The Monster's Daughter

by Paul Gamble

  A group of octopuses had swum to the top of the tank and placed themselves around the glass edge. They reached their wet tentacles out of the water and started rubbing them around the edge of the glass, then started swimming in a circle. A squeaking noise started, like when you rub a wet finger around a glass rim. But with a dozen octopuses doing that at the same time, it was rapidly getting louder. And not only louder, but more high-pitched. It was getting closer and closer to the same pitch the crab was emitting from its tuning-fork claws.

  Suddenly, Jack realized what was happening and stumbled backward. “Guys, we’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Nonsense,” said the Professor, “we’re quite safe.”

  The pitch of the octopus tentacles kept getting higher as they swam faster and faster around the rim of the tank. Grey looked at Jack. “What do you think’s going to happen?”

  Jack looked briefly around at the tank and then back at Grey. “Have you ever seen one of those films where an opera singer sings a really high note and shatters glass with it?”

  Grey took a slow breath. “Professor, I think Jack might be right. Maybe we should think about leaving.”

  There was a cracking noise and a long jagged fissure snaked up the side of the tank.

  The Professor took a step backward. “Yes … maybe we should think about … you must eat a lot of fish, Jack.”

  The heroes turned and started to run, but at that very minute the noise from the octopuses finally matched the noise from the claw-based tuning fork. There were dozens of the enormous tanks in the room, and they shattered all at once. A tidal wave of water poured, gushing and foaming, into the room.

  * * *

  MINISTRY OF S.U.I.T.S HANDBOOK

  WAYS TO HELP THOUGHT

  THE STROKING OF CHINS

  Many people over the years have wondered why some people stroke their chins when they think. The reason is simple. This action goes back to ancient Greece. Back then philosophers were considered the greatest thinkers. All philosophers had enormous beards. Therefore, when an ordinary Greek citizen was trying to think he would try and pull hair out of his chin to create a beard—that way even if he didn’t come up with a great idea, he would at least look like an intelligent philosopher with an enormous beard.

  Over the years the “pulling hair” action came to resemble the stroking of the chin.

  * * *

  10

  THE FLOOD

  Jack opened his mouth to scream to the others to watch out. It was a ridiculous thing to do, as they had also seen the enormous glass tanks break and shatter. As he opened his mouth, a wave hit him and he swallowed an enormous amount of water, a certain amount of algae, and, almost certainly, some fish poo.

  One of the cracking tanks threw a long, thin, jagged shard of glass past Jack. It ripped his trousers and opened a shallow cut on his leg. As Jack was buffeted against the wall, the swirling waves threw three starfish through the air, and they thunked into the wall beside his head like ninja shuriken. A second wave crashed across the room and smashed Jack, tumbling, into the wall. His eyes blurred for a second and he felt himself slip under the water.

  The water was still swirling and Jack tumbled through it, not sure which way was up. His lungs howled for air—he paddled his hands frantically, not sure that he was heading in the right direction.

  Jack blinked as Trudy’s face suddenly appeared in front of his. She pointed in a direction Jack assumed was up, grabbed the front of his shirt, and hauled him as she kicked her feet.

  Jack surfaced, spluttering and coughing. “Thanks for that, Trudy. You saved me in the nick of time. But then again, I did warn you that the glass tanks were going to shatter, so we’re probably even.”

  Trudy frowned at him. “I’m not sure if it counts as a warning when you only give us a second’s notice.”

  Grey and the Professor bobbed to the surface beside them. “We need to get out of here.”

  Jack looked around—the water was beginning to settle, but the room was half submerged with water. If they wanted to get out, they would have to dive under the water and find the door. Jack wasn’t a terribly strong swimmer. “Couldn’t we just wait for a while? I’m a little bit dizzy from being smashed into the wall and I think my leg is bleeding.”

  The Professor had been surveying the water, but snapped his head around at the mention of blood. “You’re bleeding?”

