The Test

Journal Entry

Little boxes can contain bad things.

In the morning, Smudge and Biscuit lay sprawled across the bed, both staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

It was the kind of thoughtful staring that suggested something important was happening inside their heads. Something significant. Something weighty and serious and possibly even world-changing—the kind of deep, focused contemplation that great decisions are made of, that destinies are shaped by, that history is built upon.

Smudge furrowed his brow.

Biscuit furrowed his, too, in the way dogs do when they are concentrating very hard.

“I hope there are sausages for breakfast,” said Smudge at last.

Biscuit wagged his tail, which suggested that this would be more than acceptable.

They both fell quiet again as they thought carefully about exactly which type of sausages they’d like. Smudge was partial to a good thick pork one, slightly crispy at the ends. Biscuit, for his part, was not fussy—he was fond of all sausages equally.

The sausage silence lingered for a moment.

Then it was broken by a slow, deliberate knock at the door.

Another followed, and then a third. Three firm knocks, evenly spaced.

Smudge and Biscuit froze. They looked at each other, and then at the door.

“You get it,” said Smudge.

Biscuit gestured, quite clearly, for Smudge to get it.

They stared at the door for another couple of seconds.

“Come in!” called Smudge.

“Woof!” added Biscuit.

The door creaked open and Tether stepped inside.

Immediately, Smudge felt something was afoot. Tether seemed even quieter than before. More serious.

She was not smiling at all, and under her arm she carried a small, plain box—thin and flat, more like a case than anything else.

“Sleep well?” she asked finally.

Smudge and Biscuit nodded.

Tether gave a small nod of her own and walked slowly across the room. She placed the case carefully on a small table, then sat down opposite them.

“So,” she said. “You want the Sanctuary of Symmetry.”

It wasn’t a question. But Smudge answered it anyway.

“Yes,” he said, sitting up a little straighter.

“Good,” Tether replied. “You know what you want. And if you know what you want, then I can help you.”

Smudge’s face brightened immediately. Biscuit’s tail began to wag.

“But only,” Tether added gently, “if you can prove it.”

“Prove what?” Smudge asked.

“That you really want it. Really, really want it.”

Smudge blinked. “I just said I did.”

“Yes,” said Tether calmly. She rested her hand lightly on the case. “But words are easy.”

Smudge frowned. Biscuit’s tail slowed.

“We do want it,” Smudge insisted again.

Biscuit gave a firm “Woof,” which very much supported this claim.

Tether nodded once again, in a no-nonsense sort of way. “Then this will be easy,” she said, and pushed the case gently toward them. “Take off your socks.”

Smudge paused. “Sorry… what?”

“Take off your socks. Sit comfortably. Feet up.”

Biscuit tilted his head. Smudge frowned even harder. This was all very confusing.

“What’s in the box?” he asked.

Tether did not answer. Instead, she turned the case to face them and opened it carefully.

Smudge looked.

Biscuit looked.

They both looked.

Inside lay a feather.

A single, very ordinary-looking feather.

Smudge went pale.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

Tether picked it up and held it lightly between two fingers.

“You can’t,” said Smudge. “That is—I mean—there must be another way. Any other way. I’ll do something else. I’ll climb something. I’ll jump something. I’ll—Biscuit, back me up here—”

Biscuit had already deserted Smudge and was hiding behind the cushions.

A small, almost mischievous smile appeared on Tether’s face.

“This,” she said, “is the tickle test.”