The only thing I knew about Sassam back then was that he was a crafty one. Rumour had it that he swindled some bookie out of his business by the tracks when he was a pup, then fixed a string of races to put the competition in a spin. While they were reeling, he secured his position by knocking out the bigger spuds, taking their punters and using every dirty trick to run them out of town.
All rumours, of course. Rumours or not, facts speak for themselves. Sassam ran the guys who ran the races, the races brought the punters and the punters brought their clams. Lots of clams. And while some went home with more than what they came with, the majority left with empty mitts and the taste of diluted darkwater.
The track was crowded when I got there. Early in the afternoon was a popular time. The slower races had the crowd revved up and the bigger fish were being brought out, sparking a renewed vigour and exchange of shells.
I was never one for the track. Tried it once or twice with some mates, always lost out. Never did see the allure. Personally, I like to be getting something whenever I hand over clams.
“Fourteen looks good, eh?” said a drawling gambler, scrutinising the board. “Eh, Pal? Eh? Couple either way wouldn't go astray.”
“Who, me?”
“Yeah, you. You thinking a couple either way?”
“Sure, sure,” I said. “What's the rate?”
“Got Hot is three and a half, Bubbler, number twenty, is a steal at six. That's where the smart money is, anyways, I'll tell you that for nothing. Who's your favourite?”
I scanned the board.
“Ah, I dunno. Number seven.”
“What? What?”
He turned back to the board again, “Up Your Alley has fallen behind in the last three! Eh? Heck he almost got eaten on the last one. You can still see the clips from his tail if you don't believe me.”
I shrugged, “Wasn't really saying...”
“Odds are putting it down below Let's Dance... Ah, unless there's something you know that I don't? Eh?”
“What?”
“Eh? Eh?” he said, wiggling a tentacle. “I'm picking up what you're putting down, fella.”
I shook my head, “Um. No.”
He winked, “I'm catching what you're casting.”
“I – I'm not casting anything!”
He eye-balled me, grilling me with his stare. I blinked.
“Ah, there he is! Eh? Good on you!”
“No, no. Really, no!”
“I get it, pal, no worries, eh? Your secret is safe with me. Thanks! Thanks a bunch! Wow, twenty two to one!” he swam over to the nearest bookie. “Hey! You there, give me number seven. Fifty clams, easy.”
While the bookie drawled out the bet to his mate and secured the clams, I made a hasty retreat into the crowd. I didn't want any truck with any mug punters.
I pushed through, squeezing between the scrum of bulbs, heads and arms, cuttlefish and octopus alike, worming my way down to the track. You see, I wanted to get myself watched and see who was doing the watching.
That's an unnatural habit for me. Most of the time I'm trying to blend in. As it was, I had to think hard to stop myself from doing the normal thing I'd do in such a situation, which is camouflage.
Instead, I strutted, pushing myself up and looking out over the milling, rippling tangle. The excitement of the game was growing as the time for the next race drew near. The bookies droned louder, calling for the final bets, pushing the odds here and there to tease the gamblers into their customary frenzy.
In response, the gamblers squeezed around the bookies, checking their flints and grumbling to convince themselves that they had the best chance possible.
There were last second exchanges, more curses, more calling and more clamour.
A bell chimed. The caller intoned a low shout and a rumbling hush washed over the crowd as they left the bookies and swarmed to secure a vantage point at the race-tube.
I had already found a decent spot where I could see the majority of the track and I began to wonder if I shouldn't have put a bet down. Bit late for that. Besides, I was already pushing my luck further than I was comfortable with.
The caller hooted. There was general commotion toward the starting line. He hooted once more and even the bookies shut their beaks.
“Hey-Ho!” he cried and the fish were off and racing.
Humdrum, low and needy, surged in ripples. Mitts curled all the way up the arms, eyes bulged out of bulbs, beaks chittered and tongues scraped on crabshells. The anticipation built as the fish rounded the first curve.
The fish were racing for all they were worth. The front-runners, veterans of the job who knew better than to get caught up in the commotion outside the track, powered their way through, leaving the wide-eyed newbies and ring-ins to keep up.
The clamour rose to a crescendo. The chaser-fish, extra encouragement to get those suckers moving, had just been released.
