"See," said the navigator. "Three thousand meters already."
The kraken doesn't have eyes. There has never been anything for it to look at. But as it billows up through the icy waters it picks up the microwave noise of the sea, the sorrowing beeps and whistles of the whalesong.
"Er," said the navigator, "one thousand meters?"
The kraken is not amused.
"Five hundred meters?"
The [whaling] ship rocks on the sudden swell.
"A hundred meters?"
There is a tiny metal thing above it. The kraken stirs.
And ten billion sushi dinners cry out for vengeance.
Three hundred miles from its tip to its tail!
None have seen it, yet all know its name,
Like the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail!