Beyond the Knock Knock Door by Scott Monk

though. He charged through the middle of the sardines and scattered them like an explosion. Finally, satisfied with their fill, the two whale sharks curved upwards, while, underneath his feet, Michael swore he felt fish bouncing inside Ningaloo’s belly.
    â€˜Land ho!’
    Gradually, a spot on the horizon peaked into the imposing shape of an extinct volcano. A large freshwater lake filled its crater, and lush green trees bubbled down its slopes. In its shadow was a harbour of ninety islands scattered like a broken plate. Unlike those they’d just fled, these islands were locked in the ground and home to four million people.
    The whale sharks started their descent, swinging over buoys and trawler boats spilling with large hauls of prawns. Soon, an enormous stone titan loomed in front of the triplets – one of thirty statues circling the islands. Each depicted a famous king or queen kneeling in the sea, measuring as high as any skyscraper and holding aloft thick metal chains in raised fists. They must be watchtowers, Michael reasoned, noticing as groups of soldiers stationed on their crowns pointed and stared through spyglasses.
    Individual islands took shape, and the triplets got their first real view of the thriving merchant city. It reminded Michael of Venice. Four-storey terraces dripped with hanging gardens and blazed orange in the sun. Spiked cathedrals were squeezed next to universities, dance halls, galleries and markets. Plazas fluttered with blue and gold pennants, while gondolas ferried passengers along the many intersecting canals. Decorated with scallop-shaped tiles, the architecture was beautiful, grandiose and old-worldly. But the more they looked, the more they spotted the new and wondrous. Clomping horses pulled tasselled carriages made from giant sea snail shells. Children skimmedthrough the cobbled streets on hover skates. Bubble submarines sank to explore hidden treasures. Acrobats performed in public squares on tall jets of water. Amphitheatres hosted sculptors who could manipulate sand like an orchestra conductor. Divers surfaced beside a floating barge and signalled a crane operator to winch a massive harpooned crab to the surface. And from the biggest island’s marina, a sleek cruiser left port – not by powering across the waves but by rising above them. Trailed by bright blue engine fire, it bellowed a final farewell before blasting across the skyline of spires, domes and terracotta roofs.
    It was to this capital island that Aurelio steered. He played his pipe and the pilot fish pitched them towards a central plaza marked with a large clock tower.
    â€˜Welcome to Pacifico – home to a noble class of artists, poets, storytellers, musicians, dancers, actors, philosophers and travellers. Shall we meet some new friends?’
    Answering his pipe, the whale sharks dashed into the widest canal. They soared past terraces, jugglers, restaurants and fish; swept under footbridges and whipped past flags. On a whim, they arced to ring a church bell, which, for a moment, even left Samantha laughing.
    â€˜My liege, it seems we’ve attracted a crowd.’
    In the shadow of the whale sharks, people pointed. They were human, Michael realised. Or close to it.
    â€˜Hold on.’
    They circled the clock tower one last time before descending into the plaza. Children, too, rushed from thearchways in their hordes. Not that it was easy to tell them apart. Amazingly, most citizens of Pacifico were in their teens.
    Like Aurelio, they were handsome with fine, slightly pointed faces, flawless skin, headbands, ear chains and gems set into their cheeks. Their long, braided hair ranged from black to blue to lilac, with a few redheads. No greys stood out – or indeed, elderly people at all. Their tailored clothes were similar to those worn in Europe centuries ago. Adolescent boys wore bright velvet suits, waistcoats, black shoes, gloves, hats and breeches adorned with sequins despite the