by Sean Gibson
Nadi’s eyebrows rose in confusion, and she turned to me. “What?”
“It’s a story problem,” I replied before looking at the rock. “A story problem? Seriously?”
The rock raised its eyebrows and then lowered them, its version of a shrug. “I didn’t make up the riddle,” it replied. “I just say what I’m enchanted to say.”
“Whiska,” said Nadi, “if the rock is enchanted, can you dispel the magic that controls it? Would that get us into the mountain?”
Whiska shook her head. “If I do that, the stupid rock will just become inert, and then we’ll have no way to open it and get in.”
“Not to mention the fact that you’d lose out on the opportunity to converse with me, and I feel like that would be sad for everyone,” said the rock.
“Does anyone know anything about how fast dragons fly?” asked Nadi.
“Faster than I can,” I replied helpfully.
“Why would we know that, you golden-haired mungieblat?” (Mungieblats are a particularly ugly toad-like creature that secretes a toxin that smells like wet dog fur. They’re not pleasant.)
“Are we allowed to ask questions?” Rummy looked hopefully at the rock.
“You are…though I can’t guarantee I can answer them all,” replied the rock. “Though I do know a lot of things. Probably more than a talking rock should.”
“Dragons are…also faster…than I am,” said Borg to no one in particular.
“How fast does a gold dragon fly?” asked Rummy.
“A northern gold or a southern gold?”
“There are no northern dragons, you idiot,” said Whiska. “They only live in the south.”
“Very good,” said the rock approvingly. “You’re a sharp one.” He turned his eyes toward Borg. “She’s a sharp one.”
“So…can you tell us how fast?” asked Rummy.
“Gold dragons fly twelve kelms per hour.” (A kelm is the standard unit of distance in Erithea; it’s approximately equal to the distance a man named Hornadar Kelm, formerly a general of some renown in the kingdom of Halifar, was able to run in an hour as he sought to warn the capital of the kingdom of, ironically enough, a pending dragon attack. He made it just in time, and many people lived, though the good general himself was immolated in a spectacular blast of flame. It’s an arbitrary and utterly moronic unit of measurement.)
“Okay,” said Rummy. “Now we’re getting somewhere. How fast is a silver?”
“They fly at about ten kelms per hour,” replied the rock with a smile.
“Heloise,” said Nadi, “you’ve traveled everywhere—do you know where Canarvon is? Or Borokia?”
I shook my head. “I know a lot of things, including the fact that I should not have unrestricted access to chocolate at night, but I don’t know that. I’ve heard of Canarvon, but never been there, and it’s not on any of the maps I’ve seen. I have no idea where Borokia is.”
“You’ve been to Gloraria, I take it?” she asked.
A rush of memories trampled me like a doughty dwarven fire brigade. I’d been young, especially by elven standards, and the memories were more scenes and fragments than wholly formed recollections, but I remembered the most vividly green trees I’d ever seen, ethereal music that I felt as much as heard, the most delicious roast dryad, and one old elf who thought it was funny to pretend to be an orc saying racist things about elves. (I’m kidding, by the way—the roast dryad was terrible; they’re small, tough, and bitter…sort of like a member of a doughty dwarven fire brigade.) “Once,” I said at last, “a long time ago. But, that doesn’t help me figure out how far it is from somewhere I’ve never heard of.”
“That’s why we’re going to ask the handsomest talking rock we’ve ever seen, right?” said Rummy.
“Am I really the handsomest?” replied the rock, sounding bashful.
“I can say unequivocally that you are,” said Rummy.
“Wait a second,” said the rock suspiciously, “am I the only talking rock you’ve ever met?”
Rummy shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Well, that depends…does Borg count?”
“No,” replied the rock flatly. “He is a rock giant. Not a giant rock.”
“Right,” said Rummy. “Well, then, I suppose that you are the only talking rock I’ve ever met.”
“So I’m also the ugliest,” said the rock mournfully.