Funny thing about that chaser. Really puts the giddy-up into the back ones. You never drop your flints until you see what those guys can do. As it was, I caught a sight of Up Your Alley, green and orange, darting past, wiggling for all it was worth.
Heck if I didn't get caught up in it all. The crescendo exploded in on itself and the crowd backed away from the track, casually crawling to the bookies or the tenders, keeping their fortunes to themselves. The losers were too crestfallen and the winners didn't want to become a target for pickpockets and muggers.
I meandered to the finish line where the chaser-fish was messily finishing off the last of Got Hot. Guess the poor little fella peaked a bit too early.
Lesson learnt.
I turned around to see two dark faced spuds glaring at me.
“What are you doing here?” one asked.
“Having a punt,” I said, facing them and thrusting out my arms. “You from Sassam, boys?”
This took them by surprise, let me tell you. I took Tommy's advice and kept it running. Call the shots. Keep 'em on their toes.
“Well, are you going to stand there or you gonna take me to see him?”
The second broke from his stupor, “Er, is he expecting you?”
“Don't know, don't care. Come on, I'm a busy spud. Got places to be, people to see, dirty secrets to keep – whoops! Did I say that out loud?”
“Dirty, er. You, er, I mean we'd better, er, follow me.”
His buddy nodded, “Yeah. Follow him.”
Easy as, let me tell you.
On the way up to the main rock I got a whistle and a slap on the back.
“I knew you'd come through! Eh? Eh? How 'bout that. Twenty two to one! Let me buy you a round, pal, least I could do.”
I said, “Maybe later. I've got to talk to a guy about a thing.”
“Hey, do whatcha gotta do. Just make sure you're back before the next race. You got any more tips, eh? You're my lucky charm.”
I wondered if luck was infectious, if it was really something quantifiable and that I'd just given mine to some crusty cretin who'd blow it all on blackwater and keelsticks. No time to ponder that, though.
The two ushered me in. I refused. They prodded. I turned on them.
“Nah, pal, you bring Sassam out here, please.”
“Er, why?”
“Because it's a nice day, the vibe on the track is good and because,” I said firmly, “I asked nicely.”
They looked at each other, made up their collective brain and went inside. I stood outside, nodding politely to the passers-by, whistling a tune. This was far beyond anything I had ever done or considered remotely possible. I don't know. Maybe I was insane. That would explain a lot. Only an octopus with rocks in his bulb would taunt the wealthiest, rottenest, most connected bookie on the Reef.
I felt eyes upon me and I turned.
Emerging from the orifice I saw before me the largest, most-rotund spud I had ever seen. He filled the door. It was hard to tell where his suckers stopped and his head began. Crawling out – heaving himself out, really – he looked the incarnation of Anger.
He glowered at me, taking a well-chewed keelstick out of his beak, scraping it off and reinserting it.
“Howdy Sassam,” I said cheerfully. “Nice to meet you. How's tricks? Tedrick's the name. Tedrick Gritswell, Private Investigator.”
He glowered. I could tell he was sizing me up, trying to figure me out. He couldn't lose face in front of his henchmen, nor could he risk upsetting the punters with violence.
“You probably know why I'm here, right?” I asked. “I mean, it's not like you're the kind of guy who keeps a low profile. That's just physics.”
He took out his keelstick again and scraped it on a rock. I began to wish that I had taken up the habit. It certainly gives something for your mitts to do while you're thinking. Puts the other guy off, you know.
Another lesson learnt.
“Shark chew your beak off?”
Ah, that was pushing it a bit. It was his serve and he knew it.
“You've got nothing,” he said eventually, “or you'd have shown it already.”
“Ah, he can speak! How about that. I knew you had it in you. Lord knows you got everything else inside you.”
That was unappreciated. He rippled and flashed all manner of colours.
“Did you come here to insult me, or do you have something you wish to say?”
“I've said it, Sassam old boy, you know why I'm here. Or would you like me to say it at the top of my voice with all these people in ear-shot?”
He chewed slowly on his keelstick, “You want to give me a hint?”
“You want to talk in riddles, eh? OK. Um. I know. What's got two eyes, eight legs and likes to kill innocent people?” I said.
“I've never killed anybody,” he said.
