said some angry things to each other.
Limpy couldn't see a Games Mascot Committee anywhere.
The bloke was pulling Goliath's legs. The girl was hanging on to his arms. “Hey,” yelled Goliath indignantly. “Take it easy. Watch my back.”
Limpy was about to leap out of the bag and try and explain to them that just because Goliath looked tough, that didn't mean he was made of steel-belted rubber.
Then the bag began to fall.
Limpy hung on to the towel but it didn't do any good.
The bag hit the ground with a thud and Limpy's head bashed into his knee and suddenly he was out in the glaring lights, skidding across a shiny surface.
“Help,” he yelled. “New mascot over here.”
Nobody heard him, and when he'd stopped sliding and his head had stopped spinning, he realized why. The bag had fallen off the back of the stage and he was lying among some potted plants out of sight of the crowd.
In the distance, he could hear the girl and the clipboard bloke still arguing. And another voice, much closer.
“Fog,” it said.
Limpy looked up.
A human toddler in a nappy and a T-shirt was looking down at him, wide-eyed.
Oh no, thought Limpy. That's all I need. A kid getting terrified and everyone blaming me. I'll never get to be a mascot if they think I'm cruel to kids.
“It's okay,” he said to the toddler. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
The toddler grinned, dropped the teddy bear it was holding by one leg, grabbed Limpy's leg, and toddled off, dragging Limpy behind it.
“Fog,” chortled the toddler.
Limpy sighed.
He resisted the temptation to give the toddler a tiny little spray.
Instead, as he was sliding along on his back, he looked around.
He was in a huge space, almost as big as the stadium but with a roof. There were shops everywhere on many different levels. It didn't look like the committee meeting place he'd seen on telly.
Why did she bring us here, Limpy wondered, if it wasn't to meet the Games Mascot Committee?
He didn't understand.
As the toddler dragged him into a shop, Limpy waited anxiously for the girl to come and rescue him again.
A thought nagged at him.
What had his Uncle Preston's last words been? The ones he'd said just before he was flattened by a funeral procession?
That's right.
“Never trust a human.”
“Y uk,” said Goliath, “toothpaste.”
Limpy sighed.
He took a deep breath and tried to explain to Goliath that when a young athlete has paid a lot of money to a shopping center security guard for your freedom and then smuggled you back to the Games village in her bag and hidden you under her bed so an angry bloke with a clipboard can't get his hands on you, it's pretty ungrateful to eat her antiseptic foot cream.
Goliath spat out a Band-Aid and thought about this.
“Why should we be grateful?” he said. “She was meant to be taking us to meet the Games Mascot Committee and all we ended up with was sore backs.”
“It wasn't all bad,” said Limpy. “That shop the toddler dragged me into was full of tellies. I was there forages before the security guard found me. You can learn a lot of useful stuff about humans from telly, even if you don't speak their language. Did you know there's a very famous person on telly named after one of our dead uncles?”
“Who?” said Goliath. “Roly?”
“No,” said Limpy. “Bart.”
Goliath looked impressed. He stopped eating the stuff in the bag. Limpy took the foot cream away from him in case he got hungry again.
“But she still didn't take us to the committee,” said Goliath, “did she?”
Limpy sighed again.
Goliath was right.
Why hadn't she?
Limpy was still puzzling it over when the bag was pulled out from under the bed. The girl lifted him and Goliath out and offered them dinner.
“Here,” she said. “I got you these from the parking lot.”
Limpy wasn't hungry, not even for the radiator-grilled grasshoppers she held out to him.
Then he noticed the telly was on and saw what was on the screen. The girl and
Limpy couldn't see a Games Mascot Committee anywhere.
The bloke was pulling Goliath's legs. The girl was hanging on to his arms. “Hey,” yelled Goliath indignantly. “Take it easy. Watch my back.”
Limpy was about to leap out of the bag and try and explain to them that just because Goliath looked tough, that didn't mean he was made of steel-belted rubber.
Then the bag began to fall.
Limpy hung on to the towel but it didn't do any good.
The bag hit the ground with a thud and Limpy's head bashed into his knee and suddenly he was out in the glaring lights, skidding across a shiny surface.
“Help,” he yelled. “New mascot over here.”
Nobody heard him, and when he'd stopped sliding and his head had stopped spinning, he realized why. The bag had fallen off the back of the stage and he was lying among some potted plants out of sight of the crowd.
In the distance, he could hear the girl and the clipboard bloke still arguing. And another voice, much closer.
“Fog,” it said.
Limpy looked up.
A human toddler in a nappy and a T-shirt was looking down at him, wide-eyed.
Oh no, thought Limpy. That's all I need. A kid getting terrified and everyone blaming me. I'll never get to be a mascot if they think I'm cruel to kids.
“It's okay,” he said to the toddler. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
The toddler grinned, dropped the teddy bear it was holding by one leg, grabbed Limpy's leg, and toddled off, dragging Limpy behind it.
“Fog,” chortled the toddler.
Limpy sighed.
He resisted the temptation to give the toddler a tiny little spray.
Instead, as he was sliding along on his back, he looked around.
He was in a huge space, almost as big as the stadium but with a roof. There were shops everywhere on many different levels. It didn't look like the committee meeting place he'd seen on telly.
Why did she bring us here, Limpy wondered, if it wasn't to meet the Games Mascot Committee?
He didn't understand.
As the toddler dragged him into a shop, Limpy waited anxiously for the girl to come and rescue him again.
A thought nagged at him.
What had his Uncle Preston's last words been? The ones he'd said just before he was flattened by a funeral procession?
That's right.
“Never trust a human.”
“Y uk,” said Goliath, “toothpaste.”
Limpy sighed.
He took a deep breath and tried to explain to Goliath that when a young athlete has paid a lot of money to a shopping center security guard for your freedom and then smuggled you back to the Games village in her bag and hidden you under her bed so an angry bloke with a clipboard can't get his hands on you, it's pretty ungrateful to eat her antiseptic foot cream.
Goliath spat out a Band-Aid and thought about this.
“Why should we be grateful?” he said. “She was meant to be taking us to meet the Games Mascot Committee and all we ended up with was sore backs.”
“It wasn't all bad,” said Limpy. “That shop the toddler dragged me into was full of tellies. I was there forages before the security guard found me. You can learn a lot of useful stuff about humans from telly, even if you don't speak their language. Did you know there's a very famous person on telly named after one of our dead uncles?”
“Who?” said Goliath. “Roly?”
“No,” said Limpy. “Bart.”
Goliath looked impressed. He stopped eating the stuff in the bag. Limpy took the foot cream away from him in case he got hungry again.
“But she still didn't take us to the committee,” said Goliath, “did she?”
Limpy sighed again.
Goliath was right.
Why hadn't she?
Limpy was still puzzling it over when the bag was pulled out from under the bed. The girl lifted him and Goliath out and offered them dinner.
“Here,” she said. “I got you these from the parking lot.”
Limpy wasn't hungry, not even for the radiator-grilled grasshoppers she held out to him.
Then he noticed the telly was on and saw what was on the screen. The girl and
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