The Alchemaster's Apprentice

by Moers, Walter

  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?’

  Echo sighed.

  ‘You could do with a decent meal,’ Ghoolion went on. ‘I do believe you’ve lost weight recently.’

  They returned to the familiar reaches of the castle. Ghoolion fried some mouse bladders, as he had promised, and Echo manfully ate them to replenish his involuntarily emptied tummy.

  That night, as he lay in his basket, he had a certain amount of food for thought. Startling, bewildering and revolting though today’s events had been, they did entitle him to feel vaguely hopeful. The secret of Ghoolion’s culinary activities had been revealed. So the Alchemaster was capable of emotion, even of love. His gloomy mood had evaporated; in fact, he now made a positively reasonable, approachable impression. Before the night was out, Echo had devised a bold plan, but one he couldn’t carry out unaided. He would need help: the help of the last Uggly in Malaisea.

  The Botanical Theatre

  Echo still hadn’t got used to setting foot in Uggly Lane by night. Although he knew the gnarled old houses were unoccupied, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched as he slunk past them. The mist resembled a living creature, a huge, fluffy, vaporous serpent writhing around the deserted wooden shacks. He padded swiftly along to Izanuela’s house and climbed the veranda steps, which seemed - he could have sworn it - to flinch beneath his paws. He’d not made a sound, but the front door swung open.

  The Uggly was seated at the kitchen table, stuffing something quickly into her mouth - something alive, it seemed to Echo. Whatever it was, she hurriedly gulped it down.

  ‘Good evening,’ Izanuela said in a strangled voice. ‘What a surprise. You’ve taken advantage of your visitation rights sooner than I expected.’ She gave an involuntary belch.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Echo. ‘I have to make the most of the time I’ve got left. I can’t afford to put things off.’

  ‘You really know how to prick a person’s conscience, my young friend. I’ve had trouble sleeping since your last visit.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Echo. ‘Look, I won’t beat about the bush: I’ve come to ask your help again.’

  Izanuela rolled her eyes. ‘I guessed as much,’ she sighed.

  ‘It occurred to me that we might pool our talents,’ Echo began. ‘I thought -’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she broke in. ‘I don’t possess any talents.’

  ‘I don’t believe that. You must have some knowledge of Ugglimy. You went to a school for Ugglies. You’ve got a flourishing business.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘If Ghoolion is preventing you from putting your true abilities into practice, you must be able to do something he’s afraid of.’

  Izanuela grunted. ‘So you already said. What are you getting at?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think alchemy is that far removed from Ugglimy. If your knowledge of the latter is sketchy, I can put all my knowledge of alchemy at your disposal. We could pool our knowledge and create something.’

  ‘What do you suggest we make?’

  Echo hesitated. ‘Well, er … How about a love potion?’

  The Uggly rose abruptly to her feet. ‘A love potion?’

  ‘Well, yes. Certain recent events have led me to believe that Ghoolion’s heart isn’t as cold as everyone thinks. He’s quite capable of falling in love and I thought that a love potion might -’

  ‘One moment!’ Izanuela exclaimed. ‘Who is he supposed to fall in love with?’

  ‘Well,’ Echo said sheepishly, ‘me.’

  Izanuela flopped down on her chair again. ‘Is that your plan?’

  ‘Yes. If he falls in love with me, he may not want to kill me any more.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ she said, ‘why on earth did I let you in?’

  ‘It’s only a request, not a demand,’ said Echo. ‘If you won’t help me, I’ll have to accept the fact. I’ll simply leave and we’ll never see each other again.’

  He padded back to the door.

  ‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘Can’t I have a bit of a pause for
thought?’

  Echo came to a halt. ‘You’ll think it over?’

  ‘I don’t want you haunting my dreams for the rest of my life. Like last night. You were carrying your head under your arm like the Decapitated Tomcat.’

  Echo returned to the table.

  The Uggly grunted. ‘All right, let’s think…A love potion … Well, yes, that’s basic knowledge for an Uggly, but even my basic knowledge is patchy. I’ll have to consult the relevant reference books. And we won’t be needing just any old love potion, either. We’re dealing with Ghoolion. Who knows what he’s immunised himself against? It would have to be very potent stuff.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Echo said appreciatively.

  Izanuela cleared her throat. ‘There’s something else …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A minor change of plan.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Izanuela’s cheeks were burning. ‘Well, er…I don’t think it’s wise for him to fall in love with you.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Well … me, for instance.’

