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“See what people get wrong is,” says the dwarf, “time travel isn’t about time at all. It’s about speed. Open up.”

The dwarf hoists a steel barrel half his size overhead and the chains shackled to Grumpjaw’s massive horns and neck clank as his jaw drops.

Grumpjaw is hungry. This is not new. Grumpjaw is always hungry. He wakes up hungry and at night, his belly growls. It’s his job to swallow whatever leftovers and waste are given to him, a living trash truck. He likes cabbages and corn-with-the-cob, and rabbit stew and boar bacon, which sometimes the guards throw out. He likes things that aren’t food, like shoes, which have chewy bits and laces that floss between his teeth. He loves a well-aged blue cheese, and strawberry cake, which he tasted once after the warden’s birthday.

Out of the barrel pours a green, glowy goo that Grumpjaw gulps until it’s gone. “BLEH,” says Grumpjaw.

“Putrid,” says the dwarf.

“POOTED,” agrees Grumpjaw.

“Shame this correctional facility treats you like a trash disposal. Even prisoners have rights, you know. You ever had pie? You look like a pie man.”

“CAKE,” says Grumpjaw.

“When we get out of here, I’ll make you a cake every year on your birthday.”

“OUT?”

“Try not to breathe,” says the dwarf, and lifts up another barrel.

Grumpjaw opens his maw wide and squinches his nostrils shut. The toxic goo spills down his gullet, making his big belly hang.

The dwarf kicks the empty barrel aside. His arrogance makes him resplendent in his blinding orange prison uniform. He’s the biggest small man Grumpjaw has ever seen, always bragging about his genius genes, his many inventions and working for some queen or another, which landed him in prison when things went wrong. Most of all, the dwarf isn’t afraid, not of the guards, or the goo, not even of Grumpjaw. Then again, Grumpjaw is a docile guy, despite his size and his tusks, as long as he isn’t hungry for too long.

“I made the mistake at first of moving within the dimension of time, backward and forward,” continues the dwarf. “I put my cousin in the apparatus and sent him forward two minutes. He disappeared, then showed up two minutes later, freeze-dried. Took some math to figure out that the planet’s moving, and fast, so he’d been floating out in space until the planet caught up to the present time.” The dwarf leans up against Grumpjaw’s haunch. “Are you understanding any of this?”

“SOME,” says Grumpjaw.

“Good, because this involves you.”

At this, Grumpjaw’s little ears perk up. Nothing has ever involved him before.

“Time is about speed and gravity. Control those two things and you control time. And space. And whatever you want. You can go wherever you want. Or whenever.”

“OUT?” asks Grumpjaw.

From the loudspeaker comes the booming voice of a guard: “Keep it moving, dwarf.”

“I have a name!” yells the dwarf, shaking his fist.

“FRANKIE,” says Grumpjaw.

“That’s right, buddy.” The dwarf gives Grumpjaw a scratch behind his ear, which feels nice. Grumpjaw bites into one of the barrels and slurps up the goo. It’s gross, but it’s something. “I’ve always wondered – is your name Grumpjaw, or is that what your species is called?”

“YES,” says Grumpjaw.

“Alright. Anyway, it’s about speed, and trapping light inside gravity. It should be called time dilation. And I made it. I call it: The Cube.”

“COOB,” says Grumpjaw.

“But my prototype squashes everyone I try it on.” Frankie’s meaty hands slap down on one another, bam. “And that’s why I need you to swallow me.”

“NO.”

“Not forever,” says Frankie with clipped irritation. “Just until we’re out. All we need to do is get my cube from the warden, then you’ll swallow me down, and The Cube will take us through time and space, and you will cough me up again, and I shall make you a cake.”

“CHEESE.”

“I thought you said you wanted cake.”

“CHEESECAKE.”

“That’s patently ridiculous,” scoffs Frankie, stepping up onto Grumpjaw’s back to avoid the toxic goo spilling out from Grumpjaw’s barrel. “Whoever heard of a cake made of cheese?”

Grumpjaw whips his horns around and roars, clattering the chains, knocking Frankie off and into the toxic waste spill. Frankie scrambles to his feet and combs his beard with his fingers.

“Okay okay,” he grumbles. “I’m an engineer. I can engineer a cake of cheese.”

“CHEESECAKE,” sighs Grumpjaw.