  Jack dog-paddled, keeping his head above water. “Yes. I think I’ve also rather badly bruised my shoulder. I mean, if we’re making a list of all my injuries, I think it’s important we include that as well.”

  Trudy splashed water at Jack’s face. “You idiot. This isn’t about you feeling bad. Blood in the water will attract sharks.”

  Jack gulped. He’d been concentrating on not drowning in the water released from the shattered tanks. He hadn’t really thought about the fact that the shattered tanks meant that the criminal fish would be free and swimming below them. Suddenly he expected to be pulled underwater by the giant Japanese crab any second.

  Grey was looking around the walls. “If my bearings are right the door should be in that wall. Follow me.” Grey took a deep breath and dived under the water. The Professor and Trudy followed.

  “I only have my twenty-five-meter swimming badge,” Jack grumbled to no one. “And I touched the bottom twice when I was getting that.” He ducked his head under the water and kicked his way toward the door.

  Jack was too panicked to look around as he swam; however, he couldn’t help noticing that a number of fish and undersea animals were clustered around an overflow vent that was set in a corner of the room. Hammerhead sharks were taking turns to charge the vent. Sawfish were using their serrated noses to cut the grid that covered it, and octopuses were pulling at it. Standing beside them was the crab who had caused all this. It waved at Jack. If Jack hadn’t been concentrating so hard on not drowning, he would probably have waved back.

  Ahead of him, the Professor and Grey had already made their way out of the door and into the corridor. Trudy had grabbed the side of the door frame and was waving for Jack to hurry up. Jack kicked as hard as he could and thrashed his arms as his vision began to blur. He was only a few meters away from the door, and he reached out a hand, which Trudy grabbed. Jack couldn’t hold his breath any longer. He swallowed a lungful of water and blacked out.

  * * *

  When he opened his eyes, he found himself floating on top of the water in the middle of a corridor he didn’t recognize. Trudy was holding his head so that it didn’t go underwater. He coughed and spluttered his lungs back to life. “Why do people enjoy water parks so much?”

  If Jack was being sarcastic, Trudy knew that he was going to survive. She let go of Jack’s head, which went under the water again. Jack spluttered and worried for a second that he was going to drown. But he quickly realized that the water was only two feet deep. Slightly embarrassed, he stood up and tried to act nonchalant. “So what was that about?”

  The Professor kicked the wall. “That was a jailbreak. Most of the fish will have escaped through the overflow vent in the party room by now.”

  Grey nodded. “They knew exactly what they were doing.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Jack agreed. “Although admittedly I might have come to that realization too late. We were meant to capture that crab and bring him here, weren’t we?”

  “But why?” asked Trudy. “Who would want to free a bunch of criminal fish?”

  “I think you’ll find that a bunch of fish are called a shoal,” Jack said helpfully.

  “Thanks for the help,” said Trudy as she punched Jack in the shoulder.

  Jack was pretty sure that it was going to bruise. At least it would match the bruise he would have on his other shoulder from where the massive wave had slammed him into the wall. Jack wondered what the collective term was for a group of bruises.25

  “I’m going to go and report what happened.” The Professor stalked off, leaving Grey and the chi
ldren standing knee-deep in the water.

  “We’ve just flooded the Ministry,” Trudy observed.

  “Everyone’s going to be mad at us, aren’t they?”

  Grey shrugged. “I would think so. I mean, who wants to have to work in a building that’s full of water? Anyway, let’s get you out of here—I don’t think there’s anything else you can do to help.”

  * * *

  Trudy took the lead as they marched down the waterlogged corridors. “Last week we were worried that we were going to be floating over the waves,26 and this week it seems like we’re sinking under them.”

  “What on earth is that?” Jack had become distracted from the conversation by a thick green mist that was rolling along the top of the water. “Has someone let the Loch Ness Monster out?”

  The cloud of mist seemed to be sparking small bolts of lightning. Occasionally, smaller clouds morphed into the shape of screaming, agonized faces before dissolving again into insubstantial puffs of smoke. “Well? What is it?”

