done the ideal thing: he had spoken. It didn’t seem to matter that he hadn’t said anything particularly original; what counted was that no one in the whole of Malaisea, neither the men nor the little girl, had ever heard a Leathermouse speak. They obviously mistook him for an evil spirit, or something of the kind.
But he would have to choose his next words with greater care, that much was clear. He was as helpless as an insect stuck to flypaper, so their fear was his only weapon. He must say something even more frightening - so frightening that it drove them from the room. Who or what were the inhabitants of Malaisea afraid of most of all? Of course! Who else?
‘Are you mad?’ he snarled. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’
‘Er, no …’ one of the men said slowly.
‘I’m Ghoolion, Succubius Ghoolion!’ Echo screeched. ‘Your Alchemaster!’
The hoary old rumour that Ghoolion could alter his appearance and spy on the townsfolk in a variety of shapes was always going the rounds. Many of the inhabitants had seen him disguised as a rat, others as a black cat, and one even as his own mother-in-law. The Leathermouse version was not only novel but effective.
Echo realised that his words had indeed been well chosen when the little girl leapt out of bed and dashed out of the door. The men shrank back still further, but they didn’t let go of their sticks.
‘May you be accursed for a hundred years, just for intending to kill me!’ Echo screeched. ‘Yes, I lay a curse on you both! Abracadabra! Mumbo-jumbo! Hocus-pocus! Gulli-gulli-gulli! Rub-a-dub-dub! Um, err…’ He was only improvising, but his gibberish was enough to send them fleeing from the room. Feet went thundering down the stairs, terrified cries rang out, a door slammed. He was alone in the house.
But he was still trapped. The men might only have run off to fetch reinforcements and exchange their sticks for knives and axes. Whatever happened, he must get out of here as soon as possible.
He proceeded to squirm and wriggle, but every movement wrapped the material round him more tightly and his claws weren’t sharp enough to tear it.
‘It would be child’s play if I were a Crat,’ he thought.
But he was a Leathermouse. A mere novice at the vampire’s trade, he had disregarded its cardinal rule: ‘Watch out for curtains!’
He made another attempt to free himself, but his strength gave out after he’d squirmed and wriggled for a bit longer. He now noticed how tired he was from flying around. Even as a flyer, he’d made a beginner’s mistake by squandering his energy on those dogs. Yes, he was a Leathermouse, but a wholly inexperienced one. He had stupidly landed himself in the worst predicament any Leathermouse could be in. His wings felt bereft of energy and as heavy as lead. He was utterly exhausted.
‘Just a short rest,’ he thought, and he stopped fighting the curtains. His breathing steadied, his heartbeat slowed. ‘I must gather my strength.’
Suddenly, shouts rent the darkness. Echo strained his ears. What was that? He could hear a hubbub outside in the street, trampling feet, the sound of knives being sharpened. A mob was approaching.
‘Ghoolion!’ someone shouted.
‘It’s now or never!’ cried someone else.
Echo was seized with panic. They were coming back to kill him, complete with reinforcements and more effective weapons. He couldn’t have chosen the right words after all.
Another shout: ‘Let’s finish him once and for all!’
‘He was going to drink my blood!’ That was the little girl’s voice.
‘I always knew he was a vampire!’ croaked an old woman. ‘Kill him! We’ll never get a better opportunity!’
Echo tried to tear the curtain material to shreds with his teeth, but the more he tried the more tightly it wound itself round his throat, half throttling him.
‘I’ll never get out of here,’ he thought desperately. ‘Not alive, at any rate.’
A door creaked open. Footsteps thundered across the hall downstairs. They were inside the house!
‘Hey, Alchemaster,’ yelled someone, ‘now you’re for it!’
Echo mustered the last of his strength and made another attempt to extricate himself, but the curtain only increased its pressure on his body. ‘This is impossible,’ he thought. The material was steadily contracting. It seemed to be doing so of its own accord, like a boa constrictor tightening its grip.
Then it dawned on him. ‘No, the material isn’t contracting, I’m expanding! I’m getting bigger!’
It was true: his body was expanding, he could sense it in every limb. What was happening to