Those terrible spines helped first one leg, then another, to secure a grip on the boarding ladder. Turning itself sideways, the visitant from the frigid ocean deep began to make its way upward. Muttering softly and swiftly to their respective chosen deities, two more of the crew fled for the safety and anonymity of their quarters.
From claw-tip to claw-tip, the creature hauling itself up out of the water was no less than twenty feet across. Seaweed clung to extruded spurs and hung from legs and eyestalks. Water dripped from its body while tiny bubbles oozed around the edges of the multipart mouth.
Simna was at once fascinated by and disappointed in the nocturnal caller. “Your weed man was right, bruther. He sent to us a king.” The swordsman made a disgusted sound. “A king crab.”
“A king crab, yes,” Ehomba readily agreed, “but is that all it is?”
His companion frowned. “I don’t follow you, Etjole. Not that it’s the first time your reasoning has left me blind, deaf, and dumb.”
The herdsman continued his line of thinking. “It is a king crab, but is it also a king among crabs? Look at its head.”
“Must I?” Even as he objected, the swordsman complied. The longer he stared, the more his frustration gave way to dawning realization. There in the dim glow supplied by the Grömsketter’s oil lamps he saw those spines and projections in a new and implausible light. Squint a little, squeeze the eyes tight, and one could almost see those chitonous barbs and protuberances coming together to form, if not an actual crown, at least an approximation of a comparable configuration.