  ‘You?’ Echo exclaimed in surprise.

  ‘Er, yes … If Ghoolion falls in love with you he may never let you leave. If he fell in love with me I’m sure I’d be able to persuade him to release you.’ Izanuela gave a little cough. Her forehead was beaded with sweat.

  ‘That sounds plausible,’ said Echo, ‘in a way.’ He stared at her. ‘There’s something else, though, isn’t there? Why are you blushing like that?’

  The Uggly stood up and minced around the kitchen table like a little girl. She clasped her hands together and stared at the floor.

  ‘You asked me once why I’m still living in Malaisea,’ she said, ‘and I told you I stayed because I had the market to myself.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘That was only the half of it. The truth is …’ She hesitated.

  ‘Yes?’ Echo prompted.

  She raised her head and looked him straight in the eye.

  ‘I’m besotted with Ghoolion. There, now I’ve said it.’

  Echo subsided on to his haunches. He felt as if his legs had been amputated.

  ‘Surely not!’ he gasped. ‘You’re having me on.’

  ‘What can I do?’ said Izanuela. ‘I’m in love with the old devil. There’s no accounting for tastes.’ She chuckled. ‘I can’t help it. It was love at first sight. He walked in, confiscated my library of Ugglian curses, increased the prophecy tax by two hundred per cent, sentenced me to a week’s hard labour because my cash box wasn’t the regulation distance from my scales, and that was it. I was done for.’ She sighed.

  ‘I must confess I find it hard to conceive of a romantic liaison between an Uggly and an Alchemaster,’ said Echo. He was still feeling bemused.

  ‘It’s a very one-sided relationship, admittedly. I adore him and he detests me, but it’s been like that all my life. I always fall for the wrong men.’

  ‘But can you genuinely imagine living with Ghoolion?’

  ‘I sit at my window every evening, staring up at the castle and picturing myself washing his socks and so on. Me, a dyed-in-the-wool Uggly!’

  She opened her eyes wide, squinting horribly.

  ‘I led the Ugglies’ historic protest march on Baysville Town Hall. We stripped off our regulation smocks, made a public bonfire of them and marched through the town stark naked, singing as we went.’

  Clearly carried away by her youthful memories, Izanuela punched the air with her fist and started singing in a rusty falsetto:‘We are Ugglies, and we’re proud

  to be members of this crowd.

  Sisters, who cares whom we shock?

  Take off that unsightly smock!

  Be yourself, no more, no less.

  Glory in your nakedness!’

  ‘Well?’ Echo said hastily, when it dawned on him that the Uggly was really preparing to tear the clothes off her body. ‘What happened then?’

  Izanuela stopped short. She let go of the hem of her cloak, beaming delightedly.

  ‘People screamed in horror, of course. Just imagine: hundreds of stark-naked Ugglies singing and dancing in the streets!’

  The very idea made the fur stand up on the back of Echo’s neck.

  ‘That was the end of the Ugglies’ smocks, take it from me. We were allowed to wear whatever we liked from then on.’

  ‘We’re straying off the subject a bit,’ Echo put in.

  ‘I only wanted to show how unnatural I find it myself. I mean, me and Ghoolion! It’s like a love affair between a frog and a stork.’

  ‘All right,’ said Echo, ‘so it’s crazy, but never mind. If that’s your minor change of plan, I can live with it. So you’ll brew this love potion?’

  ‘Just a minute! I said I can try. I’ll need various things, your help most of all.’

  ‘Of course. What do you want to know?’

  ‘Not so fast. We must visit my cellar first.’

  ‘Here we go again,’ thought Echo. ‘Everyone wants me to visit their cellar.’ But hey! He knew from Ghoolion’s books about the Ugglies that they were strictly forbidden to dig cellars beneath their houses. It was another of those spiteful, nonsensical restrictions the Alchemaster was so proud of.

  ‘I thought Ugglies’ houses didn’t have cellars.’

  Izanuela merely grinned. ‘But first,’ she said, as if she hadn’t heard the implied question, ‘we must seal our pact in the traditional Ugglian manner.’

  Echo braced himself for some barbaric ritual. ‘What’s that?’ he asked apprehensively.

  ‘We exchange a kiss. A proper one, though. Tongues and all.’

  Echo briefly considered taking to his heels and running off down Uggly Lane. Then he pulled himself together and leapt on to the table to get it over as quickly as possible.

