Alcatraz versus the Knights of Crystallia (34 page)

If there could be such a thing as a good Librarian,
might there also be such a thing as an evil Knight of
Crystallia?
A knight who could get to the Mindstone and
corrupt it?
A knight who could slip a bomb into Draulin's
pack?
A knight who had been involved in sending Bastille
out to fail?

A knight whom I had personally seen hanging around
the Royal Archives within a few hours of the swap?

"Oh, no . . ." I whispered.

At that moment, one of the "unconscious" knights near
Grandpa
S
medry began to move.
He lifted his head, and I
could see a deadly smile on it.
Archedis, otherwise known
as Mr. Big chin, supposedly the most accomplished of all
the Knights of Crystallia.

I should have listened more to Socrates.

"Grandfather!" I screamed, trying to fight the crowd
and run forward, but they were so frightened that I barely
got a few steps before being pushed back again.

Grandpa Smedry turned, still singing, looking up at me
and smiling.
In a flash, Arche
dis rose, pulling free his crys
talline sword.
He slammed the pommel against Grandpa
Smedry's head.

The old man went cross-eyed
–
his
Ta
lent unable to
protect him from the power of a
C
rystin blade
–
and
he
fell to the side.
W
ith his singing gone, Himalaya
and Folsom
immediately stopped fighting and froze in place.

The Librarians tackled them.

I struggled against the f
low of people again, trying des
perately to get down.
The seats on the north side were now
completely empty, save for Swcbn.
The grandmotherly
woman looked up at me, smiling.
She held up the afghan
she'd been knitting.

It depicted a bloody skull.
Archedis turned toward King
Dartmoor.

"No!" I screamed.

The corrupted knight raised his sword.
Then he
froze as a small, quiet figure stepped between him and
the king.

Bastille.
She hadn't been affected by the fall of the
Mindstone . . . because the knights themselves had cut her
off it.

Bastille raised her mother's sword.
I don't know where
she'd gotten it
–
I
don't even know how she'd gotten into
the room.
She had found a pair of Warrior's Lenses, but I
could see from her profile that she was still exhausted.
She
looked tiny before the figure of the enormous knight, with
his silvery armor and heroic smile.

"Come now," Archedis said.
"You can't stand against me."

Bastille didn't reply.

"I maneuvered you into obtaining knighthood,"
Archedis said.
"You never really
deserved it. That was all a
ploy to kill the old Smedry."

Kill the old Smedry. .
.
.
Of course.
Bastille and I had
assumed that someone had been setting her up to fail so
that she or her mother would be disgraced.
We'd completely
missed that Bastille had been acting as Grandpa Smedry's
bodyguard.

It hadn't been a plot against her at all.
It had been a plot
against my grandfather.
(And, if you're wondering, no
–
I
couldn't actually hear what they were saying down there.
But someone repeated it to me later, so give me a break.)
I
continued to fight against the crowd, trying to get down to
her.
It was all happening so quickly
–
though
pages have
passed in this narrative, it had only been moments since
Archedis had stood up.

I was forced to watch as Bastille raised her mother's
sword.
She seemed so tired, her shoulders slumping, her
stance uncertain.

"I'm the best there's ever been," Archedis said.
"You
think you can fight me?"

Bastille looked up, and I saw something showing
through her fatigue, her pain, and her sorrow.
Strength.

She attacked.
Crystal met crystal with a sound that was
somehow more melodic than that of steel against steel.
Archedis pushed Bastille back with his superior strength,
laughing.

She came at him again.

Their swords met, pinging again and again.
As before,
Archedis rebuffed Bastille.

And she attacked again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, her sword swung a little faster.
Each time,
the ringing of blades was a little louder.
Each time, her pos
ture was a little more firm.
She fought, refusing to be
beaten down.

Archedis stopped laughing.
His face grew solemn, then
angry.
Bastille threw herself at him repeatedly, her sword
becoming a flurry of motion, the crystalline blade flashing
with iridescence as it shattered light from the windows,
throwing out sparkling colors.

