The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,77
time to mention that I’ve something very valuable to offer in return for your help.’
A long silence. Then, even more dismissively: ‘I don’t make deals to Ghoolion’s disadvantage.’
‘I didn’t say our deal would be to his disadvantage. I’d simply like you to treat me like a normal customer requesting a consultation - a brief conversation. I’ve got something to offer in exchange, as I said.’
The Uggly made some noises he couldn’t interpret.
‘Setting aside the fact that I don’t, on principle, make deals that could get me into trouble with the Malaisean by-laws, what are you offering?’
Echo cleared his throat. ‘Well, for example, an intimate knowledge of the Alchemaster’s castle, in particular his laboratory, ranging from his alchemical furnace to the Ghoolionic Preserver and the contents of every last test tube. I have a minutely detailed knowledge of the ghoolionisation process and the rectification of metals sensitive to pain. I know how to make a Leyden Manikin that will remain animate for years. How to render quicksilver potable. How to effect the transmutation of gases and preserve all kinds of volatile substances. How to administer seven hundred different kinds of antidotes and what diseases to use them against. How to distil thoughts that rotate clockwise. I’m familiar with the contents of all Succubius Ghoolion’s alchemical journals. I can also recite his chemophilosophical tables backwards. I know quite a bit about spectral analysis, aluminotherapy and ethereal conservation. And that’s only a small fraction of what I can offer you. I even know how to cook a ghost.’
Another long silence, broken only by the Uggly’s asthmatic breathing.
‘How do you set up an aeromorphic barograph?’ she asked at length.
Echo didn’t have to think for long.
‘Er, you calibrate it to a frequency of 100.777 eums, using a fasolatidocal tuning fork, and smoke its lenses over a low fire of fir cones until you can look straight at the sun without going blind.’
For what seemed to Echo an interminable length of time, absolutely nothing happened. At last the door opened as slowly and silently as it had the first time.
‘Come in,’ growled the Uggly. Echo squeezed through the crack and into the house.
The tropical atmosphere prevailing in the Uggly’s cavernous abode wrapped itself round his body like a moist fist. The air, which smelt of earth and rotting vegetation like the interior of a greenhouse, was so warm and treacly you could almost have cut it with a knife. A person buried amid the corpses in the Graveyard Marshes of Dullsgard would have felt little different. Echo promptly wished he was back in the draughty old castle. Only jungle beasts would have felt at home here - in fact, it wouldn’t have surprised him if a Voltigork had pounced on him out of the shadows at any moment.
‘You’ve lost weight since the last time,’ the Uggly remarked. ‘You’re still fat, though.’
Echo sighed. ‘I know. I’m working on it.’
The Uggly gazed at him as fixedly as if she hadn’t the least idea how hideous she was. Echo tried to hold her gaze, but he eventually bowed his head and stared at the floor.
‘All right,’ she said curtly, ‘spit it out. What are you really after?’
‘It’s quite simple, er …’
‘Izanuela’s the name. Izanuela Anazazi, but you may call me Iza.’
‘Delighted to make your acquaintance. My name is Echo.’
‘Well, get on with it.’
‘The thing is, I signed a contract with Ghoolion. It stipulates that he must fatten me up until the next full moon. In return, he can then slit my throat and boil me to extract my fat.’
The Uggly flopped down on a worm-eaten chair, which creaked and groaned under her weight. ‘Is that so?’ she said. Every trace of hostility had left her voice.
‘It was a case of needs must. I was almost dead from starvation.’
‘Why don’t you simply run away?’
‘I’ve tried to, but I can’t. I don’t know how he does it.’
The chair uttered a grateful creak as the Uggly got up again.
‘But I do,’ she said, raising her eyebrows so that her bloodshot eyes protruded still further.
‘Really?’ Echo pricked up his ears.
‘Have you ever gone to sleep in his arms?’
‘Yes, right at the start. He carried me up to his castle.’
‘There you are, then. It was a spell.’
‘A what?’
‘A spell. One of Ghoolion’s specialities. Not magic, just a post-hypnotic command. Most effective. He must have whispered it to you in your sleep.’
‘And there’s nothing to be done about it?’
‘Yes, I could lift the spell by hypnotising you myself.’