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Zusatztext "What ensues is a magical adventure over sea! into icebergs! and around a whaling ship! reminiscent of Roald Dahl and Lewis Carroll... This nonsensical and fantastical novel explores the ideas of family! sacrifice! and friendship! while celebrating the imagination." Informationen zum Autor Sam Gayton grew up in Kent with a cat called Archibald, a dog called Ruby, a bunch of humans, and a ghost called Kevin. He spent his days playing with Lego, and making comics with his friend Loo Loo. Nowadays, Sam still loves Lego and comics. But he also loves drinking tea (milk, no sugar), eating pizza (pepperoni, extra cheese), and wondering how long he would survive a zombie apocalypse (probably about fourteen minutes). Klappentext Originally published: Great Britain: Anderson Press, 2011.The Adventures of Lettie Peppercorn A Stranger Arrives On a winter night so cold and dark the fires froze in their hearths, snow came to Albion. It came packed up in the suitcase of a stranger. Lettie was the first to see him. The stranger walked up from the harbor, dragging his luggage bump bump bump over the cobbles of Barter town, searching for the sign of the White Horse Inn. He found it on Vinegar Street, swinging from the porch of a house on stilts. Up above, through the little kitchen window, Lettie the landlady watched him come. With her telescope, she traced the long line of footprints etched behind him in muddied frost. She saw him put a hand on the ladder that led to the door and start to climb, up through the black and swirly night. The Wind was so strong it could have whisked away the fingers from his hands, and he wore no gloves. It was the coldest winter Lettie had ever known, and he was by far the coldest guest. His teeth were blue. His hair was white. His fingers were blue. The whites of his eyes were blue, and his pupils were white. “A man with an icicle beard,” she whispered to Periwinkle, who had just flown inside. “Where will we put him? All the beds are taken.” Periwinkle cocked his head and Lettie sighed. For a pigeon, he was a good listener, but he was terrible at conversation. Lettie closed her telescope with a snap and dropped it in her apron pouch. She went into the tiny front room, where her two guests—a Lady from Laplönd and a Bohemian jeweler—sat in armchairs by the hearth. Their real names were signed in the guestbook, but Lettie called them the Walrus and the Goggler. The Lady was the Walrus, because she was fat with whiskers. The jeweler was the Goggler, because she did nothing but stare. They suited Lettie’s names better than their own. “Someone’s coming up,” said the tiny, shrunken Goggler. She hooked her scopical glasses around her ears and flicked down the lenses to glare at the door, her eyes big as saucers. “He will not be having my bed,” said the Walrus. Her wobbly lipstick pouted, her piggy eyes squinted, and her treble chins shook. Lettie had no time to answer before the door flew open. On the porch stood the man with the icicle beard. “I need a room,” he said, “and it must be freezing!” At once, the fire died down to embers. The Wind swept in, and before the Walrus could cover her ears, it snuffed out the ten tiny candles on her chandelier earrings. “Yes,” said the stranger softly. “This will do nicely.” His smile made a cracking sound, and a shard of his icicle beard fell to the floor. Lettie stared. With jitters in her belly, she went to pick up his suitcase, but he shooed her with his hand. “Get away,” he said with a scowl. “Far too delicate.” “I’m not delicate,” she answered. “I’m twelve.” “I was talking about my merchandise,” he snapped, nodding at the mahog...
