Alcatraz versus the Knights of Crystallia (14 page)

My father didn't respond; he just scribbled something
on his parchment.
I couldn't figure him out
–
at
the party,
he had seemed completely involved in being a superstar.
Now, at his desk, he was absorbed in his work.

"What are you working on?" I asked.

He sighed, finally looking up at me.
"I understand that
children sometimes need distractions.
Is there something I
can have the servants bring you?
Entertainment?
Just speak
it, and I shall see it done."

"That's all right," I said.
"Thanks."

He nodded and turned back to his work.
The room
fell still; the only sound was that of his quill scratching
against parchment.

I left and didn't feel like searching out servants or
my grandfather anymore.
I just felt sick.
Like I'd eaten
three whole bags of Halloween candy, then been punched
in the stomach.
I wandered, vaguely making my way in
the direction of where I'd left my new friends.
When I
arrived back at the den where I'd left them, however, I was
surprised to see them being entertained by an unlikely
figure.

"Grandpa?" I asked, looking in.

“A
h,
Al
catraz,
my
boy," Grandpa Smedry said, perched
atop a tall-legged chair.
"Excellent to see you!
I was just
explaining to these fine young fellows that you'd be back
very soon, and that they shouldn't worry about you."

They didn't seem all that worried, though they
had
found some more snacks som
ewhere –
popcorn
and hoo
berstackers.
I stood at the doorway.
For some reason, the
idea of talking to my groupies in front of Grandpa Smedry
made me feel even more sick.

"Not looking too well, my boy," Grandpa Smedry said,
rising.
"Maybe we should get you something for that."

"I . . . I think that would be nice," I said.

"We'
ll
be back in a snap!" Grandpa Smedry said to
the others, hopping off his chair.
I followed him down the
hallway until he stopped at a darkened stone intersection,
turning to me.
"I've got the perfect solution, lad!
Just the
thing to make you feel better in a
jiffy
.
"

"Great," I said. "What is it?"

He smacked me across the face.

I blinked in surprise.
It hadn't really hurt, but it had
been unexpected.
"What was that?" I asked.

"
I
smacked you
,”
said Grandpa Smedry.
Then, in a
slightly lower tone, he added, "It's an old family remedy."

"For what?"

"Being a nigglenut," said Grandpa Smedry.
He sighed,
sitting down on the hallway carpeting.
"Sit down, lad."

Still a little stunned, I did so.

"I just got done speaking with Folsom and his lovely
friend Himalaya," Grand
pa Smedry said, pleasantly smil
ing, as if he hadn't just smacked me in the face.
"It seems
that they think you are reckless!"

"That's a problem?"

"Velcroed Verns, of course not!
I was quite proud to
hear that.
Recklessness and boldness, great Smedry traits.
Thing is, they said some other things about you
–
things
they'd only admit after I pushed them on it."

"What things?"

"That you're self-centered.
That you think you're better
than regular people, and that all you talk about is yourself.
Now, this didn't sound like the Alcatraz I knew.
Not at all.
So I came back here to investigate
–
and
what did I find?
A
pile of Attica's sycophants lounging about my castle, just
like the old days."

"My father's sycophants?" I asked, glancing at the room
a little down the hallway.
"But they're fans of mine!
Not my
father's."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, they've read my books.
They talk about them all
the time."

"Alcatraz, lad
,”
Grandpa Smedry said.
"Have you read
those books?"

“
Well, no."

"Then how the blazes do you know what's in them?"

“
Well, I . . ."
This was frustrating.
Didn't I deserve to
finally have someone looking up to me, respecting me?
Praising me?

"This is my fault," Grandpa Smedry said with a sigh.

"Should have prepared you better for the kinds of people
you'd find here.
But, well, I thought you'd use the
Truthfinder's Lens.

The Truthfinder’s Lens.
I'd almost forgotten about it
–
it
could tell me when people were lying.
I pulled it free from
my pocket, then glanced at Grandpa Smedry.
He nodded
back down the hallway, so hesitantly I stood
u
p and took
off my Oculator's Lenses, walking down the hallway to
the room.

I looked in, holding the Truthfinder's Lens in front of
my eye.

"Alcatraz!" Rodrayo said.
"We've missed you!"
As he
spoke, he seemed to spit mouthfuls of black beetles from
his mouth.
They squirmed and writhed, and I jumped
backward, removing the Lens.
The beetles vanished when I
did so.
I hesitantly replaced the Lens.

