Free The Alchemaster's Apprentice by Walter Moers Page A

past its tall, pointed windows? What better background music than the menacing rumble of thunder nearby? Distributed around the room were dozens of Anguish Candles whose fitful light and subdued groans added to the indispensably ominous atmosphere.
    The Alchemaster was wearing a wine-red velvet cloak with gold appliqués and a tricorn hat of pitch-black ravens’ feathers, which made him look more diabolical than ever. He was standing beside his cauldron. A good fire was burning beneath it, as usual, but no exotic animal was being rendered down on this occasion. The cauldron’s bubbling, seething contents appeared to be plain water.
    ‘Well,’ asked Ghoolion, ‘how did you get on with the Leathermice? Was breakfast on the roof to your satisfaction?’
    ‘I can’t complain,’ Echo replied. ‘The roof is fabulous, but the Leathermice take a bit of getting used to.’ He studiously avoided mentioning his encounter with Theodore T. Theodore.
    ‘Good. I think you’ve already gained a pound or two.’
    The clouds emitted a deafening peal of thunder. Echo gave a jump. He had learnt to respect thunderstorms since being evicted from his former home. It wasn’t childish timidity that made him start at every thunderclap and every flash of lightning, it was the thoroughly justified fear that something catastrophic might happen. He had seen shafts of lightning split whole oak trees in two and set barns ablaze. The laboratory was situated at a great height, rain clouds were swirling through its open windows, and its bristling array of silver, copper and iron instruments presented a perfect target for electrical discharges. The room was so full of combustible and explosive materials and powders that a single thunderbolt would have sufficed to send the whole castle sky-high, yet the Alchemaster was proceeding with his work as calmly as if he relished the dangers of the situation - in fact, Echo half suspected that he was secretly masterminding the storm.
    ‘Listen carefully,’ Ghoolion said as he worked on the fire beneath the cauldron with a pair of bellows. ‘I’m going to teach you a few basic facts about alchemy.’
    ‘A few basic facts?’ Echo replied with a touch of disappointment. ‘“Secrets which even the most experienced alchemist would give his eye teeth to know” - that was what you said!’
    ‘You can’t measure the universe without learning your two-times table first,’ Ghoolion retorted over a clap of thunder. ‘You can’t write a novel without mastering the alphabet or compose a symphony without being able to read a score. How can I tell you about Prima Zateria if you don’t even know how to cook a ghost?’
    Echo pricked up his ears. ‘Is that what we’re going to do, cook a ghost?’
    ‘Possibly, we’ll see. Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t work every time. Alchemy is a science, but not, alas, an exact one. It’s as close to an art as any science can be and not every work of art succeeds.’
    Echo’s curiosity was aroused. Coming closer, he wound round Ghoolion’s legs.
    ‘Actually,’ Ghoolion went on, ‘this isn’t a work of art. It’s just a trick, a kind of joke.’
    ‘I thought you didn’t make jokes.’
    ‘Who says so?’ Ghoolion looked down at the Crat in surprise.
    ‘You did.’
    ‘I did? Really? The things one says without thinking … I’ve always been fond of jokes.’
    ‘Is that a fact?’ Echo said warily. ‘When was the last time you cracked one?’
    Ghoolion thought for a moment. ‘The last time? Let’s see. It was, er … er …’
    ‘Well?’
    ‘It was …’ Ghoolion was clearly racking his brains. ‘It was … Good heavens, it was when I was a student!’
    For the first time, Echo detected something in Ghoolion’s expression that wasn’t born of a cold heart or iron self-control: a look of genuine dismay. However, it disappeared as quickly as it had come, to be replaced by his habitual mask of authority and grim determination.
    ‘Well?’ he snarled