‘Does it have to be that way?’ she asked. ‘Why, we’re old friends!’
‘Hardly. Why have you come here?’
The old grandmother sighed, then walked forward on shaky legs, back bowed with age, using a cane to walk. The room was carpeted with a large maroon rug, the walls bearing similar tapestries, along with several formal-looking couches for meeting with dignitaries. She didn’t sit in one of these, however, she just walked up to my grandfather.
‘You never have forgiven me for that little incident, have you?’ the Librarian asked, fiddling in her handbag.
‘Incident?’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘Kangchenjunga, I believe you left me dangling from a frozen mountain cliff, my foot tied to a slowly melting block of ice, my body strapped with bacon and stuck with a sign that read “Free Wolf-chow.”’
She smiled wistfully. ‘Ah, now that was a trap. Kids these days don’t know how to do it correctly.’ She reached into her handbag. I tensed, and then she pulled out what appeared to be a plate of chocolate chip cookies, wrapped in plastic wrap. She handed these to me, then patted me on the head. ‘What a pleasant lad,’ she said, then turned to my grandfather.
‘You asked why I had come, Leavenworth,’ she said. ‘Well, we want the kings to know that we are serious about this treaty, and so I have come to speak before the final vote this evening.’
I stared down at the cookies, expecting them to explode or something. Grandpa Smedry didn’t seem worried – he kept his eyes focused directly on the Librarian.
‘We won’t let this treaty happen,’ Grandpa said.
The Librarian tsked quietly, shaking her head as she shuffled out of the room. ‘So unforgiving, you Smedrys. What can we do to show that we’re sincere? What possible solution is there to all of this?’
She hesitated by the door, then turned and winked at us. ‘Oh, and don’t get in my way. If you do, I’ll have to rip out your entrails, dice them into little bits, then feed them to my goldfish. Toodles!’
I stared in shock. Everything about her screamed ‘kindly grandmother.’ She even smiled in a cute old-lady sort of way when she mentioned our entrails, as if discussing a favored knitting project. She exited, and a couple of keep guards followed her.
Grandpa Smedry sat down on one of the couches, exhaling deeply, Folsom sitting next to him. Sing still stood by the door, looking disturbed.
‘Well, then,’ Grandpa said. ‘My, my.’
‘Grandfather,’ I said, looking down at the cookies. ‘What should we do with these?’
‘We probably shouldn’t eat them,’ he said.
‘Poison?’ I asked.
‘No. They’ll spoil our dinner.’ He stopped, then shrugged. ‘But that’s the Smedry way!’ He slipped a cookie out and took a bite. ‘Ah, yes. As good as I remember. One of the nice things about facing off against Kangchenjunga is the treats. She’s an excellent baker.’
I noticed a motion to the side, and turned as Himalaya entered the room. ‘Is she gone?’ the dark-haired former Librarian asked.
‘Yes,’ Folsom said, standing up immediately.
‘That woman is dreadful,’ Himalaya said, sitting down.
‘Ten out of ten points for evilness,’ Folsom agreed.
I remained suspicious of Himalaya. She had stayed outside because she didn’t want to face a former colleague. But that had left her unsupervised. What had she been doing? Planting a bomb, like the one that blew up the Hawkwind? (See, I told you I hadn’t forgotten about that.)
‘We need a plan,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘We only have a few hours until the treaty vote. There has to be a way to stop this!’
‘Lord Smedry, I’ve been talking to the other nobility,’ Sing said. ‘It . . . doesn’t look good. They’re all so tired of war. They want it to end.’
‘I’ll agree the war is terrible,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘But, Clustering Campbells, surrendering Mokia isn’t the answer! We need to show them that.’
Nobody responded. The five of us sat in the room for a time, thinking. Grandpa Smedry, Sing, and Folsom enjoyed the cookies, but I held off. Himalaya wasn’t eating them either. If they were poisoned, then she would know.
A short time later, a servant entered. ‘Lord Smedry,’ the young boy said, ‘Crystallia is requesting a Swap Time.’
‘Approved,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
Himalaya took a cookie and finally ate one. So much for that theory, I thought with a sigh. A short time later, Bastille walked in.
I stood up, shocked. ‘Bastille! you’re here!’
She appeared dazed, like she’d just suffered a repeated beating to the face. She looked at me and seemed to have trouble focusing. ‘I . . .’ she said. ‘Yes, I am.’
That gave me chills. Whatever they’d done to her in Crystallia must have been horrible if it left her unable to make sarcastic responses to my dumb comments. Sing rushed to pull over a chair for her. Bastille sat, hands in her lap. She was no longer wearing the uniform of a squire of Crystallia – she had on a generic brown tunic and trousers, like a lot of the people I’d seen in the city.
‘Child,’ Grandpa Smedry said, ‘how do you feel?’
‘Cold,’ she whispered.
‘We’re trying to think of a way to stop the Librarians from conquering Mokia, Bastille,’ I said. ‘Maybe . . . maybe you can help.’
