choice. Choose again!”
“Hey, he’s cheating!” I said, trying to sound amused. “What kind of crooked operation are you running here? Gimme the sword!”
“Thy King’s word is final! Thou must choose again!”
“What, are you just gonna make me run through the whole box of weapons until I pick the one you want?”
“Nay, Almost Initiated One! Thy next choice will be thy weapon! Thou hast my word as King!”
“Then I choose...” I said, as a sudden idea came to me. “I choose as my weapon...knowledge of the periodic table of the elements!”
There was a long silence.
“I beg thy pardon?” asked Daniel.
“Any man can fight with blades of steel, or maces of...steel. But true wisdom is the finest weapon of all!” I pointed accusingly at the prisoner. “I challenge thee to a duel of wisdom, a duel in thy knowledge of the periodic table of the elements!”
Daniel looked utterly confused. Then, after a moment, he shrugged and sat down. “Okay, sure, go for it.”
Now, of course, I had to hope that I still remembered. I’d wanted to be a chemist for about three weeks back in high school, but I’d had that stupid table hammered into my skull so deeply that it could never escape.
The prisoner looked even more baffled than Daniel. “Speak!” I shouted. “Prove thy worthiness at this battle of wisdom!”
“Uhhhh...” said the prisoner.
“Thy knowledge is miserable! Victory will be mine!” I flexed my muscles in glory.
“No, wait. It goes, H for hydrogen, He for helium, Li for lithium, Be for, uh, beryllium, B for boron...”
My mouth dropped open.
“...C for carbon, N for nitrogen, O for oxygen...”
I just stood there, flabbergasted, as the prisoner rattled off the entire list. As he progressed, his voice took on a singsong pattern, as if he’d memorized the elements using a song like the ABC’s.
“...and Lr for lawrencium,” he finished.
The spectators above exchanged questioning looks.
“Okay, well, I guess you have great wisdom,” I admitted.
“All right, enough of this intellectual crap!” said Daniel, standing up again. “Let’s see some blood! Andrew, pick your weapon!”
“But I won!” the prisoner insisted.
“You didn’t win squat. He was just messin’ with you. Andrew, weapon! C’mon, c’mon, let’s move, his royal majesty is getting impatient!”
That annoying little voice in my head began to speak again, forcing me to consider the option of fighting to the death. After all, if I killed the prisoner, I’d earn their trust, and then I’d have a better shot at rescuing Roger and the others. One would die so others could live. It was a worthy sacrifice, wasn’t it?
No. I couldn’t do it. There had to be another way.
“The stapler,” I said.
Daniel leaned over the side of the wall. “Okay, Andrew, I know I’m standing here dressed like some dipshit king and we’re making this into a fun little game, and we’re trying to be all silly by sticking a stapler in the weapon display case, but you do notice the element of danger here, right?”
“I notice it. I choose the stapler.”
“Okay, whatever, it’s your funeral. Stapler it is.”
He removed the stapler and tossed it onto the sand next to me. I picked it up and held it in a menacing manner. I was still hoping to find some way to get out of this mess without either of us getting hurt. If the prisoner didn’t feel he was in serious danger, maybe we could figure something out.
“Prisoner, choose thy weapon!” shouted Daniel.
“The sword!”
Damn. The annoying voice told me that now I was going to die so that the others could die, too.
Daniel picked up the sword and tossed it onto the ground next to the prisoner. I immediately rushed at him, arms outstretched. I had to keep weapons out of this as much as possible.
The prisoner moved out of the way, and then kicked me in the shin. I flew forward, landing on my stomach and ending up with a mouthful of sand. Out of the corner of my
“Hey, he’s cheating!” I said, trying to sound amused. “What kind of crooked operation are you running here? Gimme the sword!”
“Thy King’s word is final! Thou must choose again!”
“What, are you just gonna make me run through the whole box of weapons until I pick the one you want?”
“Nay, Almost Initiated One! Thy next choice will be thy weapon! Thou hast my word as King!”
“Then I choose...” I said, as a sudden idea came to me. “I choose as my weapon...knowledge of the periodic table of the elements!”
There was a long silence.
“I beg thy pardon?” asked Daniel.
“Any man can fight with blades of steel, or maces of...steel. But true wisdom is the finest weapon of all!” I pointed accusingly at the prisoner. “I challenge thee to a duel of wisdom, a duel in thy knowledge of the periodic table of the elements!”
Daniel looked utterly confused. Then, after a moment, he shrugged and sat down. “Okay, sure, go for it.”
Now, of course, I had to hope that I still remembered. I’d wanted to be a chemist for about three weeks back in high school, but I’d had that stupid table hammered into my skull so deeply that it could never escape.
The prisoner looked even more baffled than Daniel. “Speak!” I shouted. “Prove thy worthiness at this battle of wisdom!”
“Uhhhh...” said the prisoner.
“Thy knowledge is miserable! Victory will be mine!” I flexed my muscles in glory.
“No, wait. It goes, H for hydrogen, He for helium, Li for lithium, Be for, uh, beryllium, B for boron...”
My mouth dropped open.
“...C for carbon, N for nitrogen, O for oxygen...”
I just stood there, flabbergasted, as the prisoner rattled off the entire list. As he progressed, his voice took on a singsong pattern, as if he’d memorized the elements using a song like the ABC’s.
“...and Lr for lawrencium,” he finished.
The spectators above exchanged questioning looks.
“Okay, well, I guess you have great wisdom,” I admitted.
“All right, enough of this intellectual crap!” said Daniel, standing up again. “Let’s see some blood! Andrew, pick your weapon!”
“But I won!” the prisoner insisted.
“You didn’t win squat. He was just messin’ with you. Andrew, weapon! C’mon, c’mon, let’s move, his royal majesty is getting impatient!”
That annoying little voice in my head began to speak again, forcing me to consider the option of fighting to the death. After all, if I killed the prisoner, I’d earn their trust, and then I’d have a better shot at rescuing Roger and the others. One would die so others could live. It was a worthy sacrifice, wasn’t it?
No. I couldn’t do it. There had to be another way.
“The stapler,” I said.
Daniel leaned over the side of the wall. “Okay, Andrew, I know I’m standing here dressed like some dipshit king and we’re making this into a fun little game, and we’re trying to be all silly by sticking a stapler in the weapon display case, but you do notice the element of danger here, right?”
“I notice it. I choose the stapler.”
“Okay, whatever, it’s your funeral. Stapler it is.”
He removed the stapler and tossed it onto the sand next to me. I picked it up and held it in a menacing manner. I was still hoping to find some way to get out of this mess without either of us getting hurt. If the prisoner didn’t feel he was in serious danger, maybe we could figure something out.
“Prisoner, choose thy weapon!” shouted Daniel.
“The sword!”
Damn. The annoying voice told me that now I was going to die so that the others could die, too.
Daniel picked up the sword and tossed it onto the ground next to the prisoner. I immediately rushed at him, arms outstretched. I had to keep weapons out of this as much as possible.
The prisoner moved out of the way, and then kicked me in the shin. I flew forward, landing on my stomach and ending up with a mouthful of sand. Out of the corner of my
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