Folsom and Himalaya climbed into the carriage after me, and I pointed at Shasta’s disappearing vehicle. ‘Follow that carriage!’ I said in a dramatic voice.
And so, the driver did. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a city carriage before, but they travel at, like, two miles an hour – particularly during afternoon traffic. After my rather dramatic and heroic (if I do say so myself) proclamation, things took a decidedly slow turn as our driver guided the horses out onto the street, then clopped along behind Shasta’s vehicle. I felt more like I was out on a casual evening drive than part of a high-speed chase.
I sat down. ‘Not very exciting, is it?’
‘I’ll admit, I was expecting more,’ Folsom said.
At that moment, we passed a street performer playing a lute on the side of the road. Himalaya reached for Folsom, but it was too late. My cousin stood up in a quick motion, then jumped up onto the back of the carriage and began doing expert kung fu moves.
‘Gak!’ I said, diving for the floor as a karate chop narrowly missed my head. ‘Folsom, what are you doing?’
‘It’s his Talent,’ Himalaya said, scrambling down beside me. ‘He’s a bad dancer! The moment he hears music, he gets like this. It—’
We passed the street performer and Folsom froze mid-swing, his foot mere inches from my face. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘terribly sorry about that, Alcatraz. My Talent can be a bit difficult at times.’
‘A bit difficult’ is an understatement. Folsom once wandered into a ballroom dance competition. He not only managed to trip every single person in the room but he also ended up stuffing one of the judges in a tuba. If you’re wondering, yes, that’s why Himalaya had filled Folsom’s ears with cotton before letting him enter the party room. It’s also why Folsom had removed the theme music glass from his copy of Alcatraz Smedry and the Mechanic’s Wrench.
‘Alcatraz!’ Himalaya said, pointing as we seated ourselves again.
I spun, realizing that my mother’s carriage had stopped at an intersection, and our carriage was pulling up right beside hers. ‘Gak!’ I said. ‘Driver, what are you doing?’
The driver turned, confused. ‘Following that carriage, like you said.’
‘Well, don’t let them know that we’re following them!’ I said. ‘Haven’t you ever seen any superspy movies?’
‘What’s a movie?’ the driver asked, followed by, ‘And . . . what’s a superspy?’
I didn’t have time to explain. I waved for Himalaya and Folsom to duck. However, there just wasn’t enough room – one of us would have to sit up. Would my mother recognize Folsom, a famous Smedry? What about Himalaya, a rebel Librarian? We were all conspicuous.
‘Can’t you two do something to hide us?’ Himalaya hissed. ‘You know, magic powers and all that.’
‘I could beat up her horse, if we had music,’ Folsom said thoughtfully.
Himalaya glanced at me, worried, and it wasn’t until that moment that I remembered that I was an Oculator.
Oculator. Lens-wielder. I had magic glasses, including the ones my grandfather had given me earlier. I cursed, pulling out the purple ones he’d called Disguiser’s Lenses. He’d told me to think of something, then look at someone, and I would appear to be that thing. I slid the Lenses on and focused.
Himalaya yelped. ‘You look like an old man!’
‘Lord Smedry?’ Folsom asked, confused.
That wouldn’t do. Shasta would recognize Grandpa Smedry for sure. I threw myself up into the seat and thought of someone else. My sixth-grade teacher, Mr. Mann. I remembered, at the last minute, to picture him wearing a tunic like he was from the Free Kingdoms. Then I looked over at my mother, sitting in the next carriage.
She glanced at me. My heart thumped in my chest. (Hearts tend to do that. Unless you’re a zombie. More on those later.)
My mother’s eyes passed over me without showing any signs of recognition. I breathed a sigh of relief as the carriages started again.
Using the Disguiser’s Lenses was more difficult than any others I’d used before. I got a jolt if my shape changed forms, and that happened whenever I let my mind wander. I had to remain focused to maintain the illusion.
As we continued, I felt embarrassed at taking so long to remember the Disguiser’s Lenses. Bastille often chastised me for forgetting that I was an Oculator, and she was right. I still wasn’t that used to my powers, as you will see later.
(You’ll notice that I often mention ideas I’m going to explain later in the book. Sometimes I do this because it makes nice foreshadowing. Other times, I’m just trying to annoy you. I’ll let you decide which is which.)
‘Do either of you recognize where we are?’ I asked as the carriage ‘chase’ continued.
‘We’re approaching the king’s palace, I think,’ Folsom said. ‘Look, you can see the tips of the towers.’
I followed his gesture and saw the white peaks of the palace. On the other side of the street, we passed an enormous rectangular building that read in big letters ROYAL ARCHIVES (NOT A LIBRARY!) on the front. We turned, then rolled past a line of castles on the back side of the street. My mother’s carriage turned as if to round the block again. Something seemed wrong.
