The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,117
for a more opportune time. The Crat hunt had tired him out. He shut his eyes. A minute later he was asleep.
He dreamt that he himself was the Alchemaster’s castle and that all the Ugglies in Zamonia had moved into it in order to hold a curious celebration of some kind. They tore off their clothes and went cavorting along the passages, which were his own intestines, tickling the inside of his tummy with their dancing feet until he was awakened by his own laughter.
The sun was already low in the sky. ‘Oh dear,’ he thought, ‘I’ve slept through half a day’s worth of opportunities to slip the potion into his drink.’
He hurried back to the laboratory and peered in. It stank abominably of sulphur and phosphorus. Ghoolion was nowhere to be seen, but there beside an open book on a workbench stood a glass of red wine. It was half full.
What should he do? It was growing late and this might be his last chance of the day. Perhaps Ghoolion hadn’t liked the wine and wouldn’t touch it again. Where was he, anyway, and when would he return? In an hour? Any minute? A hundred questions raced through Echo’s mind. What would Izanuela do in his place? That was beside the point, though, it was up to him to decide. Why hadn’t she brewed enough of the potion for more than one attempt? Now it was all or nothing!
He jumped up on the workbench and circled the glass irresolutely. Was there anything wrong with the wine’s appearance? Not that he could see. He went closer and sniffed it. Hm, not bad. Or was it? He didn’t possess Ghoolion’s powers of discrimination, his nose or palate, his familiarity with the noble juice. This might be absolute rotgut or a superb vintage wine. He didn’t know.
He sat up on his haunches and rested his forepaws on the rim of the glass. They had practised this manoeuvre often enough. Right, now to remove the stopper from the wineskin with his teeth. Careful now … Pop! Done it!
The potent effect of the love potion caught Echo wholly unprepared. He’d forgotten all about it! The strangest sensation came over him. Must he really waste this precious nectar on an old bogeyman like Ghoolion? Out of the question! It was his alone!
His head swam. He swayed, the glass wobbled, the wine slopped to and fro. He came within an ace of falling over complete with the glass and the unstoppered wineskin, but he let go and came down on all fours. A drop or two of the precious fluid splashed the tablecloth.
‘That’s a good start,’ he thought. ‘I nearly botched the whole thing. Pull yourself together! This potion is for Ghoolion, nobody else.’
There! He could hear the Alchemaster’s clattering footsteps - he was coming up the stairs already! ‘Start again from scratch!’ he told himself. ‘Up on your haunches, one forepaw on the rim of the glass, the other on the wineskin. Now squeeze!’ A thin, arcing jet of clear liquid spurted into the glass.
‘But not all of it, surely?’ he thought. ‘Surely I’m allowed a taste? Just a taste?’
He put out his tongue and craned his neck. Instantly, everything went haywire again: Echo himself, the glass, the whole of their well-laid plan. He thrust himself away, and the last few drops of potion spurted into the air. The glass wobbled on its circular base, the wine sloshed against the rim. Then the glass came to rest in its original position.
Echo listened with a pounding heart. Ghoolion was just outside the door now. Mission accomplished! Only a little of the love potion had been wasted, but it was too late for him to beat a retreat. He mustn’t be seen with the wineskin strapped to his body, so he would have to hide somewhere in the laboratory itself. He jumped down off the table and darted over to a bookcase he knew Ghoolion seldom used. Squeezing between two thick tomes, he lay down flat in the space behind them. Then he cautiously peered through the crack between the books. The Alchemaster was just coming in - with a bottle of wine in his hand.
‘Damnation,’ thought Echo, ‘he didn’t like that wine. I knew it! He’s gone and fetched himself another bottle.’
Ghoolion went over to the wine glass. Held it up to the light of an Anguish Candle. Sniffed it.
‘Surely his sensitive snout won’t detect the love potion?’ Echo thought. ‘Please not!’