‘Kicking you in the face?’ Bastille asked coolly. ‘Yes. Then I’d staple you to the outside to a tall castle and paint “dragon food” over your head.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Er . . . why don’t we just put this one away?’
‘Yeah, good idea.’ She took it from me and stuffed it back into the cabinet.
‘So . . . I noticed that none of those grenades are, well, actually deadly.’
‘Of course they aren’t,’ Bastille said. ‘What do you take us for? Barbarians?’
‘Of course not. But you are at war.’
‘War’s no excuse for hurting people.’
I scratched my head. ‘I thought war was all about hurting people.’
‘That’s Librarian thinking,’ Bastille said, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes. ‘Uncivilized.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, actually, even the Librarians use many nonlethal weapons in war these days. You’ll see, if the war ever comes here.’
‘All right . . . but you don’t have any objections to hurting me on occasion.’
‘You’re a Smedry,’ she said. ‘That’s different. Now do you want to learn the rest of these grenades or not?’
‘That depends. What are they going to do to me?’
She eyed me, then grumbled something and turned away.
I blinked. I’d gotten used to Bastille’s moods by now, but this seemed irregular even for her. ‘Bastille?’
She walked over to the far side of the room, tapping a section of glass, making the wall turn translucent. The Royal Weapons Testing Facility was a tall, multitowered castle on the far side of Nalhalla City. Our vantage point gave us a great view of the capital.
‘Bastille?’ I asked again, walking up to her.
She said, arms folded, ‘I shouldn’t be berating you like this.’
‘How should you be berating me, then?’
‘Not at all. I’m sorry, Alcatraz.’
I blinked. An apology. From Bastille? ‘The war really is bothering you, isn’t it? Mokia?’
‘Yeah. I just wish there were more to do. More that we could do.’
I nodded, understanding. My escape from the Hushlands had snowballed into the rescue of my father from the Library of Alexandria, and following that we’d gotten sucked into stopping Nalhalla from signing a treaty with the Librarians. Now, finally, things had settled down. And not surprisingly, other people – people with more experience than Bastille and me – had taken over doing the most important tasks. I was a Smedry and she a full Knight of Crystallia, but we were both only thirteen. Even in the Free Kingdoms – where people didn’t pay as much attention to age – that meant something.
Bastille had been rushed through training during her childhood and had obtained knighthood at a very young age. The others of her order expected her to do a lot of practice and training to make up for earlier lapses. She spent half of every day seeing to her duties in Crystallia.
Generally, I spent my days in Nalhalla learning. Fortunately, this was a whole lot more interesting than school had been back home. I was trained in things like using Oculatory Lenses, conducting negotiations, and using Free Kingdomer weapons. Being a Smedry – I was coming to learn – was like being a mix of secret agent, special forces commando, diplomat, general, and cheese taster.
I won’t lie. It was shatteringly cool. Instead of sitting around all day writing biology papers or listening to Mr Layton from algebra class extol the virtues of complex factoring, I got to throw teddy bear grenades and jump off buildings. It was really fun at the start.
Okay, it was really fun the WHOLE TIME.
But there was something missing. Before, though I’d been stumbling along without knowing what I was doing, we’d been involved in important events. Now we were just . . . well, kids. And that was annoying.
‘Something needs to happen,’ I said. ‘Something exciting.’ We looked out the window expectantly.
A bluebird flew by. It didn’t, however, explode. Nor did it turn out to be a secret Librarian ninja bird. In fact, despite my dramatic proclamation, nothing at all interesting happened. And nothing interesting will happen for the next three chapters.
Sorry. I’m afraid this is going to be a rather boring book. Take a deep breath. The worst part is coming next.
6
Whew! Those were some boring chapters, weren’t they? I know you really didn’t want to hear – in intricate detail – about the workings of the Nalhallan sewer systems. Nor did you care to get a scholarly explanation of the original Nalhallan alphabet and how the letters are based on logographic representations of ancient Cabafloo. And, of course, that vibrant, excruciatingly specific description of what it’s like to get your stomach pumped probably made you feel sick.
Don’t worry, though. These scenes are extremely important to Chapter Thirty-Seven of the novel. Without Chapters Three, Four and Five, you would be completely lost when we get to a later point in the book. It’s for your own good that I included them. You’ll thank me later.
‘Wait,’ I said, pointing out through the clear glass wall of the grenade testing room. ‘I recognize that bird.’
Not the bluebird. The giant glass bird rising from the city a short distance away. It was called the Hawkwind, and it had carried me on my first trip to Nalhalla. It was about the size of a small airplane and was constructed completely of beautiful translucent glass.
Now, some of you Hushlanders might wonder how I could recognize that particular vessel among all of those that were flying in and out of Nalhalla. That’s because in the Hushlands, the Librarians make sure all vehicles look the same. All airplanes of a certain size look identical. Most cars pretty much look the same: trucks look like every other truck, sedans look like very other sedan. They let you change the color. Whoopee.
