The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,106

view to dragging him down into their damp, worm-infested world below ground. He must get out of here fast! He was still on the outskirts of the cemetery; he had only to turn and go.

But he stayed where he was. The smell of Toadmoss was stronger than ever. It was luring him straight into the stone forest.

What should he do? He shuffled irresolutely from paw to paw. Why should that confounded moss be growing in the middle of a cemetery, of all places? Why had that stupid Uggly failed to mention the fact? It wouldn’t have hurt her to give him a little prior warning.

On the other hand, would he have gone at all? Izanuela knew only too well what she was doing and what was better left unsaid. He pulled himself together. She wanted some Toadmoss and Toadmoss she should have. He had no wish to give her the satisfaction of calling him a scaredy-Crat. If she herself had crossed this graveyard unscathed, why shouldn’t he be able to do the same? He set off, heading for the heart of the burial place.

Many of the graves looked very old; others, judging by the look of the soil, had been dug not long ago. Here and there, empty graves without headstones awaited their future occupants. Rainwater had turned one of them into a big puddle whose surface reflected the moon. Echo shivered.

The stench of Toadmoss was now so strong that he must be getting very close. He took another few steps. Sure enough, the penetrating smell was coming from an open grave just ahead of him. He went up to the edge and peered into it.

Ensconced in the grave was a gigantic frog. Its dark-green body, which was covered with black warts, was so big that it occupied almost half the pit. Staring up at Echo with turbid yellow eyes, it opened its slimy mouth and uttered the throaty sound he’d already heard more than once.

‘A cat?’ the creature muttered to itself. ‘What’s a cat doing here?’

Echo took advantage of this to strike up a conversation. ‘I’m not a cat,’ he said, ‘I’m a Crat.’

‘You speak my language?’

‘Yes,’ said Echo. ‘My, you’re a frog and a half!’

‘You’re wrong there. I’m not a frog, I’m a toad.’

Echo’s head swam. If this was a toad, there probably wasn’t any Toadmoss here at all. He’d been following the smell of the toad, not the moss. That was logical. What smelt more like a toad than a toad?

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, thoroughly disconcerted. ‘I was looking for some Toadmoss. You smell so much like that plant, I thought -’

‘Wrong again,’ the toad broke in. ‘I don’t smell like Toadmoss, Toadmoss smells like me. There’s a subtle difference. This forest is called the Toadwoods, not the Toadmoss Woods.’

‘You’re right,’ Echo said politely. ‘I made a mistake, as I said.’

‘Wrong yet again. You didn’t.’

‘Didn’t I? How so?’

‘See this green stuff on my back? What do you think it is?’

‘You mean it’s …’

The toad nodded.

‘Toadmoss. The only Toadmoss growing in the Toadwoods.’

Echo didn’t know what to think. On the one hand he had found some Toadmoss at last; on the other it was growing on the back of a monstrous and rather vicious-looking creature residing in a grave. He had hoped to scrape some off a root somewhere, but it now looked as if obtaining the stuff would present certain problems.

‘You’d like some of my moss, is that it?’ asked the toad.

‘Yes indeed!’ said Echo, relieved that the monster had broached the subject itself.

‘No moss would be your loss, eh?’

Echo forced a laugh.

‘Sorry,’ said the toad, ‘I couldn’t resist that. It’s the only joke I know.’

‘That’s quite all right,’ said Echo. ‘I’m afraid it’s only too true. Without your moss I’m completely stumped. It’s a bit difficult to explain, but the long and the short of it is that unless I take some of your moss home I shall lose my life in the very near future.’

‘Oh,’ said the toad, ‘that’s sad. Is it for the old crone who keeps scraping it off my back?’

‘Exactly,’ said Echo. ‘You know her, then?’

‘I most certainly do. She always squirts some stuff up my nose before she scrapes it off. It makes me go all dizzy and my head swims for days afterwards. There’s absolutely no need for her to do that - I’d gladly give her the stuff of my own free will. I’m only too delighted when someone scrapes some off from time to time. It itches, that’s