Alcatraz versus the Knights of Crystallia (11 page)

A figure suddenly pushed to the front of the crowd.
The
thirty-something man was wearing lavish robes of blue and
silver, and had a short red beard.
He also wore a bright red
baseball cap on his head.
This was undoubtedly Rikers
Dartmoor, novelist, prince, fashion mistake.

"You're here!" the prince said, grabbing and shaking my
hand.
"I can barely co
ntain myself
!
Al
catraz Smedry, in the
flesh!
I hear you exploded upon landing in the city!"

"Yes, well," I said.
"It wasn't that bad an explosion, all
things considered."

"Your life is so exciting!"
Rikers said.
"
Just like I imag
ined it.
And now you're at my party!
And who is this with
you?"
His face fell as he recognized
Folsom, whose ears were
now stuffed with cotton.
"Oh, the critic," the prince said.
Then, more softly, "Well, I guess we can't help who we're
related to, can we?"
He winked at me.
"Please, come in!
Let
me introduce you to everyone!"

And he meant
everyone
.

When I first wrote this next section of the book, I tried
to be very accurate and detailed.
Then I realized that's
just plain boring.
This is a story about evil Librarians,
Teleporting Glass, and sword fights.
It's not a book about
dumb parties.
So,
instead, I'm just going to summ
ar
i
ze
what
happened next:

Person one: "Alcatraz, you're so
awesome!”

Me: "Yes, I know I am."

The prince: "I always knew he
was. Have you read my latest book?”

Person two: "Alcatraz,
you are more awesome even than
yourself."

Me: "Thank you. I think."

The prince: "He's my buddy, you know.
I write books
about him."

This went on for the better part of an hour or so.
Only,
it wasn't boring for me at the time.
I enjoyed it immensely.
People were paying attention to me, telling me about how
wonderful I was.
I actually started to believe I was the
Alcatraz from Rikers's stories.
It became a little hard to
focus on why I'd come to the party in the first place.
Mokia
could wait, right?
It was i
mportant that I get to know peo
ple, right?

Eventually, Prince Rikers brought me to the lounge,
chatting about how they'd managed to make his books play
music.
In the lounge, people
sat in comfortable chairs, mak
ing small talk while they sipped exotic drinks.
We passed a
large group of partygoers laughing together, and they
seemed focused on someone I couldn't see.

Another celebrity
, I thought.
I should be gracious to
them
–
I
wouldn't want them to get jealous of how much
more popular I am than they are
.

W
e approached the group.
P
rince Rikers said,
“
And, of
course, you already know this next person."

"I do?" I asked, surprised. The figure in the middle of
the crowd of people turned toward me.

It was my father.

I stopped in place.
The two of us looked at each other.
My f
ather had a large group of peopl
e doting on him, and
most of them
–
I
noticed
–
were
attractive young women.
The types who wore gowns that were missing large chunks
of cloth on the back or on the sides.

"Attica!" the prince said. "I must say, your son is proving
to be quite a popular addition to the party!"

"
O
f course he is," my father said, taking a sip of his
drink.
"He's
my
son, after all."

The way he said it bothered me. It was as if he implied
that all of my fame and notoriety were simply because of
him.
He smiled at me
–
one
of those fake smiles you see
on T
V
–
then
turned away and said something witty.
The
women twittered adoringly.

That completely ruined my morning.
W
hen the prince
tried to pull me away to meet some more of his friends, I
complained of a headache and asked if I could sit down.
I soon found myself in a dim corner of the lounge, sitting
in a plush chair.
The soft, whisperlike sounds of the crystal
music floated over the buzz of chattering people.
I sipped
some fruit juice.

What right did my father have to act so dismissive of
me?
Hadn't I been the one to save his life?
I'd grown up
inside the Hushlands, oppressed by the Librarians, all
because he wasn't responsible enough to take care of me.

Of all the people in the room, shouldn't he be the one
who was most proud of me?

I should probably say something to lighten the tone
here, but I find it hard.
The truth was that I didn't feel like
laughin
g
, and I don't really think
you
should either.
(If you
must, you can imagine the butler in his underpants again.)

