🕵️‍♀️ The Art of the Lie: Root of Lies

Bataa is finally
joining our circle!
Let's throw him
a welcome party.

With games.
A welcome
needs games.

And drinks.
A welcome
needs drinks.

I'd love that!
But I can't leave
the farm
unattended
right now.

Come here
instead.
We'll have a
roots-and-all
welcome!

That pun 
has already
taken root.

Sassa! Will you
host your
famous The
Art of the Lie as
our icebreaker?

Seven new
acquaintances.
Permission
to interrogate
them. Fine.

I invited Birk, too.
He can't make it.

A social event
he has correctly
assessed.

Seven players draw
secret lots. One
becomes our
pretend thief.

That player moves
Bataa's prize
turnip from
exhibition slot four
into one of these
seven storage
drawers.

Storage drawers
run one to seven,
top to bottom.
Everyone privately
checks the hiding
place before
we begin.

Then one factual
statement each
about its drawer
number. The thief
must lie. All six
others must tell
the truth. No
guesses, no
extra clues.

Lots drawn. 
Turnip moved.
Each player
privately checks
the hiding place.

My finest turnip.
Treat it gently.

You gave it
seven 
bedrooms.
It'll
manage.

Before we
start—
where's Birk?

Still not coming.

Then why do I feel
quietly observed?

That's a shovel. It
has excellent
listening skills.

The drawer
number is
even.

Two pairs 
of arms. I
appreciate a
balanced
arrangement.

The drawer number is
greater than two.

Now, is this water
communal?

It is now.

The drawer number is
less than six.

A conclusion reached
without
destructive
vegetable testing.

Thank you for
discovering
restraint.

The drawer 
number is composite: a
whole number greater
than one with
factors besides one
and itself.

Good roots. Several
connections.

Even your
mathematics
grows
underground.

The drawer number is
not one.

That's my official
statement.
My
unofficial
statement: excellent
grass.

Please leave enough
for the windbreak.

The drawer number is
not seven.

One checked
fact. No
sensational headline
required.

A devastating blow
to your profession.

The drawer number is
exactly five.

A firm position in a
volatile market.

Recorded. Verbally.
Before anyone asks
whether the shovel
is taking notes.

Your turn. Which
drawer?
Who's
lying? Who took the
turnip?

Use the seven
statements.
Find six truths and
exactly one lie.

I know all
the rules.
Unfortunately,
this is my first
match.

No clue yet. 
Nobody
publish
my face.

Pause here to solve it.
You have everything Sassa has.

Start with Bataa.
Suppose his
composite-number
statement is false.

Then he's our 
one liar,
so everyone
else must be
truthful.

But Antlet requires
an even number.
Rollercoaster
requires exactly
five. Those
cannot both be true.

My innocence
has excellent
roots.

So Bataa must be
truthful. The
drawer number
is composite.

Between one and
seven, that leaves 
only four and six.

A controlled
reduction.No
vegetables
harmed.

Try six. Moly said
less than six: false.
Rollercoaster said
exactly five: 
also false.

Two lies. Our rules
permit one. So
six is impossible.

Two own
goals.
Eliminated.

That leaves four.

Even. Greater than
two. Less than six.
Composite. Not
one. Not seven.

Six true
statements.
And
four is not five.

Rollercoaster
supplied the only
lie. The rules
make her our thief.

Fourth drawer!
There's the turnip.

Confirmation. Not
the clue. The
statements already
settled it.

My position
has suffered
a catastrophic
correction.

I'm not going to
jail, am I? I
can't take Birk's
expressionless face.

Birk isn't here.

Exactly. And
somehow he's
maintaining eye
contact.

No jail. You drew
a lot. You didn't
acquire a
criminal record.

I gave it
back.That should
improve my rating.

I gave it
back.
That was
the insult.

You gave it back
because
we opened
the drawer.

Either way, a
well-rooted
recovery!

Stay for supper,
Sassa. You don't
have to run another
game.

An invitation
without a
task.
How
inefficient.

Pass the plate.

Finally. A favorable
social forecast.

A wonderful
welcome.
Thank
you, Bataa!

Come back
anytime.
You're
all part of the
patch now.

Wait. Did we say
goodbye to Birk?

I thought he
was standing
beside
the table all
evening.

Same expression.
Same silence.

I nearly 
offered him
a drink.

Good night,
Birk. Please
forget my 
statement.

It's a
shovel.
Stop
giving it a
caseload.