The Alchemaster's Apprentice

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 walls 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.’

Echo was puzzled. Hadn’t Izanuela told him that the most effective remedy she possessed was camomile tea? These plants of hers could create a whole host of hallucinations.

‘How can all these plants grow down here?’ he asked. ‘In the dark, I mean?’

She plunged both hands in a bucket and held some loose soil under his nose. It was teeming with big, long worms that emitted a bright red glow.

‘Lava Worms,’ she explained. ‘I put some in every flowerpot. They give off light and heat, which is all that the sun does. In fact, they’re even better than the sun because they radiate heat the whole time, even at night. There’s no winter down here, no clouds, no storms, no hail or frost - no bad weather at all. It’s a botanical paradise, an Elysium for anything with roots. If I were a flower I’d like to grow here and nowhere else.’

Izanuela went over to a rough old kitchen dresser draped in a red velvet curtain. ‘Would you like to see something really special?’ she said.

Echo nodded. Of course he would.

‘This is my botanical theatre. It’s horticulture of the highest order. You could also call it a mobile plant theatre, but that would be a misleading designation. All plants are mobile, but most of them move so slowly their movements can’t be detected with the naked eye. These are rather more agile.’

The Uggly drew the curtain aside, pursed her lips together and imitated a brief fanfare.

‘Tarantara, tarantara! Allow me to present the Ballerina Blossom!’

She pointed to a plant on the top shelf. It did full justice to its name. A handsome flower with a red calyx, a long green stem and thin, translucent leaves, it launched into a graceful pas seul.

‘The one beside it is a Cobra Thistle - careful, please, it can strike like lightning!’

The prickly weed made an almost imperceptible movement. Its tense body was vibrating like a coiled spring and Echo guessed how unexpectedly its poisonous barbs could strike home.

‘That one there is a Throttlefern. It’s capable of strangling creatures as big as a thrush, but I’d advise you to stand back. I’m sure it wouldn’t hesitate to attack a Crat.’

The fern lashed the air with several of its tendrils, cracking them like bullwhips. Echo retreated a step.

‘On the shelf below is a Twitching Terebinth. Eat a salad made from its leaves and you develop St Vitus’s dance. You dance for three days and then drop dead.’

The plant shook its big leaves violently to and fro - so violently that the flowerpot wobbled, scattering soil in all directions.

‘It’s absolutely insane,’ Izanuela whispered, tapping her forehead. ‘The billowing stuff in the green bucket is Breezegrass. I like looking at it when I’m in need of relaxation. Watching Breezegrass for five minutes sends me off to sleep.’

Although there wasn’t a breath of wind in the cavern, the grass stirred as if a gentle breeze were blowing through its stems. Echo found this had a soothing effect on him too. He was gradually becoming accustomed to his strange surroundings.

‘Growing in the yellow flowerpot is a Clapperatus Applaudiens. I can’t help it, but it’s a bit too obsequious for me.’

When Izanuela pointed to it, the tuliplike flower broke into applause, clapping its leaves together like a maniac.

‘I think it’s amusing,’ Echo said.

‘That Asparagus Timidus is the absolute opposite. Another specimen from the Megaforest. It’s as shy as a blushing bride.’

The tip of the asparagus turned red at the touch of Izanuela’s outstretched finger, then buried itself in the mossy ground and stayed that way.

She sighed. ‘Mobile plants are becoming increasingly popular with people who find normal plants boring but are too lazy to keep a pet. Personally, I think they should be declared a protected species. It’s cruelty to plants to allow such people to own them. They’re bound to start teaching them tricks.’

‘Could they do that?’ asked Echo.

The Uggly studied her fingernails. ‘Well, I must confess I taught that Trampoline Fern down there a little trick. The temptation was too great.’

She clicked her fingers. The Trampoline Fern withdrew its roots from the flowerpot, climbed out of it, turned a somersault and climbed back in again.

‘Encore!’ Echo cried delightedly.

‘Certainly not,’ said Izanuela. ‘This isn’t a circus, it’s a serious botanical theatre.’ She drew the curtain and looked around. ‘Let’s see … What else have we got?’

She hurried over to a long red wooden bench. ‘This is a collection of especially fragrant plants: Lemon Balm and Thyme, Rosemary and Sage, Poppy Orange and Blossoming Nutmeg, Gingerbread Japonica and Sprouting Vanilla, Marzipan Potato and Cinnamon Citronelle.’

Eagerly, Echo applied his little nose to each plant in turn. They all smelt divine.

Izanuela made her way across to a crude wooden cupboard overgrown with ivy and opened the door. ‘I keep the more evil-smelling plants shut up in here,’ she said. Echo backed away, repelled by the vile stench that came drifting out of the interior.

