The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,82

part in this contest purely to gain time for my beloved. In order to ask for my hand in marriage, he needs to acquire a hundred thousand pyras. That sum is the basic requirement for anyone hoping to marry a girl of my rank, as you know, but he comes of a poor family and hasn’t managed to raise it yet.”

‘She looked round anxiously, as if afraid of being overheard.

‘“Since I know you possess that sum, or you couldn’t have entered this contest,” she went on, “here is my shameless request: can you lend my beloved the hundred thousand pyras and enable him to ask for my hand? He will definitely repay you some day, with compound interest. You can rest assured of my undying gratitude.”

‘Although the young man had turned pale, he steadfastly preserved his composure. “Of course,” he told her. “Nothing matters to me more than your happiness.”

‘Our heroine gave him a kiss. “How very unselfish of you,” she said. “You must promise that we’ll remain good friends and that you’ll come to visit me regularly.”

‘“I promise,” the young man said softly and took his leave. The next day he brought her the sum of money in question. She kissed him and extracted another promise that he would come to see her again before long. Then she let him go.

‘As soon as he’d gone our heroine clasped the purse to her bosom. She was overjoyed because she didn’t have another suitor at all; she had simply wanted to ascertain the true extent of the young man’s feelings for her.’

Ghoolion groaned aloud - whether at the story or in physical pain, Echo couldn’t tell. The look of distress on the Alchemaster’s face might have been caused by either.

‘Well,’ Echo went on, ‘no one could have given a greater demonstration of his love. Our heroine waited for the young man to visit her, as he had promised, so that she could confess her cruel subterfuge and marry him.’

Echo sighed.

‘But he never came. A week, two weeks, a month went by. Our heroine became anxious. She eventually took to her bed, sick with worry, and lay there clasping the purse as if it were her beloved. Then messengers came bearing news: after leaving the fortress, the young man had turned his back on Ingotville and joined an army of mercenaries. Not long afterwards he had been killed during the Battle of the Gloomberg Mountains.’

Ghoolion’s spindly fingers clutched his cloak in the region of his heart. His eyelids fluttered.

‘Our heroine almost went insane when she heard this news. She tore her clothes, scratched her face and wept for a whole month. Then she left Ingotville and roamed the length and breadth of Zamonia. At last, having tossed the purse of money into Demon’s Gulch, she settled down in Malaisea, where she mourned her dead love in silence. She led a reclusive life. Whenever she left the house, which she seldom did, she concealed herself in a cloak with a hood, for she remained strikingly beautiful, even in old age.’

Ghoolion gave a sudden start. Echo flinched.

‘What?!’ the Alchemaster cried in a voice like thunder. ‘She’s here in Malaisea?’

‘No, she doesn’t live here any more - she died not long ago. It’s a true story, though, I didn’t make it up. It’s the story of my former mistress’s life. She told it to me when I was little.’

Ghoolion went reeling across the kitchen as if someone had dealt him a mighty blow on the head.

‘She was here all the time … here in Malaisea …’ he muttered, more to himself than to Echo. Then he looked round once more. Echo shrank under his gaze, for it conveyed a despair that bordered on insanity. A tear trickled from the Alchemaster’s eye as he tottered to the door.

‘She was here all the time,’ he whispered again. Then he blundered out.

Echo hadn’t been expecting such an emotional outburst. What did Ghoolion’s mysterious words signify? He jumped down off the table, fled from the kitchen and hid in his basket till bedtime.

Bee-Bread

Echo slept exceptionally badly that night. He dreamt of Ghoolion, as he so often did, but also of Theodore T. Theodore, the Cooked Ghost and Izanuela the Uggly. He dreamt of his mistress, both as a lovely young girl and as a kindly old woman. He dreamt of the Leathermice and the Snow-White Widow. Of Anguish Candles and the salmon he’d swum with after eating that dumpling. Of Shadowsprites and Leyden Manikins. Of the wild dogs he’d