"Alcatraz?" Rodrayo asked.
"What's wrong?
Come in, we
want to hear more about your adventures."

More beetles.
I could only assume that meant he was
lying.

"Hey," said Jasson, "yeah. Those stories are fun!"

Lying.

"There's the greatest man in the city!" another said,
pointing at me.

Lying.

I stumbled away from the room, then fled back down
the hallway.
Grandp
a
Smedry waited for me, still sitting
on the floor.
"So," I said, sitting down next to him. "It's all
lies.
Nobody really looks up to me."

"Lad, lad," Grandpa Smedry said, laying a hand on my
shoulder.
"They don't know you.
They only know the sto
ries and the legends!
Even that lot in there, useless though
they tend to be, have their good points.
But everyone is
going to assume that because they've heard so much about
you, they
know
you."

They were wise words.
Prophetic, in a way.
Ever since I
left the Hushlands, I've felt like every person who looked at
me saw someone different, and I wasn't any of them.
My
reputation only grew more daunting after the events at the
Library of Congress and the Spire of the World.

"It's not easy to be famous," Grandpa Smedry said.
"We
all deal with it differently.
Your father gluts himself on his
fame, then flees from it.
I tried for years to teach him to
keep his ego in check, but I fear I have failed."

"I thought . . ." I said, looking down.
"I thought if he
heard people talking about how wonderful I was, he might
actually look at me once in a while."

Grandpa Smedry fell silent.
“
Ah, lad
,”
he finally said.
"Your father is . . . well, he is what he is.
We just have to do
our best to love him.
But I worry that the fame will do to
you what it's done to him.
That's why I was so excited
that you found that Tr
uthfinder's Lens."

"I thought it was for me to use on the Librarians."

"Ha!" Grandpa Smedry said.
“
Well, it could be of some
use against them
–
but
a clever Librarian agent will know
not to say any direct lies, lest they get caught in them."

"Oh," I said, putting the T
r
uthfinder's Lens away.

“
Anyway, you look better, lad!
Did the old family rem
edy work?
We can try again if you want. . . ."

"No, I feel much better," I said, holding up my hands.

"Thanks, I guess.
Though it was nice to feel like I had
friends."

"You do have friends!
Even if you are kind of ignoring
them at the moment."

"Ignoring them?" I said.
"I haven't been ignoring
anyone."

"Oh?
And where's Bastille?"

"She ran off on me," I said.
"To be with the other
knights."

Grandpa Smedry snorted.
"To go on trial, you mean."

“
An unfair trial," I spat. "She didn't break her sword
–
it
was
my
fault."

"Hum, yes," Grandpa Smedry said.
"If only there were
someone willing to speak on her behalf."

"Wait," I said. "I can
do
that?"

"What did I tell you about being a Smedry, lad?"

"That we could marry p
eople," I said, "and arrest peo
ple, and . . ." And that we could demand a right to testi
fy
in
legal cases.

I stood up, shocked. "I've been an idiot!"

"I prefer the term 'nigglenut,"' Grandpa Smedry said.
"Though that's probably because I just made it up and feel
a certain paternal sense toward it."
He smiled, winking.

"Is there still time?" I asked.
"Before her trial, I mean?"

"It's been going on all afternoon," Grandpa Smedry said,
pulling out an hourglass.
“
And they're probably almost
ready to render judgment.
Getting there in time will be
tricky.
Limping Lowrys, if
only
we could teleport there via
use of a magical glass box sitting in the basement of this
very castle!"

He paused. "Oh, wait, we can!" He leaped to his feet.
"Let's go! We're late!"

T
h
ere's a dreadful form of torture in the
Hushlands, devised by the Librarians.
Though this is sup
posed to be a book for all ages, I feel that it's time to confront
this disturbing and cruel practice.
Somebody has to be
brave enough to shine a light on it.

That's right. It's time to talk about after-school specials.

After-school specials a
re a type of television program
ming that the Librarians put on right when children get
home from school.
The specials are usually about some kid
who is struggling with a nonsensical problem like bullying,
peer pressure, or gerbil snorting.
We see the kid's life, his
struggles, his problems
–
and
then the show provides a
nice, simple solution to tie everything up by the end.