“Hey, maybe learn how to tell a lie to spare a feeling once in a while, eh?” I said pointedly to Rummy.
“Are you saying…that I’m not…handsome?” asked Borg. He didn’t sound upset; just curious.
“No, no—not at all,” replied Rummy hastily. “You’re a good-looking guy, Borgy. Honest.”
“See?” I said. “It’s not hard, is it?”
“But that wasn’t a—”
“Save it, Rummy,” said Nadi, cutting him off.
“Look, Rocky,” I said, trying to smooth things over in my own inimitable way, “this is a first for all of us. But, I’ll say this—you’ve got features that look like they were carved out of granite, and a man with strong features is generally considered a handsome man.”
“They looked carved out of granite because they are carved out of granite,” replied the rock.
“Makes sense,” I said, sagely.
“I think that…I am handsome,” Borg interjected.
“No question!” said Rummy enthusiastically.
“I’m not really a man, you know,” said the rock.
“No?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You people are nuts,” muttered Whiska.
“No—not in any conventional sense, anyway. I mean, I’m just a face—no genitals. No distinguishing gender characteristics.”
“Fair point,” I conceded. “I guess your voice just makes you sound like a man.”
“Because it’s deep?”
I nodded. “You don’t meet a lot of ladies who sound like that.”
“But you’ve never met any other talking rocks, so you have no basis for comparison—maybe my voice is very high compared to others of my kind,” said the rock with an annoying degree of logic.
“Are there any others of your kind?” asked Nadi.
“Not that I know of,” replied the rock.
“Then this whole conversation is kind of pointless, no?” I said.
“Is it ever pointless to try to understand who someone truly is?” replied the rock.
“Oh, sure—make me look like the kramlin’s gaping waste hole,” I said, exasperated. (Kramlins are huge, elephant-like creatures that produce significantly larger discharges of excrement than any other animal in the world. It’s pretty disgusting. On the plus side, their waste smells like peppermint, so that’s not a bad deal.)
“Maybe we should get back to the riddle…” prompted Rummy.
“Yes, please,” said Nadi. She looked at the rock. “Where is Borokia?”
“You don’t want me to tell you everything, do you?”
“Actually, yes,” replied Nadi. “Is there any reason you can’t? Other than the answer, I mean.”
“Nothing in the enchantment prevents me,” said the rock, seeming surprised. “It’s strange—no one has ever asked me for objective facts to help solve the riddle before. In fact, no one has ever solved the first one. People generally just wander off and disappear after I give it to them.”
“Well, then, we’ll be the first!” said Rummy.
I looked at Nadi and whispered, “Something seems off.”
She nodded. “Agreed. But, as long as the rock is forthcoming with facts that will help us answer the question, let’s keep going.”
I shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
Nadi turned back to the rock. “Let me ask that again—where is Borokia relative to Gloraria and Canarvon?”
“It’s one hundred and twenty-five kelms to the east of Canarvon and five hundred kelms to the west of Gloraria.” The rock pursed its lips. “I mean, approximately. No one expects an exact answer.”
“Wait—you mean to say that there’s a range of possible answers to the riddle?” asked Whiska curiously.
“Yes,” replied the rock. “Well, within reason—a range of a few minutes, depending on how precise your measurements are.”
“So, the enchantment allows for more than one answer?” Whiska looked at us. “Do you hairless skin rags know what that means?”
“That we’ve got a little margin for error?” ventured Rummy.
“Obviously, you addle-brained ale slurper! What it really means is that whoever cast this enchantment is incredibly powerful.”
“So we probably don’t want to bump up against them in a dark alleyway,” I replied before looking at the peak looming before us. “Or a mountain.”
“I seriously doubt that whoever created the enchantment is still around,” replied Whiska, managing to utter an entire sentence without insulting someone for maybe the third time since I’d met her. “This is ancient magic! Thousands of years old."
“Be that as it may,” said Nadi, ever practical, “we still have a riddle to solve.”
“My skin is…hard. You couldn’t…use it to…make rags,” said Borg, looking at Whiska.