‘Driver, catch up to the carriage up there,’ I said.
‘Indecisive today, aren’t we?’ the driver asked with a sigh. At the next intersection, we rolled up beside the carriage, and I looked over at my mother.
Only, she wasn’t there. The carriage held someone who looked a little like her, but wasn’t the same woman. ‘Shattering Glass!’ I cursed.
‘What?’ Folsom asked, peeking up over the lip of the carriage.
‘She gave us the slip,’ I said.
‘Are you sure that’s not her?’ Folsom asked.
‘Um, yeah. Trust me.’ I might not have known she was my mother at the time, but ‘Ms. Fletcher’ had watched over me for most of my childhood.
‘Maybe she’s using Lenses, like you,’ Himalaya said.
‘She’s not an Oculator,’ I replied. ‘I don’t know if she knew she was being followed, but she somehow got out of that carriage when we weren’t looking.’
The other two got up off the floor, sitting again. I eyed Himalaya. Had she somehow tipped off my mother that we were following?
‘Shasta Smedry,’ Himalaya said. ‘Is she a relative of yours, then?’
‘Alcatraz’s mother,’ Folsom said, nodding.
‘Really?’ Himalaya said. ‘Your mother is a recovering Librarian?’
‘Not so much on the “recovering” part,’ I said. The carriage bearing the look-alike stopped and let her off at a restaurant. I ordered our driver to wait so we could watch, but I knew we wouldn’t learn anything new.
‘She and his father broke up soon after he was born,’ Folsom said. ‘Shasta went back to the Librarians.’
‘Which order is she part of?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. She . . . doesn’t quite fit with the others. She’s something different.’ My grandfather had once said that her motivations were confusing, even to other Librarians.
She had the Lenses of Rashid; if she found an Oculator to help her she could read the Forgotten Language. That made her very, very dangerous. Why had she been at that party? Had she spoken with my father? Had she been trying to do something to the prince?
‘Let’s get back to the castle,’ I said. Perhaps Grandpa Smedry would be able to help.
9
Chapter breaks are very useful. They let you skip a lot of boring parts of stories. For instance, after tailing – then losing – my mother, we had a pleasant drive back to Keep Smedry. The most exciting thing that happened was when we stopped so that Folsom could use the restroom.
Characters in books, you may have noticed, rarely have to go potty. There are several reasons for this. Many books – unlike this one – simply aren’t real, and everyone knows fictional characters can ‘hold it’ as long as they need to. They just wait until the end of the book before using t
he restroom.
In books like this one, which are real, we have more problems. After all, we’re not fictional characters, so we have to wait until chapter breaks, when nobody is looking. It can get hard for longer chapters, but we’re quite self-sacrificing. (I really feel sorry for the people in Terry Pratchett’s novels, though.)
Our carriage pulled up to the dark, stone Keep Smedry, and I was surprised to see a small crowd gathered in front.
‘Not this again,’ Himalaya said with a sigh as some of the people began to wave pieces of glass in my direction, taking images of me in the strange Free Kingdoms way.
‘Sorry,’ Folsom said with a grimace. ‘We can send them away, if you want.’
‘Why would we do that?’ I asked. After the disappointment of losing Shasta, it felt good to see people eager to praise me again.
Folsom and Himalaya exchanged a look. ‘We’ll be inside, then,’ Folsom said, helping Himalaya down. I jumped out, then went to meet with my adoring fans.
The first ones to rush up to me carried pads of paper and quills. They all talked over one another, so I tried to quiet them down by raising my hands. That didn’t work; they all just kept talking, trying to get my attention.
So I broke the sound barrier.
I’d never done it before, but my Talent can do some really wacky things. I was standing there, frustrated, hands in the air, wishing I could get them to be quiet. Then my Talent engaged, and there were twin CRACK sounds in the air, like a pair of whips snapping.
The people fell silent. I started, surprised by the tiny sonic booms I’d made.
‘Er, yes,’ I said. ‘What do you want? And before you start arguing, let’s start with you on the end.’
‘Interview,’ the man said. He wore a hat like Robin Hood. ‘I represent the Eastern Criers Guild. We want to do a piece on you.’
‘Oh,’ I said. That sounded cool. ‘Yeah, we can do that. But not right now. Maybe later tonight?’
‘Before or after the vote?’ the man asked.
Vote? I thought. Oh, right. The vote about the treaty with the Librarians. ‘Uh, after the vote.’
The others began to talk, so I raised my hands threateningly and quieted them down. All were reporters, wanting interviews. I made appointments with each one, and they went on their way.