“Really. You see, I've got a hunch, let's say it's more than a hunch, that you've been a naughty boy.”
“You got proof of something, let me see, otherwise you can get out of here.”
I carried on, regardless, “You see, the thing I don't get is why you had to get Taniel involved.”
He raised his mitts innocently. That was an over-reaction if ever I'd seen one.
“Taniel? Who's Taniel?”
“Oh, come on. Taniel from Taniel's Rock. She's on your payroll.”
A wild guess, sure, but not an uneducated one.
“I'd like to see you prove that!”
“Aha, so you do know Taniel! Good, good! Now we're getting somewhere. You see, she was the one who called your boys over. They did me a disservice the other day. I was at Taniel's and I was enjoying the pleasantries of a lovely girl by the name of Wyra when they rudely walked in and slapped me around some,” I said. “That's not the treatment I expect when I go there, no sirree.”
He laughed and the laugh wobbled from the tips of his mitts to the top of his bulb.
“What's so funny?”
“My guys caught you good and proper, smacked you until you were black and blue. You were asking questions about stuff you shouldn't have been asking questions about,” he said. “Seems you didn't learn your lesson. I heard a rumour that you had the gall to bust back into Taniel's.”
Ah, he was trying to claw back some power. I puffed up.
“It's no rumour. I went in after I saw Wyra's body, beaten, tortured and slashed, because I knew there was more to it. Whoever got rid of her wanted to get rid of some loose ends.”
“And what did you find, eh?” he asked, squinting at me with those greedy eyes of his.
I might have had his goons fooled, but Sassam was a whole lot better at this game than I was. Been playing it a long time. He ruminated on his keelstick a bit more, waiting for my answer. Of course, I didn't have one.
“Was there anything in there that should bring you to my door and interrupt me during my legitimate business activities?” he laughed once more. “I thought not. You've got nothing.”
“I've got plenty, actually.”
Actually? Did I say that? Yes, I'm afraid I did. I was losing control and he knew it.
“Pah! Some investigator you are. You don't got no idea what's what. You don't even know where to start looking! You're fishing around, hoping to catch a sardine. Swim home, little fella, before you really get hurt.”
Well, he had me there. I didn't actually have anything concrete. I had tried to rattle his cage and I just ended up getting shaken instead.
“Go on, get outta here! And if I ever catch you drifting back I'll turf you over the Abyss myself.”
“I've already been there,” I said. “Thanks for the hospitality, I can see myself out.”
He gestured with his keelstick and, with a rumbling chuckle, headed back inside.
His goons turned to me, “Er, you heard him. Scram!”
With nothing left in my tank, I saluted them both and left the grounds. I was going to be followed, I knew that, so I let them see me going off, over the rise and over the next, looking every bit the beaten foe.
You might think I came out of that second-best and for anyone else that might be the case. Not for me, though. Far from it. Sassam was hiding something. I mean, of course he was. He's slimier than a slug, but that's not what I mean. He was hiding something big. Real big.
That's one thing you learn if you want to be a detective. You see, the more you try and hide something, the harder it is not to think about it. And the more you're busy not thinking about it, the tighter you squeeze it inside, the more you're likely to let bits of it slip out.
Firstly, I confirmed that he had been paying Taniel, which meant he was pulling Wyra's strings, which meant that, even if he didn't kill her, he knew exactly who did.
Secondly, he let it be known that he was watching me, that he knew I had gone back to Taniel's. What he didn't know, though, was what I had found there. And what someone doesn't know eats at them, especially if you're the kind who is used to knowing everything.
I let him think I hadn't found anything, which put him at ease, let him drop his guard. You can't have the upper-mitt all the time.
The biggest ringing bell was when he happened to drop in the word 'legitimate'. Now, a straight-up guy who's running a straight-up business doesn't have to use that word. The dodgier the guy, the more he'll parade innocence.
The first two points, I already knew and just needed confirmed. The last point, though, that was the clincher. He was up to something big, outside of his daily affairs, and I needed to find out what. The only way to do that was to go back, quiet this time, and find out and the only way to do that was to lose my tail.
I scooted over the next ridge and the next and entered Sandy's Jetty, known for serving the best value kalip on the Reef. Half a clam later and I was sucking on my pod, watching the characters coming and going.
