Toad Rage - Morris Gleitzman [27]
He squeezed through the window and launched himself into the darkness.
When he hit the ground, he was dazed for what felt like ages.
A few thoughts stuck in his spinning brain.
Find the dog. Get Goliath out of its mouth. Let the dog chew on my leg if necessary. The crook one, preferably.
Then Limpy heard groans.
He opened his eyes, hoping desperately that Goliath was still alive.
But it wasn't Goliath he saw lying on the grass moaning and dribbling, it was the dog.
“Dopey mongrel,” said a familiar voice.
Limpy spun round.
Goliath was leaning unsteadily against the wall, panting, covered with teeth marks and trifle.
“Silly bugger bit me in the glands,” he said. “Squirted himself in the mouth.”
Limpy stared, dazed and weak with relief. Then he grabbed Goliath and dragged him toward the bushes. The security guard couldn't be far away.
“Not bad for a bloke with a bad back, eh?” said Goliath. “That dozy heap'll have a bellyache for a week.”
Limpy didn't say anything. He was putting all his energy into dragging Goliath toward the stormwater drain at the edge of the restaurant garden.
But he knew Goliath was right.
It was amazing.
That dog was bigger than a whole swamp full of cane toads put together. And Goliath had beaten it.
“It'd take something bigger than a dog to stop me,” Goliath was saying. “A croc, or maybe a sheep.”
Limpy still didn't say anything.
As they scrambled into the drain, his head was buzzing with an idea.
An idea that could solve all their problems.
An idea that was even bigger than a sheep.
“Me?” said the flea.
Limpy nodded, grinning.
“Me compete in the Games?” said the flea. “Are you mental?”
The other animals and insects stared at Limpy and shook their heads and feelers. Limpy could see they thought he was.
“It's tragic,” muttered the crocodile sadly. “The stress of being the ugliest species on the planet has gotten to him and his brain's exploded.”
“Hey,” said Goliath to the crocodile, “don't insult my cousin, okay? He might be a bit weird-looking but he's not mental.”
“Everybody calm down,” said Limpy, “and let me explain my idea. No, even better, I'll demonstrate it.” He pointed to the flea. “Goliath, eat Gavin.”
Goliath looked at the flea, confused.
The flea, alarmed, jumped up onto the ceiling of the drain.
Goliath turned to Limpy. “You told me I wasn't allowed to eat any of our friends in the drain,” he said.
“That's right,” said Limpy, “and I'm glad you remembered.” He looked up at the flea. “Gavin, sorry to startle you, but I just wanted us all to see you do your biggest jump.”
“Yeah, well, there'd better be a good reason,” said the flea, glaring down at Limpy. “This stress is not helping my ulcer.”
Goliath was glaring at Limpy too. “You've got me all hungry now,” he complained.
Limpy took a deep breath.
It wasn't easy getting simple-but-brilliant ideas across. No wonder cane toads didn't go in much for philosophy, quantum physics, or interior decoration.
“Okay,” said Limpy. “Does anyone here know measurements?”
Most of the animals and insects looked at each other and scratched their heads and thoraxes.
“I do,” said a woodworm. “I once spent a couple of weeks eating a carpenter's ruler.”
“Great,” said Limpy. “How high would you say Gavin jumped just now?”
The woodworm squinted up at the ceiling. “About one and a half meters,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Limpy. “And how tall would you say Gavin is?”
“I know that,” said Gavin. “I'm good with numbers too. I once spent three days in a math teacher's armpit. My height is a shade under half a millimeter. My brother Lofty, though, you should see him. He's a good tenth of a millimeter taller than me easy.”
“Right,” said Limpy. He took another deep breath. This was the crucial bit. He wished now he'd paid more attention in Ancient Eric's class “How Many Insects Have I Just Eaten?”
“If Gavin's half a