The Tree of Knowledge by Daniel Miller (room on the broom read aloud .txt) 📕

behavior in combat becomes even easier when we consider the demographics of the person and then adjust our strategy based on their body position at any given moment. Eva knew the security guard was an overweight man over the age of sixty.”

“So, she could assume with a high level of certainty that the man would not kick, headbutt, or bite,” said Ying.

“Exactly. Because at that age and in that physical condition, he was unlikely to have the flexibility or the creativity to attempt any of those methods. And even if he did, he’d almost certainly injure himself. It follows, then, that in combating the security guard, all Eva had to watch were the man’s hands, which drastically reduced the complexity of fighting him and enabled her to subdue him in probably less than a minute. No more difficult than beating a beginner in chess. Of course, the Tree gives you the power to subdue much fiercer foes than an overweight security guard.”

Albert thought back to the comic books that he used to read and couldn’t help daydreaming of himself as some type of masked superhero using the Tree of Knowledge to fight against ruthless enemies. The idea of using his brain to win against physically more powerful men excited him. For a moment, he forgot his fear.

“So, you’re going to use the Tree to clear Albert’s name and bring down Eva,” said Ying incredulously.

“Yes,” said the professor with a smirk. “But that’s the easy part.”

Chapter 3

Detective Weatherspoon’s eyes opened. He let out a whimper. He strained through the fog to see what lay in front of him, but his pupils were not yet adjusted to the light. As the blur of sleep faded from his vision, he made out what looked to be the cheap square tile of a hospital ceiling. He rubbed his face and looked around. His mouth and throat ached. He rolled over on his left side to see if he could locate a glass of water, but before he could get any further, he was interrupted by a voice behind him.

“The sleeping bear comes out of hibernation,” said a gravelly baritone.

Even in his dazed state, Weatherspoon knew the gruff voice of his captain, Pete Willard. While Willard had always been Weatherspoon’s superior, the two had been good friends for over two decades.

“What happened?” asked Weatherspoon, struggling to find enough liquid in his mouth to make sound. The cool hospital air trickled up the open back of his hospital gown.

The smile of relief that had first greeted Weatherspoon immediately faded from Willard’s face. “You mean, you don’t remember?”

Weatherspoon searched the files of his mind to remember how he had arrived at the hospital. “No, I don’t,” he said, surprised by his own words.

The captain bit his lip and assessed his confused patient. He broke the news slowly. “Mike, our police station came under attack.”

The detective rubbed his face to make sure he wasn’t still sleeping. “What?”

“I know. It’s unbelievable. We’re still piecing together what happened, but what we do know is that a white male, tall, slim build, entered the station at five p.m. He then attacked multiple officers and jammed enough Rohypnol in you to take down an elephant. You’ve been out for seventy-two hours.”

“What? Why?”

“We don’t know that yet. He took out Peggy as well, so we think it has something to do with the property room.”

Weatherspoon leaned back in his bed, exhausted.

The captain grabbed Weatherspoon’s shoulder and gave it a friendly pat.

“One last question, and then I should let you get back to sleep.” Willard pulled out a printout of a blurred black-and-white photo. “This is a still from the video recording of the perp who assaulted the station. Ever seen him before?”

The detective squinted at the picture. The man looked familiar, but through the pounding in his jaw and the cloud in his brain, he just couldn’t make a connection.

“I’ve seen the face before, but I can’t quite place it.” He paused and closed his eyes. “Give me some time. It will come to me.”

“Great. I’ll let you rest. If you remember who it is, let me know. In the meantime, I snuck in a few of your files on the chair here next to your bed in case you get bored. Oh, and while you were out, we ran the hair and fiber sample evidence for the McCutcheon case. Info’s in the file.”

The captain gave Weatherspoon a kind pat on the back of the hand and strolled out the door of the hospital room.

After fifteen minutes of staring at the ceiling and failing to find sleep, Weatherspoon grabbed the McCutcheon file. He opened the manila folder and was stunned to see the name of the man from the video.

DNA Match: Albert Puddles.

Chapter 4

Turner, Puddles, and Ying crossed the Vermont state line around midnight. Albert had reclined his seat and was now listening to Professor Turner explain how to bring the Tree of Knowledge to life. The combination of darkness, motion, and the steady approach and departure of headlights had lulled Albert into a sort of automotive hypnosis, which he wished he could escape.

“You see, in order to effectively use the Tree, you must abandon the assumptions and habits that we grow up with and embrace the rational laws that are the foundation of modern mathematics and logic,” said Turner.

“But don’t we do that in class every day?” asked Ying eagerly, wanting to explore the powers of the Tree.

“Yes, but dedicating your mind to reason when faced with a math problem is one thing. Focusing it when faced with the emotion, assumption, and distraction of the real world is an entirely different animal.”

“Is this why you spent all that time on syllogisms in your logic class, Angus?” said Albert. He was beginning to see that there might be more to what the professor was saying.

Turner’s smile broadened. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“Syllogisms?” asked Ying. “I’m not exactly sure I see how logic