#tpj

The boy had spent the last few days prancing about like an overgrown puppy. His paws were still too big for his body; he hadn’t grown into them yet. Maybe he never would.

Still. Number Two was only a little surprised that disaster hadn’t struck until now.

It happened during the day, which was lucky. The howling wind ripped across the island, funneling into the cave, echoing the roar a hundred times over. It had covered the clatter of SQ’s big foot crashing directly into the leg of the table, sending it and its contents tumbling to the floor. 

SQ tumbled down too. He recovered quickly, glancing wildly about. Curtain and his men were in the other cavern, chatter and laughter spilling out as they shared lunch. Mr. Benedict was sound asleep, head lolling against the rock as he let out soft buzzing snores. Number Two sat impassive, still as a statue, the only witness. 

Shoulders settling, SQ let out a frustrated sigh, glaring down at his feet as if they’d betrayed him. He gathered his long limbs to himself and arranged them into a standing position. 

“I don’t know why this always happens to me,” SQ moaned. “I try and try, but—” He curled his fingers around the edge of the table and righted it. “—it’s like I’ve got two cleft feet.”

“Left feet,” Number Two said automatically.

SQ picked up a box, thought hard for a moment, then set it on the table. “That can’t be right. Everybody has two left feet. One when you’re looking down at your own feet, and one when someone else is facing you.” He stopped to gather some papers, tossed them onto the table, then clearly thought better of it and arranged them in a neat stack. 

There was a shout of laughter from the other cavern. SQ jumped. He picked up another box and set it on the right side of the table. Then he squinted. Moved it to the left. He picked up a box of wires.

A resounding slap from the other cavern. Gentle, though, as though someone had slapped their knees before standing up. The sounds of a briefcase clicking closed. Silverware clattered. Lunchtime was over.

SQ paled. The table was in disarray, supplies scattered across the floor. The box was still visibly out of place. Mr. Curtain would know what had happened right away. There would be no fooling the man.

Fruitlessly, he glanced about, as if praying for an answer. And a sort of answer came to him. Number Two raised her eyebrows at him, prompting.

“Please help me,” SQ whispered.

“Move the box to the right. Three inches. A little more. There. Push it against the back wall. Put the box of wires on top of it.” SQ scurried to comply. “Gather the remaining papers on the floor—no, don’t stack them neatly. Just say the wind carried them. Don’t forget his box of juice. Turn it so that the label faces out.” Exactly as it had been.

The whirring of Mr. Curtain’s wheelchair grew louder. SQ leaped back and studied the table. “I still feel like there’s something missing …”

Was she really going to do this? Pass up this precious chance all to spare this gangly child from a tongue-lashing? She remembered how harsh Curtain’s tone turned, how acidic his words. In the end, it was no choice at all.

“The truth serum rolled behind that stalagmite. Quickly, now.”

SQ leaped quicker than he ever had before. Two heartbeats later, Mr. Curtain rocketed into the cave to find everything perfectly in place and SQ looking sheepish. 

Lunch had been very satisfying that day. Mr. Curtain managed only a cursory growl at SQ for chatting with the prisoners before speeding away.

---

“Please help us,” Number Two cried.

She hadn’t asked before now. She wouldn’t have, if she had recognized who SQ was. For now, however, she seemed to think he was some benevolent stranger.

“I can’t,” he said, anguished. “You know I can’t.”

Number Two made a high-pitched noise, eyes closed.

Something was wrong. They’d been feeding the prisoners adequately. At least, according to Mr. Curtain. SQ had brought up his concerns before, and Mr. Curtain had explained that feeding prisoners adequately and feeding the Ten Men adequately were two different benchmarks. So SQ had known not to ask again. 

But the woman was clearly delirious. Maybe he couldn’t help in the way she was asking. But he could do something.

He waited for the perfect moment, when Mr. Curtain got into one of his shouty phases. No one spared him a glance. He knelt before Number Two and tugged a pilfered granola bar out of his pocket.