  Grey laughed. “Come on, Jack. This is your second week in the Ministry; you should be able to figure out what’s causing that.”

  Jack’s brow wrinkled. “How on earth would I know what’s causing that? I mean, it looks like an evil, green, interdimensional cloud of unimaginable evil power that could possibly destroy…” And then a thought clicked into place in Jack’s head. “Cthulhu!”

  From the center of the cloud, rising out of the water, appeared the gray-skinned, squid-headed, green-eyed manifestation of evil that was in charge of the Ministry’s filing system.

  Cthulhu gave a horrific roar, which would not only have shattered glass but would also have probably turned it all the way back into sand. Cthulhu then folded his legs in front of him and somehow managed to hover a good foot above the level of the water. It was even more impressive that he achieved the hovering effect without having to flap the large pair of dragon-like wings that were affixed to his back.

  There was a strange look on Cthulhu’s face. Jack thought he might be … but he couldn’t be, could he? “Umm, is he…?”

  Grey nodded. “Smiling? Yes, I rather think he might be.”

  Trudy shook her head. “But why’s he so happy? I mean, aren’t all his files wet?”

  Grey paused to waft some of the evil green smoke away from himself. “I suspect that Cthulhu was never really that interested in the filing. He’s more interested in the possibilities for evil that filing offers. And at the minute he’s having a field day. Everyone will probably be trying to requisition mops and buckets and sponges, and no doubt Cthulhu will refuse to help because he doesn’t accept damp paperwork.”

  Jack thought about this problem. “Everyone could just go to the quartermaster for supplies instead.”

  “Jack.” Grey sighed. “What do you remember about the quartermaster?”

  Jack shrugged. “He was a dapper little man. Small mustache. About two feet high.”

  “And how far off the ground is two feet?”

  Jack thought for a second and held his hand where he thought was two feet off the ground. In doing this he had to put his hand underwater. “Ahh, I can see the quartermaster’s problem.”

  “Yes, after I’ve got the two of you out of here I’m going to have to go and find the quartermaster and make sure that he’s managed to find himself a pair of water wings.”

  Cthulhu floated past them down the corridor, making the kind of noise that you would expect if a world-class opera singer was trying to yodel through jelly. Jack thought it was one of the strangest sights he would ever see until he noticed that a tall beam of blue light seemed to be following Cthulhu.

  Jack jumped nervously aside as the beam of bright blue light moved toward them. “Is that one of Cthulhu’s spells or something?”

  A voice seemed to come from the blue beam. “New recruit?” The question came from the light, which pulsed in time with the words.

  Grey nodded and spoke to the beam. “Relatively new—we just started him last week. His name’s Jack. You already know Trudy, don’t you?”

  Trudy smiled at the blue beam. “Good to see you, Mike.”

  Jack still wasn’t sure what was really going on. “Mike?”

  “Mike,” the beam pulsed. “Very nice to meet you, Jack.”

  Jack had never met an intelligent, talking shaft of light before. He thought Mike looked a little like the blue lights you saw on top of police cars except he was vertical. Maybe Mike was the Ministry’s policeman, which would explain why he was following Cthulhu, checking that he didn’t do anything evil. “So are you a policeman?”

  Mike changed to a more thoughtful shade of lilac. “A policeman? No! What would make you think that?”

  Grey stepped in to explain. “Mike is the Ministry historian. He collects information that he then passes on to the editorial team of the Ministry handbook.”

  Mike turned blue again and pulsed in agreement. “It isn’t the most interesting job in the world, to be honest, but when you’re a beam of sentient light and you can’t actually touch anything there are a limited number of roles you can undertake.”

  Jack nodded. He could see how being a beam of blue light might limit your career choices.

  Mike pulsed again. “And even on my days off it’s sometimes hard to have fun. I’m not allowed to go to the cinema because, being a bright beam of light, I tend to spoil it for the other patrons.”

