The longer Echo persevered in his hiding place, the more exasperated he became. ‘Drink that confounded wine, you old devil!’ he felt like shouting. ‘You’re only doing all this to torment me. You know perfectly well I’m here.’
But he controlled himself with difficulty. He endured the disgusting stench Ghoolion created by boiling up his balls of fat. He endured the sighs of the dying, his uncomfortable position, his fear and uncertainty. An hour went by. Two hours. Three. Now he was having to fight off fatigue. The stifling atmosphere and his physical immobility were making him sleepy.
‘For goodness’ sake don’t go to sleep!’ he commanded himself. Nobody snored louder than a sleeping Crat.
There! Ghoolion was going over to the wine glass at last. He picked it up again and put it to his lips. Then he had a sudden idea. He put the glass down and hurried over to a blackboard. Quickly covered it with formulae. Wiped them out and scrawled some more in their place. Stepped back and submitted them to lengthy scrutiny. It was enough to drive anyone mad! Echo writhed with impatience in his hiding place.
Then Ghoolion walked briskly back to the wine glass. Picked it up. Put it to his lips. And drained it at a gulp!
Echo gave a delighted start and hit his head on the shelf above. A book fell over. Ghoolion pricked up his ears. His face registered no reaction to the love potion. He took a ball of fat and tossed it into a saucepan. Picked up a basket and hurried out to fetch some more supplies from the cellar.
With a groan, Echo scrambled stiffly out of his hiding place.
The Wedding Gown
R
ather than risk another encounter with feral dogs, Echo returned by way of the busiest streets in Malaisea. A few passers-by stared uncomprehendingly at the empty wineskin strapped to his chest, but most were too preoccupied with themselves, their aches and pains, heartburns and gastric disorders, coughs and colds. Not for the first time, Echo realised how little he had missed these universally diseased surroundings.
When he reached Izanuela’s house he found the entrance to the cellar open. The usual weird music could be heard, but this time it had taken on a solemn, uplifting quality.
‘Down here!’ Izanuela called. ‘Come and kiss the bride!’
‘But no tongues!’ Echo insisted as he made his way down the stairs. ‘Good news! Mission accomplished! I managed to administer the love potion!’
‘I expected no less,’ she said. ‘Mind you, I haven’t been idle in the meantime.’
A long cord had been suspended below the roof of the subterranean garden, and draped over it like a curtain was a big length of red cloth. Izanuela had concealed herself behind this.
‘Just a moment,’ she trilled. ‘I’m nearly ready.’
‘Ready for what?’ Echo demanded. What had the demented creature dreamed up this time?
‘
Twitchstik!
’ she cried, and the Song of the Ugglian Oaks rose in a dramatic crescendo. The curtain was drawn aside and Izanuela stood revealed.
‘Tadaaa!’
She wasn’t dressed in her usual attire. Instead of her shabby old cloak she now wore a gown like none that Echo had ever seen before. It was completely woven out of flowers and other plants: red and black roses, white and yellow tulips, marguerites and poppies, pale-pink marbled carnations, flame-red orchids, blue violets and violet hyacinths, daisies and plum blossom, snowdrops and lilies, asters and bleeding heart, lavender and lotus blossom, deadly nightshade and eyebright. Also woven into the gown’s elaborate ornamentation were herbs, grasses and foliage: celandine and love grass, clover and cardamine, myrtle and melissa, oat grass and silver sage. On her head Izanuela wore a shady, broad-brimmed hat woven out of white waterlilies. Butterflies were fluttering round her and settling here and there to sip at a blossom. To Echo, it looked as if an entire meadow were advancing on him. She smelt like a day in springtime.
‘Well, what do you think?’ she demanded coquettishly, performing a pirouette that made the leaves rustle. ‘Is it worthy of the occasion? I originally intended to make my wedding dress out of red cabbage leaves, but cabbage smells so strong.’
Echo couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She was still the same old Uggly underneath, admittedly, but she seemed transformed. She smelt better. Her movements were more majestic. She radiated a kind of inner beauty. The glorious flowers blinded the eye to all her shortcomings.
