The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,130
so.’
‘It’s, er … glorious.’ Izanuela croaked the words, digging her fingers into her floral gown.
‘She must get over her fear before she asks him,’ thought Echo. ‘She must put her request in a self-assured tone of voice, not with a dry throat.’
Ghoolion drew several deep breaths, then pointed downwards. ‘You see Malaisea?’ he said to Izanuela. ‘The town makes such a tranquil, benevolent impression from up here, yet every house is occupied by people who hate me.’
He laughed.
‘And why do they hate me? Because they’re afraid of me. I have to put the fear of God into them in order to control them, otherwise they’d march up the hill and tear me to pieces. It’s an endless vicious circle. If you only knew how tired of it I am. How weary it makes me.’
The Alchemaster was clearly in a philosophical mood, just as Echo had hoped. But they must keep their nerve and take care not to rush things. The Uggly must calm down first. They must wait for the ideal moment.
‘May I take a last look at the lake of milk?’ Echo asked diffidently.
Ghoolion looked down at him.
‘You liked that, didn’t you?’ He grinned. ‘I thought you might like to visit it again, so I refilled it with fresh milk.’ He turned to Izanuela. ‘Would you care to accompany us, my blossom? It’s a bit of a climb.’
‘No thanks,’ she said hastily. ‘I’d sooner stay here and, er, enjoy the view.’
‘Let’s go, then.’ Ghoolion relaxed his grip on the chain and allowed Echo to precede him up the steps. The wind had got up and it was growing warmer, just as he had predicted.
‘You may not believe me,’ he said, ‘but I shall miss your company. Your presence has a beneficial effect on me. I’m reluctant to dispense with it.’
‘Very flattering,’ said Echo. ‘You could always change your mind, of course.’
‘If only it were that simple,’ Ghoolion sighed. ‘The die is cast, I’m afraid. Tonight’s the night!’
‘Are you really sure it’ll work? The experiment, I mean?’
‘One can never be absolutely sure. Every venture contains the seeds of failure. Any experiment can go wrong.’
Echo recalled Izanuela’s moment of weakness on the stairs. She had said something very persuasive.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘sometimes it can be better to abandon a venture than come to grief. Better not to climb a mountain than fall to your death. Better not to cross a desert than die of thirst. You can still tell yourself you might have succeeded.’
‘That’s an overly convenient attitude to doing one’s duty.’ Ghoolion laughed. ‘It isn’t mine. I’d reproach myself for ever if I didn’t try it. No, you can’t change my mind. Not you, my young friend!’
‘Not me,’ thought Echo, ‘but maybe someone else can.’
They had reached the lake of milk. This time Echo had no eyes for the idyllic beauty of the spot, still less any appetite, but he pretended to drink greedily. He even fished out a crispy roast quail and nibbled it. He had to gain sufficient time for Izanuela to regain her composure.
‘I almost degenerated into a vampire myself,’ said Ghoolion, leading Echo around on his chain, ‘but I eventually realised that day existed as well as night. I want to make it up to Floria. It would really mean a lot to me if you gave us your blessing.’
‘What a nerve!’ Echo thought. ‘He intends to do me in, but he wants my blessing first.’ But he played along with the Alchemaster’s cruel game and said, ‘You can have it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ghoolion. ‘That means a lot to me. In another world I’m sure we would have been good friends.’
Echo nodded. ‘Yes, in another world.’
The sun was now beating down and hot gusts of wind were ruffling the grass. Conditions on the roof were becoming steadily less pleasant.
‘Well,’ said Ghoolion, tugging at Echo’s chain, ‘time’s up. We must go back inside now. Duty calls.’
When they made their way back to Izanuela, Echo could tell from afar that a change had come over her.
Gone were her darting glances and nervous movements. But there was something else. The overpowering scent of Cratmint was stronger than ever before. She had positioned herself so that the wind carried it to Ghoolion’s nostrils when he and Echo were still halfway down the steps.
‘At last,’ thought Echo. ‘She’s recovered her wits.’
‘One!’ said the Uggly, just as they reached her.
‘One on a scale of one to ten,’ Echo amplified in his head. ‘Good, she’s conquered her fear.’