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not going to buy that.”
    “Ah, but this isn't just any leg. This is the Smith Model KL7-RA Prosthetic Locomotion Assistance Device.”
    “It looks like a cheap wooden leg.”
    “Will you buy it?”
    “Of course not. I've got two real ones of my own!”
    “At the moment, maybe, but a wise knight such as yourself knows the importance of planning ahead. Suppose you're off defending the kingdom and one of your legs were to become severed. Instead of losing hours of valuable work time lying around whimpering, you could merely strap on the Smith Leg and return to being a productive warrior.”
    “I'd bleed to death!”
    “Ah, but you wouldn't. The Smith Leg comes equipped with its very own tourniquet.”
    “But it's only a right leg,” Sir William pointed out. “What if I lost my left one? I'd be walking in circles for the rest of my life!”
    “Buy two.”
    “I don't need two. If I only lost one leg, I'd look pretty stupid walking around carrying a second fake one.”
    “Listen,” Lawrence explained, “I obviously can't guarantee that you'll lose both legs in the accident. But there's still a fifty-fifty chance that it will be your right leg, making this a low-risk purchase.”
    “Is it durable?”
    “Oh, yes indeed. Keep it out of direct light and it'll last you for months.”
    “There's a big crack in it!”
    “That's supposed to be there. It's for ventilation.”
    “I'm not buying a cracked leg.”
    “ Will you forget about the leg ?” screamed Randall, having listened to exactly three more syllables of this conversation than his brain could handle. “Lawrence, we need your help. Do you know how to get to the lair of the witch Grysh?”
    “Why, have you got a terminal disease?”
    “No. Can she cure them?”
    Lawrence shook his head. “I just figured you wanted to commit suicide.”
    “Answer the question,” said Sir William. “Can you direct us there?”
    “Sure I can.”
    “Thank you.”
    “If you buy the leg.”
    “You little weasel!”
    “Come on, I'm making you a great deal here. I'm actually losing money on this sale!”
    “I'm not buying that useless leg, and that's final.”
    “Uh, sire?” said Randall. “If that's the only way he'll direct us to Grysh's lair, I think you should buy it.”
    “But it's the principle of the whole matter!” declared Sir William. “I refuse to pay my hard-earned money for shoddy merchandise! If I buy this leg now, where will it end?”
    “Right at your waist,” said Lawrence. “Ha-ha, just a little traveling salesman humor there.”
    “I'm going to slay him,” said Sir William. “Don't try and stop me.”
    “I won't.”
    “All right, all right,” said Lawrence. “How about this. I'll sell you the leg for a dvorkin. One lousy dvorkin. You can't even get a glass of water without dead bugs in it for a dvorkin, and here I am offering to sell you this wonderful leg for one.”
    “Fine!” snapped Sir William, digging in his pocket until he found one of the tiny coins. “Here!”
    Lawrence took the dvorkin. “Not a very shiny one, is it?”
    “Shut up! Gimme the leg!” Sir William snatched the leg out of his hand, then heaved it as far away as he could. “Now where does the witch live?”
    “That's not fair,” protested Lawrence. “How are customers supposed to see how superb the Smith Model KL7-RA Prosthetic Locomotion Assistance Device is if you just threw it away?”
    “I'll spread the word,” Sir William told him.
    “But verbal advertising is much less effective than visual.”
    Sir William stepped forward, arms reaching toward Lawrence's neck. The salesman quickly took the hint. “Okay, let me see your map.” He took the parchment then began making various notations on it. “Whoever did this had no clue how the forest is organized. You're lucky you found me.” He gave the map back to Sir William. “There you go.”
    Sir William looked the map over. “Yes, this is much clearer now. Thank you.”
    “Could I come with you