Tyrosciol thought and thought and thought some more.
This one had to be good. No, not just merely good, but excellent.
The sort of riddle that would finally even the score. His eyes wandered across his hoard.
Over mountains of gold, across crowns and goblets, past gemstones of every imaginable color.
Then they settled upon a single copper coin buried halfway beneath a silver plate.
Tyrosciol's eyes lit up.
"I have one," he said confidently.
The stranger waited.
Tyrosciol grinned broadly, showing his rows of teeth. "How many coins are in my treasure?"
The stranger stared at him.
"My treasure," Tyrosciol repeated, as if they didn't hear him. "How many coins are there?"
The stranger looked from him to the endless sea of precious metals, then back at him.
"That is not a riddle."
"Yes, it is. It has a correct answer."
"Does it? You are asking me to guess a number that you yourself don't know."
"Of course I know it, so of course there is an answer."
"You are asking me to guess a number that you yourself don't know. A riddle has an answer; this does not."
"You have enough information to solve it, don't you? I think you're making excuses because you're losing."
"Go on, tell me the answer."
Tyrosciol hesitated.
"Well, what does the answer matter? You lost because you don't know."
"Tell me," the stranger said again, in a stern tone.
Tyroscoil fumbled. "There are... uh... mhh... there are two-hundred-thousand-six-hundred-and-eighty-six coins in my hoard."
"That's not the answer."
"It is."
"It isn't."
"It is."
"It isn't."
Tyrosciol stamped one enormous foot.
Coins flew into the air.
"It is!"
"Shall I count the coins?"
Tyrosciol looked horrified.
"You would?"
"Don't I have the right to see if the answer is correct? Let me count them, and if there is a single coin more or less, then you lose."
"There has to be some sort of riddle etiquette for trust, no? Why don't you trust my answer?"
"I just want to make sure."
Tyrosciol inhaled deeply.
His cheeks puffed out.
His tail lashed behind him.
"This is unfair! I was winning! Or I felt like I was."
His other foot came down.
Another avalanche of treasure cascaded down the side of the hoard.
Several goblets rolled noisily across the cavern floor.
The stranger looked at him for a long moment.
Then, without another word, they crouched beside the nearest pile of treasure.
They picked up a single coin. "One," they said.
Then set it aside and took another. "Two."
They picked up a handful. "Three, four, five, six..."
Tyrosciol shifted uneasily atop his hoard.
This wasn't how the game was supposed to go.
They weren't supposed to verify the answer.
They were supposed to admit defeat.
That was considerably more convenient.
"Ten."
The little pile of counted coins slowly grew.
Tyrosciol looked from the pile to his beloved shard.
Then back to the pile.
He felt an unfamiliar sensation.
It might have been panic.
"Eleven."
Perhaps...
Perhaps he should stop them. His tail twitched.
"...What if..." he asked.
The stranger did not look up.
"Yes?"
"...What if I accidentally forgot a coin?"
"Then your answer would be incorrect."
"It might only be one."
"Then it would be incorrect by one."
Tyrosciol winced.
That sounded terribly final.