Toad Rage - Morris Gleitzman [16]
Limpy moistened Goliath's lips with grasshopper juice, then fed him the bits.
Goliath gulped them down.
“Thanks,” he said. “Hey, what are you doing?”
“Lubrication,” said Limpy, scooping up handfuls of truck oil from the axle cover and rubbing them into Goliath's warty skin. “It's a concept I learned from a slug.”
When Goliath was covered with oil, Limpy clambered round to the other side of the axle and started pushing.
Goliath didn't budge.
Limpy braced himself against a brake-fluid hose and pushed till his warts felt like they'd pop.
Still Goliath didn't shift.
This is hopeless, thought Limpy. I'll have to starve him till he gets thin. Which could take weeks. Meanwhile, if a rock flies up from the road …
Then Limpy remembered something.
Goliath was scared of dust mites.
Giant lizards didn't fluster him a bit, enraged funnel-web spiders usually copped an earful if they tried it on with Goliath, but dust mites sent him into a panic.
Limpy took a deep breath. It was risky, but he didn't have any choice.
“Sorry I'm not pushing very hard,” he said in a loud voice behind Goliath. “I keep slipping on all the dust mites.”
Goliath gave a scream louder than all the air brakes going on at once, and disappeared.
Limpy stared around in panic.
Oh no, Goliath must have wrenched himself free and leapt straight onto the road.
I shouldn't have done it, thought Limpy, distraught. I should have just tickled him.
Then he saw something moving up ahead.
Something large and hanging upside down from the truck chassis.
It was Goliath, wide-eyed with terror, scrabbling his way toward the front of the truck.
By the time Limpy caught up, Goliath was on the bull bar gobbling insect fragments. Now that he had a mouthful of grasshopper, locust, midge, moth, gnat, and cicada, he seemed to have forgotten about the dust mites.
Limpy showed him how to turn round and get a fresh supply of dinner.
After a very long time, Goliath burped and gave Limpy a grin. Limpy beamed back. His crook leg was twitching with happiness to see Goliath. He gave Goliath a delighted punch on the arm. Goliath gave him a slap on the back that nearly knocked him off the truck.
“Thanks, old mate,” said Goliath. He glared up at the driver's cabin. “Now I'm gunna teach this mongrel a lesson, starting with ripping his wheels off and peeing in his fuel tank.”
“Actually,” said Limpy, “I'd like this truck to get to where it's going.”
He told Goliath about the Games and being a mascot.
Goliath stared at him. “Have you been frying your brains in the sun?”
Limpy sighed. New ideas always took a while to sink in with Goliath.
“We'll both be frying our brains in the sun if we stay out here much longer,” said Limpy. “Come on, follow me.”
He led Goliath across the wheel arch and over the door hinge to the side of the truck. Halfway along was a rip in the aluminum cladding he'd spotted earlier where the truck must have scraped something.
It was just big enough for Limpy to squeeze through.
Goliath was another matter, but thanks to the axle grease on his skin, and after a lot of hard work by Limpy, he flopped through too.
They looked around at the boxes of fluffy toys.
“This'll be us once I'm a mascot,” said Limpy happily. “Fluffy cane toads, and humans going gaga over us.
Goliath stared at him again. “Limpy,” he said, “do you know how much competition there is to be a Games mascot? I met a spider under the truck who'd traveled across the country to be one and it didn't even get an audition.”
Limpy felt his spirits droop.
“Gee,” he said. “It must have been disappointed.”
Goliath frowned and thought about this. “Possibly,” he said. “I forgot to ask before I swallowed it.”
Limpy stared at the fluffy toys, his glands heavy with worry.
Then he had a thought that made him tingle with relief.
“Must have been a furry spider,” he said.
Goliath looked impressed. “Yeah,” he said. “It tickled as it went down. How did you know?”
“That's why it didn't get the job,” said Limpy happily. “There's already a mascot with fur, and one with feathers,