The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,28

Another was vehemently haranguing his fellow inmates about an impending invasion from outer space. Ever since seeing this, Echo had realised that, far from being impelled to conquer continents or burn cities to the ground, the victims of insanity were driven to carry out trivial routine tasks that differed little from those performed by the sound of mind. Before long, he ceased to regard Ghoolion as the dangerous madman the townsfolk of Malaisea believed him to be. Instead, he seemed an embodiment of all those harmless loonies in the exercise yard. Tormented by his restless, discontented nature and divorced from reality by his self-imposed isolation, he was toiling away at a monumental folly that would probably never be finished. Ghoolion the bogeyman, who had seemed ever more monstrous to Echo and all the other inhabitants of Malaisea, shrank on closer inspection to more tolerable proportions. Echo hadn’t grown fond of him, of course, nor did he feel sorry for him. Ghoolion was still an old tyrant, bully and tormentor of animals who proposed to slit his throat in a few weeks’ time, purely for the sake of some stupid experiment, but Echo learnt to treat him with an increasing lack of deference and constraint - in fact, there were times when he genuinely enjoyed his company. This struck him as smarter than spending his last days of life in constant trepidation.

But Ghoolion, too, saw Echo with different eyes after a day or two. He very soon discovered that a Crat’s effect on its owner was far more subtle than that of any other domestic animal. A dog obeyed your orders and guarded the house, a bird’s song was easy on the ear. A Crat appeared to do nothing at all, to begin with, apart from favour you with its presence and accept your hospitality. In the company of a faithful hound you could feel powerful and secure; in that of a Crat, you could count yourself lucky to be tolerated at all. A dog deferred to its master, worshipped him, allowed him to put it on a leash and teach it idiotic tricks. It would even accept a thrashing from its master when it could have torn him to pieces. You could kick a dog into a corner, and a few hours later it would have forgotten and bring you your slippers in gratitude. But a Crat would cold-shoulder you for days, even if you’d merely trodden on its tail by accident. A Crat inspired respect, not fear. You could feel afraid of a dog, but never respectful. If Ghoolion had thrown a stick, Echo would have stared at him as if he were out of his mind and then stalked off with a toss of the head.

What particularly fascinated Ghoolion about Echo was his almost preternatural agility. He half believed that the Crat could walk along a razor’s edge without cutting himself, or cross a rain cloud without falling through it, or nimbly traverse a deep puddle without wetting his paws, or step on a red-hot stove without burning himself. The laws of gravity seemed of only limited application to Echo. A dog that tried to scale a roof was the epitome of a venture doomed to fail. If Echo wanted to do this, he glided up the drainpipe as effortlessly as if he had suckers on his paws. If a Crat fell off a roof it landed unscathed on all fours. If a dog did so, it was dead.

Echo exerted a soothing effect on Ghoolion, if only because of his silent, unobtrusive presence and the tranquil atmosphere it generated. With his inward and outward equilibrium, his flowing, well-gauged movements, his insatiable appetite for sleep and his instinctive aversion to hectic activity, he was the personification of poise and calm. Ghoolion particularly admired the way he prepared to go to sleep. He didn’t just lie down, he performed a balletic tribute to Morpheus. When the time came, the little Crat betook himself to his basket with the leisurely tread of a lion making for a waterhole. Then he climbed in and marked time with his forepaws to tamp the cushion down, purring and turning majestically on the spot as he did so. Next, yawning unashamedly, he stretched, first his forelegs and then his whole body, which positively melted into the cushion in a single, fluid, seductively lethargic movement. Last of all, he curled his tail round him in a semicircle, licked his paws with care and gave another yawn.