However, before anyone could respond to his presence, the Major leapt to his feet and rushed to one of the tanks. He stood over it, gasping and heaving, until finally the squid he had ingested shot from his mouth and into the water. When he turned from the tank, the features of his face were entirely blank and his eyes exceedingly dull. He walked to his chair on shaky legs, as if the ordeal had sucked half the life out of him.
That looked just a trifle unpleasant, Morrow thought, feeling a sudden nausea rising in his stomach.
Now Madame Brackensfield was up from her chair. Her hand went to her mouth as if she was attempting to suppress a rising belch. After a few steps she broke into a quick trot and reached the tank just in time to disgorge. Next, Miss Twickenham came rushing out of the house, straight from the water closet to the tank. Her countenance was a ghastly green and, when she heaved, Morrow felt his own stomach rise in deepest sympathy.
In a flash, he too was grasping the metal frame of the tank, his mouth wide open above the water, waiting and hoping it would be fast, as it had been for the others. He imagined he could feel the creature climbing up from his stomach, its slimy suckered tentacles creeping inch by inch along his oesophagus. Then he felt its grip upon the bottom of his throat. He gagged. The slippery beast rose into his mouth, but as he expelled it, he felt himself, his whole conscious being, drawn along with it, and then he was flying out of his own mouth, and through the air...
...and suddenly found himself swimming effortlessly and enjoying the delightful freedom of water all over his body. Morrow darted from one end of the tank to the other, fascinated by how quickly he could move and turn. He ducked towards the craggy rocks at the centre of the tank, thinking here comes instant death for fearless flying Victor Morrow, but with a quick tilt of his lateral flaps and a burst from his siphon, he manoeuvred over them at the very last minute. Next he buried himself in a sandpit so only his eyes were visible. No one can see me, no one; I’m perfectly camouflaged. It was sublime. It was beautiful. It was ridiculous. But above all it was exhilarating. Hello, everybody, he wished to cry, I am the invisible squid. You can’t see me. No, you can’t.
It took some moments for that thought to sink in: I’m a squid.... Good God, I am a squid! A squid trapped in a tank three feet by six. Don’t worry, don’t worry, he told himself, there was a rational explanation for everything. The hallucination continued, perhaps. But his memory told him that he really had danced that tango with Miss Twickenham. It was still fresh in his mind. They may have been intoxicated in some way, but it certainly had been no hallucination. Ta-da-da-dah! Ta-ta-ta-te-da-da-dah! Why, they had even....
“What a lovely shade of magenta you’ve just turned, Victor.” Another squid swam down and made a sandpit next to Morrow. “It’s not all bad, you know. We were in worse situations in the Kraken War.”
“Major?”
“At your service.” Just then the tank shook. “Ah, if I’m not mistaken, this shall be the professor now. I’m sure he’ll have a solution to our predicament.”
Morrow blew the sand away and swam up to the glass. Undoubtedly those were Professor Jefferys’s trousers on the other side; he recognised the checked material. The tank shook once more and, in the next moment, the professor came tumbling through the water in a fury of exploding bubbles. When he came to a stop on the bottom of the tank, he sunk himself in a sandpit and pulsed with colour, changing from an angry purple to a soothing cream. Morrow swam down to greet him.
The professor cocked a black and gold eye at him. “This is most unusual,” he muttered.
“Indeed it is,” the Major said.
With a growing uncertainty, Morrow asked, “What happens next?”
There was a long moment where neither of his companions replied. What could be seen of their creamy-hued bodies beneath the sand became spotted with splashes of tangerine. If he were outside the tank looking in, Morrow knew he would have thought how lovely they looked. But now trapped inside a squid body, he instinctively knew those tangerine spots where representative of a certain apprehension.
“You tell him,” the Major said.
“Well, it seems,” the professor began, “that we have never been in this situation before. Um, most certainly something will happen next, but as to what that something might be, well, now would the perfect time to postulate a new hypothesis.”
“The Major said you would have a solution to our predicament,” Morrow said.
