Then he landed on neither the ground nor the carriage, but a guard. Instead of providing a soft, fluffy landing spot, the guard provided a solid, bony landing spot, and Randall immediately fell from the guard's body to the ground. The unhurt guard pointed his sword at Randall's pinky.
“You're dead,” he said.
“I feel that way,” Randall agreed.
Within seconds, Randall was surrounded by more guards and their swords. Then, a second later, he re-entered the familiar world of artificially induced unconsciousness.
* * * *
WHEN HE WOKE up, he was sitting on a chair in a small, brightly-lit room. He was still wearing the necklace, and was seated across a table from a bald, intelligent-looking man with a waxed mustache. Two guards stood at the doorway.
“Hello there,” said the man. “My name is Alan. I'm the king's advisor. I understand you've gotten yourself in a bit of trouble, something along the lines of being caught attempting to assassinate our king. Is that true?”
“No,” said Randall. “I just needed to deliver a message regarding Sir William and Princess Janice from Mosiman Kingdom.”
“Why were you running from the guards?”
“They were chasing me.”
“Why are you wearing that necklace?”
“It helps my sore throat.”
“I'm sorry, but I just don't believe you,” said Alan, crossing his arms in front of his chest in an I'm-sorry-but-I-just-don't-believe-you gesture. “Your eyes are rapidly blinking and avoiding contact with mine, a definite body language signal that you're lying. You're sweating, implying nervousness, and I've noticed a large number of carotid artery pulsations, also implying nervousness. Plus, there's the additional detail that your story sounds like total ka-ka.”
“I'm not lying,” Randall insisted.
“You put your finger between your lips when you said that,” Alan noted. “Do you know what that means?”
“I was sucking something out from under my fingernail?”
“It means you're lying. If I had a torch handy, I'd ignite your pants just to make my point that much more clear. And because I'm a closet pyromaniac. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to turn you over to be executed. Unless...”
Randall leaned forward.
“Ah, you're expressing interest. Good. I've created a lie detector test. A magical one. Are you willing to take it?”
Randall hesitated. A lie detector test was rather unappealing considering that he was lying. “I don't think so.”
“Wimp.”
“I don't like magic.”
“Pansy.”
“I had a bad experience with magic. My uncle was turned into a toad. Wrecked every social gathering with that tongue of his. Stuck it to everything and everyone.”
“Momma's boy.”
“Okay, I'll take the test! Jeez!”
Alan nodded at one of the guards, who exited the room and returned a minute later holding a steel box. Attached to the box was a coil of golden wire, and what looked like a silver stake. The guard set the box down on the table in front of Alan, then returned to his post by the door and looked stern again.
Alan picked up the stake. “First I have to shove this through your skull to make the connection with your brain.”
“I don't believe I'm going to let you do that.”
“Well, granted, that is the more inconvenient method. Holding it in your hand should work just as well.” Alan handed the stake to Randall. “Now, it's very simple. If you tell the truth, the box will go ‘beep.’ If you lie, the box will go ‘beep’ but with more treble. Understand?”
“Yes.” Beep.
“Ah, the truth. Very good. Is your name Randall?”
“Yes.” Beep.
“Do you come from the kingdom of Mosiman?”
“Yes.” Beep.
“Do you find me physically attractive?”
“No.” Beep.
One of the guards stepped forward. “Do you ever get the urge to run around flapping your arms and going ‘Awk, awk, awk!'”
“No.” Beep.
The other guard also stepped forward. “Do you find the word ‘wiener’ inherently amusing?”
“No.” Beep with more treble.
“You're lying to us,” said Alan.
“Sorry.” Beep with even more treble.
A guard spoke up. “Do you have an unnatural craving for tapioca?”
“Have you ever put sawdust in your loin cloth?”
“Do you ever wish you could change your name to Chuckles?”
“Why you wanna do me so bad?”
“Have you ever gotten your tongue stuck in a bottle of wine? I mean, really stuck.”
“If you could be any kind of tree, what kind would you be?”
“Okay, that's enough,” said Alan. “Now, time for the real question.” He leaned forward and locked eyes with Randall. “Are you here to do harm to our king?”
Chapter 13
The Chapter With (Hopefully) The Fewest Typos
“NO,” SAID Randall, “I am not here to not do harm to your king.” Beep.
“What did you say?” asked Alan.
Randall set down the spike. “I am not here to do harm to your king.”
“That's not what it sounded like. It sounded like there was an extra ‘not’ in there somewhere.”
“I sometimes hear extra ‘nots’ in sentences, too. It's very strange. Well, there must be some logical explanation for it. Can I go now?”
“Pick up the spike,” said Alan.
“You don't trust me?”
“Would I be giving you the lie detector test in the first place if I trusted you?”
Hesitantly, Randall picked up the spike.
“Now,” said Alan, “tell me that you're not here to harm the king.”
“I'm not here to harm the king.” Beep.
“Why did you emphasize the word ‘here'?” demanded Alan.
Randall dropped the spike. “To make my voice more interesting.”
“That's the second time you've dropped the spike before speaking. That means you're nervous. I think you emphasized ‘here’ to fool the machine into thinking you didn't mean to cause harm to the king in this very room.”
“That's ridiculous.”
“Here's what you're going to do. You're going to pick up the spike. You're going to say ‘I did not come to this kingdom with the intent of in any way, directly or indirectly, causing harm to the king.’ Those words are to be said in a monotone. Understand?”
Randall picked up the spike.
“Say it,” urged Alan.
“I did not come to this kingdom with the intent of...” Randall trailed off as he stared at the steel box.
“Finish the sentence!” said Alan. “Now!”
“A tree fell in the woods, nobody was there, and it made a sound!” shouted Randall.
The box, not knowing how to answer, began to quiver. As Alan gasped, the box suddenly began emitting a steady stream of beeps, alternating between those with and without extra treble. Then it began to melt.
“My lie-detector!” Alan cried. “My precious box! Child of my loins!”
The guards rushed forward. Randall stood up, waving the spike at them. “Stay back!” he ordered.
“That spike is kind of pointy,” said one of the guards, cautiously stepping back toward the door.
“I want to talk to the king,” said Randall, waving the spike some more because his newfound sense of power was intoxicating. “I'm not going to cause any problems like commenting on his dandruff or anything, I just need to talk.”
“You wrecked my box!” Alan said. “I can't believe you wrecked my box! Ten years I spent bribing wizards to make that for me!”