By Jostein Gaarder
Panina Manina, a trapeze artist, falls and breaks her neck. because the ringmaster bends over her, he sees round her neck an amber charmjust just like the one he gave his personal baby earlier than she used to be swept away in a torrent sixteen years past. This story is narrated via Petter, a precocious baby and a fantasist, and maybe Jostein Gaarder’s so much exciting construction given that Sophie. Petter makes his residing promoting tales and ideas to authors being affected by writer’s block. It’s a profitable alternate, yet as he sits like a spider within the heart of his internet, Petter unearths himself in a seize of his personal making. Jostein Gaarder is the writer of Sophie's World, an incredible bestseller in over forty nations.
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The things we’ll see, he thought. The images I can create, the routes I will map, the details I can write. And someday, perhaps, future Voyagers will pore over my book, and they will learn. Ramus opened his bottle of ink and chose his finest quill. On the first page of the book he wrote: The Final Voyage of Ramus Rheel Year 143, Age of Expansion In the company of Nomi Hyden He sat back and stared at the page. When he turned it over, the stark white of the next sheet suddenly seemed emptier than ever.
Nomi,” Beko said. She turned around, looking back into the cavern of a room. ” Then she shut the door, climbed the steps to the street and went to find a runner. qxp 1/28/08 7:43 AM Page 29 Chapter 2 R A M U S S A T J U S T inside the library entrance, holding his head and hissing as the pain receded. His vision and hearing throbbed with each heartbeat, but the nausea was passing. Not now, he thought. Not while I need all my wits about me. He grasped the rolled parchment pages in his left hand, and they too seemed to pulse with each beat of his heart.
Chasing myself, he thought. Chasing my own mortality. He bought breakfast from an early street vendor and ate while he was walking. His bags were heavy, containing several books, his clothing and weapons and a roll of maps, including the new one he had made yesterday. But he felt fit and ready, and he enjoyed breaking a sweat as he climbed the hill and headed south. Dawn painted the horizon to the east, but shadows still ruled the streets, though most were shrinking back to wait out the day. Once or twice he heard a whisper as he passed, and he looked down at his feet, not wishing to attract attention.
The Ringmaster's Daughter by Jostein Gaarder