Free The Prisoner's Dilemma by Trenton Lee Stewart Page B

desk. “As a compromise gesture, however, I have composed a modest riddle that I believe to be pertinent. No doubt you’ll soon have solved it.”
    “Oh, but please!” pressed Kate, rising along with the other children (all straining for a glimpse of the riddle). “If you think we can solve it so fast, then why must we wait…” She trailed off, noting Mr. Benedict’s raised eyebrows, a sure sign that she had missed something. She turned to Reynie, who shrugged resignedly and said, “The assignment isn’t to
find
the best answer, remember? It’s to reflect upon it.”
    Mr. Benedict smiled. “Sometimes the answer is only the beginning, as you well know. Now, I promise we’ll discuss this again, but in the meantime we must all turn to other tasks. Lessons, in your case, which reminds me…” Mr. Benedict laced his fingers together and gazed in an encouraging way at Constance. “Your friends have agreed to participate in a new exercise I’ve devised. I wonder if you would be willing yourself? I think you might enjoy this one…”
    By the time Mr. Benedict had explained his idea, Constance was clapping her hands and bouncing in place, quite giddy with anticipation. The other children looked at one another and shifted uncomfortably.
    “Wonderful!” Mr. Benedict said. “How about tomorrow, then? Moocho tells me he has the necessary ingredients, and Milligan has agreed to secure the ice cream, so if tomorrow suits you—say, just after lunch?”
    “As soon as possible!” Constance cried.
    “Tomorrow it is, then,” said Mr. Benedict. “In the meantime, my friends, you’ll have my riddle to consider—”
    “And their afternoon lessons,” prompted Number Two, snatching the slip of paper before the children could grab it.
    “And your afternoon lessons,” Mr. Benedict agreed. “So off you go!”

What May Be Perceived

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    A s soon as they had finished doing their lessons (or in Constance’s case, avoiding them), the children raced upstairs. All afternoon the coveted slip of paper had peeked tantalizingly from the pocket of Number Two’s yellow blazer, but at last they were in possession of it. They had a full hour before supper, time enough to take a crack at the riddle.
    Flinging her jacket onto a peg, Kate threw open the window (the girls’ room was on the overheated third floor), then collected her friends’ jackets and cardigans and hung them tidily in the closet. This room was the tidiest in the house—no small miracle considering who occupied it, but not even Constance’s willful slovenliness could withstand the attentions of her tireless roommate. Kate would no sooner leave shoes out to be tripped over than she would leave her bottle of super-strength glue uncapped. The girls’ room, therefore, with its uncluttered, spotless rug, was always the natural place for the Society’s meetings.
    “Hurry
up,
Kate,” said Constance, who had just sat down. “You’re always making us wait!”
    “I know, it’s terrible,” Kate replied carelessly, and she somersaulted onto the rug next to Constance as Reynie and Sticky settled down across from them.
    Reynie unfolded the slip of paper. “Okay,” he said, glancing up at the others, and after a short, tension-filled pause, he began to read aloud:

    The answer to this riddle has a hole in the middle,
    And some have been known to fall in it.
    In tennis it’s nothing, but it can be received,
    And sometimes a person may win it.
    Though not seen or heard it may yet be perceived,
    Like princes or bees it’s in clover.
    The answer to this riddle has a hole in the middle,
    And without it one cannot start over.

    “It’s a trap!” Sticky cried with such vehemence that Reynie wrenched around, half-expecting to see a Ten Man leering from the doorway, and Kate snatched up her bucket and flew to the window.
    Sticky glanced wildly about, his heart pounding. “What is it? What’s going on?”
    Kate was peering intently into the