"Alcatraz?" a
voice asked.
"Can we join you?"

I looked up to find Folsom and Himalaya being held
back by the servant left to guard me. I waved for him to let
them pass, and they took seats near me.

"Nice party
,”
Folsom said in an overly loud voice.
"I give
it four out of five wineglasses, though the finger food only
rates a one and a half."

I made no comment.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Folsom asked
in a loud voice.
His ears were still stuffed with cotton for
some reason.

Had I found what I was looking for?
What had I been
looking for?
Librarians
,
I thought.
That's right
.
"I didn't see
any Librarians around."

"What do you mean?" Himalaya said.
"They're all over
the place."

They were?
"Er . . . I me
an, I didn't see them doing any
thing nefarious."

"They're up to something," Himalaya said.
"I bet you
anything. There are a
lot of them here.
Look, I made a list."

I looked over with surprise and embarrassment as she
handed me a sheet of paper.

"They're listed by t
heir Librarian sect," she said, some
what apologetically.
"Then by age.
Then, uh, by height."
She
glanced at Folsom.
"Then by blood type.
Sorry.
Couldn't
help it."

"What?" he asked, having trouble hearing.

I scanned the list.
There were some forty people on it.
I
really had been distracted.
I didn't recognize any of the
names, but
–

I
cut off as I read a name
near the bottom of the list.
Fletcher
.

“W
ho is this?" I demanded, pointing at the name.

“
Hum?" Himalaya asked.
"
O
h.
I only saw her once.
I
don't know which of the orders she belongs to."

"Show me
,”
I said, standing.

Himalaya and Folsom rose and led me through the
ballroom.

"Hey,
Al
catra
z!" a voice called as we walked.

I turned to see a richly dressed group of young men
waving at me.
One of those at their lead, a man named
Rodrayo, was a minor nobleman the prince had introduced
me to.
Everyone seemed so eager to be my friend; it was
difficult not to join them.
However, the name on that
list
–
Fletcher
– was
too intimidating.
I waved apologeti
cally to Rodr
a
yo,
then continued with Himalaya.

A few moments later, she laid a hand on my shoulder.
"There," she said, pointing at a figure who was making her
way out the front doors.
The woman had dyed her hair dark
brown since I'd last seen her, and she wore a Free Kingdomer
gown inste
ad of her typical business suit.

But it was her: my mother.
Ms. Fletcher was an alias
.
I
felt a sudden sense of shame for getting so wrapped up in
the party.
I
f my mother was in the city, it meant something.
S
he was too businesslike for simple socializing; she was
always plotting.

And she had my father's T
r
anslator's Lenses.

"
C
ome on," I said to Folsom and Himalaya.
"We're fol
lowing her."

O
n
ce
th
er
e
was
a boy named
Al
catraz.
He did
some stuff that was kind of interesting.
Then one day, he betrayed those who
d
epended on him, doomed the world,
and murdered someone who loved him.

The end.

Some people h
ave asked me why I need multiple
vo
l
umes to explain my story.
After
all, the core of my argument
is very simple.
I just told it to you in one paragraph.

Why not leave it at that?

T
w
o words: Summa
riz
ing sucks.

Summarizing is when
you take a story that is complicated
and interesting, then stick it in a microwav
e until
it shrivels up into a tiny piec
e of black crunchy tarlike stuff. A wise man once said, 'Any story, no matter how good,
will sound really,
really dumb when you shorten it
t
o
a
few sentences."

For example, take this st
ory: "O
nce there was a furry-footed British guy who has to go throw his uncle's ring into
a hole in the ground."
Sounds dumb, doesn't it?

I don't intend to do that.
I intend to make you experi
ence each and every painful moment of my life.
I intend
to prove how dreadfu
l I am by talking about how awe
some I am.
I intend to make you read through a whole
series before explaining the scene in which I started the
first book.

You remember that one, right?
The one where I lay tied
to an altar made from
e
ncyclopedias, about to get sacrificed
by the Librarians?
That's when my betrayal happened.
Y
ou
may be wondering when I'm finally going to get to that
most important point in my life.