Two spuds, both of them slim Unome, squatted by the door, pretending to be engaged in deep conversation. I took my pod to a booth, just out of the way and watched as they shuffled their position to keep me in their sights.
“Excuse me, waitress?” I asked.
The waitress slid over, “What's your fancy, darlin'?”
“Look, I've had a bad trot at the races...”
“Oh, no. Don't go playin' that line on me, darlin'. No free drinks in this joint.”
“Nah, nothing like that. Quite the opposite. Here,” I slipped her some clams. “Nothing dodgy. I just need to lose those two beggars that've got my number, if you catch my drift.”
She swiped the clams and gave me a wink, “You're alright, hon. Didn't order no drinks anyhow, just taking up rocks. The back-way is just behind there, take a left and then you should see a vent you can squeeze through. Just wait a few minutes first, eh?”
I thanked her, polished off my kalip and got ready to bail. She took a few more orders, went back into the kitchen and then brought out a whopping crab, plonking it in front of the gents.
“Alrighty, gentleman, seasoned crab. That'll be five clams, please.”
“What?” asked one. “We didn't order no crab!”
“Huh? Come on, fellas, I've got orders to take. Five clams for the crab, please.”
“We're not paying for no crab!”
“Oh, free-loaders, eh?” she said. “Rybold! Rybold! We've got a couple of free loaders in here trying to scam you out of your crab!”
Rybold poked his head out of the kitchen. The two goons shuffled nervously.
“What's that? What's that? Free-loaders? We don't serve no stinking free-loaders in here!”
“No, no, there's been a mistake,” the first said. “We ain't free-loading. We're, ah, just, ah – easy big guy!”
Rybold was, indeed, a big guy. The other patrons blindly made way while he squeezed out of the kitchen and spread out in front of them. He was brandishing an iron-shell in one hand and a bludgeon in the other.
“You ordered seasoned crab. You got seasoned crab. Unless you got a problem with it, you pay your clams or I'll take it out of your skins!”
Although I would have loved to see the results, I didn't stick around. I zipped out the back, found the vent and squeezed my way through. It was longer than I'd thought and it took a good while to get my frame through that tiny hole. In the end, I popped out the top, shook myself back into shape, did a quick sweep and zoomed around into a patch of grass.
I camouflaged brilliantly among the brown and green. My bruises only added to the mottled effect. They wouldn't have been able to find me among those soft fronds even if they tried to pluck me and put me on a plate.
There was no hurry to get back to the race-track. If Sassam was up to no good, it would be when the punters went home. I had up until then to rest up and think. The kalip had been refreshing. I settled down and took stock.
During that quiet time, meditating and waving gently in the current, I realised a startling fact. The more I delved into this mess, the more people were relying on what I was doing. I didn't mean it to be that way, of course. I'm a loner by nature. Heck, I had only started out because I needed the clams.
Even though Coraline said I was off the case, I knew that if I could crack it, she'd be grateful. Her own brother was missing and the business was in peril.
I'd gone and been stupid enough to make a promise to a girl I didn't know. Wyra might not have been looking up from the Abyss, then again, maybe she was.
Not to mention that, of everyone on the Reef, Tommy Two-Tone had put his faith me. If that wasn't pressure enough! Sassam, too, was watching me. No doubt his interest in this was more than cursory.
Dewey expected me to be a roaring success and take him along my astronomical trajectory. I had Foreman Staffmarker's faith placed in me, and Botherwash needed my caps to supplement his semi-retirement.
Lastly, of course, was Belvedere. I sure hoped he was grateful when I found him. If he was still alive, that is. I didn't know the guy, and he didn't know me, but our paths were bound to cross sooner or later.
That kind of revelation isn't what you need when you're on a case. Distracts you from what you should be focusing on and what I should've been focusing on was getting back to the racetrack undetected.
The kalip and the rest must have done me some good because, through all of that thinking, the Mother of Invention tapped me on the bulb and I came up with a nice idea. I uprooted a couple of long stalks of the grass, squished them into a bunch. Keeping hold of my impromptu bouquet, I shuffled out of the bed, inching my way along in time with the waves up ahead, looking for all the Reef like an ugly clump of detached weed.
