to speak.’
Izanuela laughed rather too loudly at Ghoolion’s feeble joke for Echo’s taste. Meanwhile, the Alchemaster set to work on the next course. He squeezed some blood oranges and limes and chopped up a handful of almonds.
‘Our hero began by renouncing all things sour,’ he went on, ‘and devoted himself to all things sweet. He became a member of the Mielists, a secret society that worshipped honey and believed in a god named Gnorkx who was reputed to live on the sun and be immortal. They bathed in honey every time the moon was full.’
Echo gave a little start at the mention of Gnorkx’s name. Ghoolion glanced at him conspiratorially as he brought a pudding to the boil.
‘He learnt his trade from the bottom up. At first he worked in a sugar beet factory, then in a dairy and finally in a cocoa mill. Having enrolled in the cake- and candy-making courses at the Culinary College in Florinth, he completed an apprenticeship at the biggest confectioner’s in the city. He also did a three-year course in Advanced Patisserie under Maître Gargantuel, the Zaan of Florinth’s pudding and pastry chef. Gargantuel, who recognised the young man’s exceptional talent, made him his star pupil and initiated him into the mysteries of the pastry cook’s art.’
Ghoolion cleared away and served the next course at once: cold blood-orange soup with gingerbread blancmange and lime-infused butter. Izanuela fell on it as if she hadn’t eaten for days.
‘For the Zaan’s birthday party he produced the longest Swiss roll ever baked. Then he opened his own patisserie, with the result that most of the other patisseries in Florinth went bankrupt because people wanted to eat his pastries and no one else’s. The Zaan offered our young man the post of Minister for Desserts, but he declined because he thought the time had come for him to return to Ingotville and win his beloved’s heart with a trayful of his most daring creations. When he eventually set eyes on her she was five times fatter and married with three children. Our young man threw himself into the city’s most polluted river and died of mercury poisoning before he could drown.’
Echo and Izanuela stared at the Alchemaster, dumbfounded.
‘Is that it?’ Echo asked.
‘Well, yes,’ said Ghoolion. ‘All Zamonian stories end tragically, as you know. There are two lessons to be drawn from it: first, don’t wait too long before marrying your beloved, and secondly, too many sweet things make you fat.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Echo, ‘and the more courses you eat, the thinner you get. What a stupid story.’
‘Well, I thought it was lovely,’ Izanuela said defiantly. ‘The ending was a bit abrupt, but it went perfectly with this pudding. The lime-flavoured butter is simply fantastic!’ She extended her outsize tongue and proceeded to lick her plate.
‘Oh, don’t mind him, my blossom,’ Ghoolion said. ‘Echo’s tired of my stories. I sympathise with him, but he’ll soon be spared them and left in peace. For evermore.’
Echo’s blood ran cold. This might be Izanuela’s engagement party, but for him it was the equivalent of a condemned man’s last meal. He’d forgotten that for a moment.
Izanuela was equally dismayed by Ghoolion’s tactless remark, Echo could tell that from the way her false eyelashes quivered. She stopped licking her plate and put it down.
Ghoolion threw himself at her feet. ‘I, at least, intend to take my cue from the story and marry you as soon as possible. Let’s tie the knot before the week is out!’
Izanuela turned crimson and struggled for words. ‘If you’re really sure …’ she said eventually.
Ghoolion jumped up. ‘Then let’s go on celebrating! I shall make you all the heavenly things our unfortunate pastry cook was unable to create for his beloved.’
He hurried back to the stove. Judging by the symphony of sweets he produced in the hours that followed, Ghoolion himself might have studied in Florinth under Maître Gargantuel: raspberry millefeuilles with champagne cream, rennet mousse with chocolate-flavoured zabaglione and cinnamon dumplings, coconut parfait with strawberry fritters, lemon sorbet tinged with saffron, doughnuts stuffed with cherries soaked in port, elderflower pastries topped with creamed pistachio nuts, hazelnut chocolate fingers on a bed of passion fruit and gilded Demonberries.
Echo’s dark thoughts were soon dispelled by all these delicacies. He and Izanuela had never been so stuffed with food in their lives, yet they felt as light as air and extremely cheerful - probably because of the various liqueurs and brandies in the puddings they’d consumed. Izanuela had hiccups and Echo was