Run: 2026-10-27-01M5YEHJ2BZ2E353JRNP5CWYAX

Molly flattened the party invitation on the café table and weighted its corners with two teaspoons, Bill’s sandwich, and Bill’s hand. Outside, rain polished the windows. Inside, the café smelled of burnt toast and disappointment, which Bill considered an unnecessarily accurate summary of their professional partnership. He tried to free his hand; Molly increased the pressure and smiled like a courteous shark. “Ow,” said Bill. “Concentrate. At four o’clock, the puppet show starts. Every adult in Wobblethorpe Manor will rush to the garden, leaving the presents unguarded in the marquee.” “Every adult except the clown.” “The clown thinks you’re his new assistant.” “Why?” “Because I told him you were.” Bill retrieved his hand and examined the invitation. It showed a smiling rabbit riding a tricycle. Beneath it, in glittery letters, were the words: HONORA’S SEVENTH BIRTHDAY! PONIES! MAGIC! NO CONFETTI, PLEASE. HONORA IS AFRAID OF WEATHER. “I’m stealing from a child who’s afraid of weather?” “We’re stealing from forty children. One of them is bound to be robust.” Bill leaned closer. “And what, precisely, am I assisting the clown with?” “Balloon animals.” “I can make a sausage.” “Perfect. Make forty sausages and tell them they’re dachshunds.” Molly’s plan occupied the back of the invitation in green crayon. There were arrows, stick figures, and something labelled PROBABLE CAKE. Bill suspected she had enjoyed drawing it more than was strictly professional. “Then what?” he asked. “Then you wheeze, drop your balloons, and accuse the pony of sabotage. While everyone’s looking at the pony, I load the presents into the magician’s cabinet.” “The cabinet designed to make things disappear?” “Yes.” “Where do they disappear to?” “The boot of our car, ideally.” Bill nodded despite himself. It was almost elegant, apart from the pony, the clown, the cabinet, and Molly’s belief that children would abandon cake on command. “What’s my signal?” “Honora cuts the cake.” “What if she doesn’t?” “She’s seven, Bill. She’s not saving it for retirement.” A waitress passed, looked at the crayon map, and moved their table’s knife beyond Molly’s reach. Bill lowered his voice. “Why all the presents? We could take the big one and go.” “The big one is a trampoline.” “So?” “So you’d be carrying it. The small ones fit in sacks.” “I thought you said sacks would look suspicious.” “Not with ‘Definitely Laundry’ written on them.” Bill considered this, then picked up his sandwich, discovering too late that it had been anchoring the escape route. The invitation curled around it like a fancy taco. “One more question,” he said. “Why does your drawing show me on fire?” “That’s not fire. That’s your cape.” “It has eyebrows.” “That’s your panic.” Molly folded the plan, sandwich and all, and slipped it into her coat. Around them, the café returned to its gentle clatter. Bill looked mournfully at the empty plate. “Fine,” he said. “But after the puppet show, I’m not doing balloon animals.” Molly smiled. “Bill, you’re the puppet show.” He sighed. “I knew there’d be a sock involved.”