Part 31 (2/2)

”What does it matter?” Sarah whispered. ”They're statues. How are we supposed to ask them anything?”

I looked at the two men. Each had one arm raised over his heart, the other down by his side. At the base of each statue was a small rectangular stone that rose slightly above the stones around it.

”Okay,” I said. ”We push that stone. That's how we ask. Does it say anything about chances? How many chances do we get?”

”It doesn't say.”

”We should be careful.”

”You're right,” Miles said. He reached out and pressed the stone in front of one statue.

”Miles!” Sarah cried.

The stone sank down under his finger. We heard the clicking of chains, and then, suddenly, the statue's arm began to move. Where the forearm met the elbow, there was a joint, disguised by the grooved folds of his robes. His arm actually rotated, like the hand of a clock, toward the statue's right. He came to rest pointing toward the right-hand door across the room.

”Well, it works.”

”That was stupid,” Sarah snapped. ”This isn't a game. Stop acting like it is. Someone could get hurt.”

”We had to try. What'd you want to do, talk about it until we lost our nerve?”

”Don't be stupid,” she said again, poking him in the chest with her finger.

”Okay, sorry.” He rubbed his chest, then nodded at the statue. ”Now we know. He wants us to go that way.”

”We don't know anything,” Sarah said. ”Is he the brother who lies or the brother who tells the truth? Maybe he's pointing us to our death.”

”Fine,” Miles said. He pushed the other stone.

”c.r.a.p!” Sarah shouted.

This time, the brother statue rolled his arm in the opposite direction, toward the door on the left.

”Great! Which way do we go now, genius?”

”Miles,” I said, ”stop touching and start thinking. Of course they were going to point in opposite directions. One's lying, one's not.”

”I knew that,” he said, sounding hurt. ”I don't hear you offering any brilliant ideas.”

”Just give me a minute to think.”

”Take your time,” Miles said. ”I feel really comfortable here.”

I closed my eyes. This was just logic. And logic was just math.

I was good at this.

Say that Truth equals +1. And a Lie is -1. Ask the lying brother, get a negative answer. Ask the truthful brother, get a positive answer.

But we don't know which one's which . . .

Come on . . . think.

It was a magic trick: we had to turn a lie into truth. In other words: how does a negative number become a positive number? . . .

Multiply it by another negative! Two negatives equal a positive!

So if you ask the liar, you have -1. How do you throw in another negative? Do the opposite of what he says! If he says go left, you go right! -1 times -1 equals +1.

But how do you know you're talking to the liar??

I mean, if you ask the truthful brother, then you're multiplying -1 times +1. You're back to the wrong answer.

s.h.i.+t!

So the question is: How do you make sure that second negative is in the equation?

Come on . . .

I felt my brain stretching, groaning . . .

Almost there . . .

”I got it,” I said.

Miles and Sarah stared at me.

”We ask either statue what his brother would say, and then we do the opposite.”

”What?”

”Huh?”

”Think it through. We don't know who is who. So if you ask the liar what his brother would say, his brother would tell us the truth, but the liar would lie about his brother's answer. So we do the opposite!”

1 x -1 x -1 = +1!

”Or, say we ask the truth-teller. His brother would lie, and he'd truthfully tell us which way his brother recommended. So again, we do the opposite.”

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