Read The Alchemaster's Apprentice Online

Authors: Walter Moers

The Alchemaster's Apprentice (27 page)

Night-time.
Time to go hunting.
Time for blood.
He left the windowsill, fluttered into the room and perched on the end of a wooden bedstead. Below him was a mound of crisp white linen bedclothes with something rising and falling at its central point: a little girl fast asleep. He could smell her and hear her. Soon he would taste her as well.
Echo was suddenly appalled by his own voracity. It was really beyond belief: his dearest wish was to sink his teeth in a little girl’s neck and drink her blood! All that was left of the Crat within him balked at this idea. Wasn’t it the most abominable impulse ever?
No, he told himself, it wasn’t. There were worse things. He’d tormented mice, tortured insects, beaten up a hamster and pushed a blind mole into a stream. As for what he’d done to that flightless canary, he preferred not to think of it. Compared to that, biting a sleeping girl in the neck was thoroughly innocuous. Why shouldn’t he? Just this once! After all, he didn’t intend to kill her, just nibble her a bit and sip her blood. So what? At this very moment a regular banquet of gore was in progress all over Malaisea - an orgy of vampirism. Was he to be the only vampire that abstained, and on what was probably the only night he would ever spend as a Leathermouse? Never! Besides, this whole episode was a kind of dream, wasn’t it? Very lifelike, admittedly, but it couldn’t be the real thing. It was all taking place in his imagination! That meant he was having a sort of dream about biting this little girl, and who could help the dreams he had?
Echo hopped down on to the bed, hitched up his wings and waddled over the mound of white bedclothes. He couldn’t help giggling more than once at the thought that he must look like something out of a Zamonian horror story.
‘Whoo!’ he whispered. ‘Nobody understands the Leathermice.’
At that moment the little girl sat up.
Opened her eyes.
Saw Echo.
And screamed with all her might.
Echo gave a terrified snarl. The little girl screamed even louder. Panic-stricken, he fluttered into the air. Loud voices could be heard outside on the landing. His ears ached, the little girl was now screaming so loudly. He flew hither and thither, and all at once the room seemed terribly cramped. There were bulky pieces of furniture, hanging lamps and vases of flowers all over the place. He collided with a birdcage and almost got entangled in the wire mesh. Then he made straight for the moon, only to hit his head on a mirror he’d mistaken for the window. Heavy footsteps could be heard outside. The door burst open and two muscular fellows armed with sticks came lumbering in.
Echo flew straight for the window. Just then, the draught created by the open door sucked the curtains into the room. Their ghostly white arms reached for him once more and this time he ended up in their clutches. His clawed feet caught in the material, entangling him in its folds, and no amount of desperate fluttering and squeaking improved his situation. He found himself hanging upside down, as firmly imprisoned as a fly in a spider’s web.
Watch out for curtains!
That
was what the Leathermouse had said.
The little girl had at last stopped screaming and was imploring the two toughs to ‘kill that horrible Leathermouse’. They needed no second bidding: they dashed over to Echo and raised their sticks.
The little girl fell silent, not wanting to distract the executioners from their work. Echo’s heart was in his mouth. The two men paused for an instant, granting him the moment’s grace accorded to every criminal under sentence of death.
Echo broke the silence. ‘You’ll ruin the curtains,’ he said hoarsely.
It was the only thing that occurred to him, and pretty stupid it sounded, even to him, but its effect was remarkable. The men lowered their sticks and shrank back.
Echo realised only then that he’d done the ideal thing: he had spoken. It didn’t seem to matter that he hadn’t said anything particularly original; what counted was that no one in the whole of Malaisea, neither the men nor the little girl, had ever heard a Leathermouse speak. They obviously mistook him for an evil spirit, or something of the kind.
But he would have to choose his next words with greater care, that much was clear. He was as helpless as an insect stuck to flypaper, so their fear was his only weapon. He must say something even more frightening - so frightening that it drove them from the room. Who or what were the inhabitants of Malaisea afraid of most of all? Of course! Who else?
‘Are you mad?’ he snarled. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’
‘Er, no …’ one of the men said slowly.
‘I’m Ghoolion, Succubius Ghoolion!’ Echo screeched. ‘Your Alchemaster!’
The hoary old rumour that Ghoolion could alter his appearance and spy on the townsfolk in a variety of shapes was always going the rounds. Many of the inhabitants had seen him disguised as a rat, others as a black cat, and one even as his own mother-in-law. The Leathermouse version was not only novel but effective.
Echo realised that his words had indeed been well chosen when the little girl leapt out of bed and dashed out of the door. The men shrank back still further, but they didn’t let go of their sticks.
‘May you be accursed for a hundred years, just for intending to kill me!’ Echo screeched. ‘Yes, I lay a curse on you both! Abracadabra! Mumbo-jumbo! Hocus-pocus! Gulli-gulli-gulli! Rub-a-dub-dub! Um, err…’ He was only improvising, but his gibberish was enough to send them fleeing from the room. Feet went thundering down the stairs, terrified cries rang out, a door slammed. He was alone in the house.
But he was still trapped. The men might only have run off to fetch reinforcements and exchange their sticks for knives and axes. Whatever happened, he must get out of here as soon as possible.