And then Bastille actually started to push
Archedis back.

Few people outside of Crystallia have seen two Crystin
fight in earnest.
The fleeing crowd slowed, its members
turning back.
Librarian thugs stopped beating on Himalaya
and Folsom.
Even I hesitated.
We all grew still, as if i
n rever
ence, and the once chaotic room became as quiet as a
concert hall.

We were an audience, watching a duet.
A duet in which
the violinists tried to ram their violins down each other's
throats.

The massive knight and the spindly girl circled, their
swords beating against each other as if in a prescribed
rhythm.
The weapons seemed things of beauty, the way
they reflected the light.
Two people trying to kill each other
with rainbows.

Bastille should have lost.
She was smaller, weaker,
and exhausted.
Yet each time Archedis threw her down,
she scrambled back to her feet and attacked with even
more fu
r
y and determination.
To the side, her father, the
king, watched in awe.
T
o my surprise, I even saw her
mother stir.
The woman looked dazed and sick, but
she seemed to have regained enough consciousness to open
her eyes.

Archedis made a mistake.
He tripped slightly against a
fallen Librarian thug.
It was the first error I'd seen him
make, but that didn't matter.
Bastille was on him in a
heartbeat, pounding her sword against his, forcing him
backward from his precarious position.

Looking dumbfounded, Archedis tripped backward and
fell onto his armored butt.
Bastille's sword froze at his neck,
a hair's width from slicing his head free.

"I . . . yield," Archedis said, sounding utterly shocked.

I finally managed to shove my way through the crowd,
which had been stunned by the beautiful fight.
I skidded to
a stop beside my grandfather.
He was breathing, though
unconscious.
He appeared to be humming to himself in his
sleep.

"Alcatraz," Bastille said.

I looked over at her.
She still had her sword at
Archedis's neck.

"I have something for you to do," she said, nodding to
Archedis.

I smiled, then walked over to the fallen knight.

"Look, hey," he said, smiling.
"I'm a double agent, really.
I was just trying to infiltrate them.
I . . . uh, is it true that
you have a Truthfinder's Lens?"

I nodded.

"Oh
,”
he said, knowing that I'd been able to see that he
was lying.

"Do it," Bastille said, nodding toward the ground.

"Gladly," I said, reaching down to touch Archedis's
blade.
With a magnificent crackling sound, it shattered
beneath the power of my T
a
lent.

Swcbn finally put down her knitting.
"You," she said,
"are very
bad
children.
No cookies for you."

And with that, she vanished
–
replaced
with an exact
statue of herself
sitting in that very position.

THERE COMES A TIME IN EVERY BOOK WHEN A SINGLE, IMPORTANT QUESTION MUST BE ASKED: “WHERE’S MY LUNCH?”

THAT TIME ISN’T RIGHT NOW. HOWEVER, IT IS TIME TO ASK ANOTHER QUESTION, ALMOST AS IMPORTANT: “SO, WHAT’S THE POINT?”

IT’S AN EXCELLENT QUESTION. WE SHOULD ASK IT ABOUT EVERYTHING WE READ. THE PROBLEM IS, I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO ANSWER IT.

THE POINT OF THIS BOOK IS REALLY UP TO YOU. MY POINT IN WRITING IT WAS TO LOOK AT MY LIFE, TO EXPOSE IT, TO ILLUMINATE IT. AS SOCRATES ONCE SAID, “THE UNEXAMINED LIFE IS NOT WORTH LIVING.”

HE DIED FOR TEACHING THAT TO PEOPLE. I FEEL I SHOULD HAVE DIED YEARS AGO. INSTEAD, I PROVED MYSELF TO BE A COWARD. YOU’LL SEE WHAT I MEAN, EVENTUALLY.

