Goliath glared up at the human with the smoking gun. “You mongrel!” he yelled, and flung himself at the towering figure.
“No!” screamed Limpy, but it was too late.
Goliath landed on the human's boot. The human shook him off, then pointed the machine gun at Goliath's head.
Limpy and Charm held on to each other in helpless terror and watched as Goliath stared up at the gun.
“Goliath!” yelled Charm. “Hop for it!”
Limpy saw that Goliath couldn't move because the human soldier was treading on his leg.
Charm was already squirting at the human and Limpy did too. But the human's helmet had a Perspex visor and their poison pus just sprayed harmlessly against it.
Limpy saw the human taking aim.
Goliath started blubbering. “Please,” he begged the human. “Don't shoot. I'll disband my army. I'll give up wavy mud. Please.”
Limpy tried to throw himself forward, to drag Goliath away, but Charm held him back.
“Don't,” she sobbed. “It's suicide.”
Limpy saw the human's finger starting to squeeze the trigger.
“No!” screamed an anguished voice, and Limpy wasn't sure if it was Goliath or him or both.
Then suddenly night turned into day and the explosions stopped and somebody wheeled a tea trolley onto the battlefield.
Limpy blinked, stunned.
He looked up. High above, massive lights hung from the ceiling of what Limpy realized was a vast room, even bigger than the supermarket and the airport.
The human with the gun had flipped up his visor and was picking up a very wobbly Goliath.
“Hi there,” said the human to Goliath. “I see the live ones have arrived.”
Limpy didn't understand the words, but what he hoped the human was saying was “We surrender, we surrender, all we want is to live in peace and friendship with cane toads forever.”
It was possible. The human was stroking the stunned and bug-eyed Goliath in a friendly way.
“What's going on?” croaked Charm.
“Not sure,” said Limpy. He decided to ask a local. He saw one close by, a cane toad sitting on a pile of rubble.
“Excuse me,” said Limpy. “What's going on?”
The cane toad didn't answer. Limpy asked again, and when the cane toad didn't answer again, he decided the cane toad must either be dead or shell-shocked. He'd seen shell-shocked crabs like this after humans had thrown shells at them.
Then he looked closer and saw that the cane toad was made of cloth, with plastic eyes.
I don't get this, thought Limpy. Perhaps it's me who's either dead or shell-shocked.
“You wanna know what's going on?” said a voice behind him. “Lunch, that's what's going on.”
Limpy turned round.
A cane toad munching a grasshopper in a bun was pointing to a big food trolley next to the tea trolley.
“Lunch?” said Limpy.
“Shooting has stopped for lunch,” said the toad, who Limpy could now see wasn't a real cane toad, just a smooth-skinned frog with makeup and fake warts.
“Shooting has stopped for lunch?” said Limpy. He had no idea that wars stopped for lunch.
“Jeez,” said the frog, rolling his eyes. “Wake up and smell the coffee. Unless you want to be an extra for the rest of your life. We get a meal break every two hours. It's in the contract.”
“Contract?” said Limpy.
“That wad of paper your agent looks after for you,” said the frog, shaking his head. “The one you did a mud-print on to be in this movie. The one with Armageddon 4—Rise of the Toads on the front.”
Limpy digested this.
A movie. He'd seen movies on the big outdoor screen at the campsite back home. But never with cane toads in them.
“Hey, Limpy,” called Goliath.
For a moment Limpy couldn't see him.
“He's over there,” said Charm, pointing.
Limpy saw that the human who'd been holding Goliath was sitting in a canvas chair surrounded by other humans. They were dabbing his face and hair with little brushes. Goliath was sitting on his knee, being dabbed with little brushes too.
“This bloke here's the star of the movie,” said Goliath, grinning. “I think he's gunna make me a star too.”
“No chance,” muttered the frog. “We toads never get top billing. We're just props. This movie was gunna be Armageddon 4—Rise of the Worms until the producer got the idea of using toads. Apparently he saw a movie with a scary toad in it on a flight back from Australia.”
