Sam and the Lantern That Only Lit for True Things
The lantern went out at exactly the wrong moment, which is how Sam learned it was that kind of lantern.
"Huh," said Odo, from somewhere in the new dark. "What did you just say?"
"I said I checked the map."
"Right," said Odo. "And the lantern went out."
Sam stood very still. The tunnel had three directions and no light in any of them, and the map was folded in his pocket exactly the way it had been folded when he'd put it there an hour ago.
He could feel the shape of what he wanted to say next. It was smooth and easy and it would take about four seconds.
"I didn't check the map," he said instead.
The lantern came back on — not all at once, more like something opening one eye.
"I thought I'd remember," Sam said, faster now. "And then I didn't want to say I forgot, because you asked me twice, and —"
"Sam."
"Yeah."
"The lantern's on." Odo was already unfolding the map against the tunnel wall. "That's the whole thing. That's all it wants."
The light was thin and yellow and not very impressive, but it reached about six feet, which turned out to be exactly as far as they needed to see.
Sam's ears were hot. He also felt, underneath that, weirdly light, like he'd been carrying something and put it down.
"Left," said Odo. "Definitely left."