  Jack thought that Mike sounded a little sad. But it also made him wonder why Mike had been following Cthulhu. After all, if you were feeling a little down, Cthulhu was the last person that was going to cheer you up.27 “So why are you tagging along after Cthulhu?” Jack wondered out loud.

  Mike beamed slightly brighter. “Well, actually this is interesting. This is the first time anyone has seen Cthulhu this happy in the last ten millennia. So it’s something of a red-letter day.”

  “Cthulhu’s really been sad for that long?”

  Mike pulsed. “Yes, thousands of years ago there was a major tragedy in his life. No one apart from the Misery28 has been brave enough to ask him what it was.”

  “And what did the Misery say it was?” Jack asked.

  Mike shimmered slightly. “That’s the second problem—no one’s been brave enough to ask the Misery what Cthulhu said.”

  “Anyway,” said Grey, “as interesting as it is talking about Cthulhu and his moods, we need to find you two some towels and then get a Ministry car to take you home.”

  * * *

  MINISTRY OF S.U.I.T.S HANDBOOK

  FLOODING

  SANDBAGS

  One of the most effective ways to stop flooding is the use of sandbags. This is a counterintuitive method. As any child who has ever built a sandcastle near the tide will be able to tell you, sand does not stand up very well to the onslaught of water.

  What many people don’t realize, however, is that even inanimate objects have a memory. The water in the sea can remember having been in many different places throughout its life. It remembers being in pipes and reservoirs, and most of all it remembers being surrounded by glass. As you would expect, water hates glass. When water is put in a glass container it knows that it is about to be drunk (or about to have fish poop in it, which is nearly as bad). Water does not enjoy being drunk. Especially the part where it has to go through the intestines. And even worse, we know precisely what water has to do to escape from a body once it has been drunk. Which is frankly a fate too unpleasant to be discussed.

  Water is therefore scared of glass, and this is why, when you watch raindrops on a windowpane, they are always in a hurry to scurry to the bottom and get away from the glass.

  As the more educated of you will know, glass is mostly made of silica, which is sand. Therefore water is distinctly wary of sand, worrying that it may change into glass at any moment. This is also why the ocean tide will creep slowly up the beach during a day, pretending to be brave, but eventually it becomes too scared of the sand, turns, and runs back down the beach. Thi
s is the effect that scientists call “tides.” It is also the reason that sandbags are so effective at keeping water out of houses. Water never wants to try and get past sand, just in case the sand is planning to sneakily turn into glass and trap the water.

  Many of you will think that this is ridiculous behavior. And you are right. After all, inanimate objects may have a memory, but generally they aren’t very intelligent.

  * * *

  11

  RETAIL THERAPY

  Jack and Trudy were traveling home in a Ministry car. Jack’s shoulder ached from where the water had tossed him into the wall. As he sat back in his seat he groaned.

  Trudy didn’t say anything; she was staring out the window, lost in thought. Jack wondered what was more important than his sore shoulder. He thought about pointing out to Trudy that she could be a little bit more sympathetic about his injury. However, he knew all too well that would only result in another bruise to add to his already growing “ouch.” Instead he decided to groan more loudly.

  “GROAN.”

  Trudy looked at Jack. “What?”

  “I’m groaning because my shoulder hurts.”

  Trudy sighed. “You didn’t groan. You said ‘groan.’”

  “Well, all right. I was only acting to get your attention,” Jack conceded.

  Trudy snorted with contempt. “Well, you aren’t very good at it. You’re hardly a Hollywood actor.”

  “I know that—I actually smell quite nice.” Jack sniffed his own shoulder and realized that wasn’t entirely true. “It’s just I have a very sore shoulder and could do with some sympathy.”

  Trudy gave Jack a look that suggested he was in the wrong car for sympathy. Then she leaned forward and tapped on the glass partition that separated them from the driver. It eased down a fraction of an inch, and Trudy muttered something to the driver. Jack thought about asking Trudy where they were going, but when he saw the look on her face he decided that perhaps he should start learning to like surprises.