She nodded absently. How were we going to involve her in helping expose the Librarian plot – and thereby get her knighthood back – if she could barely talk?
Grandpa Smedry glanced at me. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think I’m going to go break some crystal swords,’ I snapped.
‘Not about Bastille, lad,’ Grandpa said. ‘I can assure you, we’re all in agreement about how she’s been treated. We’ve got larger problems right now.’
I shrugged. ‘Grandpa, I don’t know anything about politics back in the Hushlands, let alone the politics here in Nalhalla! I have no idea what to do.’
‘We can’t just sit here!’ Sing said. ‘My people are dying as we speak. If the other Free Kingdoms remove their support, Mokia won’t have the supplies to keep fighting.’
‘Maybe . . . maybe I could look at the treaty?’ Himalaya said. ‘If I read it over, perhaps I would see something that you Nalhallans haven’t. Some trick the Librarians are pulling that we could show to the monarchs?’
‘Excellent!’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘Folsom?’
‘I’ll take her to the palace,’ he said. ‘There’s a public copy there we can read.’
‘Lord Smedry,’ Sing said, ‘I think that you should speak to the kings again.’
‘I’ve tried that, Sing!’
‘Yes,’ the Mokian said, ‘but maybe you could address them formally in session. Maybe . . . I don’t know maybe that will embarrass them in front of the crowds.’
Grandpa Smedry frowned. ‘Well, yes. I’d rather do a daring infiltration, though!’
‘There . . . aren’t many places to infiltrate,’ Sing said. ‘The entire city is friendly toward us.’
‘Except that Librarian embassy,’ Grandpa Smedry said, eyes twinkling.
We sat for a moment, then glanced at Bastille. She was supposed to be the voice of reason, telling us to avoid doing things that were . . . well, stupid.
She just stared forward, though, stunned from what had been done to her.
‘Blast,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘Somebody tell me that infiltrating the embassy is a terrible idea!’
‘It’s a terrible idea,’ I said. ‘I don’t know why, though.’
‘Because there’s not likely to be anything of use there!’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘They’re too clever for that. If anything, they have a secret base somewhere in the city. That’s where we’d need to infiltrate, but we don’t have time to find it! Somebody tell me that I should just go speak to the kings again.’
‘Uh,’ Sing said, ‘didn’t I just do that?’
‘I need to hear it again, Sing.’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘I’m old and stubborn!’
‘Then, really, you should speak to the kings.’
‘Spoilsport,’ Grandpa Smedry muttered under his breath.
I sat back, thinking. Grandpa Smedry was right – there probably was a secret Librarian lair in the city. My bet was that we’d find it somewhere near where my mother vanished when I was trailing her.
‘What are the Royal Archives?’ I asked.
‘They’re not a library,’ Folsom said quickly.
‘Yes, the sign said that,’ I replied. ‘But if they aren’t a library, what are they?’ (I mean, telling me what something isn’t really wasn’t all that useful. I could put out a blorgadet and hang a sign on it that said ‘Most certainly not a hippopotamus’ and it wouldn’t help. I’d also be lying, since ‘blorgadet’ is actually Mokian for hippopotamus.)
Grandpa Smedry turned toward me. ‘The Royal Archives—’
‘Not a library,’ Sing added.
‘—are a repository for the kingdom’s most important texts and scrolls.’
‘That, uh, sounds an awful lot like a library,’ I said.
‘But it’s not,’ Folsom said. ‘Didn’t you hear?’
‘Right . . .’ I said. ‘Well, a repository for books—’
‘Which is in no way a library,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘—sounds like exactly the sort of place the Librarians would be interested in.’ I frowned in thought. ‘Are there books in the Forgotten Language in there?’
‘I’d guess some,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘Never been in there myself.’
‘You haven’t?’ I asked, shocked.
‘Too much like a library,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘Even if it isn’t one.’
You Hushlanders may be confused by statements like this. After all, Grandpa Smedry, Sing, and Folsom have all been presented as very literate fellows. They’re academics – quite knowledgeable about what they do. How, then, have they avoided libraries and reading?
The answer is that they haven’t avoided reading. They love books. However, to them, books are a little like teenage boys: Whenever they start congregating, they make trouble.
‘The Royal Archives,’ I said, then quickly added, ‘and I know it’s not a library. Whatever it is, that’s where my mother was going. I’m sure of it. She has the Translator’s Lenses; she’s trying to find something in there. Something important.’
‘Alcatraz, the place is very well guarded,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘I doubt even Shasta would be able to sneak in unseen.’
‘I still think we should visit,’ I said. ‘We can look and see if there’s anything suspicious going on.’
‘All right,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘You take Bastille and Sing and go. I’ll compose a stirring speech to give at the final proceedings this evening! Maybe if I’m lucky, someone will try to assassinate me during the speech. That would make it at least ten times more dramatic!’