmation. ‘Isn’t that right, Mr Laptsev?’

‘Frankly speaking, the value of such a game can hardly be measured in money.’

‘I want it!’ Anne repeated, biting her lip hard to stop the tears from coming.

‘But Anne…’ Mum began, not very convincingly, already sensing how hopeless the situation was becoming.

‘I want it!’ cried Firecurl again, clenching her fists tightly. Try as she might, she could think of nothing else to say, and the frustration only made her angrier.

‘I understand,’ said Mr Laptsev. ‘In cases like this, our practice allows for a special rule, which states–’

‘I want it!’

‘–which states that, by exception, a game may be loaned out for a few days. I would be delighted to make use of that rule.’

‘Anne, did you hear? The gentleman is willing to lend us the game!’ Mum seized on the idea like the proverbial drowning man clutching at straws.

‘Only a few days?’ asked Anne, disappointed, but then quickly added, ‘All right, all right – I agree.’

She knelt down by the box and tried to catch one of the tiny creatures, which sprang away like lightning.

‘Anne!’ Mum called out sharply.

‘What? … Oh yes. Thank you. Thank you very much.’

‘Not at all,’ said Mr Laptsev with a smile. ‘It’s simply part of my work.’

‘But we haven’t offered you anything in return,’ said Mum, a little awkwardly.

‘Well, yes, things here have got somewhat out of hand. But let’s be optimistic and hope it applies only to the toys. In any case, we’ll soon find out in practice.’

The old man reached into the pocket of his coat, pulled out a huge watch, glanced at it, and suddenly sprang into action.

‘Goodness, how time flies! Madam, it has been a great pleasure… Until next week, then.’

‘But you haven’t left us even a phone number!’ Mum sounded flustered, almost embarrassed.

Mr Laptsev, already at the threshold, turned and looked at her in surprise.

‘Number? What number?’ For a moment he looked puzzled, then tapped his forehead. ‘Ah, yes… I’m terribly absent-minded. No need, actually – I’ll find you myself. Goodbye, Madam. Goodbye, Anne.’

He hesitated briefly, then added before stepping out:

‘I wish you… strength.’

Mum, still confused and uneasy, stood in the doorway for a long time, tapping thoughtfully on the doorframe.

***

Anne was furious. It was the second day the game had refused to move.

And yet everything had started off wonderfully, and the first few days had flown by without her even noticing. She had been so captivated that, if it hadn’t been for Mum, she would have forgotten to eat altogether. At night she would throw herself into bed, utterly exhausted. The magic game had kept offering surprise after surprise. At first, Firecurl had tried to catch one of the tiny creatures inside – but after being pricked (or perhaps bitten) and bled, she had quickly given up on that idea.

Then she busied herself with exploring the landscape. There wasn’t much to see among the dense little trees, but she managed to establish that animals lived only on the near side of the river. The two halves of the game – this side and the far side – looked very different. On the near side there were occasional clearings, while on the far side stretched a virtually impenetrable forest. Even the colours were different: this side was dotted with cheerful splashes of red, yellow, and brown, while the other side was a monotonous blue-green, broken here and there by grey patches, as if some sickness had attacked the trees. Even the birds flitting about seemed to avoid the far side. What the reason for this was, Anne could not discover – and, truth be told, she wasn’t too interested in racking her brains over it. She soon contented herself with exploring the near side.

And it was full of marvellous things. The little watermill wheel turned, cheerfully clattering; the tree-house swayed gently with the breeze; and in the canyon between the mountain peaks, Anne discovered a tiny waterfall – small and comically bad-tempered in its size, but beautiful and endlessly fascinating all the same. Altogether, she had been having a wonderful time – until yesterday, when the game had suddenly stopped working.

At first, Anne refused to believe the magic was over. She sulked at Mum, who tried to calm her down, then examined the box from all sides to see if anything was broken – but finally she had to admit defeat. And that made her so furious that she could barely contain herself.

‘Are you going to move, or do I have to smash your stupid face in?’

‘Anne, stop it!’ Mum called sharply from the next room. ‘I’ve told you a hundred times: it’s probably just the batteries.’

‘Batteries, my foot! That old man palmed us off with some cheap rubbish – but I’ll show him!’

She jabbed at the river, which had turned into something like solid jelly. ‘Just let me find a way to open you up!’

‘I don’t want to hear that tone again! Leave the game alone and find something else to do. You’ve been driving me mad all day!’

‘Yeah, yeah…’

If Mum hadn’t been so exhausted, she might have noticed the dangerous note creeping into Anne’s voice – the kind that usually meant she had made up her mind to do something. But whether from tiredness or sheer exasperation, she chose to end the conversation and shut her door firmly behind her.

Anne had been waiting for just that. Without wasting a second, she rummaged through the shelves and drawers until she found the big hammer. Then she marched towards the box, lips pressed tightly together, brow furrowed. Slowly, she raised the hammer high above her head, hesitated a moment – as if expecting the game to come to its senses at the last second – then muttered through clenched teeth:

‘If you won’t make peace, you’ll get the axe!’

Bang!

The heavy hammer crashed down right onto the middle of the game, somewhere between the mill and the fishing jetty. But to Anne’s great amazement, nothing broke. The hammer simply bounced away as if it had hit rubber. She stood still for a few seconds, unable to believe her eyes.

Then she realised that something had indeed happened. Bending closer, she saw that the whole game was now covered by a faint bluish-grey glow, like a thin, transparent veil.

At the same time, a little wisp of smoke appeared in the middle, which quickly began to grow.

Anne started to panic. She wanted to run for Mum – but to her horror, she found she couldn’t move.

Terrified, she tried to scream – but her mouth wouldn’t open. She fought with all her strength against the invisible force that held her – but it was like being trapped in thick mud. She couldn’t move so much as an eyelid.

Meanwhile, the smoke had grown into a tall funnel, spinning furiously and slowly edging towards her. Just a few days earlier, Firecurl had watched a programme about tropical storms on TV, and now she realised with horror: it wasn’t smoke – it was a little tornado.

Her arm lifted on its own and stretched out towards the mouth of the funnel.

‘No, no, no!’ she tried to scream – but only managed to feebly reach out her hand, helplessly watching as the tornado began to suck her in.

Her body grew thinner, twisting like a cartoon character. The invisible force lifted her gently, turned her upside down, and pushed her headfirst into the spinning funnel.

‘Like a scoop of ice cream in a waffle cone,’ Anne thought faintly.

Then she lost all sense of direction – and let herself drift. Somehow, she no longer cared what happened next.