“The sea anemones need counting.”
“May I be assigned the Mediterranean section?”
“Same as every year. Here’s the conch. Put one white speck of sand for each healthy specimen, and one black speck for each diseased specimen. You have two days to bring back the conch to the records department.”
“No frolicking about with Triton.”
“Certainly not, sir.”
Poseidon watched the nymph swim off, giggling. Poseidon envied her—all he ever did was sit in his throne room, at the big rock slab of a desk tallying numbers and writing up reports. He sighed. Better get on with it.
“Give me some more ink, will you?” he said.
The squid perching on his shoulder filled his pen. Continue reading