The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,145
contract doesn’t preclude me from doing that.’
The Snow-White Widow whirled round. A strand of her hair darted into the furnace and encircled Echo’s neck like a hangman’s noose.
‘Urgh!’ was all Echo could get out.
‘Stop that!’ snapped Ghoolion.
‘If you’re as worried about the little fellow as that, he must be worth a lot to you. Well, he won’t be worth a thing in a minute; he’ll be dead.’
She tightened the noose. White sparks danced before Echo’s eyes.
‘All right,’ said Ghoolion, ‘it’s a deal. I’ll annul the contract. Let go of him.’
‘You agree? Very well.’
She released the noose and withdrew the strand of hair. Echo could breathe again. Panting hard, he subsided on to the floor of the furnace.
‘I’ll annul the contract,’ Ghoolion repeated, ‘but on one condition.’
‘So you’ve got a condition too?’ The Snow-White Widow laughed. ‘When it comes to negotiating contracts, you really do drive a hard bargain. Well, go on, what do you want?’
‘If I tear up the contract and lift the spell, you’ll be free to kill anything or anyone that crosses your path,’ said Ghoolion.
She uttered a groan of delight.
‘With three exceptions,’ he said. ‘Me, for one.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Secondly, the Crat.’
‘Yes, yes, who else?’
‘The inhabitants of Malaisea - all of them. In this town I do the killing.’
The Snow-White Widow groaned again, but not with delight this time. She sounded dismayed.
‘That’s a tough one,’ she said. ‘I’m absolutely famished after all this time. But all right, I’ll restrain myself until I’m on the other side of the Blue Mountains.’
Ghoolion looked out of the window and up at the milk-white moon.
‘I don’t know if you’ve got such a thing as a sense of honour,’ he said gravely, ‘but I’m assuming there’s at least a glimmer of one in every living creature, even a Snow-White Widow.’
He tore the contract into little pieces and threw them into the fire beneath the cauldron of fat. They hissed and gave off blue sparks as the flames reduced them to ashes.
‘Now lift the spell,’ she demanded.
Ghoolion clapped his hands three times.
‘Is that it?’
‘That’s it,’ he replied. His voice was shaking, his forehead beaded with sweat. The Snow-White Widow didn’t move.
‘Now it’s your turn to fulfil your obligations,’ Ghoolion said impatiently. ‘Just go!’
She didn’t budge an inch.
‘My obligations?’ she said in a scornful tone after a long, tense silence. ‘What obligations do you mean? I don’t have any to fulfil. Promises at most.’
It resembled an illusionist’s trick. One moment she was hovering in front of the alchemical furnace, the next she had wound a thick strand of hair round Ghoolion’s neck and pulled it tight. That done, she rose slowly into the air, taking the gasping, struggling Alchemaster with her.
‘There’s nothing, absolutely nothing to prevent me from killing you this instant,’ she said. ‘You and your little friend here, followed by every accursed inhabitant of your accursed, disease-ridden town. Because believe me, I’m totally unacquainted with what you call a sense of honour. What’s it supposed to be? Fear of admitting that one has told a lie? Self-respect? Those are sentiments worthy of children or lunatics.’
Ghoolion’s face had turned blue. His legs were kicking vainly in mid-air.
‘You must remember I’ve a reputation to uphold. What’s your name for me? Queen of Fear? Well, noblesse oblige, my friend. Only the merciless merit a reputation for mercilessness.’
Ghoolion’s eyes were protruding and blood was trickling from his nose. He had almost stopped kicking, his strength was giving out. The Snow-White Widow carried him a little higher.
‘I could hang you now, but I could also inject you with my venom like all the rest. I could simply throw you out of a window like rubbish. Smash you against the walls of your laboratory like a wet rag. Tear you into little strips or render you down in that cauldron. The choice is yours. Which would you prefer?’
Ghoolion’s body went limp. He had ceased to struggle. His spindly hands were quivering a little, but that was all.
‘Yes, I could kill you in any number of ways - torture and torment you to my heart’s content. Instead, I’m going to put you down.’
The Snow-White Widow deposited Ghoolion on the floor like a child discarding a doll it was tired of. His legs gave way. He went down on all fours, gasping for breath. Echo had never seen him so humiliated.
‘I’m going to let you live,’ said the Snow-White Widow. ‘What do you say to that?’
Ghoolion said nothing at all, just sucked in great, greedy gulps of air.