Don't know why I hadn't thought of it before. Guess I'd never been forced to throw myself into such a dangerous situation.
It was laborious work, moving only a little bit at a time, swaying to and fro, rolling as the strong swells made their presence felt all the way down on the bed, but I managed it alright.
Darkness overtook me and it was hard to see more than a few spans by the time I made it back to the grounds. I swayed past the guard on duty, a dopey-eyed Yammal with more on his mind than looking for trespassers, and made it unchallenged to the pens.
They were deserted except for a handler tending to the chaser-fish corral, throwing in the scraps of racers that had been left behind by their disgruntled owners. Loyalty to race-fish extended as far as they were profitable. No point sticking with a nag when there were plenty more fish in the sea.
Moving stealthily between the hollows in the red-reef, I heard an indistinct muttering, like the kind you hear when it's almost knock-off time and your replacement hasn't turned up.
I had to leave my sea-grass to the current. It had served me well enough but it had no place in the dim cavern. The further I went in, the louder the muttering became until I reached the back wall and looked around the corner.
I froze. The odour of copper and entrails is one you don't easily forget and in my time I had smelt more than my fair share, believe you me. I was skulking before, now I was creeping as stealthily as I could.
Climbing up the wall and suspending myself from the roof-rock, I inched my way around the corner, little by little, sucker-by-sucker, feeling every nook to make sure it wasn't going to break off before I grappled it.
I passed the lintel and wormed my way into a big cavity, lit by glowing green algae, just bright enough to see garish contrasts of workers heaving and grunting away. I watched, trying to figure out what they were up to, when a dark plume exploded across the floor.
“Damn thing inked again,” mumbled one. “Sick o' this.”
“Quit yer yappin', Garth. Ain't you got nothin' else to flap on about?”
“Just sayin' it ain't right, is all.”
“That's the fourth time tonight yev been belly-aching.”
“This is the fourth time tonight it happened!”
I could see him flailing his arms, wiping off his skin and eyes, swooshing the ink around in the water.
Someone else growled at them, “Knock it off, you two! You gotta get this last one loaded before I stick a barb up your tube!”
That voice sounded oddly familiar. With the echo in the chamber and the ink-obscured water, I couldn't put a face to it. Besides, I had other things to worry about. I saw the unmistakable glint of an iron-shell brought down on whatever it was on the floor and a gush of darkness spurted up.
“You sure this guy was dead? His hearts are still beating!”
“Dead, paralysed, same deal. He'll bleed out soon enough. Just get those arms off and wrapped up, and get some goo on the stumps, OK?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“And lose the attitude. You're getting paid, ain't ya?”
“Not enough.”
The two closest forms worked harder and more ink and blood spewed into the water. Man, I was glad I hadn't eaten for a while, let me tell you!
Sure, I was repulsed and I'll admit freely that I was scared. I mean, who wouldn't be, right? Still, I had a job to do and I had made it that far. No point in shrimping out.
“This bit's tough.”
That's what I told myself, anyway. Don't know if it was the right decision, but that's the decision I made. I crept into the room, sticking to the roof like glue and I wiggled and squirmed until I was right over the top of them.
“Fine, I'll hold, you cut.”
The thing with curiosity is that you can't un-see stuff. And from that position I'm sad to say that I got to see everything.
Those guys were chopping and hacking at the arms of some poor spud. Who he was, I've no idea. His face was frozen in a ghastly grimace. He was well and truly dead. By now they were down to the last two arms, hacking and sawing away with iron-shells.
“Cut closer to the head!”
They got those off and tossed them in a pile where they wriggled and writhed about, all creepy like, just as if they were still attached. They then picked up a silk-slug each and squeezed dollops of goop over the stumpy arms.
“There you go, Garth. See? Now he's 'armless! Haw haw!”
When it was all done, the arms lashed together and the bulb deflated and packed, they signalled their boss and the gang picked up a bundle each and left via a tunnel out the back.
Fortune favouring the brave, I summoned all of the courage I had left, dropped from the roof and swam after, keeping a safe distance.
The tunnel went on a distinct downward trend, turning here and looping back there, but always down. I could feel the pressure getting heavier as I went.
