Toad Away - Morris Gleitzman [1]
He plucked a fat slug off a stalk.
“Ow,” said a muffled voice.
At first Limpy thought it was the slug.
“Do you mind,” said the muffled voice.
Then Limpy recognized the complaining tone. Goliath.
Limpy looked around, but couldn't see his cousin anywhere.
“You're standing on him,” said the slug.
Limpy looked down. Under his feet was a big clump of stinkweed.
“Get off,” said the stinkweed.
Limpy hopped back, startled.
The stinkweed rose slowly into the air. Under it, glaring at Limpy from a bog hole, was a familiar warty face.
“Goliath,” said Limpy. “What are you doing?” Goliath clambered out of the hole, the stinkweed still on his head.
“At the moment,” said Goliath, “I'm getting a headache.”
“Sorry,” murmured Limpy.
He saw there was mud all over Goliath's big body and face. Usually when Goliath had mud on him it was in splotches. This was different.
“That mud,” said Limpy. “Why's it in wavy lines?”
“Commando camouflage,” said Goliath.
Limpy was impressed. Usually when Goliath played commandos he made do with swamp slime on his face and a sprig of wattle in his bottom. These wavy lines must have taken ages.
“I'm on a military operation,” said Goliath.
There was something in Goliath's growl that made Limpy's warts start to prickle with concern.
“Goliath,” said Limpy. “I'm in the middle of something pretty important myself. Would you mind playing your commando game somewhere else?”
“It's not a game,” said Goliath, glaring at the men on the picnic rug and flexing his poison glands. “I've declared war on humans.”
Limpy stared at him, horrified.
Goliath gripped a sharp stick between his teeth, threw himself on the ground, and started wriggling on his stomach through the long grass toward the humans.
Limpy flung himself after Goliath, grabbing on to one of his cousin's big feet. For a while he was dragged along behind Goliath, grass stems jabbing him under the arms.
Then Goliath stopped.
“Limpy,” he said. “Let go and that's an order. I can't go into battle with you hanging off my foot. It's not good for your crook leg.”
Limpy clung on tight.
“I know how you feel, Goliath,” he said. “But war isn't the answer.”
“Yes, it is,” said Goliath, glaring over at the picnickers.“Let's see how humans like having their brains poking out of their ears and wee coming out of their noses.”
Limpy let go of Goliath's foot and grabbed one of his big brawny legs. He knew that beneath Goliath's tough, scowling, mud-streaked exterior, in among the half-chewed swamp rats and car accessories, lay a gentle heart.
“War will just make things worse,” said Limpy.
“Sorry, haven't got time to chat,” said Goliath, pulling his leg away. “Got a battle plan to follow. Fourteen hundred hours, attack humans, kick their buckets of chips over, stab them in the shins with sharp bits of pie crust.”
“The buttocks,” said the grasshopper. “Hurts more.”
Limpy realized one of Goliath's fists was buzzing.
Goliath opened it. A cluster of dazed bush flies sat on his palm.
“Aerial attack force, prepare for action,” commanded Goliath.
The flies looked unhappy.
“You can't send us over there without artillery support,” said one. “Those humans might have insect spray.”
“Be quiet!” roared Goliath. “You're in the military now.”
“Sorry, sir,” muttered the fly.
“You two,” said Goliath to the grasshopper and the slug. “Form a platoon and prepare to follow me into battle.”
“Yes, sir,” said the slug. “Does this mean I'm relieved from sauce duty, sir?”
“Silence in the ranks,” said Goliath. “Stand by to attack.”
Stack me, thought Limpy. This is worse than I thought.
He had a horrible vision of Goliath starting a huge war and being crushed by a human tank, or even a human lunchbox. And then Mum and Dad and Charm and cane toads everywhere being wiped out.
“Goliath,” he said. “Listen. Let's try my way first.”
Goliath looked at him thoughtfully. “What, you mean jump on the enemy out of trees and stuff swamp slime up their nostrils?”
“Not exactly,” said Limpy. “I mean try and make friends with them.”
Goliath's eyes bulged so much