A procession of trucks traverse the shore, ferrying literal truckloads of fish to warehouses across the country.

  In the water, three overworked and underappreciated fishmen are on the grind. Summoning.

  The shifts are frankly illegal. But luckily, there’s a loophole—because fishmen are not yet recognised as sentient beings, and therefore enjoy no rights, no protections, and no breaks.

  “Is it just me?” asks Gideon, who is always the first to question anything. “Or did we take a wrong turn on the road to world domination?”

  ***

  The crowd erupts in applause as Lady Margaret Wetherby concludes a stirring and needlessly long speech, honouring our soon-to-be knight.

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  Gary approaches the overtly lavish podium. He soaks in the applause and finally, kneels.

  Lady Margaret lifts a glittering sword, her ancient but suitably noble hand trembling slightly under its weight.

  “Arise, Sir Gary Graves!” she declares. The blade taps his shoulder. The crowd cheers.

  ***

  And as the knight rises, a fishman falls.

  The gruelling twenty-three-hour shifts prove too much for the once-proud Greg. His body gives out. A splash. A thud.

  The summoning stops. Gideon and Gorbachev rush to his aid.

  After a moment, Greg splutters—awakens.

  “This is madness,” says Gideon. “We can’t keep this up. And where’s Gary while we’re out here working ourselves to death?”

  “Being knighted,” mutters Gorbachev. “At Government House.”

  “Is it a big deal, do you think? Becoming a knight?”

  “A king outranks a knight,” Greg splutters. At this point, it’s all he’s got left.

  “You really think we’re kings!” asks Gideon. “Kings of what?”

  “Kings of the two-dollar store,” mutters Gorbachev.

  ***

  Gary drinks overpriced champagne. Hobnobs with the dignitaries. His time has finally come, and it's everything he hoped for.

  Sir Gary Graves has never felt better.