The thing was crawling down the street, its slimy trail, glistening on the cobblestones, shone brightly under the lamplight. It was one of the first to crawl out of the sea. It was the first one I had seen, at least. My best guess is that they’re like cicadas or something. Come inland to breed or something. Probably, by next year, they’ll all be gone again, and we’ll not see them for another thousand years. That’s my guess, anyway. I suppose Peter can be right, confound him. He’s studied all this occult stuff. Thinks there’s some powerful necromancer sending them out. I hope he’s wrong. I don’t even know what to do if it is a necromancer. Do you send a delegation? Deluge a delegation? My ambassadors would have to be good divers, and those type of people, working men and the like, I would not exactly trust them with affairs of state. Not delicate. Delegates must be delicate. I can’t even send a letter, can I? It would be all soggy. Peter would probably want us to get out of our chairs and harpoon the bugger. That’s Peter for you. He’ll sit quietly reading for days, then suddenly surprise you and go do something. That’s what comes of reading old books, mind. Newspapers, journals, they do your thinking for you, and present you with a nice little fait accompli by the end of breakfast. You won’t even read about the slimy things crawling out of the sea and eating our cats and dogs. I tell you, the fourth estate is the only thing standing between us and utter chaos.
The Placid Island of the Fourth Estate
Tale Told 