‘Garlic Breath and Cheesefoot, Sulphurous Sumach and Perspiring Tulip, Horse-Apple Hosta and Common Turdwort, Fernfart and Stinkboot. Pooh!’ She fanned herself. ‘I have to admit I always speed up a bit when I’m watering this section.’ She slammed the cupboard door and went over to a set of shelves. Unlike the others, they were made of some silvery, richly decorated metal.

‘Take a look at these beauties instead. They’re Crystalline Orchids.’

Echo gazed at the wonderful plants. Their flowers resembled magnified snowflakes, each unique in shape.

‘Please be careful of this magnificent cactus. Although it changes colour every second, it fires off its poisonous spines like arrows when it’s out of sorts. It hit me in the backside once and I had heartburn for three days. Beautiful, though, isn’t it? It glows in the dark.’

Izanuela pointed to various flowerpots and reeled off the names of their occupants: ‘Golden Leafling, Ladykiller, Cupreous Rose, Nightingale Crocus - that one can actually sing when it’s in the mood. Angel’s Hair. Blonde Princess.’

She turned to a tub which seemed to be on fire.

Issuing from the peaty soil was a wonderful, balletically flickering blue flame. ‘A Graveyard Ghost,’ she said in a whisper.

As Echo and the Uggly looked more closely, he saw that the flame had a childlike face and was whispering softly to itself. It was a while before the two of them could drag themselves away from this mesmeric apparition.

‘But where there’s light, there’s darkness as well,’ Izanuela said in a low voice, beckoning to Echo to follow. ‘Come with me. I’ll show you some plants that aren’t as good-looking.’

She led him over to some flowerpots standing on a rustic bench beneath a table. ‘I have to confess I keep them hidden,’ she said. ‘Their appearance tends to depress me.’

Echo looked at the plants. They really were remarkably unattractive. Suppurating sores had developed where flowers once grew. Their leaves were shrivelled or dung-coloured, their stems misshapen and prickly.

‘Humpbacked Gnome, Python’s Fang, Death Cup, Septic Verruca, Mouldering Morel, Slimy Susan, Athlete’s Foot. You can’t help feeling sorry for them. The majority were almost exterminated, simply because they’re so ugly, but they’re highly effective medicinal herbs if administered in the correct dosage. That one cures rheumatism.’

Echo could restrain himself no longer. ‘You told me that camomile tea was the most effective remedy you possessed,’ he blurted out, ‘but this garden of yours is full of the most miraculous plants.’

Izanuela eyed him with a pitying expression. ‘You really are gullible. I only said that to get rid of you. I also said I was the worst Uggly in Zamonia. That was another lie, of course.’

‘Really?’ Echo pricked up his ears.

She pointed to a framed document hanging on the wall ‘See that diploma?’ she said with a tremor in her voice. ‘It was awarded me by the Ugglian Academy in Grailsund. I graduated with five necromantic stars. Do you know what that means?’

‘No,’ Echo said.

‘It means I’m a qualified Uggly with five necromantic stars, that’s what! I wrote my doctoral thesis on the capillary system of the Witch’s Hat Toadstool. I studied prophosophy for thirty-four terms - that’s prophetic philosophy, a subject only Ugglies can study. Only one Uggly in a hundred is awarded five necromantic stars. My mentor was the legendary Kora Kronch. That’s what it means.’

Breathing hard, Izanuela pointed to a gold cup on a shelf. ‘You see that cup? That’s the Green Thumb of Watervale, the most highly prized award in the field of floristic botany. Guess who was nominated for it three times and awarded it once! I’ll give you a clue: the person who’s standing in front of you, bears my name and is the only Uggly left in Malaisea.’

Izanuela had delivered this harangue with her head held high, squinting like mad and waggling her ears excitedly. She still seemed proud of having pulled the wool over Echo’s eyes, but that was fine with him. Better a well-qualified Uggly than the worst one in Zamonia.

‘Is there anything else I should know?’ he asked. ‘Now that we’re partners, I mean?’

She looked down at him with a smile.

‘I really must congratulate you, my young friend,’ she said in a condescending tone, ‘on your good manners. There’s one question you must be itching to ask me.’

‘What’s that?’ said Echo.

‘Well, how the staircase works. But you don’t dare, eh?’

‘It would certainly interest me to know,’ Echo admitted.

‘Then look around you. Which is the biggest plant down here?’

Echo looked around the cavern.

‘That big blue cactus over there,’ he said. ‘That’s the biggest.’

‘Wrong.’

‘But there isn’t anything bigger.’

