Submerged Read online

  “Tell me about it. We were supposed to get here hours ago. I thought we finally had this one ink trained, but he got too excited and spurted all over everyone on our way here. On our clothes, under our suckerflesh. It was so bad, we all had to go home and change.” She sighs a stream of bubbles from her speckled beak. “Part of me wanted to stay home, but we’ve been to the unveiling of the reef every year since my oldest was born. We just had to come back here so we could get tickets.”

  The squid chats along, telling me how the Presidential Squidmas Reef would soon be chosen to decorate the main foyer of the palace, and that once it was trimmed a few hundred thousand lucky visitors would be allowed inside to view it. But that won’t happen for several more days, and I don’t have the time or the patience to stick around that long. I can sneak in right now, but first I need a distraction.

  I look at the littlest squidlet and his chubby tentacles, face calm and content. I tap his shoulder, get his attention, and start making funny squid faces at him, flailing my arms all about. He laughs and a small spurt of ink slips from him. I crank up my efforts, and finally I get the effect I want, a full release.

  “Oh, no! Not again!” the squid mother says, turning around. I can barely see her through the purple fog, which means people can barely see me. I start to shift into an ocean current, invisible to everyone, but once again, my cells will not rearrange themselves.

  The palace must be protected by a blubberphaser as well. I sigh as my rubbery squid skin becomes caked with a layer of purple sludge. I need to get my tri-fracquer back. In order to get my tri-fracquer back, I need to get inside, undetected. Once I’m out of the blubberphaser’s proximity, I can shift into anything, but it needs to be something that will serve me as is, since, once I’ve shifted, there’s no turning back until I’m back outside the palace. I rub my tentacles together as an idea strikes me.

  “Oh, I am so, so sorry,” the squid mother says to me again and again, holding her kids with two tentacles and trying to clean me off with the others.

  “Tell me more about this Presidential Squidmas Reef—” I say “—and we’ll call it even.”

  * * *

  The first night of Squidmas, I sit and wait in the Squidmas Reef lot, looking dull and pitiful to every customer that swims by. Finally, when I hear the sputtering of the Presidential conch cars approaching and the surrounding hubbub, I branch out, becoming the most intricate, colorful, beautiful reef with curious buds that look almost like fingers. They are fingers in fact. I need to ensure that I have the dexterity to retrieve the tri-fracquer in this state. Though I appear to be solid coral, I have prepared my structure to allow me to unfurl myself and walk about, and have also hidden away a pouch large enough to hold the tri-fracquer as I make my speedy escape…speedy for a coral reef, at least. The plan is easy. The President will select me, move me into her home, and, while everyone is asleep, I’ll find the tri-fracquer and slip out into the night, off the planet by sunrise.

  “This one, this one, this one, mommy!” the President’s squidlets call up to my coral branches moments later. Step one of my plan is complete.

  * * *

  The second night of Squidmas, I sit in the Presidential foyer, frustrated. It took me all night just to get through one wing of the palace and not one sign of the tri-fracquer. The squidlets giggle at me, touch my finger buds, sometimes gently, sometimes not. The staff scolds them, though kindness rims their voices.

  “I can’t wait to see what Saint Tentacleez brings me!” the little one squeals.

  “There’s no such thing as Saint Tentacleez,” the elder one says, tentacles folded, voice gruff.

  “There is, too! You don’t know anything,” the little one says. She tickles my branches a final time and swims off.

  * * *

  The third night of Squidmas and still no luck. The squidlets have hung a ridiculous red pearl from my top most branch. I thought the staff would scold them again, but apparently it is meant to be there. That night, before I get ready to shift, the whole first family gathers beneath me in their pajamas. They set a wet tech device in their hearth, and millions of bubbles sweep up through the coral tower at the palace’s center. They sing carols and sip mugs of steaming fish egg nog and the scents of the season swirl all around me. The little one is full of delight, swimming all over the place, her excitement unable to be contained. The elder one mopes as he sings, as he sips fish egg nog, as he does everything. By the time they all go off to bed, there is not much time before the morn and the staff starts to stir. My departure must wait yet another day.