Limpy remembered Goliath's shadow on the aircraft movie screen.
He decided it was best not to say anything.
“I like Hollywood,” said Goliath as a human dabbed makeup onto his warts. “Can we stay here and be in lots of war movies?”
Limpy and Charm looked at each other.
“No,” said Charm. “Absolutely not.”
“By my calculation,” said Limpy, “full moon at home is in six days. If we're not back by then, a real war will break out, remember?”
Goliath's shoulders slumped.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “I forgot.”
The stretch limo pulled up at the airport and Goliath hopped out onto the red carpet.
Limpy and Charm hurried after him.
Cameras flashed and a crowd of humans with microphones and notepads craned forward for a closer look.
“No interviews,” said Goliath, turning his best warts to the cameras. “Just autographs if you've got some mud.”
Limpy thought about strangling Goliath. He decided not to because he didn't want Mum and Dad seeing a picture of it in the paper.
“Goliath,” hissed Charm. “Behave yourself. This isn't for you. It's for him.”
She pointed up at the star of the movie, who was stepping out of the limo and smiling at the cameras.
“It's for us too,” said Goliath sulkily. “We're stars too.”
“No, we're not,” said Limpy. “We're here to create a photo operation.”
The smooth-skinned frog, who'd followed them out of the limo, rolled his eyes. “Photo opportunity,” he said wearily as the star picked him up. “The word is photo opportunity. A B-grade movie actor flying back to his ranch isn't news, so they've brought us along to beef up the publicity angle.”
“That's right,” said Limpy to Goliath, even though he hadn't understood everything the frog had just said. “And it's great for us because this is the airport where we can get a plane back to Australia.”
“I think we should sneak away now,” said Charm.“While the humans are taking photos of the star holding the frog.”
“Hang on,” said Goliath. “I think they want me in the photo with them.”
“No, we don't,” said the frog. “Trust me, honey.”
Before Goliath could argue, Limpy and Charm dragged him under a soft-drink machine.
Limpy peeped out at the crowd. Nobody had seen them go.
“Hey, beautiful!” yelled a voice. “I love you! You're a star!”
Almost nobody.
Limpy saw where the voice was coming from. A familiar figure was in the crowd, jumping up between human feet, waving at Charm.
A dust mite.
“Oh, no,” muttered Charm. “It's Myron.”
“Thank you,” said Goliath, blushing and waving back to Myron. “You're too kind.”
Once they were on the plane to Australia, and safely strapped under three empty seats next to the rolled-up plastic things, and the plane had taken off, Limpy was finally able to relax.
And get depressed.
During the past few days he'd been so busy worrying about how to get off the movie set and back to Australia, he hadn't had time to even think about the much bigger problem.
The total failure of their quest.
His failure.
I can't put it off any longer, thought Limpy miserably. I've got to tell the others.
“Charm and Goliath,” he said. “I've
got something to confess.”
“What?” said Goliath. “That you should have let me stay and talk to my fan the dust mite?”
“No,” said Limpy. “Not that.”
He took a deep breath.
But it was no good.
He couldn't do it.
He didn't manage to do it until they'd landed in Australia and found some birds to take them on the last part of the journey and were almost home.
Limpy looked across at Charm and Goliath, dozing in the warm slipstream underneath their birds.
“Charm and Goliath,” he said. “I've got something to tell you.”
They both opened their eyes and looked at him.
Limpy took a big sad breath.
“I failed in the quest,” he said. “When we visited the ancient human, I forgot to ask him the secret of living in peace with other humans.”
Limpy waited miserably for them to respond.
“That's OK,” said Charm softly. “I asked him.”
Limpy stared at her, his heart going faster than a hummingbird's armpit.
“What did he say?” croaked Limpy.
Charm opened her mouth to tell him, then glanced across at Goliath, who was listening with interest.
“I'll tell you when we get back home,” she said.
Limpy woke up. It felt good to be back in his own room. Plus he was still glowing from the welcome-home party. All those hugs long into the night under the almost-full moon.
