all, people hold me responsible for almost every fatality in Malaisea, including those resulting from senility and suicide.’ He chuckled derisively.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Echo said curtly and stalked off, thanking his lucky stars that he’d extricated himself from an awkward situation so easily.
‘Oh, come!’ Ghoolion called after him. ‘Surely you aren’t still cross about the Leathermouse episode?’
Echo paused and turned.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It was a very interesting experience, to be honest, but it would have been nice if you’d put me in the picture first.’
Ghoolion sighed. ‘That’s just the problem. It wouldn’t have worked if I had. My guinea pigs tend to resist, either consciously or unconsciously, and don’t undergo a complete transformation. They simply have wild hallucinations.’
Echo had to admit that he’d never felt so alive as he had during his spell of existence as a Leathermouse.
Ghoolion laughed indulgently. Then he did something he’d never done before: he patted his lap. It was an invitation to Echo to jump up and make himself at home there.
Echo retreated a step. No, that was going too far. The Theodore question was still far from resolved, and anyway, submitting to the caresses of his own executioner was absolutely out of the question!
Ghoolion grinned. ‘Come on,’ he said.
Echo took a step closer. Tactically speaking, it mightn’t be such a bad idea to establish a certain bond of trust between himself and Ghoolion. Last but not least, it was quite a time since anyone had stroked him, and being stroked was one of a Crat’s basic requirements, like eating and sleeping. Where was the harm in it? He would only have to bring himself to tolerate the smells that clung to the Alchemaster’s cloak, but he’d become inured to them a long time ago.
Echo plucked up his courage and, despite his obesity, performed a successful leap on to Ghoolion’s lap. Then he lay down and looked at the old man expectantly. Ghoolion hesitated. His hand hovered in the air for a moment, but he eventually lowered it and proceeded to tickle the nape of Echo’s neck. Softly at first, then more and more audibly, Echo began to purr. And so the two of them - Crat and Alchemaster, victim and executioner - lingered in that eerie room for a long time yet: two ‘mortal friends’ companionably relaxing in the nocturnal gloom.
The Rusty Goblins
From now on, Echo made a very serious attempt to get rid of his excess weight. It wasn’t enough simply to watch his diet and spurn fatty foods in favour of healthy vegetables. Getting enough exercise was equally important.
The Alchemaster’s castle was the ideal place for this. No other building in Malaisea contained as many flights of stairs a Crat could run up and down. The old, uneven stonework was ideal for climbing and the big rooms were a perfect place in which to romp around with the Cooked Ghost. On the roof Echo practised balancing, toned up his muscles and tested the resilience of his joints. When he raced through the lofty chambers he pretended he was being pursued by one of the natural disasters in Ghoolion’s paintings, a tornado or a tidal wave. Sometimes he went downstairs to where the stuffed mummies were kept, brought them to life in his imagination and fled from them in self-induced panic. He imagined himself a notorious master thief, a Crat burglar who scaled the castle walls in order to climb through an open window and rob Ghoolion of his closely guarded alchemistic secrets. He chased mice and dust devils, climbed curtains and ivy-covered trellises, wardrobes and bookshelves, tapestries and threadbare wing chairs, and allowed himself only as much sleep as was absolutely necessary.
He also resumed his frequent visits to the clump of Cratmint, whose scent had such a therapeutic effect on his spirits and whose leaves, when chewed, provided his empty belly with the comforting warmth it needed. As often as he was able, sometimes several times a day, he made his way to the foot of Theodore’s chimney, but the old Tuwituwu never showed up.
Echo found opportunities for physical exercise even in the innermost recesses of the castle, behind its walls and up its chimneys. He explored an old ventilation system that ran through the entire building like a network of veins in which he could creep and clamber around for hours on end. It was inhabited by giant rats and fearsome insects, but not even they could deter Echo from carrying out his rigorous training programme. He