‘You’re a knockout,’ said Echo.
‘Thank you. And I still haven’t put any perfume on.’
‘You’ll bowl the old man over.’
‘How did he react to the love potion?’ she asked, patting her dress down.
‘Hard to say. He didn’t react at all, to be honest, but I scarcely had time to watch him. He drank it and left the room at once.’
‘The potion takes time to develop its full effect. An hour or so should do the trick.’
Izanuela proceeded to relieve Echo of the wineskin. ‘Was it difficult?’ she asked as she unbuckled the straps.
‘He took an age to drink the stuff,’ Echo replied, ‘but then he downed it in one.’
‘That’s good.’ She shivered ecstatically. ‘I’m so excited.’
‘It’s all gone swimmingly up to now.’ Echo stretched and yawned, glad to be rid of the cumbersome wineskin. ‘Still, we ought to be prepared for any eventuality. What if the potion doesn’t work?’
‘I’ve given the matter some thought,’ said Izanuela. ‘If Ghoolion doesn’t react to my appearance as we hope he will, I’ll simply tell him I’ve come to pay my respects. On the occasion of the … er, full moon. An old Ugglian custom which I’d like to revive, hence my ceremonial attire. Something along those lines. He can hardly grill me on his barbecue for that, can he?’
‘That would let you off the hook,’ said Echo. ‘Where would it leave me, though?’
‘Hm …’ she said. An awkward silence fell.
Her ‘Hm …’ hung in the air for a moment or two. Then she threw up her hands and cried, ‘No more dire imaginings, everything’s going to be fine! I only have to titivate myself a bit more and put on some perfume.’
She vanished behind the curtain, humming to herself like a beehive, while Echo waited patiently. Izanuela looked even more attractive when she reappeared. Her glossy lips were a dark shade of red, the worst of her warts had been masked by make-up and she was wearing a pair of long, silky eyelashes Echo had never seen before. Her cheeks were a healthy pink.
‘There,’ she said brightly, ‘now comes the finishing touch. The icing on the cake, so to speak!’
She took the flask of Cratmint perfume and dabbed a few drops on her cleavage.
Echo was suddenly overcome by a feeling of boundless affection for her. He wound round her legs the way he’d always wound round the clump of Cratmint on the roof, purring and miaowing with delight.
‘Off we go, then!’ she cried. ‘Let’s storm Ghoolion’s castle!’
The unusual spectacle presented by the strange pair created quite a stir in the streets of Malaisea. The crowds of gawping, uncomprehending pedestrians grew steadily thicker as they walked down Apothecary Avenue, but Izanuela refused to quicken her pace and strode on with head erect. Unlike Echo, she seemed to be enjoying the attention.
‘Take no notice of them, my friend,’ she said. ‘They’re nothing but ignorant boors.’
No one ventured to follow them up the lane to the castle.
‘They’re gutless, too,’ she said contemptuously. ‘Heavens,’ she went on, clutching her bosom, ‘my heart’s in my mouth.’
They didn’t stop till they reached the castle entrance. Izanuela gazed up at the building, which looked even more dilapidated at close range than from a distance.
‘Where do you think he is?’ she asked.
‘Ghoolion? In his laboratory, at a guess,’ Echo replied.
‘Then let’s get it over.’ Izanuela’s throat was so dry that she could only utter the words in a hoarse croak.
The Proposal
A
ll the pride and self-assurance Izanuela had displayed in the streets of Malaisea swiftly evaporated in the atmosphere of the castle. She climbed the stairs on trembling legs and stared fearfully at the stuffed mummies like a little girl on her first ride in a ghost train. Sweat streamed down her cheeks, dissolving her make-up and washing it into her cleavage.
Halfway up the stairs she stopped abruptly.
‘I can’t,’ she wailed. ‘I can’t go through with it.’
‘Come on,’ Echo said encouragingly, ‘we’ve got this far.’
