Tig stood in response to this ritual request and shuffled towards the priest. Nervously, he glanced back at the other waiting man, hoping for encouragement, but the man stared at the ground as he probably contemplated his own problems.

While clutching his robe to stop his hands shaking, Tig slipped into the temple, his sandal-clad feet pattering on the marble floor. Once inside, he shuffled to the Oracle, a ten-foot wide circular hole in the floor. On the other side of the Oracle was a line of priests, all resplendent in ornate robes and cowls. The central priest wore a gold-trimmed robe, but had his cowl thrown so far over his face that he would only be able to see down into the Oracle. Through narrowed eyes, Tig followed the direction of the priest's gaze and below him in the oracle he saw miniature flashes of lightning illuminating small clouds.

He leaned forward, seeing that below the clouds there was land and a temple and...

The priest slapped Tig's previously submitted question scroll into his hand, shaking Tig out of his contemplation of the bewitching ring.

'You have your ten gold pieces?' the priest asked.

Tig nodded, his throat too dry to trust himself to speak.

'Then your audience with the Master will begin,' the priest continued. 'You will cast your gold into the Oracle. You will ask your question. The Master will answer your question. You will cast your question scroll into the Oracle. Then you will pay further appeasement to the Gods at the exit.'

Tig grunted in annoyance. He hadn't expected to pay more than ten gold pieces.

'What's the going rate?' he grumbled, shuffling from foot to foot.

'It depends on the conscience of the individual.' The priest lowered his voice. 'Actually, it depends on whether you like your answer. If the Master predicts riches, you might be more generous than if he tells you that you will be pecked to death by wild parrots.'

Tig nodded and, laying his fate in the hands of the Gods, cast his gold into the Oracle. The pieces plopped as they disappeared. After the tenth plop, the priest who wore the gold-trimmed robe threw back his cowl with a flourish.

'I am the Master,' he announced.

Although rooted to the spot, Tig mentally thought himself back a few feet.

With a flourish, the Master dragged a scroll from beneath his robes then unfurled it with a crisp motion. He set piercing blue eyes on Tig.

'What is your name?' he intoned with a voice that echoed through the temple.

'Tig,' Tig said, then coughed to remove the quaver in his voice, 'of the Belfar province, Tessoli.'

With a strangulated cry, the Master dropped his scroll, which clattered and spun on the ground. The other priests rustled as they moved back a pace.

'Tig,' the Master said slowly, 'of the Belfar province?'

'Yes, from Tessoli.'

'Oh.' The Master retrieved the scroll from between his feet. 'I was not expecting you just yet.'

'I can come back later. Although, not too much later, I have a ferry to catch.'

'You are probably here at the right time.' The Master's face became ashen, his forehead furrowing. 'Fate cannot be avoided. What happened, happened. What happens, happens. What will happen, will happen. I am just sorry.'

'You're sorry?'

'I am sorry for the misery you will suffer. Please forgive me.'

The Master appeared so forlorn that for a moment, Tig didn't register that he would suffer the misery. Then, he realised.

'No, no, no,' he cried, then slumped to the ground. 'I knew I shouldn't have come, but my wife insisted, and what do I get? A life of misery, and paying ten gold pieces for the privilege.'

'You can have a refund,' the Master said.

'The least of my troubles.' Tig stood, dusted his robes, and held his chin high as prepared to meet his fate. 'I chose to come. If it's bad news, I'm ready. It isn't your fault.'

'I'm afraid the fault is all mine,' the Master said in a deep voice that was a testament to the great age and wisdom to be found in the Delphic Oracle. 'Your terrible fate is the reason why I will remain a Master and will never become a Grandmaster and advise the richest in the land at a thousand gold pieces a time.'

'But we've never met, how did I stop you being a Grandmaster?'

The Master sighed. 'Past and future have no meaning to those who deal in prediction. Many years ago, as a student of prophecy, the First One tested me with questions that seekers of the truth, such as yourself, would later register with the Oracle. To become a Grandmaster, I needed to answer all the questions correctly and so for seven years I toiled over my answers. I knew my signs and portents, but I was too frivolous, too sloppy, too arrogant, in my youth. For seven more years, the First One considered, and then he informed me that one of my answers was wrong.'

'Mine?' Tig guessed.

