The Alchemaster's Apprentice (34 page)

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Authors: Walter Moers

BOOK: The Alchemaster's Apprentice
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‘Oh, come,’ said Ghoolion, ‘it must have been interesting, surely? Do the bees really communicate by dancing?’
‘Yes. But I was nearly devoured by Th - er, by a bird.’
Ghoolion grinned. ‘It’s impossible to die during a metamorphosis. Do you really think I’d risk your precious life?’
‘Nice to know that after the event,’ Echo said sulkily.
‘I told you once before: too much information can spoil or even eliminate the hypnotic effect. It must come as a surprise, without any preparation. Anyway, how are you feeling now? I gave you an alchemical injection that curtailed your trip. It also neutralised the other after-effects of the bee venom.’
‘I’ve felt better,’ said Echo. ‘Still, I’m not as bad as I was after my Leathermouse trip.’
‘There are various ways of ending such a trip,’ Ghoolion said. ‘The commonest is a post-hypnotic command to terminate it if danger threatens; then you either lose consciousness or return to your real body. In this case I summoned you back by alchemical means. You’ve now experienced all three methods.’
‘What I still don’t know’, said Echo, ‘is whether I’m really experiencing these things or only dreaming.’
‘Why not ask yourself whether your other dreams are real? You go on trips and undergo the strangest experiences every night. How do you know they only take place in your mind?’
Echo shook his head, which was buzzing with the after-effects of his trip and the Alchemaster’s bewildering remarks.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I’ve had enough. I won’t eat another morsel unless you promise not to dish up any more metamorphotic meals. I prefer being a Crat.’
‘I promise,’ Ghoolion told him. ‘I already have what I need. It’s in there.’ He gave Echo’s skull another tap. Echo indignantly shook his finger off.
Ghoolion straightened up, looking serious. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘now for something else. That story you told me yesterday evening …’ He hesitated.
Echo pricked up his ears. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘what about it?’
‘It shocked me at first - quite why, you’ll learn in due course. But then, after thinking about it the whole night long, I recovered my mental equilibrium. I’d like to thank you for opening my eyes. More than that, you saved me from the clutches of insanity.’
‘I did?’ Echo looked astonished.
‘Yes indeed, and I’ll prove it to you. But first I’ll tell you my own version of the story, then you’ll understand everything better. Come with me, I must show you a part of the castle you haven’t been to yet.’
Echo followed Ghoolion with reluctance. They’d gone down to the cellars the last time the Alchemaster had made such an invitation.
Ghoolion hurried on ahead, iron soles clattering, and it was all Echo’s aching legs could do to keep up with him. They descended a short flight of stairs and made their way along a passage Echo had never entered because it smelt so odd.
‘You may be surprised to hear that I already knew the story,’ Ghoolion said. ‘It’s a strange coincidence.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Echo.
‘I knew the young man you told me about. He was an alchemy student and a good friend of mine. We attended Grailsund University together. That’s why the story affected me so much.’
‘I wasn’t to know,’ Echo said.
‘He was one of the most popular students in our year and a very talented alchemist, even as a youth. If
he
had set out to turn lead into gold, he’d probably have succeeded.’ Ghoolion laughed. ‘I was immensely proud of being his friend,’ he went on. ‘As I already said, if you want to imagine the diametrical opposite of his good looks, quick wit and natural charm, you need only picture me at that age: ugly, awkward and unsociable.’
Echo could picture him only too well, but he took care not to say so out loud.
‘I clung to him like a limpet. I aped his mannerisms, wore the same clothes, studied the same subjects, cultivated his scientific and cultural interests. I
became
him, so to speak.’
They were now descending a spiral staircase. Echo was afraid it led down to the cellars, but they came out in another wing of the castle. The odd smell was stronger here, and he found it more and more disagreeable. The few windows, which were high but very narrow, admitted only a modicum of daylight and fresh air.
‘After his finals he went off to Ingotville,’ Ghoolion went on, ‘to experiment with metals there. I stayed on in Grailsund for financial reasons, but we kept in touch and corresponded regularly. He sent me detailed reports of his experiments. I tried to reproduce them on a modest scale - unsuccessfully, of course, but I was happy to go on sharing in his work. One day he wrote that he had seen the loveliest girl in the world. She was the daughter of a powerful lead tycoon, so he could only worship her from afar. He said he had amassed a certain amount of money, thanks to his successful experiments, but the plutocrats of Ingotville were a caste of their own. Then, after a year’s secret adoration, he sent me a letter brimming with optimism. It spoke of a contest whose winner would gain the beautiful girl’s hand in marriage. My friend intended to take part and stake all his savings on the outcome. I urged him to go ahead. The rest of the story you know. His last letter informed me that he proposed to join a mercenary army and go campaigning in the Gloomberg Mountains. I wrote back imploring him to reconsider his decision. I learnt of his death not long afterwards.’
Ghoolion had uttered the last few sentences in an uncharacteristically low, hesitant voice. The smell was now so offensive that Echo almost gagged. Had he walled up the corpses of his animal victims here, or was he hiding something still worse?
