Gary had to pay the fishmen something. It was important that they understood their newfound power, and what better way to demonstrate said power than a shopping spree?

  “This card,” Gary explained, waving it in front of their eyes like a game show prize, “Contains three thousand dollars—one grand each. And you’re free to spend it on whatever your heart desires.”

  “How much is a throne?” Greg asked.

  “We’re not there yet,” laughed Gary, handing Gideon the all-important card. “But you should be able to get something worthwhile, at least.”

  But what was worthwhile to a fishman? What did their hybrid hearts desire?

  Gary was about to find out—because Gideon was pointing. Wildly. Desperately. And then, with surprising speed, he ran, skidding to a halt beneath the glowing golden dollar sign, arms raised in victory, a plastic cup in his hot little hand.

  Inside the two-dollar store, Jayden McMasters—a teenager layabout held together by Monster energy drink and way too much cologne—was scrolling on the job. He pulled his cap low, and then lower still, so low, in fact, that it was practically a face mask.

  He hadn’t yet seen the fishmen, because he was too busy trying to disappear.

  The only reason Jayden had this embarrassing job was because of his rich dad’s bullshit idea that hard work builds character. Luckily, Jayden was just as stubborn as the old man and had already resolved not to build any character at all.

  Jayden tried to keep scrolling, despite the approaching footsteps, and the shadow that now loomed over him.

  And then, a foreign and frightening voice said, “How much for this golden goblet?”

  “The what?” said Jayden, peering up from under the peak of his cap, “W-What? Who—what are you?” he repeated, as he finally saw his scaliest customers to date.

  “Just treat them like you would any normal customer,” said Gary, glancing over at the cheap plastic goblet. “You know that one’s got a crack in it, Gideon. Mate, can you get another one?”

  “Oh, I, uh—don’t think we have any more,” said a still-startled Jayden.

  “Can you go out back and check?” asked Gary. He was keen to get this over with, and well aware of the crowd forming outside.

  Reluctantly, Jayden stumbled off into the stockroom.

  “You just order him to fetch you things. Is that how this works?” said an awestruck Greg.

  “Pretty much,” Gary mumbled as Jayden arrived with a fresh goblet.

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  “Here’s your cup,” he said, handing the cheap plastic trash to Gideon.

  “This is no mere cup,” said Gideon. “We shall call it the royal chalice!”

  “Oh, servant boy!” said Greg with a knowing smile. “I desire a second royal chalice! Why don’t you run out back and fetch me one?”

  Jayden audibly groaned. He wanted to refuse—to give them the finger. But they could be dangerous—deadly, for all he knew. And he didn’t fancy dying in a two-dollar store. So, after one last devastatingly long sigh, Jayden headed out back—again!

  “There’s nothing like having two royal chalices,” said Greg, when the tiring teen finally returned, “to make you finally see… that you require a third!”

  Greg smiled an overlord’s smile.

  “I can tell you right now,” grumbled Jayden, “there’s no more back there.”

  “Run along, slavey,” said Greg. “Chop! Chop!”

  This time, Jayden took less than a minute.

  “I brought the box,” he said, offloading it with a grunt.

  “Not sure we can afford that many,” said Gideon.

  “You most definitely can,” laughed Gary. “At two dollars a pop.”

  “We’re not buying a pop,” said Gideon. “We’re buying the goblets.”

  “The goblets are two dollars. Everything is two dollars. It’s a fucking two-dollar store.”

  “Everything,” said Greg, “Even… that?” His voice trembled. His eyes glazed over, utterly lost in the majesty of that which lay before him. It wasn’t quite the Seal of Kings?, but it was something alright—one hell of a start.

  “Destiny has brought us here,” declared Greg, his voice shaking with reverence. “Now, peasant,” he said, staring greedily at his heart’s desire. “Fetch me my crown!”

  “You uh… do mean this, don’t you?” said Jayden. “It’s just—”

  “That’s a two-dollar tiara,” said Gary, hanging his head in shame. The affixed sticker on the ‘crown’ said Princess of Parties.

  “The craftsmanship! The elegance,” Greg gushed. “Now crown me, boy! Before it’s too late.”

  “Fuck’s sake,” muttered Jayden, glancing out at the gathering masses, knowing he was one phone recording away from a very public humiliation. “Just put it on yourself.”

  “A king does not crown himself! That is the act of a desperate usurper!”

  “You know I get paid minimum wage, right?”

  “He’s not gonna leave until you do it,” groaned Gary, who was equally embarrassed by the creatures.

  “Kneel, servant,” bellowed Greg, “and bestow upon me my rightful crown.”

  Greg perched nobly on the counter, chest puffed out, ready for his coronation! The rightful king (of the two-dollar store). And just as Jayden was about to acquiesce, Gorbachev put the icing on the already humiliating cake.

  “He should probably sing too, shouldn’t he?”

  “You want me to sing?” howled Jayden, noting every last phone in the crowd.

  “A coronation without song?” roared Greg. “Blasphemy!”

  “Look, I don’t mind doing the tiara thing, but there’s no way I’m singing.”

  “It’s an order,” said Greg. “Your King requires it!”

  For Jayden, this was a bridge too far. “Yeah, well, it’s not gonna happen.”

  Then, just when it seemed as if Jayden might escape reputation untarnished, Mr Prendergast returned from his lunch break. Mr Prendergast was old, and tired, and at this late stage of existence, he’d seen too much.

  He surveyed the chaos that was his store and gave a weary sigh of resignation, “Well, McMasters, what’s going on?”

  “The creatures they uh… want me to crown them with this tiara—”

  “And sing us a song,” chuckled Gorbachev. “You can’t forget the song!”

  “I think God save the king would be fitting,” said Gary, getting in on the act at last.

  “Are they paying customers?” asked Mr Prendergast.

  Jayden nodded in horror, knowing full well where this shit-show was going.

  “Well, then,” said Mr Prendergast with a wink, “you know what to do. And put some ticker into it for god’s sake—there’s a good lad.”

  Jayden’s soul packed its bags, caught the next flight, and never looked back. And the now soulless youth took a sharp painful breath, kneeled before the fishman, and began to sing in a monotonous whimper.

  “God save our gracious King. Long live our noble King! God save the King!”

  And as he sang, the phones rose, recording a moment that would haunt him forever.