‘You aren’t using your eyes properly. Where do you think all these roots in the ground and the ceiling come from?’

‘A tree of some kind, I suppose.’

‘Well? Have you seen any trees in Uggly Lane?’

Echo thought hard. No, there were no trees at all in Uggly Lane.

‘The nearest trees are in the municipal park,’ Izanuela said with a laugh. ‘That’s half a mile away. No trees have roots that long.’

‘You mean …’ Echo looked up at the ceiling.

‘Exactly,’ said Izanuela. ‘This house is the biggest plant here. All the houses in Uggly Lane are plants and they’re alive. Very much alive.’

Picking up a flowerpot, she brought it down hard on the fat black root writhing around her feet. The bark split open in several places and some big, melancholy eyes came to light beneath it.

‘An Ugglian oak,’ she said. ‘One of the oldest plants in Zamonia. Only the Ugglies know of its existence. Which makes you an Uggly too, in a manner of speaking. Can you keep a secret?’

‘Of course,’ Echo said hurriedly.

‘Good. You wouldn’t like to hear what would happen if you blabbed.’

Izanuela subjected him to a long, piercing stare and he felt genuinely scared of her for the first time. Her eyes were incandescent with the millennial power of Ugglyism. He grew terribly cold, as if a giant shadow had engulfed him, and for one brief moment he thought he heard the weird music that had assailed his ears the first time he set eyes on her house. Her gaze was like an unspoken threat, a curse. He shivered.

Then the light in her eyes went out.

‘These trees existed many thousands of years before Malaisea was founded,’ she continued, squinting good-naturedly now. ‘Only the Ugglies realised that they were habitable, and they were also the only living creatures the trees would accept as tenants. The Ugglian oaks came to look more and more like houses as the centuries went by, until no one would have guessed they were really plants. The town of Malaisea grew up around the Ugglies’ colony, but they kept the secret to themselves and passed it on from generation to generation.’

The eyes in the roots slowly closed as if the tree were going to sleep.

‘Living inside living plants isn’t a bed of roses, believe you me. They have their idiosyncrasies, their moods, their quirks, their habits. You have to be able to put up with them or you’d go mad. Things are in a constant state of flux. Walls become displaced, windows close up, roots suddenly appear where there weren’t any before - you trip over them and fall flat on your face. This tree also hums to itself at night, that’s why I wear earplugs.’

Echo looked around nervously. It wasn’t a very reassuring sensation, being inside a living creature - it was like being swallowed by a giant. He now understood his instinctive fear of the Ugglies’ houses.

‘Don’t be frightened,’ Izanuela told him soothingly. ‘It’s thoroughly good-natured. At least, I’ve never known it to lose its temper.’

She climbed over the root and went to a big trestle table groaning under the weight of numerous flowerpots. Echo would have liked to hear more about the living houses, but Izanuela seemed to have exhausted the subject.

‘This is the medicinal section,’ she went on. ‘That’s another misleading designation, of course, because almost any plant can be used for medicinal purposes, even the most poisonous. These are particularly effective, though. They range from the simple Runny Nose to the Crazy Courgette, but there are many more.’ She indicated a cucumber that had tied itself in knots. ‘That one can cure serious mental illnesses, but it can also induce them if incorrectly administered. When Ghoolion’s castle was still a lunatic asylum, the patients there were fed on it. No wonder it all ended in chaos.’

She pointed to a few inconspicuous plants. ‘That’s Disinfectant Knotgrass and that’s an Anaesthetic Sponge. The juice of this cactus can combat hair loss, but the patient’s head grows prickles instead. Turdwort, Thistlegut, Black Uncle … I’d rather not tell you what ailments they’re good for.’

Echo was fascinated. This was in every respect a counterpart to the Alchemaster’s laboratory. Ghoolion’s morbid realm was filled with stuffed corpses and dangerous chemicals, pathogenic substances and preserved death rattles, whereas this was a celebration of life, a living, proliferating, breathing world in which everything served therapeutic medicinal purposes. What a contrast between the Alchemaster’s acrid alchemical fumes and the vernal fragrance of Izanuela’s flower garden! Echo felt like making his home there right away.

‘But that’s enough about diseases,’ Izanuela said firmly. ‘It’s an unpleasant subject.’

They came to a big table laden with gadgets, all of which might have come from the Alchemaster’s laboratory: flasks and test tubes, phials and mortars, coloured liquids and powders, microscopes and tweezers. Compared to Ghoolion’s equipment, however, Izanuela’s was just a child’s chemistry set.

