Barnaby's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

The crows stuffed Barnaby into a sunflower suit before he could argue. It squeezed tight. Petals popped around his face. His vines poked through the seams and knotted into nervous loops. He waddled into the contest square feeling ridiculous. Then a crow with bottle-cap glasses screeched, and a big wooden gavel banged down. The contest boss glared at him from her perch. She banged the gavel again. "You wanna compete? Then let somebody WIN!" She shoved a crinkly scroll at him. Barnaby unrolled it. His own faded ink stared back. It was his riddle, the unbeatable one, a hundred years old. The rule was simple. No contestant could stay who had never let a single soul pass. Barnaby's whole job was making people fail. Now he had to coach somebody to beat him. A tiny kid in a too-big cape bounced up to the chalk ring. "I'll try! I answer riddles first try, always." The kid grinned, all teeth and freckles. Pip. Barnaby had seen Pip glowing on Main Street, trading hints for candy. Up close Pip was all questions and quick wit, exactly the sort who wriggled past gates like his. "Fine," Barnaby grumbled. His vines twisted into knots behind his back. He read the scroll aloud. "I have no mouth but scream at night." Pip scrunched up tight. "Easy. The wind." Barnaby's grin cracked. He did not even remember his own answer. The ink was too old. His vines sprouted a sunflower and pointed accusingly at the scroll, as if blaming it. "That's... not it," he lied, panicking. "Two tries left." Pip squinted at him. "You don't know, do you?" The gavel boss leaned in. Barnaby's petals wilted. His whole tenure stood on never letting anyone through. If he coached Pip, he lost the one rule that made him a gatekeeper. If he didn't, the crows lost their trophy, and he lost the one night they built for him. Barnaby knelt in the chalk dust. He whispered so the boss couldn't hear. "The answer doesn't matter anymore. Just guess loud and sure. I'll say you're right." Pip's eyes went wide. "You're letting me win?" "I'm letting someone pass," Barnaby said. "First time ever." Pip stood tall and shouted, "A ghost!" Barnaby rose. His vines unknotted. "Correct," he boomed. "Head through." The boss banged her gavel one last time. "He let somebody win! He's in!" The crows exploded into cheers. Pip hugged Barnaby's stuffed sunflower middle and dashed off toward the candy stalls. Barnaby stayed in the chalk ring, suit creaking. He had broken his own rule. He was a contestant now, not a guard. And far behind him, past the cheering, his gate still hung open in the dark, with no one left to shut it.