'Yours,' the Master said, lifting a gnarled finger. 'And that one answer would lead you to a life of misery. So, here I am, just a Master, working at the Delphic Oracle instead of living a life of luxury as a Grandmaster.'

Tig stood for a few reflective moments, then smiled.

'Well, I'm sorry things didn't work out for you, but can I ask my question now?'

'As I say, it is appropriate that you should have a refund.'

Tig narrowed his eyes. 'But you took your test many years ago. Why should I get a refund now?'

'Because the answer I will give to your question is the official answer, but it is the wrong one. It is the answer I gave in the past, it was wrong then. It is the answer I must give now, it is wrong now. The answer will always be wrong until time itself ends and, worse of all, it will cause you misery.'

'Don't you change wrong answers?' Tig asked, his heart beating faster.

'No, although usually, the results are not as bad as in your case.' The Master rolled his scroll between his hands as he stared at his feet.

'Oh,' Tig said, scratching his head. He decided to end this audience quickly. 'Anyhow, moving on, my question for the Master of the Delphic Oracle is--'

'Large,' the Master said, his voice echoing.

'Pardon?'

'Large. I have known your question for many years and my answer is large.'

'That's wrong,' Tig snapped.

'I know,' the Master said with a sigh. He drummed his scroll against his other palm. 'That is what I have been trying to tell you.'

Tig winced, fighting back an urge to walk into the beckoning depths of the Oracle.

'But that can't possibly be the answer.'

'I know my answer is poor. It cost me dearly. Admittedly, not as much as it costs you, but you do not have to rub it in.' The Master straightened to his full height.

Tig waved his arms. 'That's not the point. If... If someone asked me, what colour is the sky? Then blue is the right answer and green is the wrong answer. But an answer of... of watermelon soup wouldn't be wrong, it'd be…' Tig chewed his lip as he struggled for the right word. '…stupid.'

'The ways of the Delphic Oracle are many and wondrous,' the Master said. 'Watermelon soup could be the answer. Soup has colour and, at times, possibly the sky's colour. Maybe in giving the answer, you were being colourful in your choice of language.'

'A good point,' Tig said, standing straight, 'but I picked a bad example. I'll think of a better one.'

'Do not try,' the Master said, pacing in a circle and affecting a lecturing tone, 'the ways of Delphic Oracle are many and wondrous. The stories I could tell you, you wouldn't believe. The answers I give to seekers of the truth are often poetic in the weaving of destiny and the immutable will of the Gods. Some seekers leave convinced I am mad or just making it up. Then years later, as they are gored to death by a bull, they realise why 'Horns can kill' was a valid answer to a request for good places to go on holiday.'

'Accepted, but my question isn't open to off-the-wall answers.' Tig pointed at his scroll. 'I left no chance for confusion by making it a 'yes or no' question and so, 'large' can't possibly be the answer.'

'Even though the answer is wrong?'

'Even though it's wrong, because it's not even a valid wrong answer.' Tig stamped his foot for emphasis.

'You still do not understand.' The Master stopped pacing and looked at Tig, smiling. 'Many seekers of the truth try to pin me down like that. They ask me: is there life after death? That is a cheeky question for ten gold pieces and 'large', although suitably enigmatic, might not seem a valid answer, but may prove to be once they have all the facts their destiny will deliver--which you do not.'

'But my question is, should I go on a quest to steal the jewels of Athena from the Dragon of Blad?' Tig set his feet wide for additional emphasis. 'Even given that it's wrong, 'large' isn't much of answer.'

'Its potential is not immediately obvious, but we have a problem: that question is not the one on my divine scroll.' The Master waggled his scroll at Tig. 'You have changed your question to avoid your fate, have you not?'

'I haven't,' Tig said, biting back his irritation that he hadn't considered doing this. He waggled his question scroll at the Master. 'It wouldn't be ethical.'

The Master rubbed his chin, pouting. Then he brightened.

'You are Tig, are you not?'

'Yes.'

'Of the Belfar province?'

'Yes.'

'From Tessoli?'

'Yes.'

'That is Tessoli, the sticky out bit by the mountains?'

'Yes, yes that's me.' Tig jumped up and down and even dared to shake a fist. 'I thought we'd established that some time ago.'

'Oh,' the Master said, dragging a sandal-clad foot in a circle. Then he looked up, smiling. 'Do you have a brother?'

