“You pervert!”
“Oh, wait, I didn't stop to consider that my last offer involved nudity on your part. Listen, if you want the bag, you have to find the leg.”
“Do you know how hard it was for us just to find this graveyard?”
“If you tried to follow the landmarks on my map through a morphing forest, pretty darn hard. Now go get the leg.”
* * * *
RANDALL MANAGED to successfully block most of the next seven hours from his mind.
* * * *
“HERE'S THE leg,” snarled Sir William, thrusting the appendage at Lawrence, who was casually leaning against the Realm of Mystery.
“You scratched it up,” said Lawrence, examining it.
“I swear,” said Sir William, “if you don't hand over that bag you're going to be floating down a long tunnel toward a white light.”
“Give me the dvorkins first.”
Sir William and Randall fished through their pockets and handed over all their coins.
“This is only fourteen.”
“I said I thought we had fifteen,” said Randall. “I didn't say for sure.”
“The deal was for fifteen. Fifteen dvorkins or I leave with the princess.”
“And just what are you going to do with her?” Sir William asked.
“Sell her to someone else.”
“You sick, twisted—”
“Okay, okay, I'll make you an offer. The leg, the fourteen dvorkins, and your clothes—but you get to keep the loincloths and shoes. Take it or leave it.”
A couple minutes later, Lawrence had left with his prizes. Sir William and Randall stood in their undergarments, glaring in the direction he had gone. Sir William picked up the sack.
“Let's go,” he said, throwing open the door to the Realm of Mystery.
Chapter 6
The Realm of Mystery
(Alternate But Meaningless Title: “The Potato")
AS HE STEPPED through the threshold, Randall was surrounded by a bright yellowish-periwinkle light. The air felt like it had transformed into a thick liquid, and there was a loud sucking sound as he passed through, reminding him of the king of Mosiman eating any type of solid food.
The place was much roomier on the inside. Flashing multicolored lights made it difficult to see much of anything, though. Reasonably bad music played in the background.
“Welcome to the Realm of Mystery!” said a very enthusiastic magically prerecorded voice. “Be sure to visit all of our fun-filled attractions! Test your wisdom and skill! And don't forget—if you mess up, you will be instantly vaporized by one of our many state-of-the-art wizard beams! No food, drinks, pets, epileptic fits, or children under twelve, please. Enjoy your visit, and have a mysterious time!”
Sir William passed through the threshold, and the message repeated. A glowing arrow on the marble floor directed them to walk forward to a large podium, upon which rested a stone tablet.
“Exhibit One,” Randall said, reading the tablet aloud. “Toucheth the blue dot when thou art prepared to answer this riddle: Why did the wizard throw his sundial out the window?” He considered that for a moment. “To see if time could fly.”
“No, no,” said Sir William. “Scar said the answer to the first riddle was ‘To get to the other side.'”
“That doesn't make any sense.”
“Perhaps he was throwing the sundial to the other side of the courtyard?”
“What kind of riddle would that be? How could anybody ever figure that answer out? I think Scar was wrong.”
“I don't think we should risk it.”
“Listen to me. ‘To see if time could fly.’ Good answer. ‘To get to the other side.’ Stupid answer.”
“Squire, I am in charge here, and I say we follow Scar's advice.”
“Like we followed Scar's map?”
“Damn good point. We'll use your answer.”
Randall touched the blue dot. A chorus of female voices began to sing “You've got the answer, oh yeah you've got the answer, oh yeah tell us the answer, oh yeah or you'll be sizzled, oh yeah or you'll be crispy, oh yeah tell us the answer...”
“To see if time could fly,” said Randall.
The very enthusiastic magically prerecorded voice spoke up. “And you've answered! Your answer is...”
Randall and Sir William held their breath. There was an incredibly long pause.
“Don't you just love suspense?” the voice asked.
Randall and Sir William began to grow faint from lack of oxygen.
“Correct!” said the voice.
The lights began flashing even more rapidly, and the female chorus began to sing again. “You gave us the right answer, oh yeah gave the right answer, oh yeah we shall not kill you, oh yeah you shall not fester, oh yeah gave the right answer!”
“I hope we don't have to listen to that every time,” muttered Sir William.
The podium suddenly vanished. A glowing arrow directed them to a second podium, this one also with a stone tablet.
“Exhibit two,” read Randall. “Thou shalt answer another riddle: ‘What doth walk on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?'”
“Why, the Shapeshifter of McIlveen, of course!”
“No, wait! I recognize this! This is the famous Riddle of the Sphinx. The answer is Man.”
“Man? What man?” asked Sir William.
“Any man. They crawl on all fours as a baby, walk upright as an adult, and use a cane when they're old and decrepit.”
“So, we're talking about a person who's gone from birth to old age in one day? Is there some disease out there I haven't been told about?”
“It doesn't mean morning as in a real morning. It's morning as in the morning of your life. It's symbolic.”
“Forget that. I vote for the Shapeshifter of McIlveen.”
Sir William reached for the blue dot. Randall hurriedly thrust his hand out and touched it first.
The voice sounded. “Yeah, what's your answer?”
“Man!” shouted Randall before Sir William could respond.
“Bzzzzz! Nope! Wrong-o! Incorrectomundo! The right answer is ... the Shapeshifter of Adamtroy!”
“Well, you were wrong, too,” said Randall, quietly.
There was a loud humming sound that drowned out the music. “Prepare to die!” announced the voice.
“Okay,” said Randall, “that would require making up a will, purchasing a tombstone, saying goodbye to loved ones...”
“...selling your body to magical research...” added Sir William.
“...running up a huge tab at Dee's Pub...”
The humming sound grew so loud that it hurt their ears. Then, abruptly, it disappeared, allowing them to hear a particularly annoying verse of the song currently playing in the background.
“Juuuuuust kidding,” said the voice. “'Man’ was correct. You'd be surprised how many idiots go with the shapeshifter. We lose 43% of our guests that way.”
Randall smiled and looked smug as the podium vanished.
“If you continue to look smug, I will make you the opposite of ‘smug’ by ripping out your gums.”
“What?”
“You know, smug ... gums ... opposites...”
“No offense, sire, but that has to be the most forced creative threat I've ever heard.”
“I know,” Sir William admitted. “It's always been at the bottom of my stockpile.”
“I hope you've never used it in an actual fight.”
“Oh no, of course not. I was waiting for a less important occasion to test it out. I figured you could give me your assessment of it.”
“That was good thinking. Really, it doesn't work. I'd say get rid of it.”
“I will. Thanks for your honesty.”
“No problem.”
“Shall we move on to the third test?”
“By all means.”
They followed the glowing arrow to yet another podium. Randall read the stone tablet. “Exhibit three. A man hath sixteen children. Each of these children hath twenty teeth, except for the eighth child, whose third tooth was struck by a sparrow and fell out. This tooth was sold to a very foolish miner for fifty-seven dvorkins. Four of these dvorkins were fake, however, and the miner was sentenced to ten years in the dungeon. In the dungeon, the miner ate six rats. These rats carried forty diseases, but the miner only caught thirty-nine of them. The thirty-fifth disease killed the miner, and he was buried in a cemetery with two hundred and fifteen tombstones. Twelve of these tombstones bore the inscription ‘Let me out.’ Which exhibit number is this?”