The next group of people approached. These didn’t appear to be reporters of any sort, which was good. Reporters, it might be noted, are a lot like little brothers. They’re talkative, annoying, and they tend to come in groups. Plus, if you yell at them, they get even in very unsettling ways.
‘Lord Smedry,’ a stout man said. ‘I was wondering . . . My daughter is getting married this upcoming weekend. Would you perform the ceremony?’
‘Uh, sure,’ I said. I’d been warned about this, but it was still something of a surprise.
He beamed, then told me where the wedding was. The next woman in line wanted me to represent her son in a trial and speak on his behalf. I wasn’t sure what to do about that one, so I said I’d get back to her. The next man wanted me to seek out – then punish – a miscreant who had stolen some galfalgos from his garden. I made a mental note to ask someone what the heck galfalgos were, and told him I’d look into it.
There were some two dozen people with questions or requests like those. The more that was asked of me, the more uncomfortable I grew. What did I really know about any of this stuff? I finally cleared through that group, making vague promises to most of them.
There was one more group of people waiting for me. They were well-dressed younger men and women, in their late teens or early twenties. I recognized them from the party.
‘Rodrayo?’ I asked, to the guy at their lead.
‘Hey,’ he said.
‘And . . . what is it you want of me?’ I asked.
A couple of them shrugged.
‘Just thought being around you would be fun,’ Rodrayo said. ‘Mind if we party with you a little bit?’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, sure, I guess.’
I led the group through some hallways in Keep Smedry, getting lost, and trying to act like I knew where everything was. The hallways of Keep Smedry were appropriately medieval, though the castle was far more warm and homey than one might have expected. There were hundreds of rooms – the building was of mansion-sized proportions – and I really didn’t know where I was going.
Eventually, I found some servants and had them take us to a denlike room, which had couches and a hearth. I wasn’t certain what ‘partying with me’ meant to Rodrayo and the others. Fortunately, they took the lead, sending the servants to get some food, then lounging around on the couches and chairs, chatting. I wasn’t sure why they needed me there, or even who most of them were, but they’d read my books and thought my adventures were very impressive. That made them model citizens in my opinion.
I had just finished telling them about my fight with the paper monsters when I realized that I’d never checked in with Grandpa Smedry. It had been about five hours since we’d split up, and I was tempted to just let it slide until he came looking for me. But we needed more hooberstackers, and the servants had vanished, so I decided to leave my new friends and go looking for the servants to ask for a resupply. Maybe they’d know where my grandfather was.
However, finding servants proved more difficult than I’d assumed. I felt uncharacteristically fatigued as I wandered the hallways, even though I hadn’t really done that much during the last couple of hours. Just sit around and be adored.
Eventually, I spotted a crack of light down one brickwalled corridor. It turned out to be coming from a half-open door, so I peeked inside. There, I found my father sitting at a desk, scribbling on a piece of parchment. An ancient-looking lamp gave off a flickering light, only faintly illuminating the room. I could see rich-looking furniture and sparkling bits of glass – Lenses and other Oculatory wonders, which seemed to have a glow about them because of my Oculator’s Lenses. On his desk was a half-empty wineglass, and he still wore the antiquated suit he’d had on at the party, though he’d undone the ruffled tie. His shoulder-length hair was wavy and disheveled. He looked a lot like a Hushlands rock star after an evening performance.
As a child, I’d often dreamed about what my father would be like. The only facts I’d had to go on were that he’d named me after a prison and that he’d abandoned me. One would think that I would have imagined a terrible person.
And yet, I’d secretly wished for there to be more. A good reason why he’d given me up. Something impressive and mysterious. I had wondered if, perhaps, he’d been involved in some dangerous line of work, and had sent me away to protect me.
Grandpa Smedry’s arrival, and the discovery that my father was both alive and working to save the Free Kingdoms, fulfilled a lot of these secret wishes. Finally, I gained a picture of who my father might be. A dashing, heroic figure who hadn’t wanted to get rid of me, but had been betrayed by his wife, then forced to give me up for the greater good.
That father in my dreams would have been excited to reunite with his son. I’d been hoping for enthusiasm, not indifference. I’d imagined someone a little more like Indiana Jones, and a little less like Mick Jagger.
‘Mother was there,’ I said, stepping into the doorway more fully.
My father didn’t look up from his document. ‘Where?’ he asked, not even jumping or looking surprised at the intrusion. ‘At the party this afternoon. Did you see her?’
‘Can’t say that I did,’ my father said.
‘I was surprised to see you there.’
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.
‘Ah, Alcatraz, 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 somewhere – popcorn and hooberstackers. 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.’
Alcatraz Page 46