The glowing algae was thicker here. The tube widened some, which made the going easier for the crew and the pace increased. After a lot of swimming, and hoping that I wasn't going to fall out of the bottom of the Reef, the tunnel took a sharp upward turn into a wide chamber. I was just in time to see the last guy schlepping his load under a shelf into eerie, strange-smelling waters.
If I was scared before, I was downright petrified now. I was in over my bulb and I knew it. I looked back at the tunnel and, I kid you not, fought myself over whether to turn back and come back during the day or just press on.
Of course, I'd never get to see what happened to those poor souls that got hacked to pieces.
“Come on, Tedrick you spineless, jelly-legged, yellow-streaked Puss!” I said to myself – that's kind of a joke among us octopuses. “Are you a crab or a spud? Pull yourself together and get after!”
Pepped up and ready for just about anything, I swam forward carefully and poked my eyes under the shelf and had a look-see.
“Shut my beak and call me a cucumber!”
Being so far down and so late in the tide I expected to see nothing at all. Instead, I was shocked to discover that the glowing algae covered every surface in uneven, blobby green lumps, so the whole bed glowed in a creepy, eerie light.
The floor was a combination of sand, shell-grit and broken coral. The water had a dusty appearance, like after a storm, only the particles were suspended, neither floating nor sinking, like a continuous, green veil.
As I swam along I disturbed this delicate setting and the dust, reflecting the green of the algae, danced around my wake.
I swam in the direction I thought those fellas might have gone and, shortly, I picked up the path where they had cut through the thick veil. That made creeping along easier for me, although it occurred to me, many times over, that I had no idea where I was, where I was going nor what was in store for me when I caught up to those guys.
Heck, for all I knew, I was blindly following the path of a stinger who'd decided to get up and have a stretch.
That's the kind of thing your mind does when it hasn't got anything more tangible to hold onto than swirling, iridescent green specks. And that's exactly the kind of thing you've got to watch out for when you're on a case, let me tell you. If you're not careful, you can completely psych yourself out before you've even reached something worth psyching yourself out about!
Up a rise and suddenly the mist cleared and I found myself overlooking a long gully. Voices, those same grumbles that I'd heard before, told me I had it right. Still, my stomach told me once more that I had it wrong. Dead wrong.
I have to listen to my stomach more often.
A black form shot out overhead. Long and streaking, it cut a swarthy curve in the water above me, heading straight for those guys. The leading edge was heavy faced, with an oversized jaw partly open, filled with curved teeth. It grew thicker a little way along before tapering off slowly toward the back.
From my position I could see the green ring surrounding the beady, avaricious eyes as it raced through the gulch.
Believe me when I had a sudden pang of terror not for me, but for those goons, and I almost called out to warn them. Silly, I know, but instincts are instincts and when an eel comes overhead it's only natural to warn others! It is for me, at least.
I slapped a mitt over my beak to muffle my own cry and scuttled to the safety of a rock cluster, covering myself in sand and algae, keeping safe from the terror above.
The eel swooshed back overhead again, only this time I caught sight of what it had in its ugly mouth. It was nothing less than a tentacle. The monster was snapping and gulping at it, proud of its catch, hungry for more.
It curled around and around while it feasted, then turned back for another round. There wasn't any screaming, strangely enough. In fact, I think I heard laughter. Now tell me that isn't odd!
Clearly the eel wasn't after me, and with my camouflage I was pretty sure he hadn't seen me at all, so I offended my stomach once more and moved closer.
There they were, a group of them, huddling under the safety of a large rock, hollowed out enough to make a makeshift cage, only the cage was to keep the eel out rather than in.
One of them gave a chitter and a whistle. The eel turned back around, swimming past the cage, snatching an arm dangled from a hole.
Another whistle and two clicks. Another eel presented itself, dancing and swooping just like the other. They tossed a head out and cheered as the eel got it stuck in its maw.
This went on and on. More whistles, more black shapes, more eels, more laughter and more sickly crunching. Bits of spud squirted out the sides of the bulbs and chunks fell to the floor. Now I figured out what the strange smell was. It was the stench of death.
My stomach gave up its protest. Clearly I wasn't listening. In a last ditch attempt to assert itself, it emptied out, just like that.
Can't blame it, really.
