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
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 “
“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. “
“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.
“
“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?”
“Three,” answered Sir William.
“You think it's a trick question?”
“No, just a dumb one.”
“But the other two exhibits are gone. That could mean this is the first.”
“I've been wrong the past two times, and therefore the odds are in favor of me being right this time,” Sir William explained, touching the blue dot.
“What?” asked the voice.
“Three,” said Sir William.
“Yep,” said the voice.
The podium vanished. The glowing arrow led them to a cushioned bench. After doing his routine whoopee cushion check, Randall sat down. Sir William sat next to him.
“This is the fourth exhibit,” said the voice. “An endurance test. You are going to hear the story
“Oh no ... no...” whispered Sir William. “I know of at least eight murders directly tied to somebody being read