‘But I’m scared.’
Echo thought feverishly. How could he reassure her?
‘What score would you give your fear on a scale of one to ten?’ he asked.
‘A hundred. No, a thousand. No, a million. No, a hundred million.’ She was breathing heavily.
He wouldn’t get anywhere like that this time, he could tell. ‘Come on,’ he said again. ‘We’ll make it. You look ravishing.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I can understand why
you’re
bound to believe that, it’s your only hope. But
I
don’t have to do this. I need only go back home and everything will be the way it was.’
‘But you’ve got Plan B in case things go wrong. You simply spin him that yarn about an old Ugglian custom and make yourself scarce.’
‘It’s nothing to do with that. You think I’m scared of Ghoolion or those gruesome figures there? Bah!’ She made a dismissive gesture.
‘What do you mean?’
She gave him a long look of genuine despair. There were tears in her eyes.
‘It’s myself I’m afraid of,’ she said in a trembling voice.
‘You’re talking in riddles. This isn’t the time.’
Echo was bewildered. She infuriated him, yet he felt sorry for her.
‘I’ve only just realised,’ she went on. ‘It’s like my acrophobia on the roof, don’t you understand? This isn’t just
your
last chance, it’s
mine
as well.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Do you know how old I am? No, you don’t, thank goodness, and I’m not going to tell you. Nor am I going to tell you how many chances of romance I’ve ruined in my lifetime. There’s only one certainty: this is the last.’
She wiped away her tears.
‘This time I’m staking all I possess: the love potion, the perfume, this gown, myself. If I fail to conquer a man’s heart this time, I shall never pluck up the courage to try again.’
Echo was beginning to understand.
‘If I go home now,’ Izanuela whispered, ‘at least I can always tell myself I
might
have succeeded. Surely that’s better than the bitter certainty of failure?’
‘I can’t judge,’ said Echo. ‘I don’t have the experience. I’ve never ruined a chance of romance because I’ve never had one.’
A long, melancholy silence ensued.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘let
me
wear the perfume. Just tip it over my fur and push off. I’ll risk it.’
‘You know that won’t work, he’ll be twice as anxious to keep you at his side. And when the effect of the perfume wears off, tsssk!’ She drew a long fingernail across her throat.
Another awkward silence.
‘Very well,’ she sighed at last. Her bulky frame came to life with a jerk that made her leafy gown rustle. ‘I’ll do it, but don’t imagine I’ll lift a finger to help you if it all goes pear-shaped.’ She went stomping up the stairs with Echo at her heels.
When they got to the laboratory he cautiously peered inside. The cauldron of fat was bubbling away. No sign of Ghoolion, though.
Izanuela peeped round the corner.
‘Oh, he isn’t here!’ she exclaimed in relief. ‘Too bad. Come on, let’s go.’
‘Not on your life, we’ll wait. He’s bound to be fetching some more balls of fat from the cellar. He’ll be back any minute.’
Echo went into the laboratory and Izanuela reluctantly followed him.
‘Where do you think I should stand?’ she asked. ‘Where would I look my best?’
‘Stand beside the window. The smells aren’t as bad over there, so they won’t overwhelm the perfume.’
Izanuela went over to the window and carried out some running repairs. She mopped her sweaty face and applied some more rouge. Then she took out the flask of Cratmint perfume and sprinkled herself liberally with it.
‘Just to be on the safe side,’ she said with a nervous laugh.
‘You’re being very extravagant with that stuff,’ said Echo. ‘What’ll you do when it’s all used up?’
‘It’ll last for a while yet. Meantime, I’m hoping to obtain some more Cratmint. I’ve already asked my colleagues to keep their eyes open.’
Echo pricked his ears. ‘I can hear him coming. He’s halfway up the stairs.’
Izanuela tweaked her gown straight.
‘Tell me something,’ she said. ‘When should I ask him to let you go?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ Echo replied. ‘Let’s wait and see what he does. We don’t want to rush things before we’re absolutely sure you can twist him round your little finger.’