Alcatraz versus the Knights of Crystallia (8 page)

"I . . . don't suppose it makes people explode when they
tell lies?"

“
Afraid not, lad."

"No red smoke?”

"No red smoke."

I sighed and tucked the Lens away anyway.
It did seem
useful, though after discovering it hidden in the tomb, I'd
really been hoping for some kind of weapon.

"Don't look so glum, lad," Grandpa Smedry said.
"I
don't think you understand the gem you hold in your
pocket.
That Lens could prove extremely useful to you over
the next few days.
Keep it close."

I nodded.
"I don't suppose you have another pair of
Firebringer's Lenses you could loan me?"

He chuckled. "Didn't do enough damage with the last
pair, eh?
I don't have any more of those, but . . . here, let me
see."
He fished around inside
his tuxedo jacket again. “Ah!”
he said, whipping out a pair of Lenses.
They glowed with a
modest light and had a violet tint.

That's right, violet. I wondered if the people who forge
Oculatory Lenses try to make us all look like pansies, or if
that was just accidental.

"What are they?" I asked.

"Disguiser's Lenses," Grandpa Smedry said. "Put them
on, focus on the image of someone in your head, and the
L
enses will disguise you to look like that person."

It seemed pretty cool.
I took the Lenses apprecia
tively.
"Can they make me look like other things?
Like, say,
a
rock?"

"I guess," Grandpa Smedry said.
"Though that rock
wo
uld have to be wearing glasses.
The Lenses appear in any
disguise you use."

That made them less powerful, but I figured I'd come
up with a way to use them. "Thanks," I said.

"I might have some other offensive Lenses I can dig up
later when I get back to the keep
"
Grandpa Smedry said."
I
suspect that we'll deliberate here for another two or three
hours before adjourning until the vote this evening.
It's
about ten right now; let's meet back at Keep Smedry in
three hours to share information, all right?"

"All right."

Grandpa Smedry winked at me.
"See you this afternoon,
then.
If you break anything important, be sure to blame it
on Draulin!
It'll be good for her."

I nodded, and we parted ways.

It
's
time
f
or
m
e
to talk about someone other than
myself.
Please don't be too heartbroken; once in a while, we
need to discuss somebody who is not quite as charming,
intelligent, or impressive as I am.

That's right, it's time to talk about you.

Occasionally, while infiltrating the Hushlands, I run
across enterprising young people who want to resist
Librarian control of their country.
You ask me what you
can do to fight. Well, I have three answers for you.

First, make sure you b
u
y lots and lots and lots of copies
of my books.
There are plenty of uses for them (I'll discuss
this in
a bit) and for every one you bu
y, we donate money
to the Alcatraz Smedry Wildlife Fund for Buying Alcatraz
Smedry Cool Stuff.

The second thing you can do isn't quite as awesome, but
it's still good.
You can
read
.

Librarians control their world via information.
Grandpa
Smedry says that information is a far better weapon than
any sword or Oculatory Lens, and I'm beginning to think
he might be right.
(Though the kitten chain saw I discussed
in book two is a close second.)

The best way to fight the Librarians is to read a lot of
books.
Everything you can get your hands on.
Then do the
third thing I'm going to tell you about.

B
u
y lots of copies of my books.

Oh, wait.
Did I already mention that?
Well, then, there
are
four
things you can do.
But this intro is already too long.
I'll tell you about the last one later.
Know, however, that it
involves popcorn.

"Okay," I said, turning to Bastille.
"How do I find this
Folsom guy?"

"I don't know," she said flatly, pointing.
"Maybe ask his
mom
, who is standing right there?"

Oh, right
, I thought.
Quentin's brother
,
th
a
t makes
Pattywagon his mother
.

She was talking animatedly (which is how she always
talks) with Sing.
I waved to Bastille, but she hesitated.

"What?" I asked.

"My mission is officially over," she said, grimacing and
glancing toward Draulin.
"I need to report at Crystallia."
Draulin had made her way toward the exit of the room, and
she was regarding Bastille in
that way of hers that was some
how both insistent and patient.

"What about your father?
" I said, glancing in the direc
tion he and Grandpa Smedry had disappeared.
"He barely
got time to see you two."

"The kingdom takes precedence over everything else."

That sounded like a rehearsed line to me.
Probably
something Bastille had heard a lot when growing up.

"Okay'' I said.
"Well, uh, I'll see you, then."

“Yeah.”

I braced myself for another hug (known in the industry
as a "teenage boy forced
reboot") but she just stood there,
then cursed under her breath and hurried out after her
mother.
I was left trying to figure out just when things
between us had grown so awkward.

(I was tempted to think back on all the good times we
had spent together.
Bastille smacking me in the face with
her handbag.
Bastille kicking me in the chest.
Bastille mak
ing fun of something dumb I'd said.
I would probably have
a good case for abuse if I hadn't also (1) broken her sword,
(2) kicked her first, and (3) been so awesome.)

Feeling strangely abandoned, I stepped
up
to my aunt
Patty.

"You done being affectionate with the young knight
there?" she asked me.
"Cute thing, isn't she?"

"What's this?" Sing said.
"Did I miss something?"

"Urk!" I said, blushing.
"No, nothing!"