The Alchemaster came to a sudden halt. He turned and looked at Echo.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’ll tell you the whole truth. I’ve been lying in one important respect, I must confess.’
Echo had absolutely no wish to hear the truth, nor did he want to follow Ghoolion any further. The Snow-White Widow had been waiting for them at the end of their last excursion. Whatever it was that was giving off this stench, it had to be something frightful.
‘The fact is, there isn’t any “friend” in this story. I was wrong when I said I
became
him. I
was
him and have always been so.
I
am the young man who wooed your late mistress.’
Echo stared at the Alchemaster. He was dumbfounded.
‘But that’s impossible,’ he said. ‘He’s dead.’
‘So was I, to all intents and purposes,’ Ghoolion said gravely. He turned and walked on. ‘Let me take up the story at the point where I brought my beloved the money. I was already dead inside, but my outer shell had still to meet its end. I was a handsome youth, though I say it myself, but in reality I was just a dead man walking. Having promised my beloved to visit her soon, I went straight to the recruiting office and joined up. We marched off to battle in the Gloomberg Mountains the very next day. I’ll spare you the gory details. Suffice it to say, at the end of the battle I found myself lying on top of a mound of dead soldiers, some of whom I’d butchered myself. I’d been wounded scores of times with sword and axe, but I was still alive. An old alchemist who happened to have got mixed up in the fighting found me, gave me first aid and conveyed me back to his laboratory. Since he also had some knowledge of surgery, he patched me up in a makeshift fashion - makeshift being the operative word.’
Ghoolion laughed bitterly.
‘The first time I looked in a mirror, I realised I’d become a different person. No one would have recognised me. But my outward appearance was not all that had changed. My once handsome face had become this hideous mask and my scalp was bereft of its golden locks, but my heart had become this cold mechanism that ticks away inside me and my carefree disposition had given way to the restlessness that dominates me today.’
Echo felt almost moved by Ghoolion’s astonishing confession, but the vile stench had become so strong that it left no room for any emotion save disgust.
Ghoolion had halted again. They were standing outside some big double doors whose massive hinges were adorned with gold leaf. Echo could tell that the source of the terrible smell must lie beyond them.
‘Not a day went by’, Ghoolion whispered, ‘that I didn’t think of my beloved. I cherished the hope that she would some day appear at the castle gates. Under the delusion that I must be prepared for that day, I cooked her a banquet whenever it overcame me.’
He flung the doors wide.
The smell that came wafting towards them was so strong, so throat-catching, that tears sprang to Echo’s eyes. He swung round and vomited on the spot.
But Ghoolion strode into the room undaunted. It had no windows and was lit by a few Anguish Candles. The only pieces of furniture were a long banqueting table and two chairs, one at either end.
Having voided the contents of his stomach, Echo could now venture a look. Although the stench was still indescribable, his nausea had subsided. He wiped the tears from his eyes and followed Ghoolion, though only as far as the threshold. That was sufficient for him to take in the full horror of what lay inside.
The table was piled high with food, or rather, with what remained of it. In fact, the table’s existence could only be guessed at beneath a revolting welter of rotting meat and fish, stale bread, shrivelled fruit, dusty plates and glasses, dishes and tureens, knives, forks and spoons.
‘There it is!’ cried Ghoolion. ‘My beloved’s banqueting table!’ It was impossible to tell from his expression what was going on inside him at that moment: whether he was ruled by reason or insanity.
Echo saw meat and fish bones picked clean; an enormous ham - still recognisable by its shape - with maggots crawling out of it; a whole desiccated boar’s head, the orange in its mouth blue with mould; semi-mummified poultry; raisins that had once been grapes; shellfish and fish heads in every stage of putrefaction. Insects and worms were swarming everywhere. Clouds of fruit flies hovered above these bizarre ruins of the culinary art and a fat spider lurked in a veal calf’s eye socket, ready to catch them if they landed. Rats were gnawing at an old round of cheese and a mouse had made its teeming nest in a heap of bones. Echo had never seen anything more repulsive. He turned away, unable to endure the sight any longer.
‘I cooked an elaborate meal whenever the frenzy of love overcame me,’ said Ghoolion. ‘I dished up those meals and left them to go bad, one after another.
Now
can you imagine my state of mind?’
Echo fled down the passage in the direction they had come from. Ghoolion left the gruesome banqueting table, closed the doors again and followed him.
‘It wasn’t until you told me the story last night’, he called, ‘that I was released from that years-old curse. I can see clearly once more. Tomorrow I shall get rid of all that frightful rubbish.’
They were now far enough away for Echo to dare to breathe freely again.
‘I’m glad to have been of service to you,’ he gasped. ‘Especially if it results in the disappearance of that mess.’
‘I’m indebted to you, in a manner of speaking,’ said Ghoolion. ‘You may ask me a favour.’
‘How about releasing
me
from a curse and letting me go?’
‘Ah,’ Ghoolion said with a grin, ‘that would be taking gratitude too far! I was thinking more of a culinary delicacy of some kind. What would you say to some fried mouse bladders?’

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