“Pervasive, carnivorous shape-shifters. Oh, look. This one has a fluffy dorsal fin! Hello there, little fellow.”
I stopped in the street. The water sloshed over the far edge of the punch bowl, and the mackerel circled, obliviously.
“Would you run that last bit by me again, sir?”
“Don’t be so bothered,” Jackaby said. “I’m happy to explain. The dorsal refers to the ridge along his back. I was merely observing that—”
“Not about the fin! They’re carnivorous shape-shifters?”
“Oh yes! It’s a somatic camouflage. Isn’t it marvelous? These little beasties are aggressive mimics of an exceptional degree. They physically adapt to take on the appearance of a local food source, infiltrating their prey and allowing their unwitting hosts to provide them with comfort, protection, and supplemental nutrients. Then, when they have won their trust, they devour them. It seems Mrs. Wiggles was fond of snacking on cats, up until she got herself cooped up.”
“But that’s horrific!”
“Not at all. That’s nature. Cuckoos are aggressive mimics as well—brood parasites—and those little scamps get immortalized on finely crafted clocks.”
“I . . . suppose.” I continued walking, eying the mackerel more closely as we crossed the street. “Still, rather disturbing to think of a cat out there cannibalizing other cats.”
“It isn’t cannibalism if it’s only camouflage, Rook. In your hands is proof enough that the beast wasn’t feline at all. As soon as she was forced to identify a new, regular food source, her body adapted.”
“So these . . . things can just magically turn into whatever creature they eat?”
“It isn’t magic, Rook. It’s science. The abilities of certain creatures to adapt spontaneously to fit in to their surroundings are well documented. Aristotle himself wrote an account of the camouflage mechanism of octopuses. They can change color spontaneously.”
“Like chameleons?”
“Precisely. The biological mechanism at work here is more complicated, obviously, but not unlike a chameleon changing its skin. In fact, Darwin dubbed these little creatures chameleomorphs, in reference to the little lizards with their colorful camouflage. A misnomer, of course, as the term chameleon refers not to the adaptation, but rather to the Latin for ‘lion of the ground,’ but such is the tradition of naming one beast after another.”
“That can’t possibly be right. Charles Darwin never discovered shape-changing animals. He’d have written about it.”
“Oh?” We crested the hill at the top of Market Street, and Jackaby gave me a sly smile as we started back down. “Didn’t he?”
There was something about Jackaby that made me want to impress him. It might have been his earnest arrogance, or the way he spoke frankly and didn’t pander or talk down to me. True, Jackaby could be brash and outright insulting—but being treated with kid gloves always felt like a greater insult. I wanted nothing more than to prove myself, and Jackaby gave me that chance. I would like to say, therefore, that I countered my employer’s smirk with a witty rebuttal, or at least that I carried my weight in the ensuing conversation. Unfortunately, one does not always get what one would like.
Instead, just as I opened my mouth to speak, my heel caught on a broken piece of brickwork, and I pitched forward in a graceless stumble, drenching myself in fishy water before launching the crystal punch bowl—and its unhappy inhabitant—down the slope of bustling Market Street.