The Librarians claim it has to be this way, giving some gobbledygook about manufacturing costs or assembly lines. Those, of course, are lies. The real reason everything looks the same has to be with one simple concept: underpants.
I’ll explain later.
The Free Kingdoms don’t follow Hushlander ways of thinking. When they build something, they like to make it distinctive and original. Even an idiot, like me, could tell the difference between any two vehicles from a distance.
‘The Hawkwind,’ Bastille said, nodding as the glass bird flapped its way into the sky, turning westward. ‘Isn’t that the ship your father was outfitting for his secret mission?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Do you think . . .’
‘He just left without saying good-bye?’ I watched the Hawkwind streak away into the distance. ‘Yes.’
‘To my father and son,’ Grandpa Smedry read, adjusting his Oculator’s Lenses as he examined the note. ‘I am bad at saying good-bye. Good-bye.’ He lowered the paper, shrugging.
‘That’s it?’ Bastille exclaimed. ‘That’s all he left?’
‘Er, yes,’ Grandpa Smedry said, holding up two small orange pieces of paper. ‘That and what appears to be two coupons for half off a scoop of koala-flavored ice cream.’
‘That’s terrible!’ Bastille said.
‘Actually, it’s my favorite flavor,’ Grandpa replied, tucking the coupons away. ‘Quite considerate of him.’
‘I meant the note,’ she said, standing with arms folded. We were back in Keep Smedry, an enormous black stone castle nestled on the far south side of Nalhalla City. Fireglass crackled on a hearth at the side of the room. Yes, in the Free Kingdoms there is a kind of glass that can burn. Don’t ask.
‘Ah yes,’ Grandpa said, rereading the note. ‘Yes, yes, yes. You have to admit, though, he is very bad at good-byes. This note makes a very good argument for that. I mean, he even spelled good-bye wrong. Bad at it indeed!’
I sat in an overstuffed red chair beside the hearth. It was the chair on which we’d found the note. Apparently my father hadn’t told anyone outside his inner circle that he was leaving. He’d gathered his group of soldiers, assistants, and explorers and then taken off.
We were the only three in the black-walled room. Bastille eyed me. ‘I’m sorry, Alcatraz,’ she said. ‘This has to be the worst thing he could have done to you.’
‘I don’t know,’ Grandpa said. ‘The coupons could have been for Rocky Road instead.’ He cringed. ‘Dreadful stuff. Who puts a road in ice cream? I mean really.’
Bastille regarded him evenly. ‘You’re not helping.’
‘I wasn’t really trying to,’ Grandpa said, scratching his head. He was bald save for a tuft of white hair running around the back of his head and sticking out behind his ears – like someone had stapled a cloud to his scalp – and he had a large white mustache. ‘But I suppose I should. Ragged Resnicks, lad! Don’t look so glum. He’s a horrible father anyway, right? At least he’s gone now!’
‘You’re terrible at this,’ Bastille said.
‘Well, at least I didn’t spell anything wrong.’
I smirked. I could see a twinkle in my grandfather’s eyes. He was just trying to cheer me up. He walked over, sitting down on the chair beside me. ‘Your father doesn’t know what to make of you, lad. He didn’t have a chance to grow into being a parent. I think he’s scared of you.’
Bastille sniffed in disdain. ‘So Alcatraz is just supposed to sit here in Nalhalla waiting for him to come back? Last time Attica Smedry vanished, it took him thirteen years to reappear. Who knows what he’s even planning to do!’
‘He’s going after my mother,’ I said softly.
Bastille turned toward me, frowning.
‘She has the book he wants,’ I said. ‘The one that has secrets on how to give everyone Smedry Talents.’
‘That’s a specter your father has been chasing for many, many years, Alcatraz,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘Giving everyone Smedry Talents? I don’t think it’s possible.’
‘People said that about finding the Translator’s Lenses too,’ Kaz noted. ‘But Attica managed that.’
‘True, true,’ Grandpa said. ‘But this is different.’
‘I guess,’ I said. ‘But—’
I froze, then turned to the side. My uncle, Kazan Smedry, sat in the third chair beside the fireplace. He was about four feet tall and, like most people, hated being called a midget. He wore sunglasses, a brown leather jacket, and a tunic underneath that he tucked into a pair of rugged trousers. He was covered in a black, sootlike dust.
‘Kaz!’ I exclaimed. ‘You’re back!’
‘Finally!’ he said, coughing.
‘What . . .’ I asked, indicating the soot.
‘Got lost in the fireplace,’ Kaz said, shrugging. ‘Been in the blasted thing for a good two weeks now.’
Every Smedry has a Talent. The Talent can be powerful, it can be unpredictable, and it can be disastrous. But it’s always interesting. You could get one by being born a Smedry or by marrying a Smedry. My father wanted everyone to get a Talent.