'I thought you were supposed to be the all seeing arbiter of truth between the Gods and man.' Tig placed his hands on his hips, now more irritated at having wasted ten gold pieces than from the thought of his terrible fate.

'Actually, that is the definition of a Grandmaster. I am just a Master.'

Tig took a deep breath and counted to five.

'Anyhow, for 'large' to be a valid wrong answer, then the right answer has to be a size. Even then, it's not worth ten gold pieces.'

'Putting aside the problem of the different question on my divine scroll, I must say, you are lucky to get such an answer for ten gold pieces.' The Master waggled a reproaching finger at Tig. 'Reputation alone lets Grandmasters get away with far odder answers. Last week, one advised Princess Lenka that: Forests of artichokes can smell fishy, but not by candlelight, when she asked if her first born would be a boy or girl. That piece of wisdom cost her a thousand gold pieces and, here is the best bit, she liked the answer. For ten gold pieces you should not complain.' The Master shrugged. 'But, as 'large' is the wrong answer, possibly to the wrong question, I will offer more help. So, let us say you try to steal these jewels of Athena, but the Dragon of Blad attacks you, which is highly likely since the Dragon of Blad has the jewels of Athena in the first place. You are in mortal danger and…' The Master wheeled his arms vaguely. '…you have a large arrow and a small arrow. Which one would you use?'

'The large arrow. The Dragon of Blad is huge.'

'Right.' The Master raised a finger. 'And then again, wrong.'

'I know. The Dragon of Blad will kill me because you gave me the wrong answer. I should have used the small arrow.'

'Exactly.'

Tig shuffled on a circular walk of his own.

'I have a problem with this analogy. My question isn't, how do I kill the Dragon of Blad? But, should I go on a quest?'

'All right. Two days into your quest you meet an old crone. She has a basket of apples and--'

Tig waved his arms in the air. 'Stop! That's still a different question. If I'm on the quest and face a problem, that's different from wondering whether to go in the first place.'

'All right,' the Master snapped, 'two days before you leave you meet an old crone with a basket of apples and--'

'Still won't work, I have to go now or not go at all.'

'Why? Will the Dragon of Blad fly away?'

'No, but the ferry will.' Tig took a deep breath. 'Look, wise after the event won't help me, I want wise before. I've packed my bags and you're my final bit of advice. Then I'm leaving, or not. My question stands, should I go on a quest to steal the jewels of Athena from the Dragon of Blad? And none of that 'large' rubbish either, just a simple yes or no will do. Then I will leave, resigned to my miserable fate.'

'Even though my answer will be wrong?'

'Even though it's wrong. And there's no need for a refund either.'

The Master narrowed his eyes as he considered Tig, then shook his head.

'That will not work. You really cannot avoid your fate.'

'What won't work?'

'Knowing that I will give you the wrong answer, you have decided to ignore my response and do the opposite. You forget I am a Master of the Delphic Oracle. I know your intention and my answer will be right. You will ignore it and misery will still strike, as your fate has decreed.'

'Good point,' Tig said, his shoulders slumping.

'And, that will not work either.'

'What won't?'

'Knowing that I know you know I will give a wrong answer, you have decided to heed my original answer. You forget I am all seeing. I know that you know that I know.' The Master mouthed each 'I know' and 'you know' on his fingers, then nodded. 'Yes, that's right.'

Tig stared at his feet as he shuffled in a circle.

'I really can't escape, can I? If I heed your answer, I'm wrong. If I ignore it, I'm wrong. If you stick with answering 'large', no matter how I interpret it, I'm still wrong. The original mistake was yours, but my destiny is to do the wrong thing and the result is misery.'

The Master nodded. 'Fate is odd. You were fated to ask your question. I was fated to give bad advice. It is a trick of the Gods and not for mortal men to ponder.'

'You're right.' Tig stopped shuffling, now accepting his miserable fate.

'Anyhow, do not feel obliged to leave a donation. Today, the Gods have not been kind. If you want a refund, the head priest will organise it. I usually say come again, but perhaps not today.'

Tig gripped his robe as he prepared to leave with dignity, but then noticed he still held his question scroll.

'You know,' he said, 'in all our discussions on destiny and fate, I still haven't officially registered my question with the Oracle.'

The Master nodded. 'For official purposes, you should register. Just register the right question and accept my apologies. I am sorry that you cannot cheat your fate.'

But as Tig stared into the Oracle, a huge burning light of logic filled him. He punched the air.