THIS BOOK MEANS WHATEVER YOU MAKE OF IT. FOR SOME, IT WILL BE ABOUT THE DANGERS OF FAME. FOR OTHERS, IT WILL BE ABOUT TURNING YOUR FLAWS INTO TALENTS. FOR MANY, IT WILL SIMPLY BE ENTERTAINMENT, WHICH IS REALLY QUITE ALL RIGHT. YET FOR OTHERS, IT WILL BE ABOUT LEARNING TO QUESTION EVERYTHING, EVEN THAT WHICH YOU BELIEVE.

FOR, YOU SEE, THE MOST IMPORTANT TRUTHS CAN ALWAYS WITHSTAND A LITTLE EXAMINATION.

ONE WEEK AFTER THE DEFEAT OF ARCHEDIS AND THE LIBRARIANS, I SAT IN THE CHAMBER OF KINGS. GRANDPA SMEDRY SAT TO MY LEFT, DRESSED IN HIS FINEST TUXEDO. BASTILLE SAT TO MY RIGHT, WEARING THE PLATE ARMOR OF A FULL KNIGHT OF CRYSTALLIA. (YES, OF COURSE SHE GOT HER KNIGHTHOOD BACK. AS IF THE KNIGHTS COULD REFUSE AFTER WATCHING HER DEFEAT ARCHEDIS WHILE THEY LAY ON THE GROUND DROOLING.)

I STILL WASN’T CLEAR ON WHAT ARCHEDIS HAD DONE. FROM WHAT I GATHER, THE MINDSTONE WAS CUT FROM THE SPIRE OF THE WORLD ITSELF. LIKE THE SPIRE, THE MINDSTONE HAS THE POWER TO RADIATE ENERGY AND KNOWLEDGE TO EVERYONE CONNECTED TO IT. ARCHEDIS HAD BEEN ABLE TO RESIST THE SUNDERING AS HE’D CUT HIMSELF OFF FROM THE MINDSTONE EARLIER.

EITHER WAY, WITH BOTH BASTILLE AND ARCHEDIS BEING CUT OFF – AND WITH
BOTH WEARING WARRIOR’S LENSES – THEIR SPEED AND STRENGTH HAD BEEN EQUALIZED. AND BASTILLE HAD BEATEN HIM. SHE’D WON BECAUSE OF HER SKILL AND HER TENACITY, WHICH I’D SAY ARE THE MORE IMPORTANT INDICATORS OF KNIGHTHOOD. SHE’D WORN HER SILVERY ARMOR VIRTUALLY NONSTOP SINCE IT HAD BEEN GIVEN BACK TO HER. A CRYSTAL SWORD HUNG FROM HER BACK, NEWLY BONDED TO BASTILLE.

“CAN’T WE GET ON WITH THIS?” SHE SNAPPED. “SHATTERING GLASS, SMEDRY. YOUR FATHER IS SUCH A DRAMA HOG.”

I SMILED. THAT WAS ANOTHER SIGN SHE WAS FEELING BETTER – SHE AS BACK TO HER USUAL CHARMING SELF.

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?” SHE SAID, EYEING ME. “STOP STARING AT ME.”

“I’M NOT STARING AT YOU,” I SAID. “I’M HAVING AN INTERNAL MONOLOGUE TO CATCH THE READERS UP ON WHAT HAS HAPPENED SINCE THE LAST CHAPTER. IT’S CALLED A DENOUEMENT.”

SHE ROLLED HER EYES. “THEN WE CAN’T ACTUALLY BE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION; IT’S SOMETHING YOU JUST INSERTED INTO THE TEXT WHILE WRITING THE BOOK YEARS LATER. IT’S A LITERARY DEVICE – THE CONVERSATION DIDN’T EXIST.”

“OH, RIGHT,” I SAID.

“YOU’RE SUCH A FREAK.”

FREAK OR NOT, I WAS HAPPY. YES, MY MOTHER ESCAPED WITH THE BOOK. YES, SWCBN ESCAPED AS WELL. BUT WE CAUGHT ARCHEDIS, SAVED MOKIA, AND GOT BACK MY FATHER
’
S PAIR OF TRANSLATOR’S LENSES.