“Did he now?” the professor said, pulsing red.
Morrow was feeling quite angry about the whole thing. He imagined that he would be trapped in the tank for the rest of his life, while that impostor out there walked around in his body, living his life for him.
“No need to turn purple on us, young lad,” the Major said. “I’m sure it will turn out all right, and if it doesn’t then we’ll just need to implement a strategy to resolve the matter.”
“Indeed,” the professor said. “Let’s think of it as just another part of the wonderful scientific experiment we are engaged in. This an excellent opportunity to truly experience life as a squid.”
“A captured squid,” Morrow reminded him. “In a glass tank that is a mere three feet by six. Prisoners of our own folly!”
“I’m glad,” the Major said grumpily, “that we didn’t have more of your kind around during the Kraken war.”
“More of my kind? What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Pessimists!” the Major retorted.
“Well, one thing is for certain,” the professor said. “We now know the squid communicate telepathically, and by temporarily ingesting them their powers are passed to us, as they were to the Kraken.”
“I don’t quite follow the logic of that,” Morrow said. “I mean the fact that you knew about the Major’s rabbit, Footsie—”
“Mr Tootsie,” the Major said, “and he was a dear little thing. The cutest rabbit you’ve ever seen. Unfortunately, he came to a very sad end. The—”
“—doesn’t prove,” Morrow continued, “that you didn’t know about Mr Tootsie beforehand.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Morrow. You are absolutely correct. That little example was merely a starting point for further experimentation. However, you will agree that we appear to be communicating very effectively now? Without the aid of lips, tongue or voice box, and underwater. Hence I conclude we are using the natural functions of the squid’s nervous system to communicate telepathically. There is simply no other hypothesis to explain it.”
“By jove,” Morrow cried, “of course. I just assumed, you see...I mean if you hadn’t pointed it out I would have accepted it as perfectly natural, as if we were simply speaking...but, of course—”
“The cook unfortunately bought a gamy rabbit for the Easter stew,” the Major continued. “We always had rabbit at Easter. It was a family tradition. So as not to spoil Easter dinner, the cook put Mr Tootsie into the pot.”
“How did he taste?” Professor Jefferys asked.
“Remarkably good. Everybody said it was the best Easter stew we’d ever had, but, of course, we didn’t know at the time that we’d eaten Mr Tootsie.”
“I’m sure Mr Tootsie was a wonderful rabbit,” Morrow said, “however, I doubt a discussion of...hang on a minute, what are you up to professor?”
“Wishing I had my pipe. I always think better when I have my pipe. But I realise that’s a silly wish. It would be impossible to ignite the tobacco underwater.”
“In our present condition, I imagine you would be unable to draw upon your pipe as well.”
“Quite so,” the professor said wistfully, “quite so.”
“However, I was actually referring to the you out there.” Morrow studied the professor’s human form through the glass. It was arranging some sort of apparatus upon the table, and all the other stolen bodies were standing around paying close attention, as if Professor Squid was offering them detailed instruction upon some matter of the utmost importance.
The professor joined
Morrow at the front of the tank. His squid body was radiating lines of inquisitive bright green. “It appears I’ve taken the Baffalator from the drawing room,” he said.
“But whatever for?” the Major cried. “It’s a useless piece of junk.”
“My mind, Major, is fast forming a theory. I do believe we are about to find out precisely what the Baffalator is capable of.”
Morrow saw his own human form move away from the others, and soon the gaslights inside the house and those upon the verandah were extinguished one by one. The waters of the tank became a murky grey stew. “What happens next?” Morrow wondered, and believed they were soon to find out.
Barely a minute later, a wonderful luminescent glow began to creep across the verandah.
“Ah, the moon, it rises,” Professor Jefferys said. “What’s the date?”
“The seventeenth. It’s a full moon tonight,” Morrow said, and thought once more of the Danse Macabre. Right then, despite the passionate tango he had performed with Miss Twickenham, he thoroughly regretted his decision to accept Madame Brackensfield’s invitation. He was already bored with his life as a squid, nothing but four glass walls to look at, separated from female companionship, and only the Major and the professor for company. He could not have imagined things turning out any worse.