Then Limpy remembered that Charm still hadn't told him what the ancient human had said.
He hopped out of bed, gave the rellies a quick dust, washed his tongue in the swamp, admired the sunrise, and went looking for the others.
He couldn't find them anywhere.
Not Charm, Goliath, Mum, or Dad.
That's strange, thought Limpy. I didn't sleep longer than usual. I haven't been eating the pills humans sometimes chuck out of passing cars, so I wasn't in a coma.
He tried to remember if today was a special day. Mum's birthday, or the day each week they took Goliath to the echidna nest to clean his teeth on the bristles.
No, neither of those.
Then Limpy noticed something very odd. The swamp was nearly deserted. Not a cane toad to be seen.
Panic gripped Limpy's throat sac.
Had human picnickers come while he was asleep and attacked the swamp? Was everyone dead?
Limpy looked around wildly.
That couldn't be it. None of the bushes or swamp grass or reeds was even a tiny bit bruised. Humans on a violent rampage would have crushed them. And left behind empty drink cans and supermarket bags.
Limpy felt dizzy with relief.
But it was still very strange.
The only living creature he could see was an ant dragging a ball of wombat poo along a bush path.
“G'day,” said the ant. “Why aren't you at the picnic?”
“What picnic?” said Limpy.
“The picnic,” said the ant, pointing along the bush path. “The picnic all the others have gone to. The human picnic.”
Limpy found the human picnic in a bush clearing.
The adult and kid humans were playing ball at one end of the clearing, and their picnic rug, covered with food and drinks, was at the other.
All the cane toads were crouched in the long grass, looking at the picnic rug expectantly.
“Ah, there you are, love,” said Mum, giving Limpy a squeeze. “You looked so tired and jet-lagged we didn't want to wake you.”
“You deserved a sleep-in after a heroic journey like yours,” said Dad. He turned to Charm. “Can we start now, love?”
Charm nodded. She gave Limpy a quick hug. “I wouldn't have started without you,” she said.
“Which is why we've been waiting half the morning,” grumbled Goliath.
This is it, thought Limpy. Charm's going to reveal the secret of living in peace and friendship with humans.
He was all ears.
But instead of talking, Charm hopped over to the picnic rug and did a quick pee in each of the drinks.
Limpy couldn't believe what he was seeing. “Stop!” he yelled at her. “That's not the way to do it!”
“I agree,” said Goliath. “I'd put in about twice as much.”
Charm hopped back over, breathless and excited.
“Why did you do that?” said Limpy, stunned.
Charm gave him a patient smile. “Remember when you visited the ancient human?” she said. “How he asked you to pee in the water pot?”
“Yes,” said Limpy, puzzled.
“That's because,” said Charm, “many generations ago, one of the ancient human's ancestors made a wonderful discovery. If a human, every full moon, drinks a tiny drop of cane-toad urine, that human will be blessed with a long and healthy and happy and peaceful life.”
Limpy stared at Charm.
“That's the ancient wisdom the old human told me,” she said. “That's how we can help humans to be happy and friendly, like the people in the Amazon village.”
Limpy took this in.
He liked the sound of it.
“But,” said Charm, “the pee must only come from a cane toad who feels warm and friendly toward humans. Which is why you and I can do it but Goliath can't yet.”
“I feel warm toward the mongrels,” muttered Goliath. “Honest.”
“Be patient, love,” said Mum, giving Goliath a squeeze. “You'll get there.”
Limpy put his arms round Charm and gave her a huge hug, his warts tingling with love and gratitude.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It was a difficult and dangerous quest,” said Dad.“You all deserve our thanks.”
“Including me,” said Goliath.
Already Limpy was imagining the suburbs of Australia full of cane toads doing their bit to help humans become healthier and happier and less interested in violence and killing.
Brave noble cane toads sidling unseen up to cups and mugs and glasses and bottles and peeing in them.
“Well,” said Mum. “What do you think?”
“Worth a try?” said Dad.
