Professor Layton and the Wandering Castle


Unable to sleep last night, I mocked up this draft of the translation for the first part of Professor Layton and the Wandering Castle (レイトン教授とさまよえる城), the first Professor Layton novel and not yet translated into English. It really didn’t take long but my workload is going to get heavier as I start a new job next week, so this is all for now. Enjoy! Sorry it’s a bit awkward in places!

Professor Layton and the Wandering Castle (Part one)

A peculiar article had made the front page of today’s London Times.

The largest headline was ‘Test Flight for Huge Airship.” With a total length of 240 metres it was the world’s largest airship, and there were photos of it floating in the open sky. No longer just a dream, through the sponsorship of the London Times a regular sky service has been started between London and New York.

Other headlines included ‘Thieves Attack Jewellery Store’, ‘Elephant Escapes from Penny’s Circus’, and so on.

There were many curious incidents, for me the most interesting had to be the elephant that escaped from the circus. It seems the elephant has still not been found, but where on earth could it have disappeared? There is nowhere to hide an entire elephant, I wonder if it is still in London? This is certainly something you rarely see these days, I suppose you could call it a great mystery.

I am Luke. I like nothing more than solving mysterious incidents and puzzles. Although I am still young, I am the assistant of Professor Hershel Layton.

Have you heard of Professor Layton?

As an archaeologist he is the foremost researcher of mysterious things. The number of problems he has solved is uncountable, and his exceptional skills are even picked up by the newspapers (he is also a popular topic among the children of London).

Being Professor Layton’s assistant is tough, but I don’t care, no matter how much of a fuss it can be. He spends his days immersed in research, buried in hieroglyphs and ancient, dusty clay tablets. An elegant and witty John Bull (English gentleman), with an unrivalled love of puzzles, even in everyday life he will not miss an opportunity to discover a little mystery.

One fine Sunday, I set out with a book called ‘Mysterious Legends’ in one hand and a lunchbox in the other.

I went to Winston hill in the London suburbs, where the breeze was gentle. Rolling green hills continued all around, and in the distance I could see the dotted, pleasant figures of sheep grazing on the grass. The warm winds and the cool winds crossed the hill alternately, shaking the branches of the willows.

When I lie down on this hill inside the stone circle ideas come to me, one after another. This hill was used for ancient rituals and is full of an invisible, mysterious energy that cannot be seen by eyes alone.

I re-read the pages of ‘Mysterious Legends’. ‘Mysterious Legends’ is a book that was written long ago that compiles the various legends of our country.

I have to finish reading it today and hand by report in to my teacher. This part of the book was from a little old man’s story found hidden in an old closet about the repeated reincarnations of a frog that becomes a desk and then became some wheat. I could not really call it a mystery but it was a cute story about a succession of different things.

Surely there are more amusing stories in here, like a suspenseful thriller? While turning the pages and mumbling my disappointment, a peculiar description sprang into view:

“In the evening the wandering castle walks.

There are two moons in the sky, beyond the glittering and twinkling darkness the castle stands quietly.

Sometimes it appears on the sea.

Among myriads of fox-fires it drifts on the waves, the towering castle illuminated eerily.

There are many pale fires burning on the castle spires. St Elmo’s fire.

Perhaps it is the fire that holy Saint Erasmus pointed out, to calm the stormy sea?

No, it is not.

That is a cursed lamp, for the ship which is guided by that light will be shipwrecked.

Before the ship sinks, a strange but eerily beautiful song flows down from the castle into the world.

The song of a bard, a minstrel, who has been singing since ancient times. Sometimes it is filled with a passing sorrow, or sometimes it is so terribly frightening that it makes the darkness tremble.

The immortal bard continues to wander with the castle forever.

Now searching for the soul of a dead lover.

People called this castle the Wandering Castle…”