The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,55

if expecting Echo to commiserate with him on his victims’ failure to die quickly enough.

‘Ah,’ he said at length, ‘I could go on about my treasures for hours, but that’s far from all I want to show you. Let’s move on.’

If the truth be told, Echo had already had enough - enough of this cellar full of things only a demented alchemist would consider valuable or worth preserving. His arduous attempt to escape had left him weary, bemused and intimidated. All he wanted was to get into his basket and sleep the clock round, but he took care not to say so. He was happy for small mercies: at least Ghoolion showed no signs of wringing his neck. Echo couldn’t help remembering how he had laughed behind his paw at the Alchemaster not long ago. What a complete misjudgement on his part! Here in the cellar Ghoolion was showing his true colours. His mere presence and the courteous tone in which he’d been commenting on all his abominations - down here, that was quite enough to reduce Echo to a state of abject submission. So he trotted obediently after the Alchemaster, waited patiently for him to lock up his treasure chamber and followed at his heels as he penetrated still deeper into the maze of subterranean passages.

They now came to a spacious chamber littered with junk: barrels that had split open, ramshackle furniture, ancient oil paintings in dusty gilt frames, crates of smashed crockery, mouldering ledgers, rusty tools and firewood so old it was almost fossilised. To Echo, the chamber’s most remarkable feature was the number of doors that led off it - dozens of them.

‘You’ll be wondering what lies behind all these doors,’ said Ghoolion, ‘but I’ve lost the urge to open every last one. Many are better left unopened, believe me. When I tried that one over there, an enormous insect attacked me. It disappeared into the darkness and may still be lurking somewhere down here. Many of the doors conceal tombstones, others curiosities - skeletons and ancient taxidermal specimens, for example. One room is lined with seashells, none of which I could identify. Some of the taxidermal specimens I took upstairs and restored. I also discovered my first stuffed Demonic Mummies down here. The libraries to be found beyond some of the doors are small but select. The foremost antiquaries in Bookholm would give their eye teeth to possess them.’

To Echo’s relief, Ghoolion made no move to open any of doors. Instead, he strode straight across the big chamber and along another passage. ‘The attic of a house is said to be its memory and the cellar its digestive system,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘In the case of this building, their roles are reversed. These doors conceal the remnants of its sick and sinister past.’ He chuckled.

‘That’s extremely interesting,’ said Echo. ‘I know so very little about this castle. Theodore told me a bit about it, but …’ He bit his tongue. Damnation! The name had just slipped out.

‘Theodore?’ Ghoolion said suspiciously. ‘Who’s he?’

Echo racked his brains. ‘Oh, Theodore is … or rather, was … my mistress’s, er, manservant. Dead, I’m afraid. A terminal disease.’

‘I see …’ Ghoolion murmured. ‘This manservant, did he really know something of the history of my castle?’

‘Very little, as I said. Only old wives’ tales and ghost stories - the usual Malaisean gossip. You know the sort of thing.’

‘Yes, the townsfolk do a lot of talking, most of it nonsense. For instance, that this castle sprang from the ground overnight, like a mushroom. It was neither built by ghosts nor inhabited by dragons, and it isn’t a living creature. But I can’t tell you how it really came into being. The only certainty is that its builders knew quite a lot about constructing durable masonry. They were the first occupants. Very few traces of their presence have survived. Just a handful of primitive tools, some crude furniture and fragments of pottery. I don’t think they could write - there’s no documentary evidence of it, anyway. The next occupants were soldiers, probably mercenaries. Not very sensitive souls, that’s for sure. They stormed the building and killed all its occupants. Then they lived in the castle for several generations, together with their families, and used it as a base for wars, sieges and similar activities - anything mercenaries are hired to do. They brought back wagonloads of loot including works of art, weapons, jewellery, paintings, furniture and tableware. They also stacked their enemies’