He proceeded to squirm and wriggle, but every movement wrapped the material round him more tightly and his claws weren’t sharp enough to tear it.
‘It would be child’s play if I were a Crat,’ he thought.
But he was a Leathermouse. A mere novice at the vampire’s trade, he had disregarded its cardinal rule: ‘Watch out for curtains!’
He made another attempt to free himself, but his strength gave out after he’d squirmed and wriggled for a bit longer. He now noticed how tired he was from flying around. Even as a flyer, he’d made a beginner’s mistake by squandering his energy on those dogs. Yes, he was a Leathermouse, but a wholly inexperienced one. He had stupidly landed himself in the worst predicament any Leathermouse could be in. His wings felt bereft of energy and as heavy as lead. He was utterly exhausted.
‘Just a short rest,’ he thought, and he stopped fighting the curtains. His breathing steadied, his heartbeat slowed. ‘I must gather my strength.’
Suddenly, shouts rent the darkness. Echo strained his ears. What was that? He could hear a hubbub outside in the street, trampling feet, the sound of knives being sharpened. A mob was approaching.
‘Ghoolion!’ someone shouted.
‘It’s now or never!’ cried someone else.
Echo was seized with panic. They were coming back to kill him, complete with reinforcements and more effective weapons. He couldn’t have chosen the right words after all.
Another shout: ‘Let’s finish him once and for all!’
‘He was going to drink my blood!’ That was the little girl’s voice.
‘I always knew he was a vampire!’ croaked an old woman. ‘Kill him! We’ll never get a better opportunity!’
Echo tried to tear the curtain material to shreds with his teeth, but the more he tried the more tightly it wound itself round his throat, half throttling him.
‘I’ll never get out of here,’ he thought desperately. ‘Not alive, at any rate.’
A door creaked open. Footsteps thundered across the hall downstairs. They were inside the house!
‘Hey, Alchemaster,’ yelled someone, ‘now you’re for it!’
Echo mustered the last of his strength and made another attempt to extricate himself, but the curtain only increased its pressure on his body. ‘This is impossible,’ he thought. The material was steadily contracting. It seemed to be doing so of its own accord, like a boa constrictor tightening its grip.
Then it dawned on him. ‘No, the material isn’t contracting,
I’m expanding
! I’m getting bigger!’
It was true: his body was expanding, he could sense it in every limb. What was happening to him? He could feel that something about him was changing, his body, his limbs, even his mind and powers of perception. He suddenly felt far stronger.
He took hold of the curtain once more and tried to tear it. This time he succeeded almost effortlessly - with the aid of a set of sharp, feline claws.
‘I’m changing back!’ he gasped. ‘I’m turning into a Crat again!’
Footsteps came hurrying up the stairs, metal weapons clanked together.
‘The door at the end!’ someone shouted. ‘That’s her bedroom!’
Echo was growing steadily bigger and heavier. He proceeded to struggle with all the strength and agility of a Crat, using his teeth and claws. Threads snapped, cloth ripped. Free at last, he landed heavily on the windowsill and scrambled to his feet. He’d lost his wings and reacquired a tail. His transformation was complete.
The door burst open. The room was suddenly filled with lanternlight and a babble of voices. A bunch of figures appeared in the doorway armed with axes, knives and sickles. Before even one of the mob could rush in, Echo arched his back, fluffed out his tail and hissed as loudly as he could.
Silence fell. Nobody spoke, nobody dared to enter. Ghoolion could change shape, this proved it! They had expected to see a captive Leathermouse, only to be confronted by a snarling Crat. What would he turn into next, a ravening werewolf?
Echo seized his opportunity. He swung round, leapt off the windowsill and made a soft landing on the lawn below. Then he squeezed through a gap in the garden fence and scampered off down the cobbled street as fast as his legs would carry him. Heading for the Alchemaster’s castle.
Hunger
E
cho felt completely whacked when he opened his eyes the next morning. For a moment he didn’t know who, what or where he was. Was he a Leathermouse or a Crat? Was he lying in his basket or still imprisoned in a curtain? Kicking off his blanket, he saw that he was safely ensconced in his basket. He looked down at himself: four legs and a tail. He was a Crat once more.
Then it all came back to him. He’d just made it to his sleeping place after crossing Malaisea in the dark, fearful of the dogs he could no longer intimidate in his Leathermouse guise. Having toiled up the steep hill to the castle and all those flights of stairs, almost out on his feet, he’d fallen into a deep sleep. Had it all really happened?
Whatever the truth, he was hungry now. Hungry? He was absolutely famished! He’d just spent what was probably the most strenuous night of his life and he hadn’t even had a sip of blood.
He climbed laboriously out of his basket and went in search of something to eat. The kitchen had never looked so neat and tidy. All the food had been put away in the cupboards, which were locked. There wasn’t so much as an apple lying around and the Alchemaster was nowhere to be seen.
He glanced into the laboratory. The cauldron wasn’t in use and Ghoolion wasn’t there either, which was unusual for this time of day. The vampires were snoring in the Leathermousoleum, and no wonder, after their overindulgence of the previous night. Echo tried the roof: not even a whiff of food there. The pool of milk had dried up, the little boats lay stranded on the grass, empty. Theodore’s chimney, which had always been hung with delicacies like a Christmas tree, was unadorned today. There was no sign of Theodore himself. Echo sighed and went back inside the castle.

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