  * * *

  The fourth night of Squidmas takes me to the wing of the family’s sleeping quarters. I am very silent, very careful. From down the hallway, I hear the faintest voice coming from one of the rooms. I press a branch to the door and listen.

  “Dear Saint Tentacleez,” the voice says, and I instantly recognize the squeak of the littlest squidlet. “If you are really real, I would really, really, really like a sea unicorn for Squidmas—one with a horn as curly as its little tail. And don’t just try to glue a horn on a seahorse, because I can tell the difference.”

  I creep on, checking nooks, checking crannies. I find many things of value—gold, pearls, great wet works of art, but none of them stir the thief in me. My only desire is to get home, and the one thing I need to do that still eludes me.

  * * *

  The fifth night of Squidmas, I tip-toe through the third wing. I search high and low. The tri-fracquer has to be somewhere. Finally, I see a door, a light coming from beneath. I slip a thin needle through the gap at the bottom and peek inside. I see the president, tentacles a mess, frustration on her face … nothing like the pristine image she projects to the outside world. She’s working in an air bubble, constantly splashing herself with cups of water, putting together what seems to be some sort of land vehicle. Glowing at its core is my tri-fracquer. Now functioning, to boot! What luck! The door is locked, but with a simple mechanism that a couple of my buds can crack within seconds. All I have to do is come back once the president has gone to sleep. I rub my coral branches together in anticipation.

  Then I hear something. A small gasp of water. I turn.

  One of the squidlets stands there, the eldest one with a mohawk of tentacles sticking up from his head, his suckerflesh primed and glittered over like he’s about to embark on a hard night of partying. He looks as guilty as I do.

  “What are you doing here?” we demand of each other simultaneously.

  I have to think quickly. These young creatures seem susceptible to fantastical tales, so I make up one of my own. “You’ve never heard of a Squidmas Guardian Reef?”

  The squidlet shakes his bulbous head.

  “Well the Squidmas Guardian Reefs are sent down by Saint Tentacleez to deter little squidlets who sneak about during the Seven Nights of Squidmas when they should be in bed.”

  The squidlet looks at me like he wants to believe, but he has grown too old for such fantasies. “There’s no such thing as Saint Tentacleez. It’s just parents bringing the presents. I know that. I’m telling mom!”

  “Go ahead. Barge right in there. Ruin the surprise.”

  “What surprise?”

  “She’s building a land vehicle for you, but I’m sure if she catches you trying to sneak out of the house this late at night, she might have a change of heart.”

  “A land vehicle? She really got one for me?”

  I nod my reef branches, but I’m sure the gesture is lost in translation. “Go right in there, if you want, and ruin the whole of Squidmas for everyone.”

  The squidlet crosses several sets of arms, frustrated with me, but the gleam of childish wonder still rims his eyes. “Okay,” he burbles. “I’ll keep your secret, if you keep mine.”

  * * *

  The sixth night of Squidmas, my plans get derailed. The family begins to hang ornament after ornament from my coral branches, each more gaudy and awful than the last. There are gilded seahorses, iridescen
t clams, and glass starfish on hooks. Long strands of purple and silver pearls go round and round me, so many times I couldn’t move if I wanted.

  The eldest squidlet shoots me funny looks as he strings seaweed garland, overly rough with my branches, until I swat him once on the cheek. He laughs at this, and continues to sing carols. There is a difference in his voice this time. There is real joy.

  When they are done, an onslaught of visitors streams in, oooohhing and aaahhing. Even if I could shake myself loose of these adornments, I have no privacy to do so. They file in, what seems like every squid in the city, all day and all night. Posing next to me. Taking pictures with their wet tech devices. The little ones go on and on about what Saint Tentacleez is going to bring them this year, and how good they’ve been.

  The president and her squidlets are the last to take their photo in front of me that night.

  “Saint Tentacleez is going to bring me a sea unicorn for Squidmas,” the little one blurts out.

  “There’s no such thing as—”

  “We’reptph!” the president says. “Not in front of your sister!”

  “I was going to say there’s no such thing as sea unicorns, mother.”