I’D SHOWN THEM TO HIM. HE’D BEEN SURPRISED, HAD TAKEN THEM BACK, THEN HAD RETURNED TO WHATEVER IMPORTANT “WORK” IT WAS HE’D BEEN DOING THIS WHOLE TIME. WE WERE SUPPOSED TO FIND OUT ABOUT IT TODAY; HE WAS GOING TO PRESENT HIS FINDINGS BEFORE THE MONARCHS. APPARENTLY, HE ALWAYS REVEALED HIS DISCOVERIES THIS WAY.

SO – OF COURSE – THE PLACE WAS A CIRCUS. NO, LITERALLY. THERE WAS A CIRCUS OUTSIDE THE FRONT OF THE PALACE TO ENTERTAIN THE KIDS WHILE THEIR PARENTS CAME IN TO LISTEN TO MY FATHER’S GRAND SPEECH. THE PLACE WAS ALMOST AS PACKED AS IT HAD BEEN DURING THE TREATY RATIFICATION.

HOPEFULLY, THIS TIME THERE WOULD BE FEWER LIBRARIAN HIJINKS. (THOSE WACKY LIBRARIANS AND THEIR HIJINKS.)

THERE WAS A LARGE NUMBER OF REPORTER TYPES WAITING IN THE REACHES OF THE ROOM, ANTICIPATI
NG
MY FATHER’S ANNOUNCEMENT. AS I’D COME TO LEARN, ANYTHING INVOLVING THE SMEDRY FAMILY WAS NEWS TO THE FREE KINGDOMERS. THIS NEWS, HOWEVER, WAS EVEN MORE IMPORTANT.

THE LAST TIME MY FATHER HAD HELD A SESSION LIKE THIS, HE’D ANNOUNCED THAT HE HAD DISCOVERED A WAY TO COLLECT THE SANDS OF RASHID. THE TIME BEFORE THAT, HE’D EXPLAINED THAT HE’D BROKEN THE SECRET OF TRANSPORTER’S GLASS. PEOPLE WERE EXPECTING A LOT FROM THIS SPEECH.

I COULDN’T HELP BUT FEEL THAT IT WAS ALL JUST A LITTLE . . . BAD FOR MY FATHER’S EGO. I MEAN, A
CIRCUS
?
WHO GETS A CIRCUS THROWN FOR THEM?

I GLANCED AT BASTILLE. “YOU DEALT WITH THIS KIND OF STUFF MOST OF YOUR CHILDHOOD, DIDN’T YOU?”

“THIS KIND OF STUFF?” SHE ASKED.

“FAME. NOTORIETY. PEOPLE PAYING ATTENTION TO EVERYTHING YOU DO.”

SHE NODDED.

“SO HOW DID YOU DEAL WITH IT?” I ASKED. “AND NOT LET IT RUIN YOU?”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW IT
DIDN’T
RUIN ME?” SHE ASKED. “AREN’T PRINCESSES SUPPOSED TO BE NICE AND SWEET AND STUFF LIKE THAT? WEAR PINK DRESSES AND TIARAS?”

“WELL . . .”

“PINK DRESSES,” BASTILLE SAID, HER EYES NARROWING. “SOMEONE GAVE ME A PINK DRESS ONCE. I BURNED IT.”

AH
, I THOUGHT.
THAT’S RIGHT; I FORGOT. BASTILLE GOT AROUND FAME’S TOUCH BY BEING A FREAKING PSYCHOPATH
.

“YOU’LL LEARN, LAD,” GRANDPA SMEDRY SAID FROM BEHIND ME. “IT MIGHT TAKE SOME TIME, BUT YOU’LL FIGURE IT OUT.”

“MY FATHER NEVER DID,” I SAID.

GRANDPA SMEDRY HESITATED. “OH, WELL, I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THAT. I THINK HE DID, FOR A WHILE. BACK AROUND THE TIME HE GOT MARRIED. I JUST THINK HE FORGOT.”

