him? He could feel that something about him was changing, his body, his limbs, even his mind and powers of perception. He suddenly felt far stronger.
He took hold of the curtain once more and tried to tear it. This time he succeeded almost effortlessly - with the aid of a set of sharp, feline claws.
‘I’m changing back!’ he gasped. ‘I’m turning into a Crat again!’
Footsteps came hurrying up the stairs, metal weapons clanked together.
‘The door at the end!’ someone shouted. ‘That’s her bedroom!’
Echo was growing steadily bigger and heavier. He proceeded to struggle with all the strength and agility of a Crat, using his teeth and claws. Threads snapped, cloth ripped. Free at last, he landed heavily on the windowsill and scrambled to his feet. He’d lost his wings and reacquired a tail. His transformation was complete.
The door burst open. The room was suddenly filled with lanternlight and a babble of voices. A bunch of figures appeared in the doorway armed with axes, knives and sickles. Before even one of the mob could rush in, Echo arched his back, fluffed out his tail and hissed as loudly as he could.
Silence fell. Nobody spoke, nobody dared to enter. Ghoolion could change shape, this proved it! They had expected to see a captive Leathermouse, only to be confronted by a snarling Crat. What would he turn into next, a ravening werewolf?
Echo seized his opportunity. He swung round, leapt off the windowsill and made a soft landing on the lawn below. Then he squeezed through a gap in the garden fence and scampered off down the cobbled street as fast as his legs would carry him. Heading for the Alchemaster’s castle.
Hunger
Echo felt completely whacked when he opened his eyes the next morning. For a moment he didn’t know who, what or where he was. Was he a Leathermouse or a Crat? Was he lying in his basket or still imprisoned in a curtain? Kicking off his blanket, he saw that he was safely ensconced in his basket. He looked down at himself: four legs and a tail. He was a Crat once more.
Then it all came back to him. He’d just made it to his sleeping place after crossing Malaisea in the dark, fearful of the dogs he could no longer intimidate in his Leathermouse guise. Having toiled up the steep hill to the castle and all those flights of stairs, almost out on his feet, he’d fallen into a deep sleep. Had it all really happened?
Whatever the truth, he was hungry now. Hungry? He was absolutely famished! He’d just spent what was probably the most strenuous night of his life and he hadn’t even had a sip of blood.
He climbed laboriously out of his basket and went in search of something to eat. The kitchen had never looked so neat and tidy. All the food had been put away in the cupboards, which were locked. There wasn’t so much as an apple lying around and the Alchemaster was nowhere to be seen.
He glanced into the laboratory. The cauldron wasn’t in use and Ghoolion wasn’t there either, which was unusual for this time of day. The vampires were snoring in the Leathermousoleum, and no wonder, after their overindulgence of the previous night. Echo tried the roof: not even a whiff of food there. The pool of milk had dried up, the little boats lay stranded on the grass, empty. Theodore’s chimney, which had always been hung with delicacies like a Christmas tree, was unadorned today. There was no sign of Theodore himself. Echo sighed and went back inside the castle.
Was Ghoolion making one of his rare excursions into town? Why hadn’t he left him anything to eat? Echo suddenly remembered: he himself was to blame for insisting on a strict diet. But he hadn’t meant Ghoolion to take him so literally. A Crat had to have some breakfast, if only a little bowl of milk and a slice of sausage!
Impatiently, Echo continued to comb the castle for food. The store cupboards, always left open as a rule, were locked. The most delicious smells emanated from them, but the source of those appetising aromas lay beyond his reach.
Echo’s stomach was rumbling. Must he catch himself a mouse? He felt thoroughly disinclined to do so today. His legs were aching like a long-distance runner’s.
There, the scent of roast meat! But it wasn’t coming from the larder. Nor from the kitchen. Echo rounded the next corner and there it was: a neatly laid table. It was