Combeferre catches the look the sphinx gives Meta.

It's...not entirely hostile. Combeferre takes this as an encouraging sign.

The sphinx looks dubious. "It's tradition," he says. "It is the law, taught to us as children, by our mothers and fathers if we are lucky, by--it does not matter." The sphinx frowns. "We do not share riddles. We pose the riddles we are given."

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. "Why not change the riddle, then? It must have been invented by someone. Perhaps you could make your own riddle."

The sphinx's frown grows deeper.

"Or you could answer ours," Combeferre adds. "If there were a well-dressed, curly-haired man, and a bald man in an old coat with holes, both men prone to witticisms that verge on the improper, and if those men were somewhere in this Labyrinth, where would they be?"

"It's our traditional riddle," Combeferre says, as the sphinx continues to look annoyed and confused.