AROUND THE TIME HE GOT MARRIED. THE WORDS MADE ME THINK OF FOLSOM AND HIMALAYA. WE’D SAVED THEM SEATS, BUT THEY WERE LATE. AS I LOOKED AROUND, I CAUGHT A GLANCE OF THEM WORKING THEIR WAY THROUGH THE CROWD. GRANDPA SMEDRY WAVED ENTHUSIASTICALLY, THOUGH THEY’D OBVIOUSLY ALREADY SEEN US.

BUT THEN, THAT’S GRANDPA.

“SORRY,” FOLSOM SAID AS HE AND HIS NEW WIFE SEATED THEMSELVES. “GETTING SOME LAST-MINUTE PACKING DONE.”

“YOU STILL DETERMINED TO GO THROUGH WITH THIS?” GRANDPA SMEDRY ASKED.

HIMALAYA NODDED. “WE’RE MOVING TO THE HUSHLANDS. I THINK . . . WELL, THERE ISN’T MUCH I CAN DO FOR MY FELLOW LIBRARIANS HERE.”

“WE’LL START AN UNDERGROUND RESISTANCE FOR GOOD LIBRARIANS,” FOLSOM SAID.

“LYBRIARIANS,”
HIMALAYA
SAID. “I’VE ALREADY BEGUN WORKING ON A PAMPHLET!”

SHE PULLED OUT A SHEET OF PAPER.
TEN STEPS TO BEING LESS EVIL
, IT READ.
A HELPFUL GUIDE FOR THOSE WHO WANT TO TAKE THE “LIE” OUT OF “LIEBRARIAN
.”

“THAT’S . . . JUST GREAT,” I SAID. I WASN’T CERTAIN HOW ELSE TO RESPOND. FORTUNATELY FOR ME, MY FATHER CHOSE THAT MOMENT TO MAKE HIS ENTRANCE – WHICH WAS PARTICULARLY GOOD, SINCE THIS SCENE WAS STARTING TO FEEL A LITTLE LONG ANYWAY.

THE MONARCHS SAT BEHIND A LONG TABLE FACING A RAISED PODIUM. WE ALL GREW QUIET AS MY FATHER APPROACHED, WEARING DARK ROBES TO MARK HIM AS A SCIENTIST. THE CROWD HUSHED.

“AS YOU MAY HAVE HEARD,” HE SAID, HIS VOICE CARRYING THROUGH THE ROOM, “I HAVE RECENTLY RETURNED FROM THE LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA. I SPENT SOME TIME AS A CURATOR, ESCAPING THEIR CLUTCHES WITH MY SOUL INTACT BY THE MEANS OF SOME CLEVER PLANNING.”

“YEAH,” BASTILLE MUTTERED, “CLEVER PLANNING, AND SOME UNDESERVED HELP.” SING, WHO SAT IN FRONT OF US, GAVE HER A DISAPPROVING LOOK.

“THE PURPOSE OF ALL THIS,” MY FATHER CONTINUED, “WAS TO GAIN ACCESS TO THE FABLED TEXTS COLLECTED AND CONTROLLED BY THE CURATORS OF ALEXANDRIA. HAVING MANAGED TO CREATE A PAIR OF TRANSLATOR’S LENSES FROM THE SANDS OF RASHID –“

THIS CAUSED A RIPPLE OF DISCUSSION IN THE CROWD.

“– I WAS ABLE TO READ TEXTS IN THE FORGOTTEN LANGUAGE,” MY FATHER CONTINUED. “I
W
AS TAKEN BY THE CURATORS AND TRANSFORMED INTO ONE OF THEM, BUT STILL RETAINED ENOUGH FREE WILL TO SNEAK THE LENSES FROM MY POSSESSIONS AND USE THEM TO READ. THIS ALLOWED ME TO SPEND WEEKS STUDYING THE MOST VALUABLE CONTENTS OF THE LIBRARY.”

