فصل پنجاه و سوم

chapter-53

“Oh, this is interesting,” said Mr. Peckleman, rubbing his hands together and leering at the card in Marjory’s hand. “Very interesting, indeed.” “Wait,” Kyle said to Marjory. “That card’s worth thousands of dollars.” “Actually,” said Marjory, “it’s worth 234,428 dollars. I plan on attending Harvard. For four years.” “Well, that makes your card even more important. You can’t just throw it away.” “Yes, I can. Some things are even more important than a free college education. Including 323.443: ‘freedom of speech.’ ” She handed her card to Mr. Peckleman.

Everyone gasped.

Kyle glanced at the books. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do. He couldn’t believe he was even thinking about doing it. His brothers would tease him about it for the rest of his life, because it was definitely crazy.

But that didn’t stop him.

“Fine,” he said, pulling his college scholarship card out of his shirt pocket. “If you win, you can burn mine, too.” Akimi stepped forward. “And mine,” she said.

“And mine,” said Angus Harper.

“And mine,” said twenty-eight other voices as every single one of the Library Olympians stepped forward to hand Mr. Peckleman their orange prize coupons.

“Excellent,” giggled Mr. Peckleman, crumbling the thirty-two cards in his hand, wadding them up into one extremely flammable paper ball. “You’re on, Mr. Keeley. Mr. Lemoncello won’t give you your scholarships. Not without these. Cards must be present to win.” “What’s the game?” demanded Kyle.

“Let’s see. How about a riddle?”

“Fine. We’ve got several players who are excellent at solving riddles.” “Who cares? You’re the one who made the challenge.” “I know, but…”

“What? Afraid you might lose and ruin all of your friends’ dreams of a college education at the same time?” “Riddles aren’t my best sport.”

“Too bad. I insist on trial by single combat. A duel between two champions that will decide the fate of everyone and everything else. No one may interfere or offer advice. You, Kyle Keeley, are on your own.” Kyle felt that nervous flutter in his stomach again. Trying to be a hero wasn’t always easy or fun.

He looked at his best friend, Akimi.

“Do it.”

“You can take him, Kyle,” said Andrew.

“Go on, Keeley,” said Marjory Muldauer. “Even I’m rooting for you.” Kyle turned to face Mr. Peckleman.

“Okay. I accept your challenge. If I answer your riddle correctly, you don’t burn a single book. We take them all back to Mr. Lemoncello’s library.” “But if you can’t answer my riddle,” sneered Peckleman, “if you fail, you and your library-loving friends have to stand here and watch me destroy all of these horrible books and all of these lovely orange cards.” “Deal.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” said Mr. Peckleman. “Let me think….I need a really good riddle…one that’s almost impossible to solve….” Kyle waited, giving a little voice deep inside his head time to remind him that every chance to win is also a chance to lose.

So Kyle told that little voice to shut up.

Because he needed every brain cell he could spare focused on Mr. Peckleman’s riddle.

“All right, Mr. Keeley. Here is your riddle: You are a prisoner in a room with two doors. One leads farther down into the dungeon and certain death; one leads to freedom. There are two guards in the room with you, one at each door. One guard always tells the truth. One always lies. You don’t know which is which. What single question can you ask one of the guards that will help you find the door that leads to freedom?” Oh, man.

Kyle wished somebody else had made the challenge.

But they hadn’t. He had.

Concentrate, Kyle told himself. You can do this thing.

Okay.

If Kyle wanted to find out which guard told the truth and which one told lies, he could ask, “If I asked the other guard whether you always told the truth, what would he say?” If the guard he asked said, “No,” that would mean he was definitely talking to the truth teller. If the guy said, “Yes,” that would mean he was the liar, because he never told the truth, about himself or the other guard.

Kyle’s head was starting to hurt.

“I’m waiting, Mr. Keeley,” said Mr. Peckleman, pinching the thin picture book Earl the Squirrel between his thumb and forefinger so he could dangle it over the fire pit.

“Gimme a second.”

But Kyle had only one question to find the right door.

He couldn’t do a two-step dance and first find out who was the truthful guard and then ask him which door to use.

So…

He had to ask…

“My single question,” he said, “to either one of the guards…” Everyone was hanging on his every word.

“…would be…’If I were to ask the other guard, which door would he say leads to freedom?’ I would then choose the door opposite of the one the guard told me.” “Are you certain, Mr. Keeley?”

“Yes! Because if the guard I ask is the one who always tells the truth, he would tell me the other guard, the lying guy, would point to the door of death. If I asked the guard who always lies, he would also point me to the door of death, because he’s a liar. So in either case, I’d choose the door the guard wasn’t pointing to.” “He’s right,” declared Marjory. “Right?” Mr. Peckleman lowered his book.

But not into the fire.

He gently placed it on top of the heap in the little red wagon.

“Well done, Library Olympians. Bravo!” All of a sudden, Mr. Peckleman had a British accent.

“By being willing to sacrifice everything you thought you came here to win, you have all proven yourselves to be true champions.” Kyle half expected the guy to say “pip pip, cheerio” or something.

Instead, he heard sirens approaching.

The police.

They were flanking a car shaped like a big boot and another one that looked like a pouncing cat.