Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Fiction January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] A fearsome thing is a thing you're afraid of—and it has nothing blackness, but a mind-enveloping darkness that was filled with the multi-colored little sparks of thoughts and memories that scattered through the darkness like tiny glowing mice, fleeing from something unknown, fleeing outwards and away toward a somewhere that was equally longer scattering the fleeing memories, but merely blanketing them. And distances, trying to fit them together again in an ordered whole. Like a vast jigsaw puzzle in five dimensions, little clots and patches formed as the bits were snuggled into place here and there. The process was far from complete when Broom regained consciousness. Broom sat up abruptly and looked around him. The room was totally the effect was greater for, but it wouldn't come. A face flickered in his mind for a moment, bed, covered with a thick, even, resilient layer of fine material of some kind. It was some sort of carpeting that covered the floor from it looked almost normal, except that the objects on it were like nothing that had ever existed. Their purposes were unknown, and their shapes meaningless. fine wood. He walked over and touched it. And knew immediately that, no matter what it looked like, it wasn't wood. The illusion was there to the eye, but no wood ever had such a hard, smooth, glasslike surface as this. He jerked his fingertips away. objects on the table and pull his hand away from the unnatural wall. It was fear. Fear? Nonsense! He put his hand out suddenly and slapped the wall with this was no time to start. What would his men think of him if they saw him getting shaky over the mere touch of a The memories were coming back. This time, he didn't try to probe for them he just let them flow. things that lay on its shining surface. He had already decided that the table was no more wood than the wall, and a touch of a finger to the surface verified the decision. The only thing that looked at all familiar on the table was a sheaf of written material. He picked it up and glanced over the pages, noticing the neat characters, so unlike any that he knew. He couldn't read a word of it. He grinned and put the sheets back down on the smooth table top. the table. He circled around and took a look at the thing. It had levers and knobs and other projections, but their functions were not immediately discernible. There were several rows of studs with various unrecognizable symbols on them. This would certainly be something to tell in London—when and if he ever got back. He reached out a tentative finger and touched one of the symbol-marked studs. controlled forces beyond his ability to cope with, or understand. After Time? What had Contarini said about time? Something about its being like a ... something else. What? which direction? Toward the future, obviously plain that going into the past was impossible. Then could he, Broom, get a man's memories. Well, wasn't that obvious anyway? Even normal movement would come back, and he could orient himself. Meanwhile, he might as well explore his surroundings a little more. He resolved to keep his Broom decided he might as well get a good look at whatever was outside Broom backed away from the window and let the curtain close. He'd had He skirted the table with its still-humming machine and walked toward unfamiliar, outlandish clothing, but Broom had seen odder clothing in reflecting the face of a man who stood invisibly before it. It wasn't, of course chair. Broom's footsteps sounded loud in the room, the echoes rebounding than the carpet it had a kind of queer resiliency of its own. well lit. For the first time, he thought of the possibility that there might be someone else here besides himself. He looked around, wishing that he had a weapon of some kind. Even a knife would have made him feel hardly allowed to carry weapons with them, so none had been available. of some kind, but it had been difficult to tell whether there had been His wish for a weapon came back, stronger than before. The very fact of a known enemy would have done. The door had a pane of translucent glass in it, and there were more of the unreadable characters on it. He wished fervently that he could decipher them they might tell him where he was. rapidity. It was a great deal thinner and lighter than he had supposed. He looked down at it, wondering if there were any way the door could be locked. There was a tiny vertical slit set in a small metal panel in the door, but it was much too tiny to be a keyhole. Still— It didn't matter. If necessary, he could smash the glass to get through insistence, as though it wanted to close itself. He almost let it close, but, at the last second, he changed his mind. , he thought to himself. He went back into the office and looked around for something to prop the door open. He found a small, beautifully formed porcelain dish on one of he had a feeling that he would find no exit through any of them. They He had the terrible feeling that he had been drawn across time to this place for a purpose, and yet he could think of no rational reason for stone-walled dungeon, with its smelly straw beds, lit only by the faint shaft of sunlight that came from the barred window high overhead. Broom outranked the little Italian, but prison can make brothers of all Broom held back a grin. "Then why, my Venetian friend, have you not left "Afraid?" Broom raised an eyebrow. He had seen Contarini on the battlefield, dealing death in hand-to-hand combat, and the Italian hadn't impressed him as a coward. "I hope, my dear Contarini," Broom said dryly, "that you are not under I am a saint." than I can say for myself. Besides, there is the blood of kings in your veins. And has not a king protection that even a man of noble blood such Broom had thought that over for a moment, then grinned. "All right, my The memory faded from Broom's mind. Had he really moved through some Instinctively, he turned and ran back toward the room he had left. If he perhaps—somehow—some force would return him to where he belonged. scooped up the dish in one big hand and ran on into the room, letting concentration, trying to bring back a memory that would not come. Broom's eyes opened, and instantly every muscle and nerve in his his clothes. He was not as tall as Broom, and he looked soft and overfed. His paunch protruded roundly from the open front of the short coat, and there was a fleshiness about his face that betrayed too much good living. the tenseness in his voice betrayed his fear. Broom relaxed. He had "I won't hurt you," Broom said. "I had no intention of intruding on your property, but all I ask is help." The little man was blinking and backing away, as though he were going to turn and bolt at any moment. Broom laughed. "You have nothing to fear from me, little man. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Richard Broom, known as—" He stopped, and his were gone. Of that there can be no doubt. Why did you return?" Richard Broom sat up on his palette of straw. The scene in the strange "What? Would England hesitate to ransom the brave king who has fought so held in his hand, the fear still in his heart. Men would still call him "Lion-hearted," but he knew that he would never again deserve the title. that stood by the electric typewriter on his desk. "That's right, Officer of coffee. When I came back, he was here—a big, bearded man, wearing a thing that looked like a monk's robe made out of gunny sack. What? No, I he was holding that in his hand when I saw him. What? Oh. Where did he go?" Mr. Jasperson paused in his rush of words. "Well, I must have gotten a "But I think you can pick him up if you hurry. With that getup on, he

<question>:
Which of the following weapons was Broom most likely wishing for?

<options>:
A A gun
B A knife
C A sword
D A pen

<answer>:

C