HE STOPPED, LEANING FORWARD ON THE PODIUM, SMILING WINNINGLY. HE CERTAINLY DID HAVE A CHARM ABOUT HIM, WHEN HE WANTED TO IMPRESS PEOPLE.

IN THAT MOMENT, LOOKING AT THAT SMILE, I COULD SWEAR THAT I’D SEEN HIM SOMEWHERE, LONG BEFORE MY VISIT TO THE LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA.

“WHAT I DID,”
MY FATHER CONTINUED, WAS DANGEROUS; SOME MAY EVEN CALL IT BRASH. I COULDN’T KNOW THAT I’D HAVE ENOUGH FREEDOM AS A CURATOR TO STUDY THE TEXTS, NOR COULD I COUNT ON THE FACT THAT I
’
D BE ABLE TO USE MY LENSES TO READ THE FORGOTTEN LANGUAGE.”

HE PAUSED FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT. “BUT I DID IT ANYWAY. FOR THAT IS THE SMEDRY WAY.”

“HE STOLE THAT LINE FROM ME, BY THE WAY,” GRANDPA SMEDRY WHISPERED TO US.

MY FATHER CONTINUED. “I’VE SPENT THE LAST TWO WEEKS WRITING DOWN THE THINGS I MEMORIZED WHILE I WAS A CURATOR. SECRETS LOST IN TIME, MYSTERIES KNOWN ONLY TO THE INCARNA. I’VE ANALYZED THEM, AND AM THE ONLY MAN TO READ AND UNDERSTAND THEIR WORKS FOR OVER TWO
MILLENNIA
.”

HE LOOKED OVER THE CROWD. “THROUGH THIS,” HE SAID, “I HAVE DISCOVERED THE METHOD BY WHICH THE SMEDRY TALENTS WERE CREATED AND GIVEN TO MY FAMILY.”

WHAT?
I THOUGHT, SHOCKED.

“IMPOSSIBLE,” BASTILLE SAID, AND THE CROWD AROUND US BEGAN TO SPEAK ANIMATEDLY.

I GLANCED AT MY GRANDFATHER. THOUGH THE OLD MAN IS USUALLY WACKIER THAN A PENGUIN-WRANGLING EXPEDITION TO FLORIDA, OCCASIONALLY I CATCH A HINT OF WISDOM IN HIS FACE. HE HAS A DEPTH THAT HE DOESN’T OFTEN SHOW.

HE TURNED TOWARD ME, MEETING MY EYES, AND I COULD TELL THAT HE WAS WORRIED.
VERY
WORRIED.

“I ANTICIPATE GREAT THINGS FROM THIS,” MY FATHER SAID, HUSHING THE CROWD. “WITH A LITTLE MORE RESEARCH, I BELIEVE I CAN DISCOVER HOW TO GIVE TALENTS
TO
ORDINARY PEOPLE. I IMAGINE A WORLD, NOT SO DISTANT IN THE FUTURE, WHERE
EVERYONE
HAS A SMEDRY TALENT.”

AND THEN HE WAS DONE. HE RETREATED FROM THE PODIUM, STEPPING DOWN TO SPEAK WITH THE MONARCHS. THE ROOM, OF COURSE, GREW LOUD WITH DISCUSSIONS. I FOUND MYSELF STANDING, PUSHING MY WAY DOWN TO THE FLOOR OF THE ROOM. I APPROACHED THE MONARCHS, AND THE KNIGHTS STANDING GUARD THERE LET ME PASS.

“. . . NEED ACCESS TO THE ROYAL ARCHIVES,” MY FATHER WAS SAYING TO THE MONARCHS.

“NOT A LIBRARY,” I FOUND MYSELF WHISPERING.