“A beautiful light,” the Major said, and Morrow thought he heard those thoughts echoed by the ladies in their tank.
Morrow watched as moonbeams crept across the verandah, and for a moment there was a rather intense and thoughtful tableau laid out before him. There was the eminent Professor Jefferys, hands outstretched as he explained the infernal workings of the Baffalator. Standing next to him was the Major, with a look of profound befuddlement. Lady Amberly bent forward eagerly, clutching the Major’s arm. Miss Twickenham, on the other side of the table, clasped Madame Brackensfield’s hand. There was a look of amazing hope in their eyes. And Morrow, himself, was there with his hand upon Professor Jefferys’s shoulder as if assuring him all his calculations were correct.
Who were these people, Morrow mused, who had taken their bodies? They were not merely squid, not merely Madame’s esoteric pets that could convey telepathic powers. These were intelligent and dynamic beings whose hopes and fears showed upon their stolen faces.
Now the moon’s beam hit the luminous crystal mirror that sat beneath the Baffalator’s scope. For a moment, nothing happened. It was if the crystal was absorbing the moon’s energy. Then, as if it had reached its threshold, the crystal burst into brilliance, reflecting a beam of glowing energy up the Baffalator. It emerged from the other end as a solid ray of golden light; its trajectory, the moon.
8.
Le Baffalator, La Guillotine
The squid heads return—the Baffalator does its business—and it’s off with their heads!
In the next instance the nets were upon them. Morrow saw his body stride towards the tank and the net slide into the water. What the hell, Morrow thought. It appeared to be his only chance of escape. He swam into the net, and in a sudden rush he was in the air. The thick night sucked at his delicate squid skin. He knew what was about to happen.
His intellect told him not to fight it. Here was the chance to return to his human form; he would no longer be trapped within the tank. But still his physical reaction was to resist as he entered his own mouth and found himself sliding down his own throat, towards his stomach.
Everything went dark, terribly dark, then Morrow opened his eyes and they were all squid heads once more. There was Miss Twickenham with that pretty lady squid upon her neck and, no doubt, the delightful girl still glistening between her legs. He went to go to her, and that was when he found he had no control over his body. The squid was his master now.
In a familiar sequence, the Major was the first to rise from his chair. He walked towards the Baffalator’s beam, struggling with every step, his body all wooden and jerky as he fought to gain control of it once more. But there was nothing he could do. The squid that rode him carried him straight into the beam, which very neatly sliced his squid head off.
Morrow watched in awe as the squid head bounced around inside the beam for several moments, then vanished in a shiny burst and was gone. The Major’s headless body crumpled to the floor without a drop of blood, and nothing to be seen where the gaping wound should have been but a soft ghostly haze puffed in a cloud the shape of a mushroom.
Madame Brackensfield was the next to be decapitated, then Miss Twickenham. Ah, poor Lucy. Morrow’s heart went out to her. Such a terrible death for one so young and beautiful. But off came her squid head, and now it was Morrow’s turn. There was no point in fighting it. He had already decided that. Better to die a noble and gallant death than to spend your last moments as a staggering puppet. “It is a far, far better thing I do,” Morrow thought as he allowed the squid to take him into the beam.
There was no pain. He did not lose consciousness. He simply fell to the floor headless, as the others had, and wondered once more, as he lay there, where his brain had gotten to and why he could still think without it.
Most certainly, it was a damn fine pipe that Professor Jefferys had given him, a damn fine pipe indeed. And Miss Twickenham’s glistening girl had fitted the likely lad like the most gorgeous kid glove. Now there was a lady he needed to pay more attention to, and that silly beehive on Madame B.’s head, whatever was she thinking, really it was just a trifle too gauche...and he had swum, yes, he had swum like a squid, and the Kraken were defeated for once and for all, and he had to go to work on Monday and flog off more of that bloody swampland to developers; he had missed the Danse Macabre and wanted so much to be El Coco—he had planned it for months...but the Kraken for all their faults were a intelligent enemy and he’d helped the last of them go home. It was a noble and decent thing to do....