  The Uggly leant on the table and extended her tongue. Incredibly long and greenish in colour, it protruded from between her crooked teeth like a snake peeking out of a jungle thicket. Echo edged closer, shut his eyes, opened his mouth and wished his own tongue would disappear the way it had when he sampled the invisible caviar. Izanuela clamped her lips to his and thrust her tongue into his mouth. It tasted like an old cleaning rag that had been left in a pickle barrel overnight, but he didn’t flinch. Izanuela withdrew it and he opened his eyes.

  ‘Now we’re a team,’ she cried. ‘Iza and Echo, the dauntless duo! Now let’s go down to the cellar.’

  She took up her position in the middle of the kitchen and stamped her foot three times.

  ‘Alumbro, jeckel krapstropotznik!’ she cried, flinging up her arms dramatically.

  ‘Open, cellar garden?’ Echo translated tentatively.

  Izanuela stared at him in surprise. ‘You speak Old Ugglian?’

  ‘There isn’t a language I don’t speak.’

  ‘Good heavens, what a little swot you must have been!’

  ‘I didn’t have to learn to speak them. I just can.’

  The whole house shook and Echo thought she had conjured up an earthquake. Then the floor opened at his feet! But it wasn’t a natural disaster; the floorboards themselves had obediently parted to reveal a crooked, rickety staircase composed of tree roots. It led down into the darkness.

  ‘Is that … a mechanical device of some kind?’ Echo asked, filled with wonder. Not even Ghoolion’s spooky old castle possessed such a contrivance.

  ‘No,’ Izanuela replied curtly, as if that said it all. ‘Come with me.’ She set off down the uneven steps with Echo following timidly at her heels.

  At the bottom of the steps she clapped her hands. Swarms of fireflies awoke and rose into the air, bathing the underground chamber in a multicoloured glow. It was at least five times as big as the kitchen overhead.

  ‘If Ghoolion knew about this place, he’d have grilled me on his Ghoolio-Ugglian Barbecue long ago, legitimately or not. This is my subterranean retreat. My garden. My secret kingdom.’

  Echo gazed open-mouthed at the spacious cavern, whose damp mud wall
s and ceiling had roots growing through them. The paint was peeling off its multitude of worm-eaten tables, stools, shelves, chairs and benches. Old books and watering cans were lying around here and there, rakes and shovels stood propped against the walls. The pieces of garden furniture were laden with flowerpots and clay vessels, bowls and vases, terracotta jardinières and china mugs, wooden dishes and galvanised buckets. Most of the plants growing in them were unfamiliar to Echo. Although he could have quoted the correct botanical names of a few of them - wild roses, orchids, ferns and cacti - he had never before seen the vast majority of the fungi, berries, mosses, herbs and flowers growing in this subterranean garden. Their colours were as overwhelming as the many different scents that impregnated the air. Izanuela went on ahead, picking her way along the narrow paths between the luxuriant vegetation and pointing this way and that.

  ‘There are the usual plants that everyone knows,’ she trilled in the best of spirits. ‘Wild garlic and lily of the valley, woodruff and juniper, lavender and poppy, plantain and heptapleuron, saxifrage and soapwort, Auricula and Daggerthistle, Pharsley and Pheasant’s Eye. These look like ordinary stinging nettles but are ten times as virulent. That’s a Twin-Tongued Adderhead, and those two are Bullfinch Furze and Consumptive’s Cough. The blue-and-yellow flower is a Trigonelle. Those are Venus-Hair and Marsh Tea - both deadly poisonous, so don’t touch! The two over there are Cat’s-Foot and Hound’s-Tongue. They shouldn’t really be growing side by side, they simply can’t abide each other.’

  Thick roots were growing out of the floor and walls, and many more were dangling from the ceiling. For some reason he couldn’t have explained, Echo balked at clambering over them and tried to give them all a wide berth.

  Izanuela addressed herself to another part of her garden. ‘This area is more interesting. These are so-called horrificoplants from the Megaforest - few people ever get to see them. You’ve no idea how hard it is to obtain the things. Ghost Grass, Guillotinea, Graveyard Moss, Devil’s Besom, Trombophonic Toadstool, Executioner’s Axe, Dead Man’s Finger - the very names are enough to give one gooseflesh, but it’s amazing the juices one can distil from them, especially the fungi. I’ve made cough syrup out of this Corpse-Glove here. It doesn’t actually cure a cough, but your hair starts singing so sweetly when you take the stuff, you forget all about it.’