Beasts of the sea, in all shapes and sizes. There are octopus and crabs, starfish and sea urchins, along with countless other creatures that I cannot identify. Thousands of them, slithering and swarming all along the shoreline. Onward they come, unfolding tentacles and clawing with pincers, like an invading army laying siege to our village. It is a revolting sight. A few people try to sweep them back or stomp them underfoot, but there are too many and they just keep coming, crawling up the wharf into town. It is as if the sea has declared war on us and its barbarian horde is determined to storm our gates.

Pip wades barefoot into the squirming mess until Bryndis pulls him away, insisting we run home. Magda blasphemes the name of our Lord, horrified at the invading mass. When a large snow crab scuttles close, I snatch it from the ground.

My sister makes a sour face. “Put it back, Kaspar.”

“Look at the size of it,” I say, holding it carefully to avoid the snapping pincers. “This will feed us all tonight.”

“Are you daft?” says Magda. “The mermaid sent it. It is probably poisonous. Get rid of it.”

A tug-of-war plays out between my empty belly and my brains. I toss it back and we all hurry home, locking our doors like Magda suggests.

***

No one sleeps. The sound of this invading force is unrelenting outside the window; the awful squirming, sucking, squishing racket of it all. When the sun rises, the townsfolk step out of their doors to find the streets overwhelmed with the damned things. There is nowhere to step without squishing an octopus or cracking a shell. What mad suicide mission was this? The creatures have crawled into town only to die on the cobbles. The smell of it is noxious, and it will only get worse as the day warms. Everywhere I look, men are shoveling the rotting things like snow in winter. The women broom the creepers from their stoops, but there are too many and there is nowhere to put them. Raking them all out to sea will take days.

I scan the bay, expecting to see the mermaid patrolling the harbor, but she is not there. The sea is calm and dappled with sunlight. The gulls have arranged themselves on the pier in an unnatural silence. Why are they not scavenging the veritable feast that lies in stinking heaps on every street? Perhaps they instinctively know the smell of evil and will not touch the dead creatures. Some of the villagers are not so wise, having cooked a crab or roasted a squid. These foolhardy souls are now green in their sickbeds, poisoned by the delicacies.