9.
The Danse Macabre
Mr Morrow regains his head and drinks a gin and tonic—Madame B. reveals that the Admiral loved calamari—Professor Jefferys expounds on the true nature of the Kraken—and Mr Morrow and the delightfully scrumptious Miss Twickenham dance through jacaranda blossoms on their way to the Danse Macabre.
The next thing Morrow knew, he was sitting in a comfortable wicker chair with a gin and tonic in his hand. He looked around at the others. They were all pale and shaken. Miss Twickenham looked absolutely beautiful, but it was the beauty of a feverish consumptive shortly before death. There was a tremor in her hands as she raised her glass to her sweet lips. Morrow winked at her and he was delighted when she winked back. His hand went up to his face. “I seem to have my own head back now,” he said.
At those words, Madame Brackensfield burst into tears, sobbing into her handkerchief. “I’m so sorry, so sorry. Nothing like this has ever happened before. To think what may have become of us. To think my dear husband’s pets were the Kraken in disguise. He brought the squid back after the war, intending to breed and harvest them for our kitchen. He was exceedingly fond of calamari, and the fresher the squid the better the calamari is.
“So there we were one evening, having just eaten a delightful calamari entrée from our own tanks, and we suddenly found ourselves getting light-headed, and in the next moment we realised we were conversing with each other without our lips moving. This went on for sometime, until we both suffered an incredible nausea and were forced to retreat to the water closest in the direst need. We both slept with a bucket next to our beds that night. The experience was frightful and we never ate the squid again. Professor Jefferys has been most helpful in solving the mystery. I am so sorry for the danger I have put you all in.” And with that she began to sob once more.
“Sorry?” Professor Jefferys said. “I think not, Madame. You have nothing to be sorry for. Tonight has indeed been a most fortunate and revealing experiment. Now at last we know the true nature of our enemy and have unlocked the secrets to one of their confounded machines. It is undoubtedly an advanced transportation device that has returned them to their base on the m
oon.”
“To the moon?” Lady Amberly cast a glance towards the Major. “You told me their moon base was destroyed during the war and that you yourself had a hand in it. It was in all the newspapers at the time.”
The Major cleared his throat and looked at the professor, then at the faces of the others. “Oh, dear,” he said, “it seems I need to make a clean breast of it. The rocket that was meant to destroy the Kraken base on the moon never left the Earth. It exploded when it was launched. It was an unmitigated disaster, but the situation at the time required us to announce the mission a resounding success.”
“So the Kraken threat is still with us,” Madame Brackensfield said. “The Admiral never knew. He went to his grave believing he could rest in peace.” Her hand went to her throat. She was so pale it appeared that any moment she would fall into a swoon.
“Fear not,” the professor said, “we will be prepared for them when they next attack. And, forgive me, Madame, but your supposition the squid were the Kraken in disguise is ill-founded. It is my belief the Kraken were the very squid you have looked after in your tanks for so many years. They are parasites, and the Pigmen, whom we believed to be the Kraken, were merely their hosts. You can imagine what future they had planned for humanity had they won the war....”
Professor Jefferys droned on, extrapolating his theories. Morrow checked his pocket watch and rose from his chair. He said to Miss Twickenham: “The Danse Macabre is being performed at Toowong Cemetery this evening. I would be honoured if you would accompany me. If we leave now, we’ll be in time for the ferry.”
Miss Twickenham smiled. “I would be delighted.”
“The delight is mine.” Morrow bowed to the rest of the company, thanked Madame Brackensfield for an interesting evening, then offered his arm to Miss Twickenham.
The Major escorted them to the door. “The Kraken will rise again,” he said as he shook hands with Morrow. “The government will need to take action immediately. The world needs to be told of what we have discovered tonight.”
Beneath Ceaseless Skies #64 Page 4