'I can cheat fate! 'Large' is the wrong answer, but to a different question. You didn't expect me because I'm early. Probably forty years too early, or fifty. I will steal the jewels of Athena from the Dragon of Blad and be rich. The Gods are kind and I owe it all to you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.'

Tig danced a jig then collapsed to his knees.

'Slow down. You lost me there.'

'Where?'

'Very quickly after the word 'I'.'

'To recap,' Tig said as he stood and batted dust from his robe, 'I am fated to register a question. You are fated to answer 'large', a logical answer, but wrong, which leads me to a life of misery. The question, hypothetically, might be, which gladiator should I gamble my life savings on? And your answer is 'large' not small. Consequently, my life is ruined. With me so far?'

'I am,' the Master said. 'Continue.'

'In reality, my question was about stealing the jewels of Athena from the Dragon of Blad, but it isn't the question on your divine scroll. So, I won't ask my question. Instead, I'll go away, steal the jewels, and have a happy life. Then I'll return here when I'm old and ask a gladiator question or whatever is on your divine scroll. You will incorrectly answer 'large' and the answer will lead to my last few weeks being a bit miserable. Would that work?'

The Master rubbed his chin. Gradually, a smile spread across his face.

'It is logical, won't offend the Gods, and maintains your fate.' The Master tapped his scroll. 'Best of all, your plan agrees with my records.'

'Yes, yes, yes,' Tig cried. 'I don't know how to thank you. You really are a font of wisdom.'

'I am, and the usual way.'

'The usual way?'

'You said you did not know how to thank me. The usual way with an offering to the Gods will suffice.'

'No trouble and thank you again.' Tig skipped out of the temple.

The head priest closed the door on the delighted Tig and dawdled back to the Oracle. With his bottom lip stuck out, he stared at the Master.

'That doesn't count,' he said.

'It counts. I stuck with my answer.' The Master waggled a finger at the priest. 'And I got a donation and a repeat visit.'

'So what? The Grandmaster gets the donations and the repeat visit is in fifty years. Anyhow, he didn't officially register his question, so it doesn't count.' The priest stamped his foot. 'And my session was better. Telling someone that stealing the jewels of Athena from the Dragon of Blad will cure their haemorrhoids takes more ingenuity than saying 'large' a few times.'

'Yours was funnier, but mine was harder.'

'You did nothing. He argued himself into his own answer.'

'Shut up, you two,' a third priest grumbled as he removed his robes. 'I hate Friday afternoons and it's my turn to be the Master.'

'You're only grumpy,' the former Master said, 'because you never win.'

The new Master passed his robes to the former Master.

'I'm not. Shuffling all the answers every Friday afternoon is just plain childish.'

'It's traditional,' the former Master said, struggling into the priest's robes. 'On a Friday afternoon, the Grandmaster goes home early and we enjoy ourselves.'

Another Priest rummaged under his robes and drew out a bag.

'Anyway,' he said, sticking a hand in the bag, 'to end today's outpouring of wisdom, the last visitor's question and answer is--'

'I have been paying attention,' the new Master said, straightening his robes and resigning himself to another fruitless argument. 'We've already told the eunuch of the Goddess of Og that his eldest daughter will get married next summer, although he asked what type of Hydrangeas would survive the drought.'

The former Master laughed. 'If you ask me, he didn't look surprised.'

'Worst of all,' the new Master grumbled, 'the answer to that haemorrhoid question is still in the bag.'

The priest withdrew two slips of paper. 'You are quite right my poor unfortunate friend. The next question will be, will my eldest daughter ever marry? And your answer will be, rub your haemorrhoids with Leona root twice a day.'

While rubbing his hands, the former Master chortled at the new Master's expense.

'This is going to be good,' he said.

With a lunge, the new Master grabbed the divine scroll.

'That's ridiculous, I can't give that answer. It's not even a valid answer.'

'And you can't use that argument. I've already done it,' the former Master said, still grinning. 'Think up your own method.'

'I really do hate Friday afternoons.' The new Master rested his head in his hands and sighed. 'I suppose you'd better show the next seeker of the truth in and I'll get this over with as quickly as possible.'

The new head priest marched to the door.

'Enter the Delphic Oracle,' he announced with solemn dignity, 'and seek the truth you are destined to find.'

Behind the Master, one of the priests giggled.