“Here’s what we know,” said Nadi, ignoring our largest and smallest party members. “We know how far Borokia is from both locations. We know how fast each dragon travels. Now we just need to calculate how long it takes them to get to the same point, right?”
“Well,” said Rummy, “the riddle is kind of a trick question.” He looked at the rock. “You asked us what time the two travelers meet in Borokia, right?”
“Yes,” replied the rock, wiggling its rocky eyebrows.
“Well, then, the answer to that is just how long it takes the slower traveler to get there, accounting for their different start times; they’re not meeting at some indeterminate midpoint based on their speed of travel…they’re meeting at a fixed location, and they can only meet up once they’re both there. Right?”
Nadi nodded. “Makes sense.” She looked sheepish. “Does anyone actually know how to figure that out? I never really…well, no one ever taught me how to do that sort of thing.”
“Not me,” said Whiska. “Math is for clerks and crotch grabbers.”
“Crotch grabbers?” I said, my tone intentionally neutral.
“Well, everyone I’ve known who had a head for numbers liked to stick their hands down their pants.”
“How many people have you known who had a head for numbers?” I asked.
“One,” answered Whiska.
“And that person liked to grab his—or her; I’m not sexist—crotch because he—or she—liked to do math…?” I prompted.
“No, you witless tree climber! He—it’s always a he when it comes to crotch grabbing—just liked grabbing his crotch. And he was good at math,” said Whiska huffily.
“I’m so confused,” said Rummy.
“That makes all of us,” I said.
“So, none of us knows figures?” asked Nadi, looking worried.
“Assuming they…do not stop…to sleep…Bob will take…ten hours and…twenty-five minutes…to reach Borokia. Lavinia will take…fifty hours. Lavinia is…an elven name. She will only…need four hours…of sleep. It would be…hard to sleep…on a dragon’s…back. Gold dragons…must rest…for two hours…for every…ten hours they…fly. Assuming the gold…is rested at…the start, and assuming…Lavinia sleeps when… the dragon rests…it will take fifty-eight…hours of travel. So…she would arrive…at three in the morning …Fanting Standard Time …two and…a half days…later.” Borg paused as we all stared at him in wonder, but before anyone could say anything, he continued. “But ‘Bob’…is a title…reserved for a…high priest…of Kandar. They…won’t enter…Borokia because it…allows citizens to…wear open-toed…shoes.” He looked at the rock. “So the answer…is that they…never meet…in Borokia.”
“Holy balls,” breathed Whiska.
“Borg, are you sure that you’re right about—” began Nadi before the rock cut her off.
“That’s…that’s correct,” said the rock. It let out a low whistle. “You’re as smart as you are handsome!” It seemed delighted.
Five minutes of high-fiving and celebration ensued, with Borg smiling awkwardly; I don’t think he enjoyed being the center of attention as much as other members of our party.
After we finished slapping Borg on the back—which I don’t recommend, incidentally, both because it’s a strain to reach up that high and because making contact with a rock giant’s skin is a painful experience—we turned our attention back to the rock and asked for the second riddle.
“I’ll need a moment to think,” replied the rock. “I’ve never issued the second riddle before, and it’s been so long since I was enchanted…”
“Join the club, Rocky,” I sighed. Everyone looked at me. “What? It’s almost impossible to find your equal when you’re simultaneously uniquely gifted and impossibly beautiful.”
The rock heaved a heavy sigh, too. “She’s right,” it said ruefully.
“Once we’ve cracked that pesky second riddle, I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll talk,” I said.
“Sure, sure,” said the rock, concentrating. “Now…I think I remember the second riddle.” The rock cleared its throat, which was weird, because it didn’t look like it actually had a throat. “I arrive at dawn when the sun appears, and stay ‘til lunch to spread some cheer. By afternoon, my time is done and then I leave, which is no fun. When stars come up, I’m tucked in tight to make sure no one takes a bite. I rest, not sleep, all night through and begin again to start anew. What am I?”
