powdered stone were billowing into the air. The building seemed to be howling with pain as its ancient timbers burst asunder and its subterranean tunnels and chambers filled up with rubble. Chemicals exploded, demolishing walls, and stones rained down on Malaisea. Flames spurted from open windows and mushroom clouds of brown smoke blossomed on all sides.
‘I told you it was a sight worth seeing,’ croaked Vlad the Twelfth.
‘Our lovely home …’ Vlad the Seven Hundred and Seventy-Fourth said again.
The castle now turned into a many-armed kraken and its turrets into flexible tentacles that flailed around helplessly before being sucked into the depths. For a moment Echo thought he glimpsed the Alchemaster’s face in the midst of the collapsing ruins, a mask of black tiles contorted with stark terror. Then it folded in on itself and was swallowed up. Storey after storey came crashing down: the mother of all roofs; the Leathermousoleum; the laboratory; the wonderful kitchen; the secret treasure chamber; the galleries containing Ghoolion’s pictures; the lunatic asylum’s deserted wards; the libraries; the labyrinthine cellars; the Alchemaster’s fat collection; the Snow-White Widow’s prison. All these disappeared within the space of a few seconds. It was as if one of Ghoolion’s disaster paintings had come to life, a masterpiece that had devoured its own creator. All that remained was a smoking crater with the town of Malaisea clinging to its lip, miraculously unscathed.
‘We’ll never find another loft like that,’ Vlad the Seven Hundred and Seventy-Fourth said sadly. ‘We’ll have to vegetate in barns and caves.’
Echo couldn’t make out where the Ugglian Oaks had got to, the smoke was too thick, but their music had ceased. Had they withdrawn in good time, or had they shared the castle’s fate?
‘We must say goodbye now,’ said Vlad the Twelfth.
‘Yes,’ said his companion, ‘we must find ourselves a new abode.’
‘Of course,’ said Echo. ‘Just put me down in the town. Anywhere will do.’ The pain in his neck was becoming unbearable.
‘No,’ said Vlad the Twelfth, ‘we must say goodbye here and now. Right away.’
He let go of Echo’s neck. Only one of the Leathermice was supporting him now.
‘Hey!’ cried Echo. ‘What are you doing?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Vlad the Twelfth, ‘not exactly.’
‘You’ve saved my life twice and now you’re going to let me fall to my death?’ Echo protested. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’
‘No, we aren’t,’ the Leathermice replied in unison.
‘But this is crazy!’ Echo cried. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Nobody understands the Leathermice,’ Vlad the Seven Hundred and Seventy-Fourth said darkly, and let go.
‘Not even the Leathermice!’ added Vlad the Twelfth.
‘Nobody!’
‘Nobody!’
And the vampires flew off giggling as Echo plummeted earthwards.
This time his fall really did take a long time. They had carried him high, high into the sky to a point just short of the clouds. He somersaulted again and again. The full moon and the night sky gyrated around him until he couldn’t stand it any more and shut his eyes.
But instead of the darkness he was expecting, he saw a golden glow brighter than the interior of Ghoolion’s treasure chamber and, in its midst, regarding him with an amiable smile, was the Golden Squirrel. He could also hear the soothing hum that had accompanied their previous encounter.
‘This time we’re really in a fix,’ said the squirrel. ‘I’m here to bring you your third and last insight.’
‘I’d forgotten all about you in the excitement,’ Echo replied. He had suddenly become quite calm, nor had he any sensation of falling. Was he still falling? He didn’t care.
‘The Cogitating Eggs have developed a special interest in your fate,’ the squirrel went on. ‘They’re hard at work on a plan to make things turn out all right.’
‘Really?’ said Echo. The soothing hum was more audible than the last time, he noticed. ‘Why are they so interested?’
‘Because you’ve recently become a valuable Crat - the most valuable Crat in Zamonia. The knowledge you’ve gained could prove useful some day.’
‘Then the Cogitating Eggs had better be quick,’ said Echo. ‘I shall soon be landing splat on that town down there.’
‘I’ll worry about that in due course. Time is standing still while you’re absorbing your last insight. The Cogitating Eggs achieve this by holding their mental breath, or something of the kind. Can you feel the wind in your fur or the irresistible pull of gravity?’
‘No.’
‘You see? Relax and enjoy your third insight.’
Echo really did feel relaxed. With the reassuring hum of the Cogitating Eggs in his ears, he was happy to put his fate in their hands. The golden glow and