slimed so it looked like the inside of a dragon's throat (and yes,

unfortunately, I speak from experience).

 

Back on my first visit to the Princess Andromeda, my old enemy Luke had kept

some dazed tourists on board for show, shrouded in Mist so they didn't realize

they were on a monster-infested ship. Now I didn't see any sign of tourists. I

hated to think what had happened to them, but I kind of doubted they'd

 

been allowed to go home with their bingo winnings.

 

I reached the promenade, a big shopping mall that took up the whole middle of

the ship, and I stopped cold. In the middle of the courtyard stood a fountain.

And in the fountain squatted a giant crab.

 

I'm not talking "giant" like $7.99 all-you-can-eat Alaskan king crab. I'm

talking giant like bigger than the fountain. The monster rose ten feet out of

the water. Its shell was mottled blue and green, its pincers longer than my

body.

 

If you've ever seen a crab's mouth, all foamy and gross with whiskers and

snapping bits, you can imagine this one didn't look any better blown up to

billboard size. Its beady black eyes glared at me, and I could see intelligence

in them — and hate. The fact that I was the son of the sea god was not going to

win me any points with Mr. Crabby.