The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,63
barrel of lard.’
Echo winced. This cute little squirrel could be even more hurtful than Ghoolion at his worst.
‘Yes, lard. You dislike the word because it puts you in mind of something extremely unpleasant: fat. The Alchemaster has imprinted his desire for fat on your body. It clings to your ribs and haunches. It’s the fat he intends to extract from your body when he renders it down. You’re the living fulfilment of Ghoolion’s contract - you’re your own death warrant. Is that undiplomatic enough for you?’
‘Yes,’ Echo said dully.
‘Good. What the Cogitating Eggs wish to impart is not the objective realisation that you’ve become too fat, but the fact that certain conclusions should be drawn from it.’
‘I must lose weight, you mean,’ Echo whispered.
‘Exactly!’ cried the squirrel, clapping its paws together. ‘Not an especially complex deduction, but a profoundly important one. It’ll influence your life in a positive manner.’
The light dimmed, the golden squirrel’s figure grew steadily fainter.
‘That’s it for today,’ it said. ‘We’ll meet again soon, when I come to impart your second insight. Meantime, I’d advise you to take as much exercise as possible.’
The weird light went out. The squirrel had vanished.
Echo went up to the remaining Anguish Candle and took a final look at his reflection. His plump form looked ripe for slaughter.
He snuffed the last Anguish Candle with his paw, and the library, now in total darkness, was pervaded by a deep sigh of relief.
Black Pudding and Vampirism
‘I could use a little physical exercise,’ Echo remarked in a studiously casual tone as the Alchemaster was preparing his supper the following evening. ‘A lighter diet would also do me good. Please go easy on the butter and sugar.’
Ghoolion pricked up his ears. ‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘Have you lost your taste for them?’
‘On the contrary,’ Echo replied, ‘that’s just the problem, I’m far too partial to them. I’m getting too fat.’
‘But I like you that way,’ said Ghoolion. ‘Your curves suit you.’
‘I can well believe you approve of my curves, but I’m feeling uncomfortable. I don’t dare go up on the roof any more for fear of falling off. Our contract didn’t specify how much weight I had to gain. I reckon I’m fat enough.’
Ghoolion removed a heavy cast-iron pan from the stove. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘After all, the quality of your fat depends partly on your state of mind. You know: contented hens lay better eggs. I want you feeling good when you die.’
Echo sighed. The Alchemaster didn’t give a damn what he said, however hurtful.
‘Still, you could probably manage a little black pudding, couldn’t you?’ Ghoolion asked. ‘Now that I’ve already fried it?’
‘All right,’ said Echo. He was undeniably hungry.
Ghoolion sprinkled the black pudding generously with curry powder and put it in front of him. Echo promptly tucked in and demolished it in three mouthfuls.
‘Not bad,’ he said appreciatively.
‘Tell me something,’ said Ghoolion. ‘Have you ever dreamt of being a Leathermouse?’
‘A Leathermouse?’ Echo replied, licking his paws. ‘Why should I dream of being such a hideous creature?’
‘Only other creatures consider Leathermice hideous. If you yourself were a Leathermouse, you’d think you were the Crat’s whiskers.’
‘Oh yes, I know all that,’ said Echo. ‘Up is down and ugly is beautiful.’
‘But Leathermice can fly,’ said Ghoolion.
Echo stopped short. It was true. Leathermice could do more than simply hang from a rafter upside down. If there was any other creature he wanted to be, it would have to be one capable of flying.
‘They can find their way around at night and hunt in total darkness. Very few creatures can do such things.’
‘That’s true. They’re curious birds.’
‘Not birds, vampires,’ said Ghoolion. ‘That’s the best thing about them: the fact that they’re vampires.’
Echo frowned. ‘What’s the good of that?’ he demanded.
‘Oh, come,’ Ghoolion said with a grin. ‘You’re young. Anyone of your age would love to be a vampire. To be able to fly! To drink blood! To be feared by everyone! The mere rustle of your wings would send people into a panic.’
He might have a point, Echo reflected. It was rather tempting, the thought of being a creature that inspired universal fear, he had to admit.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said. ‘It might be interesting.’
‘I took your interest for granted,’ the Alchemaster said, smiling. ‘You’re already on your way, so to speak.’
‘On my way? Where to?’
‘To your nocturnal companions, the vampires. What you’ve just eaten was a black pudding made of Leathermouse blood.’
Echo recoiled in horror.
‘What?!’ he exclaimed. ‘You mean you kill Leathermice?’