  “Mommy! Tell We’reptph Saint Tentacleez is going to bring me a real sea unicorn, just like I asked him for!”

  “Your brother is right about that, little Nn’astlg. Sea unicorns are just made up creatures. Saint Tentacleez can’t bring you a live one, but perhaps he’ll have a stuffed animal one for you in his clam net.”

  “That’s not the same,” little Nn’astlg says with a pout. “And anyway, how is he going to even get to our bubble stack? Tey’stsl’s brother told me that blubberphasers keep giant clams away too, so there’s no way Saint Tentacleez could even come to our palace.”

  The president pulls her tentacles in on themselves until she’s shrunk down to little Nn’astlg’s level. “What if we turn the blubberphasers off for just this night?”

  Little Nn’astlg nods.

  “Saint Tentacleez loves to give to little squidlets like you, freely, with all his heart. But there are some things he just can’t do. Like bring animals that don’t really exist. But he will do everything he can to make your Squidmas joyful. Do you understand?”

  Little Nn’astlg nods again, and her mother strokes her cheek with a tentacle.

  * * *

  Twas the night before Squidmas and all through the palace

  I’m the one creature stirring, my heart full of malice.

  I tear pearls from my limbs with limitless zeal,

  In hopes that a tri-fracquer soon I will steal.

  Plucking the core from the vehicle’s socket,

  I wrap it up tight in my waterproof pocket.

  Up the bubblestack I go, full of not give-a-damns

  When from high up above comes the clatter of clams.

  I find myself trapped in this wet bubblespace,

  The squiggle of tentacles asquirm on my face.

  Saint Tentacleez, I think. What horrible timing.

  A long string of curses puts an end to my rhyming…

  We both tumble down and hit the bottom of the bubblestack with a graceless thud. Presents fly everywhere. Tentacles flail. The whole scene is a wreck.

  Saint Tentacleez looks all around. It doesn’t take him long to figure out what’s going on here.

  “What did you do?” he asks me. “I work so hard at bringing joy, and here you are stealing it?”

  “I’m only taking what belongs to me,” I say, not about to be put in my place by a figment of a child’s imagination.

  I hear shouts from secret service coming near. They’re definitely not figments and will be here soon. There’s only one thing to do. I shift. They arrive seconds later, the first family close on their heels.

  “Saint Tentacleez!” little Nn’astlg says to the old jolly sack of squid jelly, her mother having to hold her back. Then her eyes meet mine. “Saint Tentacleezes?”

  “He’s an imposter!” Saint Tentacleez screams.

  “No, he’s the imposter!” I say back.

  “They’re both imposters,” says one of the secret service squid, the one holding the large piece of wet tech that looks suspiciously like a gun. “There’s no such thing as Saint Tentacleez. We’ll throw them both to the sharks.”

  “Mama!” little Nn’astlg says. “Tell them they’re wrong. Saint Tentacleez really does exist!”

  “Honey, the secret service is here to protect us, and we have to let them do what they think best.”

  Little Nn’astlg shakes her head. “No, Mama! I can prove he’s real. At least one of them. The real Saint Tentacleez will know what I asked for for Squidmas.”

  The secret service converges on us. Tentacles tighten around me.

  “Wait!” the president says. “I’ll give them a chance. Tell me what my daughter wants for Squidmas.”

  Saint Tentacleez smiles. “Of course.” He pulls out a long list, then runs a tentacle down it. While he’s busy checking it twice, I shift a few cells, and pull from behind me a baby sea unicorn that fits right in my tentacled palm.

  Little Nn’astlg’s shrill goes supersonic, bubbles breaking violently from her beak. Tentacles flail in every direction, until finally she calms herself enough to take the delicate creature from me. “I love it! I love it! I love it!” she says. She touches its curly horn, then strokes its prickly back. I make it curl its tail around the tip of her tentacle and coo.

  Then she does something I don’t expect. She slips free of her mother’s stunned grip and wraps her tentacles around me in a tight hug. “Thank you, Saint Tentacleez. You’ve given me the best gift ever.”

