The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,18

and leap from gable to gable. He burnt with ambition to gauge each step with the utmost care, adjust his position accordingly and find his point of balance. This was the essence of Cratdom; he and his kind might have been created solely for this one purpose: to roam across roofs with feline grace. Echo had progressed in this manner throughout his life, whether along wide streets or narrow walls: as if balancing on a tight-rope above a chasm miles deep. He now felt it had all been a preparation for this moment. The roof of Ghoolion’s castle was a masterpiece of the roofer’s art, as perfect as if it had been constructed by some fanatical Crat lover of long ago and left to weather picturesquely, just so that Echo could promenade across it. Now and then he cautiously trod on a tile to check its stability. If it creaked or gave way he stopped short, memorised the spot and looked for another route; if it seemed to offer a firm foothold, he would walk on with resolute tread. Sometimes he would risk a little leap, then stand motionless with his ears pricked, listening intently and sniffing the air. Hey, just a moment - could that be Cratmint? He took another sniff. Yes, no doubt about it, that was the captivating scent of Cratmint, the finest herb in the world! Echo promptly lost his head and cast caution to the winds. He went bounding up the roof to the narrow ridge, where he paused and peered down at the flight of steps on the far side. Sure enough, perched on a landing halfway down them was a big clay flowerpot containing a luxuriant Cratmint bush in full bloom, with bumblebees buzzing all round it.

It is still one of Zamonian biology’s unsolved mysteries that Crats should be so enraptured by Cratmint that they become transformed, from one moment to the next, into purring bundles of bliss. At all events, Echo displayed the behaviour typical of his breed when confronted by that miraculous herb: he slithered lithely down the slope and circled the flowerpot with head erect and nostrils quivering. Then he leapt into the Cratmint, burrowed deep into its foliage and ecstatically sniffed every stem, leaf and flower, purring like a humming top. Next, he miaowed at the plant for minutes on end as if singing it a love song. Finally, feeling refreshed and inspired, he strode proudly on, his movements more balletic than ever, his tail contorting itself into a series of elegant curlicues.

So the Alchemaster hadn’t been lying to him. This roof harboured delicacies other than that glorious mint. Echo not only guessed at their presence; he could actually smell them: roast pigeons and honey-flavoured milk! An invisible but lavishly provided banqueting table came wafting through the air towards him. The mint had been merely an olfactory appetiser; the edible delicacies awaited him elsewhere. But where? He continued to climb, higher and higher, until he came to a mossy terrace. Dozens of tiles must have slid off like toboggans hurtling down a mountainside, and someone, presumably Ghoolion, had installed a garden in their place. It was a regular little wilderness extending deep into the roof space, with tall grasses and weeds sprouting from a lush, mossy floor. Echo picked his way silently through the undergrowth at a crouch, every inch a hunter stalking his quarry. The two predominant scents were those of milk and honey.

Thistles barred his path like levelled lances, but he brushed them aside with his claws extended. Nothing could keep him from his prey, which must now be very near. He parted a luxuriant clump of yellow grass with both paws, and then he saw it for the first time: a snow-white expanse gently ruffled by the wind - a lake of milk! Floating on it were some little boats woven of reeds, and the passengers in them were crisply roasted pigeons and grilled trout. They were sitting up dressed in dolls’ clothes and were equipped with little paper parasols. Echo was entranced.

He crawled to the edge of the milky pool and proceeded to lap some up with his nimble tongue. Sure enough, it was laced with honey! He drank his fill, then fished a roast pigeon out of one of the boats with his paw, stripped off its doll’s attire and devoured the whole bird, crisp skin and all. Having eaten the breast, drumsticks and wings, he licked off every last shred of meat with