Rummy blew out a long, loud sigh. “Well, I’m stumped. Let’s go home!”
“Nervous about the fact that we’re pretty much on the verge of fighting a dragon?” I replied, eyebrow appropriately arched.
Rummy nodded vigorously. “Yup.”
“We can figure this out,” said Nadi. She looked at Whiska. “Right?”
The Ratarian was uncharacteristically silent, her lips pursed. At last, after a nearly Borg-like pause, she replied, but directed her response to the rock. “Are you sure you got it right, or is your head as full of rocks as the rest of you?”
“My head is rock,” replied the rock amiably. “But, yes, I’m pretty sure I got it right.”
“It’s just that ‘begin again to start anew’ is so redundant…it must be the key to the riddle,” said Whiska pensively.
“I’m stumped…too,” said Borg.
“Damn. Thought you were our ace in the hole,” I said.
“What are you thinking?” Nadi said to Whiska, who was muttering unintelligibly under her breath.
“Please never ask Whiska what she’s thinking,” I pleaded.
“Well, it depends,” Whiska said, ignoring me.
“On what?” said Nadi.
“On how you interpret certain words. This creepy thing has been here for a long time, right?”
“I’m not creepy,” said the rock (who was, in fact, kind of creepy). “If you’re going to judge me like that, I might just have to hit you with my gravel.” The rock paused as we all looked at each other. Nadi shrugged at me; I returned the gesture. “I think that was a funny joke. Someone told me that once. Something about how judges like to hit people with gravel…which I always thought was strange, because my understanding is that judges are generally supposed to throw the book at people, though I don’t know which book. Maybe it’s any book. Or maybe it’s a special book.”
“I think,” said Rummy diplomatically, “you’re thinking of a gavel. It’s like a tiny hammer. That’s why it’s, um, funny. Well, sort of funny, anyway, depending on your standard for funny. Judges pound gavels when they hand out a sentence to a criminal. Gravel sounds like gavel, right? And you’re made of rock, or gravel, if you will…so, yeah, it’s a pun.” He chuckled. “I guess it is a little bit funny, actually.”
“Yes—yes!” said the rock excitedly. “That’s why it’s funny!�
� It pursed its lips. “I should write that down so I don’t forget and can explain it better the next time it comes up.”
“You can write?” asked Nadi.
“No.”
“Oh.”
Whiska cleared her throat. “As I was saying—or trying to say before pointless and objectively not funny digressions—this riddle was made up a long time ago. Depending on how old it is, and I’d be willing to bet Rummy’s balls that it’s at least a couple thousand years old, the meaning of a few of the words in the riddle has changed.”
“Not willing to wager much, are you?” said Rummy good naturedly.
“No—because I’m not an idiot,” replied Whiska. “Now, take ‘dawn’ for example. That word means the time of day when the sun rises, obviously, or the beginning of something, but it also used to refer to the northern part of the Aberrinian province, before it was conquered by the Calipar horde.”
“You really know your history,” said Rummy admiringly. “And your etymology.”
“Yes, I do,” snapped Whiska, though she was clearly pleased with the compliment. “Given that saying ‘arrive at dawn when the sun appears,’ is redundant—just like the last line of the riddle—which suggests it means something different. I think it’s referring to a place, not a time of day.”
“Do you really think so?” said the rock. “Fascinating!”
“You know the answer, you ignorant igneous!” yelled Whiska.
“Actually, I don’t,” replied the rock. “I only know whether the answer you give is correct or incorrect when you say it, and then I forget it immediately. If someone were to ask me to answer the riddle, I wouldn’t be able to answer it.”
“That is a very weird enchantment,” I opined.
“It really is,” agreed the rock.
“What happens if we get the answer wrong?” asked Nadi.
“I smite you with lightning bolts,” replied the rock, very matter-of-factly. We all took a step back. The rock laughed. “I’m only kidding. The only thing that happens is I don’t open. And you have to wait a year to try again.”