  Her embrace continues to warm me long after she lets go. Seeing the pure joy on her little squid face has done something to me. And I’m not talking the metaphorical heart growing two sizes sort of crap. The sea unicorn. I can no longer feel it as a part of my being. I can no longer manipulate it. It swims about freely, whinnying and nuzzling Little Nn’astlg’s cheek. Then the little creature looks at me and smiles like it knows my secret, too, and is more than happy to keep it.

  I glance over at the land vehicle, expecting We’reptph to be there fussing over his new toy, wondering why he can’t get it to start, but he’s not there. Instead, he stands in the rubble of Squidmas Reef decorations I’d shed, holding the big red pearl above his head, other tentacles splayed to resemble a reef.

  He begins singing a Squidmas carol, and the family and I join in.

  Beyond the harmony of our voices, I hear the real Saint Tentacleez getting dragged off by the Secret Service, threatening to add us all to his naughty list if we don’t let him go this instant. I tune him out and try not to think about how his Squidmas day will soon be ending.

  As the first family rounds into a second verse, it is time to take my leave. It is not all I take, either. While no one is looking, two dozen gold and pearl ornaments find their way into my waterproof pocket. There’s enough room for them in there now. My tri-fracquer once again sits snugly in the land vehicle’s socket, ready to roll.

  It’s a fair trade, by my calculations. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a suitable replacement when the shops reopen tomorrow morning, but until then, what’s one more night of Squidmas anyway?

  I slip up the bubblestack, my heart full of glee

  And find five giant clams there, waiting for me.

  I spring to my sleigh, and pull the reins tight.

  “Merry Squidmas to all, and to all a good night!”

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  F. BRETT COX‘s fiction, poetry, essays, and reviews have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies. With Andy Duncan, he co-edited the anthology Crossroads: Tales of the Southern Literary Fantastic (Tor, 2004). He is a member of the Cambridge SF Writers Workshop and serves on the Shirley Jackson Award Board of Directors. A native of North Carolina, Brett is Professor of English at Norwich University and lives in Vermont with his wife, playwright Jeanne Beckwith. Facebook: https:/
/www.facebook.com/brett.cox.3956

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  NICKY DRAYDEN is a Systems Analyst who dabbles in prose when she’s not buried in code. She resides in Austin, Texas, where being weird is highly encouraged, if not required. Her debut novel THE PREY OF GODS is forthcoming from Harper Voyager this summer, set in a futuristic South Africa brimming with demigods, robots, and hallucinogenic hijinks. See more of her work at http://www.nickydrayden.com or catch her on twitter @nickydrayden.

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  DAVID FARLAND is an award-winning, New York Times bestseller with dozens of novels to his credit. He has written for Star Wars and the Mummy, but is best know for his “Runelords” fantasy series. Dave serves as the lead judge for the world’s largest science fiction and fantasy writing contest, and has helped numerous writers go on to start their own careers. You can learn more about him or contact him at www.mystorydoctor.com

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  Nebula Award winner ESTHER FRIESNER is the author of over 40 novels and more than 200 short stories. She is also the creator/editor of the Chicks in Chainmail series (Baen Books). The sixth, Chicks and Balances, appeared in July 2015. Deception’s Pawn, latest in her popular Princesses of Myth YA series (Random House), was published in April 2015. Esther is married, a mother of two, grandmother of one, harbors cats, and lives in Connecticut. There is no truth to the rumor that her family motto is “Oooooh, SHINY!”

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  SARA M. HARVEY lives and writes fantasy and horror in (and sometimes about) Nashville, TN. She is also a costume historian, theatrical costume designer, and art history and fashion teacher. She has three spoiled rotten dogs, one awesome daughter, and one feisty son; her husband falls somewhere in between. Sara’s fiction has appeared in various anthologies such as Steam-Powered: Lesbian Steampunk Stories, Upside Down: Inverted Tropes in Storytelling, and Dark Futures. Her novel-length fiction includes A Year and a Day (available as ebook only), Seven Times a Woman, Music City, and The Blood of Angels trilogy. She tweets @saraphina_marie, wastes too much time on facebook.com/saramharvey, and needs to update her website saramharvey.com