‘So does Ghoolion owe you something?’ Echo asked again.
‘Hm …’ growled a Leathermouse. ‘That would be an exaggeration. We don’t owe each other anything at all - ours is a kind of marriage of convenience. One partner gives something, the other gives something back. That way, everyone benefits.’
‘How interesting!’ said Echo, only to be floored again. What did one talk about to Leathermice? He’d already run out of questions.
‘But tell us,’ called a voice high up in the rafters, ‘how is it we can understand you? We’ve never understood what a cat says before.’
‘That’s because I’m a Crat, not a cat.’
‘You see!’ called another Leathermouse. ‘I knew there was something fishy about him right away!’
‘There’s nothing fishy about me,’ Echo retorted boldly. ‘I’m not a cat, that’s all. I’m a Crat - I can speak to any living creature in its own language.’
‘Really? You can really speak anyone’s language?’
Echo took a deep breath. The conversation was under way. He’d whetted the vampires’ curiosity. Now he had to keep up the good work.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve certainly managed to talk to all the creatures I’ve ever met.’
‘Even mice?’
‘I don’t talk to mice.’
‘No?’
‘I could if I wanted to, but I don’t.’
‘Why not?’
Echo hesitated. He’d never considered the matter before. This certainly wasn’t the appropriate moment to emphasise his hostility to mice. He tried to change the subject by asking a question of his own.
‘What exactly do you and Ghoolion do for each other?’
‘He gives us the run of this loft, so we have somewhere nice and dark to sleep - we’d be smoked out otherwise. In return, we give the local inhabitants a hard time.’
‘We drink their blood.’
‘Piss in their wells.’
‘Crap down their chimneys.’
One or two vampires tittered malevolently.
‘We infect them with diseases to keep them weak and prevent them from rebelling against Ghoolion. That’s our part of the bargain.’
‘We’re experts at bacterial warfare.’
‘We’re viral virtuosi.’
‘We’re genuine pests.’
Another concerted hiss of assent.
Echo had an idea. The Leathermice seemed really proud of their vile activities. Perhaps he could trade on that fact.
‘You seem to be full of bright ideas when it comes to representing Ghoolion’s interests,’ he said.
‘You can say that again!’ a Leathermouse exclaimed. ‘We clean our teeth with toadshit before we go bloodsucking.’
‘We drink from graveyard puddles before we piss in their wells.’
‘We bite cows’ udders and contaminate their milk.’
‘Now I understand why Ghoolion respects you so much,’ said Echo. ‘He’d be only half as powerful without your help. But …’ He broke off.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. It’s a really practical partnership of yours - everyone gets something out of it. The only thing is …’ He hesitated again.
‘Come on, spit it out!’
‘Yes, what is it?’
Echo cleared his throat. ‘Well, it’s great the way you spread all these diseases and put the wind up people, et cetera. Very ingenious and effective, but I wonder … Can it really be right to help a tyrant oppress the population of an entire town? Might it even be wrong?’
A long silence ensued.
‘Bingo!’ thought Echo. ‘They’re like children who have to be taught that even they possess such a thing as a conscience. No wonder, when nobody ever talks to them.’
One of the Leathermice gave a dry little cough.
‘You want to know about right and wrong, my friend? Listen and we’ll tell you.’
‘Yes,’ said another. ‘We sleep by day and live at night, drink blood instead of water and see with our ears.’
‘Up is down and down is up,’ several vampires chanted in unison.
‘People think we’re ugly, we think we’re good-looking. You think you’re good-looking, we think you’re ugly.’
As though handing on the baton in a relay race, one Leathermouse chimed in after another.
‘Are you really surprised we have a different idea of right and wrong?’