“I think it's definitely worth a try,” said Limpy.
His eyes met Charm's and Goliath's, and he could see they did too.
Limpy smiled happily.
With a sister like Charm and a cousin like Goliath, anything was possible.
CARKED: Dead. Always followed by the word “it.” As in “Will Wally be coming to Dave's funeral?” “No, he's carked it too.”
CHIPS: Small pieces of fried potato. Known in some places as French fries. But not in France, where they are called fried potato.
CHUCK A WOBBLY: Experience a fit of anger, anxiety, fear, or stubbornness. Doesn't have to take place on a skateboard or while belly dancing. An Australian might say, “That's the third earthquake this week. If there's another one, I'm gunna chuck a wobbly.”
COP THAT/THIS: “ Please receive what I'm about to give you,” an expression usually followed by a punch, a gift, a meal, some information, or a demonstration of romantic love. If you cop a lot of anything in Australia, you're getting it in bucket loads whether you want it or not. E.g., TV weather report: “Sydney will be copping a lot of scorching heat this weekend, so wear a hat if you're punching or kissing anyone out of doors.”
CROOK: (1) Angry. (2) Ill or damaged rather than criminal. Limpy's crook leg is the result of a truck driving over it. At no stage has his crook leg ever tried to rob a bank or falsify corporate accounts.
ECHIDNA: A spiny anteater. A protected form of wildlife in Australia (unlike the ant).
FLOATIE: An inflatable or foam device to help unsure swimmers stay afloat in pools and at the beach. Can be used in the bath if you're very nervous.
GOANNA: An Aussie lizard. Can run very fast, unless trying to pull something heavy along the ground.
GOBSMACKED: Stunned with surprise and/or amazement. If you ever find yourself gobsmacked while swimming in deep water, perhaps because you see
somebody with a floatie shaped like a yabbie, be careful, or you could end up carking it. (See carked, floatie, and yabbie.)
KNICKKNACK: Small ornament beloved by most mothers on their birthdays, but only when purchased legally. (See nick.)
MATE: Friend, comrade, buddy. Used a lot when people are being helpful and friendly. “Hey, mate, if that's your wombat over there lying on his back with his legs in the air, I think he's a bit crook.” “Thanks, mate.” (See crook, wombat.)
NICK: Two meanings in Australia: (1) Steal. (2) Leave a place briefly. On the occasion of his mother's birthday, a thief might say, “I'm just gunna nick out and nick a knickknack.” (See knickknack.)
POZZIE: Position, usually standing or seated. If you find yourself in an Australian cinema where most of the other patrons are mosquitoes, you might be asked to “grab a pozzie next to that mozzie.”
SPANNER: Wrench. A word that also refers to a painful physical or emotional experience. We prefer to use the word spanner for the tool and wrench for the pain. Unless we wrench our back using a spanner, in which case we don't feel any wrench chucking away the wrench.
SQUIZ: A look, a peek, a glimpse. Information-gathering activity using the eyes. Australians are busy people, so they often only have time for “a quick squiz.”
STACK ME: A colloquial Aussie exclamation registering surprise and amazement. As in, “Morris Gleitzman has written twenty books and they're all as funny as this one? Stack me!”
WOMBAT: A wild, but mild, Australian animal about the size of an overweight cat. Despite its plumpness, it's a vegetarian. Lives in a burrow too small for a home gym.
YABBIE: A freshwater crayfish. Can be lured with a piece of meat on a string. This is not recommended if the yabbie is on someone else's plate in a restaurant.
MORRIS GLEITZMAN grew up in England and moved to Australia when he was sixteen. He has been a frozen-chicken thawer, a sugar-mill rolling-stock un-hooker, a fashion-industry trainee, a department-store Santa, a TV producer, a newspaper columnist, and a screenwriter. Now he's a children's book author. Toad Away is his twentieth book. Visit him on the Web at www.morrisgleitzman.com.
Published by Yearling, an imprint of Random House Children's Books a division of Random House, Inc., New York