‘This is my distillation plant,’ she said with a grin. ‘I certainly can’t compete with Ghoolion’s laboratory, but I can brew a potion or two. Incidentally, about my so-called Placebo Wart Ointment: it is, in fact, the most effective wart ointment in the whole of Zamonia. Apply some to a wart and it’ll drop off the next morning. There’s nothing to touch it anywhere on Apothecary Avenue. Here, this is a cold cure distilled from Snotgrass. Take some and five minutes later your cold will be gone. I’d like to see the doctor who can prescribe such a medicine.’

She held up a test tube containing some green powder.

‘There’s no such thing as a cure for hangovers, right? You just have to let them wear off, right?’

Echo thought of his wine-tasting session with Ghoolion and nodded.

‘Wrong!’ cried Izanuela. ‘A spoonful of this powder in your coffee and you’ll be as clear-headed as a teetotaller. This tincture cures any migraine. That pill banishes any toothache. Here’s a liqueur that will heal stomach ulcers. Appendicitis? Chew this root and your appendix disinflames itself. Chickenpox? Simply rub my chickenpox ointment on your spots and they stop itching within seconds. Jaundice? Drink this potion and your liver will be back in order immediately.’

She spread her arms wide.

‘Down here I’ve devised remedies for most of the diseases Ghoolion is concocting up there. Not that he knows it, the two of us are engaged in an everlasting duel.’

Echo had been carried away by her enthusiastic recital. ‘Let’s get down to work!’ he cried. ‘When are we going to brew this love potion? Now?’

The Uggly made a soothing gesture.

‘Not so fast,’ she said. ‘First I have to familiarise myself with the relevant literature.’

She picked up a huge leather-bound tome and slammed it down on the tabletop so hard that it set all the retorts and test tubes around her jingling.

‘The Ugglimical Cookbook,’ she explained. ‘It contains every Ugglimical recipe in existence. In Old Ugglian.’

She opened the book at the title page and read out the motto:

‘“Nyott stropstnopirni hapfel zach; hapfel zach stropstnopirni!” Can you translate that too?’

‘We don’t live to learn; we learn to live!’ Echo replied.

‘Correct,’ she said. ‘Let’s see now …’

She turned over the pages for quite a while.

‘Toadstool Soup … hm … Henbane Rissoles … Crab-Apple Cocktail … hm … Muddlewater Cordial … Adderthistle Salad with Larkspew Dressing …’

She tapped a page with her finger and uttered a triumphant cry. ‘Here we are! Ugglimical Love Potion, Extra Strong!’

‘Have you found it?’ Echo asked excitedly. ‘Is it really in there?’

‘Phew,’ Izanuela said to herself, ‘this is a tall order. We need some Gristlethorn … some Treacletuft…a spoonful of Champagne Rennet … a Clubfoot Toadstool … some Prickly Wormfern…a Twelve-Leafed Clover…a Graveyard Marsh Anemone … Arctic Woodbine…a pinch of Old Man’s Scurf … some chopped Toadpipe … a pound of Pond Scum … some Sparrowspit …’ She mopped her brow. ‘Heavens, what next! A Funnelhorn … Quail’s-Eye Wheat … Tuberous Stinkwort … Devil’s Clover … Inflorescent Cabbage … some Ranunculaceous Nectar … two Shadow Shallots … hm … hm …’

She looked up at last.

‘It’s as I feared, my friend: this isn’t going to be a stroll in the park. All right, I’ve got most of the ingredients here and the rest I can get from Ugglies of my acquaintance. But there’s one that’s almost impossible to obtain. It’s a plant that has become almost extinct. No Uggly knows where it’s still to be found.’

Echo’s heart sank. All his elation had gone. ‘What’s it called?’ he asked dejectedly.

‘Cratmint,’ she said. ‘An extremely potent herb.’

‘Cratmint?’ he exclaimed. ‘I know where to find some!’

‘Really? Where?’

‘On Ghoolion’s roof. A big clump of it. In full bloom.’

Izanuela looked relieved. ‘That’s wonderful. I thought we’d had it.’

‘I can pick a few leaves and bring them to you. No problem.’

She perused the book again.

‘Hm …’ she said. ‘A few dead leaves won’t do. I need the whole plant - alive. You’ll have to dig it up, roots and all.’

‘But I can’t,’ Echo said miserably. ‘It’s far too big for a Crat to manage.’

Izanuela gave him a long look. Echo stared back. Profound silence reigned for a while. Everything was so quiet, the Graveyard Ghost could be heard whispering to itself.

‘No,’ Izanuela said, ‘you can’t be serious!’

‘Yes,’ said Echo, ‘there’s no alternative: you’ll have to come up on the roof with me.’