Alcatraz (67 page)

The room exploded with sound.
There were quite a number of cheers – many of these coming from the section where the Mokians, Australia included, were sitting.
There were some boos, but mostly there was just a lot of excited chatter.
Draulin approached from the ranks of knights, laying a hand on the king’s shoulder and – in a rare moment of emotion – nodded.
She actually thought that ripping up the treaty was a good idea.

Maybe that meant she’d see Bastille’s help in this entire mess as validation for restoring her daughter’s knighthood.
I glanced about for Bastille, but she wasn’t to be found.
Sing tapped my arm and pointed behind.
I could see Bastille in the hallway, sitting in a chair, arms wrapped around herself, shivering.
She’d lost her Warrior’s Lenses back when we’d been captured, and I could see that her eyes were red and puffy.

My first instinct was to go to her, but something made me hesitate.
Swcbn didn’t seem particularly disturbed by these events.
She’d turned back to her knitting.
That bothered me.

‘Socrates,’ I whispered.

‘What’s that, Alcatraz?’
Sing asked.

‘This guy I learned about in school,’ I said.
‘He was one of those annoying types who always asked questions.’

‘Okay .
.
.’
Sing said.

Something was wrong.
I began asking questions that should have bothered me long before this.

Why was the most powerful Librarian in all of the Hushlands here to negotiate a treaty that the monarchs had already decided to sign?

Why wasn’t she worried at being surrounded by her enemies, capable of being captured and imprisoned at a moment’s notice?

Why did I feel so unsettled, as if we hadn’t really won after all?

At that moment, Draulin screamed.
She collapsed to the ground, holding her head.
Then every Knight of Crystallia in the room dropped to the ground, crying out in pain.

‘Hello, everyone!’
a voice suddenly cried.
I spun to find my grandfather standing behind us.
‘I’m back!
Did I miss anything important?’

21

A
t that moment, a lot of things happened at once.
The common people in the crowd began to scream in fear and confusion.
A group of Librarian thugs pushed their way down to the floor around Swcbn, who continued to sit and knit.

King Dartmoor unsheathed his sword and turned to face the thugs.
Grandpa Smedry and I tried to rush down the stairs to get to the monarchs, but were blocked by the crowds, who were trying to flee.

‘Hiccupping Huffs!’
Grandpa Smedry cursed.

‘Follow me, Lord Smedry!’
Sing said, muscling up to the top of the stairs beside us.
Then he tripped.

Now, I don’t know how
you’d
react if a three-hundred-pound Mokian tripped and began to roll down the stairs toward you, but I safely say that I’d either:

The people on the steps chose to scream like a bunch of people on some steps, but they
did
get out of the way.

Grandpa Smedry, Folsom, Himalaya, and I charged down the stairs behind the Mokian.
Prince Rikers stayed behind, looking confused.
‘This part actually looks dangerous,’ he called.
‘Maybe I should stay here.
You know, and guard the exit.’

Whatever
, I thought.
His father, at least, proved to have a spine.
King Dartmoor stood over the body of his fallen wife, facing down the group of Librarian thugs, sword held before him.
The other monarchs were in the processes of scattering away.

It looked as if the Librarians would easily cut down the king before we could reach him.

‘Hey!’
a voice yelled suddenly.
I recognized my aunt Patty standing in the audience, pointing.
As always, her voice managed to carry over any and every bit of competition.
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she bellowed, ‘but is that
toilet paper
stuck to your leg?’

The Librarian thug at the front immediately looked down, then blushed, realizing that he did indeed have toilet paper stuck to him.
He bent down to pull it off, causing the others to bunch up behind him awkwardly.

That distraction gave us just enough time to cover the distance to the king.
Grandpa Smedry whipped out a pair of Lenses.
I recognized the green specks in the glass, marking them as Windstormer’s Lenses.
Sure enough, the Lenses released a blast of air, knocking back the Librarians as they tried to rush the king.

‘What happened to the knights?’
the king yelled, desperate.

‘Librarians must have corrupted the Mindstone, Brig,’ Grandpa Smedry said.

That’s the problem with having a magic rock that connects the minds of all of your best soldiers.
Take down the stone, and you take down your soldiers.
Kind of like how taking out one cell phone tower can knock out the texting ability of an entire school’s worth of teenage girls.

Grandpa Smedry focused on blasting the Librarians with his Lenses, but they got smart quickly.
They spread out, forcing their way around the perimeter of the floor, trying to get at the king.
Grandpa Smedry couldn’t focus on all the different groups; there were too many.

The room was a chaotic mess.
People screaming, Librarians pulling out swords, wind blowing.
The monarchs were trying to escape, but the stairs were clogged again.
Sing sat dazed from his roll down the stairs.
He wouldn’t be able to help again anytime soon.

‘Alcatraz, get those monarchs out!’
Grandpa Smedry said, pointing toward the wall.
‘Folsom, if you’d help me .
.
.’

And with that, Grandpa Smedry began to sing.

I stared at him, dumbfounded, until I realized this gave Folsom the music he needed to dance.
Both Folsom and Himalaya spun toward the Librarians, knocking down those who had tried to push around the outsides of the room.

I turned and dashed up a section of bleacherlike seats.
‘Monarchs, up here!’
I said.
The seats here were empty, their occupants all trying to crowd out the other door.

Several of the monarchs turned toward me as I reached the far wall.
I placed two hands against it and blasted it with breaking power.
The entire wall fell away as if it had been shoved by the hand of a giant.

Monarchs rushed up the steps, wearing a variety of costumes and crowns: A man with dark skin in red African-style clothing.
The Mokian king in his islander wrap.
A king and queen in standard crowns and European robes.
I counted them off, but didn’t see Bastille’s father.

That was, apparently, because he was still down below.
I could see that he was trying to pull Draulin to safety – unfortunately, she weighed like a bazillion pounds with all that armor on, not to mention the awkward sword strapped to her back.
The king must have come to the same conclusion, as he pulled free her sword and tossed it aside, then began to work off the armor.

I moved to go help, but the crowds had seen my new exit and were swarming around me.
I had to fight against them, and it really slowed me down.

‘Grandpa!’
I yelled, pointing.

Below, my grandfather turned toward the king, then cursed.
Folsom and Himalaya were holding off the Librarians pretty well, so Grandpa Smedry rushed over to help the High King.
I tried to do likewise, but it was slow going with the crowd in my way.
Fortunately, it looked like I wouldn’t be needed.

People escaped out of the broken hole in the wall.
Folsom and Himalaya handled the Librarians.
My grandfather helped the High King pick up Draulin.
Everything seemed good.

Swcbn continued to knit quietly.

Questions.
They still itched at me.

How exactly
, I wondered
, did the Librarians get to the Crystin Mindstone?
That thing must be freakishly well guarded
.

Why was Swcbn acting so content?
Who
had
blown up the
Hawkwind
?
It had to have been someone who would have been able to get Detonator’s Glass into Draulin’s pack.
Hers was the room that had exploded.

I glanced at Himalaya, who fought beside her new husband, knocking down enemy after enemy as my grandfather sang opera.
It occurred to me that perhaps we’d overlooked something.
And at that moment, I asked the most important question of all.

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 Smedry 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, Archedis rose, pulling free his crystalline sword.
He slammed the pommel against Grandpa Smedry’s head.

The old man went cross-eyed – his Talent unable to protect him from the power of a Crystin blade – and he fell to the side.
With his singing gone, Himalaya and Folsom immediately stopped fighting and froze in place.

The Librarians tackled them.

I struggled against the flow of people again, trying desperately 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 from 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 posture 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 in reverence, 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.