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deep recesses of his mind:
    â€˜Eenie, meenie, tipsy, toe, Olla, bolla, domino, Okka, pokka, dominocha, Hy! Pon! Tush!’
    The left door. He took a deep breath and then stepped forward. He felt the pull take hold of him and suddenly he was yanked into the portal.
    *
    Once again he felt himself travelling at great speed, this time for a little longer than before. He felt his molecules being pulled apart and circling around one another, before being slammed unceremoniously back together in more or less the right order as he was spat out.
    For a few moments he was encased in a shroud of air bubbles, but these slowly disappeared and Junk realized he had not come out in another part of the Room of Doors this time. This time he was underwater once again. Ittook him only a moment to realize that he didn’t have his air tank or mask with him. Another moment to realize he didn’t know which way was up and which way was down, and what was worse he didn’t know how far down he was. The only light was the light of the doorway, but the momentum with which he had passed through it meant he was moving rapidly away from it.
    Junk opened his mouth for a split second to allow a single bubble of air to emerge. It chose a direction and rose quickly. This told Junk which way was up. He made a decision and spun round. He started swimming, chasing his air bubble as if he was trying to get it back. His arms reached up and pushed the water down, causing him to ascend swiftly. His lungs were starting to burn and the spent air bubbled out from his nose as he swam upwards in a panic. His oxygen was running out, this time much faster than before and with no doorway to pass through. The portal was shrinking many metres below him, but Junk wasn’t even aware of it. All his focus was aimed straight up as he scrambled madly to reach the surface. His lungs were empty. Utterly depleted. His instinct was to inhale, but he fought the urge as hard as he could. He knew if he breathed in he would drown. He wasn’t going to let that happen. He ploughed on, racing upwards, but still he couldn’t see an end. No sunlight or moonlight from above. Nothing but darkness all around him. His head was beginning to pound mercilessly as his brain protested at the lack of oxygen. His vision started to blur and black tentacles of unconsciousnessstarted to creep in from the peripheries. Still he kept his jaw clamped tightly shut and still he continued upwards.
    Then it was too late and the unconsciousness beat him. And as his body went limp, his jaw opened and the cold seawater gushed inside him. He started to thrash about as he drowned, the water entering his lungs. Fortunately Junk had lost consciousness altogether. The thrashing was nothing more than a mechanical response of his body. He was not aware of his own death.
    *
    Garvan Fiske lay in his boat, staring up at the clouds above him. He liked this time of day. The cool, salty breeze that danced over the top of the calm, still water moved the thick hairs on his powerful forearms and he could feel his skin pimple. It made him think of his home so far from here. He remembered lying on the old jetty, trailing a hand in the water as he was doing now and looking up at the sky. It was the same sky. The same shade of pale blue. But the sounds were different. Back there he would hear the insects and animals in the nearby forests and the sound of his brothers and sisters playing. Here there was none of that. A few gulls floating nearby squawked occasionally and he could hear the waves breaking on the distant shore. The sea thumped against the side of his boat and the oar moved in its cup, creaking softly. Now he thought about it, he realized how quiet it was. How different the sounds were. Back home, laughter, song and labour. Here, emptiness and solitude. He rememberedhow alone he was and he felt a spike in his throat. He sat up and shook those thoughts away. He started humming in a vague approximation of