"What happened?" Wilbur asked.
"The door opened just as he was going by and he walked into the edge of it. He's got a black eye."
"Good-bye," Wilbur said. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end as he moved toward the door of the room.
"Come back here," Merlin commanded. "You want me to make you brave, don't you?"
Wilbur's mind whirled. He had fallen into the hands of this old madman and now he didn't know how to get away. Who knew what might happen to him? He had to think of something.
"What do you charge?" he asked. No matter what Merlin said Wilbur was prepared to say he didn't have that much. In no way was he prepared for Merlin's words.
"Your right eye."
A cold sweat formed on Wilbur Mook's brow. His teeth chattered. Down at his little toe a tremor started and worked its way up along his spine. The roof of his mouth turned dry as dust and his throat was parched.
"I haven't got it," he choked. Because he had been ready to say that he had said it automatically. Too late he realized it was the wrong answer.