They spotted the plume as it drifted up and there was a yell and a whoop. The clicking and whistling stopped.
“What's that? Wait a minute,” called a voice above the din. “Hey, look over there!”
“What, where?”
“O'er there, see?”
“We got a spy!”
And with that, I was made.
“I see him, yeah, he's gettin' away! After him!”
“I ain't goin' nowhere yet. Chopper's still out, yet. Say, Gus, get an eel on 'im! Show 'im how we deal with spies!”
Well that was all I needed to hear. Thank goodness those eels were full and fat from their feed, otherwise I wouldn't be here to tell you the tale. I heard the clicks and whistles as Gus directed the eels to chase after.
I jetted off faster than I ever have, but it wasn't fast enough. Those eels were onto me, swooping and nipping, diving down and around to block me off.
One caught the skin of my noggin and dragged me a good way before I managed to wriggle free.
I feinted forward, then slipped down suddenly to reach a shelf under a rock.
It was slim, barely a fissure, and I had to squeeze myself into a flapjack just to fit, but I got in there. It was uncomfortable, but a whole lot more appealing than facing those eels.
I squirmed away, keeping my mitts away from their snapping jaws. I was safe enough for the moment as they couldn't get their heads under the rock-shelf, but I certainly couldn't get away unseen with all that glowing algae around. I inched along, squeezing through the fissure, using every sucker I had to go forward.
The shelf came to an end after a few lengths. Feeling forward, I felt only water. The eels were butting up against the opening, wriggling their filthy heads sideways and slant-ways, pushing to get at me.
They snarled and snapped and ground at the rock. I got the gift of a close-up view of those things, their jaws, their eyes, their snouts. Chunks of octopus were stuck in their teeth.
I was stuck and when you're stuck you can do one of two things. You can panic or you can think. I'm no good at the first, see, and so long as I kept my mitts curled up those beasts couldn't get at me, so I thought.
The situation, it seemed, was that Sassam was training eels. To what end, I could only guess, but that was certainly what it looked like. Being so far down in the water, with the uncomfortable pressure, they were safe from the eyes of the Reef.
The Law wouldn't look down here. Heck, they wouldn't know that it existed unless someone told them where to look. But why so deep? The pressure was uncomfortable and there were plenty of places out of town that were safe from prying eyes.
I put that path aside since it didn't help me with my predicament, what with the eels wanting to tear me to shreds and all.
The predicament was that there were a bunch of goons who didn't think twice about cutting up octopuses. They had the bodies all chopped up and ready to feed the eels. Duds from the races, most likely. Losers. Deadbeats. Mug punters who had lost everything and wouldn't be missed.
I guessed the reason why was for some kind of training regime. You know, like, using a reward associated with a signal. Eels aren't that smart, mostly mouths and swimming gear what gets the mouth closer to the thing it wants to eat, so it would have to be a simple command. Something like, when I whistle like this, you do this, when I click like that, you do that. Good boy, have an arm.
That sort of thing.
An idea formed between those two plates of rock, luckily it was right where my squashed noggin was.
I tried to click and whistle just like Gus had only my beak was pushed hard up against the plate. So I squirmed back down the way I came until I found a bit more breathing space. Still, that wasn't enough.
I wasn't beat just yet, though. I waited for the eels to pause in their assault, squeezed out and let fly with a good dose of ink and jetted off into the water. That confused them enough for me to get a breather, click my beak and give out a whistle that was as close to Gus' call as I could make it.
Bewildered, they snaked around in the water above, unsure what to do next.
I whistled again and clicked again. They slid around each other, looping and knotting, looping and knotting. I kept backing away, whistling and clicking, moving over the rise and out of sight.
I think Gus might have picked up on my plan because the next thing I heard was him whistling and clicking in the distance. By this stage the eels were well and truly mixed-up, snapping at each other and swimming in a tight circle.
You can imagine that I didn't bother sticking around. I'd made my window and with that I escaped back over the ridge, through the channel, under the ledge and up the tunnel as fast as my jet would carry me.
If anyone had come along down that tunnel I would've been snookered but luck was on my side and I reached the top, exhausted beyond belief, but alive and with all my arms attached to my head. And even though I was spotted, I'm sure they couldn't have known who I was from that distance, so I had that going for me.