The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,111
you knew that frightful tune? I thought you’d have to toot away for ages.’
‘It wasn’t hard to guess,’ said Izanuela. ‘Ghoolion has given me earache more than once by playing that tune. It’s his favourite way of tormenting Ugglies.’
She applied herself to the next lock. ‘Hm,’ she muttered. ‘A Florinthian shamlock with triple tumblers. This is another kettle of fish altogether.’ Methodically, she set to work with the skeleton key and had it open within minutes.
‘Wow!’ said Echo. ‘Where did you learn to do that?’
‘Listen, my friend,’ Izanuela said sombrely, fixing him with the piercing gaze that had unnerved him once before, ‘I’m an Uggly. My sisters and I belong to a downtrodden race. People have always found fault with us. Once upon a time they used to lock us up or put us in the stocks - in fact they even burned us at the stake, although no one likes to mention that nowadays. Over the centuries, we were forced to acquire certain skills that aren’t in full conformity with the laws of Zamonia. Picking locks is the most innocuous of them. Now … Do you want me to get this door open, or would you prefer to go on asking stupid questions?’
‘All right,’ said Echo, thoroughly intimidated, ‘I’ll keep quiet.’
The Uggly gave him another piercing stare and went back to work. Sometimes she manipulated the picklock, sometimes she used a hairpin or a piece of wire conjured from the depths of her cloak. Padlock after padlock yielded to her deft touch.
‘That’s it,’ she said when the last one sprang open. ‘The way is clear.’
They entered the fat cellar. It was as dry, cool, clean and tidy as it had been the first time. The Alchemaster’s balls of fat were neatly arrayed in long rows.
‘This’, Echo said as he walked past the shelves, ‘is where Ghoolion stores the fat and the death rattles of the rare animals he tortures and renders down. How do you feel about him now you’ve seen this place?’
Izanuela sighed. ‘That’s the trouble with feelings,’ she said. ‘They’re hard to reconcile with common sense. Believe me, I’m just as horrified by Ghoolion as you are. I’d really sooner poison him than brew him a love potion, but what can I do?’ She cast her eyes up at the ceiling.
Echo read out the names on the labels: ‘Porphyrio veterum … Numida meleagris … Python molurus … Nyctibius grandis … Stenops gracilis … Moloch horridus … Testacella halotidea. Ah, here are the snails! And there it is: Planorbula armigera!’
Izanuela snatched the ball of fat and stowed it in her cloak.
‘What if he notices it’s gone?’ she asked.
‘He’s far too busy at present to count his balls of fat, and even if he did, what …’
Echo broke off. His sensitive ears had alerted him to something.
‘What is it?’ asked Izanuela.
‘Ghoolion’s coming!’ Echo could definitely hear the clatter of his iron-shod feet.
‘Then let’s get out of here, quick!’ Izanuela’s convulsive movements suggested that she was trying to run in all directions at once.
‘Too late! He’ll be here in no time.’
‘What shall we do?’ Izanuela whispered anxiously. ‘What on earth shall we do?’
‘We’ll simply have to hide.’
‘But he’ll see there’s been a break-in. The open padlocks! He’ll search the place.’
‘Leave it to me,’ Echo said. ‘I’ve had an idea. Get down behind that cupboard and keep still. And blow out that candle.’
Izanuela complied. She too could now hear Ghoolion’s footsteps. Echo groped his way to the back of the cellar and crouched down in a corner just as Ghoolion appeared in the doorway. The cellar was suddenly bathed in multicoloured light by the will-o’-the-wisp lantern in his hand.
‘Who’s there?’ he called sternly. ‘Who has been suicidal enough to break into my cellar?’
There was a moment’s absolute silence. Echo’s heart was racing. At last he plucked up all his courage.
‘It’s only little me, Master,’ he called jauntily. ‘Echo.’
He emerged into the light of Ghoolion’s lantern.
‘What are you doing down here?’ the Alchemaster demanded sharply. ‘How did you get those locks open?’
‘What, me open them?’ Echo sounded mystified. ‘I’m only a little Crat. The door was wide open when I got here.’
‘It was open?’ said Ghoolion. He looked dumbfounded.
‘How else could I have got in? I thought you’d left it open for me, the way you do the door to the roof.’
Ghoolion seemed to lose his balance for a moment. He lurched sideways, swinging the lantern to and fro.
‘I must have forgotten to lock up,’ he muttered. ‘I’m thoroughly overworked, I suppose.’