Her voice was warm honey. "I have a little old question for you, dear. I give you a group of three. One is sitting down, and will never get up. The second eats as much as is given to him, yet is always hungry. The third goes away and never returns." Her smile became beatific. "Who are they?"
Yali seemed very displeased. He rose from his chair and click-heeled across the room, blank-eyed, mumbling to himself. Ultimately he turned on his heel to face them. "Yes, yes, I know, time is against me. I admit I have no answer."
"Oh, I'm sorry. The correct answers are Stove, Fire, and Smoke. We're even again," Gina said sweetly.
"So you are, and you have one player left to go. Mr. Tegner. Or do you prefer Griffin?" There was a peculiar gleam in Yali's eye, and Alex knew that Lopez was having his little joke.
"In this context I prefer Griffin," he said.
"Very well, Griffin. There is a saying you may have heard in your business:
Whoever makes it, tells it not.
Whoever takes it, knows it not.
And whoever knows it wants it not.
Can you tell me what I speak of?"
Alex brooded. In your business. What did he mean by that? As the Griffin, the Thief? As Gary Tegner, restaurateur? Previous riddles had referred to food... Or as Alex Griffin, Dream Park Security head? Nice wide range of choices, there.
Whoever makes it, tells it not. Why? Something illegal or immoral? That would fit the Thief and the Security Chief. Good.
Whoever takes it ... whoever knows it. If you know what it is, you don't want it. A restaurant owner might take black market meat if he didn't know what it was. Do you "make" black market meat? Or bad meat, meat that wouldn't pass honest inspection. Pass?
"Excuse me, Griffin, but I'm afraid I need an answer now."
Get a hunch, bet a bunch. "Counterfeit money."
Yali's expression went dull. Acacia reached out a warm hand for Griffin's and squeezed affectionately.
"Well. Right you are. And do you have a riddle for me?"
Alex had finally remembered a riddle. "Do as I say, don't do as I do. Say boots without shoes."
Yali's eyes unfocussed. His lips moved, silently repeating Alex's words, while Alex sweated it out. Presently he said, "Boots."
"Drown!"
Yali's teeth flashed like sudden lightning. No, he hadn't been sure. "Well. We're exactly even. Five for you, five for me. Unfortunately, that leaves you where you started, with Mr. Henderson's life dangling by the proverbial thread."
Oliver folded his hands neatly in his lap, and squared his shoulders, but the way that he chewed his upper lip before answering betrayed his nervousness. "What happens now?"
"I am going to ask one more riddle, a tie breaker. If your team's selected representative can answer it, Mr. Henderson lives. If not, he dies."
Oliver was indignant. "But that's not fair! You can make the answer as ridiculous as you like, and if we don't get it, that's the end!"
"Quite so. I recognise the intrinsic uncertainty in such a contest, so I will offer you a side-wager. If any of you will put your own lives up as a stake, I will accept it. In other words, if you win, everyone lives. If you lose, Mr. Henderson lives but one of you dies." The five were silent. "Well?"
Griffin was thinking, I can't! I'm not a self-centered coward, I'm a detective. I can't!
Leigh stood, drew in a deep breath and exhaled noisily. "I got us into this. If I hadn't blown both points we'd have won. It's only fair that I be the one."
"Bravo, Mr. Leigh. Such bravery. Such sacrifice!"
"Such bullshit. Let's get on with it."
"Quite. For your life, then:
Who makes it, has no need of it.
Who buys it, has no use for it.
Who uses it can neither see nor feel it."
"Repeat that, please."
"You should listen more carefully, especially since the answer has special significance for you-" and Yali repeated the riddle. Griffin found himself holding his breath. Leigh was stalling, his puffy cheeks drawn with tension.
Coffin, Griffin realised suddenly. Coffin. Coffin, you idiot!
Desperately, Leigh blurted, "A prosthetic leg for a blind child?"
Yali shook with silent mirth. "What an imagination. You will certainly be welcome here in Heaven. No, it's a coffin, Mr. Leigh. Don't you find that dreadfully appropriate?" Yali stretched his arms hugely, happy to have claimed at least one victim. "Well, unless you'd like to play more games, the rest of you may return to Earth. Mr. Leigh and I have business."
Gina stood and took one of Alan's hands in hers. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "You didn't have to do that."
His mouth twitched, trying to form a smile. "Yeah, well, I might have done it better."
There was moisture glistening in his tear ducts, and Gina kissed him softly on the mouth. "I'm proud of you anyway," she said.
Acacia hugged him from the side. "Ditto, Alan. Don't worry. We're going to win this for you, kid."
"Yeah," said Leigh, staring into the wall, his face doughy and lifeless.
Gengai appeared at the door. "We're ready to leave now," he chirped.
"Wait a minute!" Griffin found his voice ragged. He took Leigh by the shoulder. "Thank you, Alan."
The Magic User managed to nod his head in acknowledgement. "It's all right. Go on, get out of here. And win it1~~
"We hear and obey, 0 mighty mage." Gina kissed him again, on the cheek. "Watch us. It'll be worth it."
The helicopter drifted away from Yali's cloud. Looking out, Griffin could see a string of white factories on adjoining clouds, white puff ettes rising from their smokestacks as they busily churned out Cargo. Angels with multi-hued parakeet wings fluttered here and there carrying loads, and a heavenly choir performed Handel's Messiah in full-bodied SphericSound.
But all that Griffin could really see or hear was Leigh's face, red with the effort to hold back tears, and a cracking voice that said, "And win it!"
Suddenly, unaccountably, that was all Alex wanted to do.
Chapter Twenty
THE SEA OF LOST SHIPS
It was 1350 hours by the watch imprinted on the cuff of Griffin's denim shirt. The group had been back on the march for an hour and a half.
The line wasn't jolly. A grim singularity of purpose could be seen in every face, heard in every terse word. Mary-em had tried to get songs going, but the efforts had died stillborn. Finally she gave up, her tanned and wrinkled face puckered with discontent. Their trail wound them steadily deeper into the mountains, and this, in part, may have contributed to the sense of sobriety and unease. Griffin found himself gazing up into the crags with a chilling and undeniable feeling of approaching doom. Unbidden, images of death and decay sprang into his mind, and he shook his head, irritated and upset.
Subsonics and subliminal imagery? he wondered. Lopez psyching us out? Maybe. Griffin had known it from the first: this was a blood duel.
Acacia walked next to him, her hand occasionally finding his for a few moments, squeezing then releasing. As if she too needed the reassurance of physical contact. He took comfort in knowing that his strange mood was shared.