MY FATHER DIDN’T NOTICE ME. “THERE ARE SOME BOOKS THERE I BELIEVE WOULD BE OF USE TO MY INVESTIGATIONS, NOW THAT I’VE RECOVERED MY TRANSLATOR’S LENSES. ONE VOLUME, IN PARTICULAR, WAS CONSPICUOUSLY MISSING FROM THE LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA – THE CURATORS CLAIMED THEIR COPY HAD BEEN BURNED IN A VERY STRANGE ACCIDENT. FORTUNATELY, I BELIEVE THERE MAY BE ANOTHER ONE HERE.”

“IT’S GONE,” I SAID, MY VOICE SOFT IN THE ROOM’S BUZZING VOICES.

ATTICA TURNED TO ME, AS DID SEVERAL OF THE MONARCHS. “WHAT IS THAT SON?” MY FATHER ASKED.

“DIDN’T YOU PAY ATTENTION AT
ALL
TO WHAT HAPPENED LAST WEEK?” I DEMANDED. “MOTHER HAS THE BOOK. THE ONE YOU WANT. SHE STOLE IT FROM THE ARCHIVES.”

MY FATHER HESITATED, THEN NODDED TO THE MONARCHS. “EXCUSE US.” HE PULLED ME ASIDE. “NOW, WHAT IS THIS?”

“SHE STOLE IT,” I SAID. “THE BOOK YOU WANT, THE ONE WRITTEN BY THE SCRIBE OF ALCATRAZ THE FIRST. SHE TOOK IT FROM THE ARCHIVES. THAT’S WHAT THE ENTIRE MESS LAST WEEK WAS ABOUT!”

“I THOUGHT THAT WAS AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON THE MONARCHS,” HE SAID.

“THAT WAS ONLY PART OF IT. I SENT YOU A MESSAGE IN THE MIDDLE OF IT, ASKING YOU TO COME HELP US PROTECT THE ARCHIVES, BUT YOU COMPLETELY IGNORED IT!”

HE WAVED AN INDIFFERENT HAND. “I WAS OCCUPIED WITH GREATER THINGS. YOU MU
ST
BE MISTAKEN – I’LL LOOK THROUGH THE ARCHIVES AND –“

“I LOOKED ALREADY,” I SAID. “I’VE LOOKED AT THE TITLE OF EVERY SINGLE BOOK IN THERE THAT WAS WRITTEN IN THE FORGOTTEN LANGUAGE. THEY’RE ALL COOKBOOKS OR LEDGERS OR THINGS. EXCEPT THAT ONE MY MOTHER TOOK.”

“AND YOU LET HER STEAL IT?” MY FATHER DEMANDED INDIGNANTLY.

LET HER. I TOOK A DEEP BREATH. (AND, NEXT TIME YOU THINK
YOUR
PARENTS ARE FRUSTRATING, MIGHT I INVITE YOU TO READ THIS PASSAGE THROUGH ONE MORE TIME?)

“I BELIEVE,” A NEW VOICE SAID, “THAT YOUNG ALCATRAZ DID EVERYTHING HE COULD TO STOP THE AFOREMENTIONED THEFT.”

MY FATHER TURNED TO SEE KING DARTMOOR, WEARING HIS CROWN AND BLUE-GOLD ROBES, STANDING BEHIND HIM. THE KING NODDED TO ME. “PRINCE RIKERS HAS SPOKEN AT LENGTH OF THE EVENT, ATTICA. I BELIEVE THERE WILL BE A NOVEL FORTHCOMING.”

WONDERFUL
, I THOUGHT.

“WELL,” MY FATHER SAID, “I GUESS . . . WELL, THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING . . .”

“WHAT IS THIS ABOUT GIVING EVERYONE TALENTS, ATTICA?” THE KING ASKED. “IS THAT REALLY WISE? FROM WHAT I HEAR, SMEDRY TALENTS CAN BE VERY UNPREDICTABLE.”

“WE CAN CONTROL THEM,” MY FATHER SAID, WAVING ANOTHER INDIFFERENT HAND. “YOU KNOW HOW THE PEOPLE DREAM OF HAVING OUR POWERS. WELL, I WILL BE THE ONE TO MAKE THOSE DREAMS BECOME A REALITY.”