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

there is a one-third chance that it is the door with the car, right? Well, then it logically follows that there is a two-thirds chance that it is not behind door number one and that the car is behind doors two or three. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“Then, continuing on that logical path, when the host shows you that door number three does not have a car behind it, but we know that there is a two-thirds chance that the car is behind either door two or door three, then it logically follows that there is now a two-thirds chance that it is behind door number two since we now know for a fact that it’s not behind door number three. Consequently, we should choose to switch to road number two because there is a two-thirds chance that road two is the correct road and a one-third chance that road one is the correct road.”

“Correct again,” grunted the speaker, and the gates opened.

“You’re welcome, Albert,” said Ying.

Albert raised his hands in mock enthusiasm. “Thank you so much. Can we go now?”

“Yes, we can go, you big stick-in-the-mud,” said Turner. “Well done, Ms. Koh.”

Turner took road number two through the blinding darkness. Upon reaching the main house and exiting the car, Turner pulled Ying and Albert aside.

He whispered, “Just so you know, Sergeant Travis is a military man who’s lived hard and does not put much stock in pleasantries and small talk, so if he seems somewhat gruff and rude, don’t take it personally, and don’t try to small talk him or soften him up. He won’t appreciate your efforts.”

The two nodded their consent, and as they entered the large wood building, both Ying and Albert knew exactly what the professor had meant.

Standing before them in the middle of a beautiful great room that looked like something out of a hunting lodge stood a man who resembled a monument more than a human being. To his left crackled a beautiful fire. The flames lit up his face and skin as though he had been created out of molten rock and the left side of his body was just now cooling off. His face was that of a man in his late forties, but a rugged strength belied those years. He wore brown boots, starched jeans, and a shirt that clung to him like a second skin. Underneath him was a rug made of an animal skin that Albert couldn’t readily recognize, and he was flanked by leather couches from a time when men smoked cigars, drank brandy, and thought great thoughts.

“Hello, Sergeant. Thank you so much for taking us in,” said Turner, offering a fake salute and scampering over to the man of rock.

“It’s good to see you, Professor,” said Sergeant Travis, though his face failed to provide any hint of pleasure or welcome.

“Sergeant Brick Travis, I’d like to introduce you to two of my colleagues: Ying Koh and Dr. Albert Puddles.”

Despite himself, as he approached the sergeant to shake his hand, Albert let out a small smirk.

“Is something funny, Doctor?” asked Travis, grabbing Albert’s hand and bringing it toward him in a way that made Albert yearn for the crushing shake of Detective Weatherspoon.

“I’m sorry, is your name really Brick? It just sounds like something out of G.I. Joe,” said Albert, looking around to Turner and Ying like a comedian searching for a laugh from his audience. The second the words dropped from his lips, Albert realized his mouth had disassociated from his brain. This occasionally happened when he was nervous, but until right now, he had thought he was overcoming it.

Brick Travis stared at Albert without smiling and replied, “Real name’s Jeremy, but you call me Brick. Is your name really Puddles?” He still gripped Albert’s hand like a vise.

Albert had to admit the sergeant had gotten the better of him, but the pressure in his hand—and his attempt not to yelp—made response impossible. The silence between the two men was fortunately interrupted by a loud guffaw from Ying.

Brick gave Albert one more long look up and down as if he were sizing up a new recruit that he knew would take some work and then turned to Ying.

Ying smiled and gave a dramatic mock curtsy.

Just as he had seen so many times before, Albert watched as a man made of power and stone turned into a teddy bear around Ying Koh. Brick turned to Ying and said, “Welcome, ma’am,” in a soft voice, and shook her hand gently.

“Travis, I’m sorry I had to be so brief with you on the intercom, but we are in a spot of trouble and I’m afraid I couldn’t get into the details,” said Turner.

“I figured,” said Brick. “Why don’t we have a seat and you can give me the lowdown.”

“Albert, since you have been the hub around which the story spins, why don’t you do the honors.”

Albert laid his eyes upon Brick one more time and attempted to gather his thoughts. It was clear that the man would not appreciate any artistic embellishments in storytelling.

He gulped and began his tale. “Yesterday morning, I received an unexpected visit from the police. A burglary, which included a murder, had been committed at the Bank of Princeton. In the struggle with the thief before he died, the security guard was able to snatch a paper from the thief’s pocket.”

Albert proceeded to brief Travis on the particulars of the last few days until the military man raised his hand to interrupt.

“Did you say she took out the entire police station?”

“Correct.”

This piece of information had clearly piqued Brick’s interest. Albert was slightly flattered that he had shared something interesting enough to capture the attention of a man who fought battles for a living.

“We knew that if the police found me, I would immediately be arrested and potentially worse, and so Professor Turner suggested we come here, collect ourselves, and make a plan to clear my name and expose the truth about Eva.”

“Eva? You don’t mean Eva Fix?” questioned Brick, his eyes