"I'm sure," Patty said, winking at me.

"Look, I need to find your son Folsom!"

"Hum. Whatcha need him for?"

"Important Smedry business."

*Well, it's a good thing I'm an important Smedry, then,
isn't it!"

She had me there.
"Grandpa wants me to ask about
what the Librarians have been doing in town since he left."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Patty said.

"Because . . . well, I . . ."

"S
lowness of thought," Patty said consolingly.
"It's okay,
hon.
Your father isn't all that bright either.
Well, let's go find
Folsom, then!
See ya, Sing!"

I reached for Sing, hoping he wouldn't abandon me to
this awful woman, but he had already turned to go with
some other people, and Patty had me by the arm.

I should stop and note here that in the years since that
d
ay,
I've grown rather fond of Aunt Pattywagon.
This state
ment has nothing at all to do with the fact that she threatened
to toss me out a window if I didn't include it.

The mountainous woman pulled me from the room
and down the hallway.
S
oon we were standing in the sun
light on the front steps outside as Patty sent one of the
serving men to fetch transportation.

"You know
.”
I said, "if you tell me where Folsom is, I
could just go find him on my own.
No need to –“

"He's out and about on very important business,"
Patty said.
“
I'
ll
have to lead you.
I can't tell you.
You see,
as
a Librarian expert, he's been put in charge of a recent
defection."

"Defection?"

"Yes
,”
she said.
"You know, a foreign agent who decides
to join the other side?
A Librarian fled her homeland and
joined the Free Kingdoms.
My son is in charge of helping
her grow accustomed to life here.
Ah, here's our ride!"

I turned, half expecting another dragon, but apparently
we two didn't warrant a full-size dragon this time.
Instead,
a coachman rode up wit
h an open-topped carr
iage pulled
by rather mundane horses.

"Horses?" I said.

"Of course," Patty said, climbing into the ca
rri
age.
"What were you expecting?
A . . . what is it you call them?
A
pottlemobile?"

"Automobile," I said, joining her.
"No, I wasn't expecting
one of those.
Horses just seem so . . . rustic."

"Rustic?" she said as the coachman urged his beasts into
motion.
"Why, they're f
ar more advanced than those bot
tlemobiles you Hushlanders use!"

It's a common belief in the Free Kingdoms that ever
y
thing they have is more advanced than what we backward
Hushlanders use.
For instance
,
they like to say that swords
are more advanced than guns.
This may sound ridiculous
until you realize their swords are magical and are, indeed,
more advanced than guns
–
the
kinds of early guns the
Free Kingdomers had before they switched to silimatic
technology.

Horses, though . . . I've never bought that one.

"Okay, look," I said.
"Horses are
not
more advanced than
cars."

"Sure they are," Patty said.

"Why?"

"Simple.
Poop."

I blinked.
"Poop?"

"Y
u
p.
W
hat do those slobomobiles make?
Foul-smelling
gas. What do horses make?"

"Poop?"

"Poop," she said. "Fertilizer.
Y
ou get to go somewhere,
and you get a useful by-
p
roduct."

I sat back, feeling a little bit disturbed.
Not because of
what Patty said
–
I
was
used to Free Kingdomer rational
izations.
No, I was disturbed because I'd somehow managed
to talk about both excrement and flatulence in the course
of two chapters.

If I could somehow work in barfing, then I'd have a
complete potty humor trifecta.

Riding in the carriage allowed me a good look at the
city's people, buildings, and shops.
Oddly, I was just sur
prised by how . . . well, normal everyone seemed.
Y
es,
there were castles.
Yes, the people wore tunics and robes
instead of slacks and blouses.
But the expressions on their
faces
–
the
laughter, the frustration, even the boredom
–
were
just like those back home.

Actually, riding down that busy road
–
with
the castle
peaks rising like jagged mountains into the sky
–
felt
an
awful lot lik
e riding in a taxi through New Y
ork City.
P
eople
are people.
Wherever they come from or whatever they look
like, they're the same.
As the philosopher Garnglegoot the
Confused once said: "I'l
l have a banana and crayon sand
wich, please."
(Garnglegoot always did have trouble staying
on topic.)

"So where do all of these people live?" I asked, then
cringed, expecting Bastille to shoot back something like "In
their homes, stupid."
It took me a second to remember that
Bastille wasn't there to make fun of me.
That made me sad,
though I should have been ha
ppy to avoid the mockery.

"Oh, most of them are from Nalhalla City here," Patty
said.
"Though a fair number of them probably traveled in
today via T
r
ansporter's Glass."

"Transporter's Glass? "

Aunt Patty nodded her blond-haired head.
"It's some
very interesting technology, just developed by the Kuanalu
Institute over in Halaiki using sands your father discovered
a number of years ago.
It lets people cross great distances in
an instant, using a feasibly
economic expenditure of bright
sand.
I've read some very exciting research on the subject."

I blinked.
I believe I've mentioned how unreasonably
scholarly the Smedry clan is.
A remarkable number of
them are professors, researchers, or scientists.
We’
re like an
unholy m
ix of the Brady Bunch and the UC
LA honors
department.

"You're a professor, aren't you?
”
I accused.

"Why, yes, dear!" Aunt patty said.