Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia

“Indeed I did!” Grandpa Smedry proclaimed. “Not only that but we also brought a pair of the fabled Translator’s Lenses, smelted from the Sands of Rashid themselves!”

This prompted a reaction in the crowd, and murmuring began immediately. One small contingent of men and women sitting directly across from us did not seem pleased to see Grandpa Smedry. Instead of tunics or robes, the members of this group wore suits—the men with bow ties, the women with shawls. Many wore glasses, which had horned rims.

Librarians.

The room grew chaotic as the audience began to stand, producing an excited buzz, as if a thousand hornets had suddenly been released. My aunt Patty began to speak animatedly with her father, demanding the details of his time in the Hushlands. Her voice managed to carry over the noise of the crowd, though she didn’t appear to be yelling. That was just how she was.

“Alcatraz?”

I glanced to the side, where Bastille stood shuffling uncomfortably. “Yeah?” I said.

“This … might be an appropriate place to mention something.”

“Wait,” I said, growing nervous. “Look, the king’s coming up this way!”

“Of course he is,” Bastille said. “He wants to see his family.”

“Of course. He wants to … Wait, what?”

At that moment, King Dartmoor stepped up to us. Grandpa Smedry and the others bowed to him—even Patty—so I did the same. Then the king kissed Draulin.

That’s right. He kissed her. I watched with shock, and not just because I’d never imagined that anyone would want to kiss Draulin. (Seemed a little like kissing an alligator.)

And if Draulin was the king’s wife, that meant …

“You’re a princess!” I said, pointing an accusing finger at Bastille.

She grimaced. “Yeah, kind of.”

“How can you ‘kind of’ be a princess?”

“Well, I can’t inherit the throne,” she said. “I renounced any claim on it when I joined the Knights of Crystallia. Vow of poverty and all that.”

The crowd milled about us, some exiting the room, others stopping—oddly—to gawk at my grandfather and me.

I should have realized that Bastille was royalty. Prison names. She has one, but her mother doesn’t. That was an easy indication that her father’s family was of an important class. Besides, stories such as this one always have at least one hidden member of royalty among the core cast. It’s some kind of union mandate or something.

I had several options at this point. Fortunately, I chose the one that didn’t make me look like a total dork.

“That’s awesome!” I exclaimed.

Bastille blinked. “You’re not mad at me for hiding it?”

I shrugged. “Bastille, I’m some kind of freaky noble thing myself. Why should it matter if you are too? Besides, it’s not like you were lying or anything. You just don’t like to talk about yourself.”

Brace yourselves. Something very, very strange is about to happen. Stranger than talking dinosaurs. Stranger than glass birds. Stranger, even, than my analogies to fish sticks.

Bastille got teary eyed. Then she hugged me.

Girls, might I make a suggestion at this point? Don’t go around hugging people without warning. To many of us (a number somewhere near half), this is akin to pouring an entire bottle of seventeen-alarm hot sauce in our mouths.

I believe that at this point in the story I made several very interesting and incoherent noises, followed perhaps by a blank expression and then some numb-faced drooling.

Someone was talking. “… I cannot interfere with the rules of Crystallia, Bastille.”

I fuzzed back into consciousness. Bastille had released me from her unprovoked, unregistered hug and moved on to speak with her father. The room had cleared out considerably, though there were still a number of people standing at the perimeter, curiously watching our little group.

“I know, Father,” Bastille said. “I must face their reprimand, as is my duty to the order.”

“That’s my girl,” the king said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “But don’t take what they say too harshly. The world is far less intense a place than the knights sometimes make it out to be.”

Draulin raised her eyebrow at this. Looking at them—the king in his blue-and-gold robes, Draulin in her silvery armor—they actually seemed to fit together.

I still felt sorry for Bastille. No wonder she’s so uptight, I thought. Royalty on one side, hard-line knight on the other. That would be like trying to grow up pressed between two boulders.

“Brig,” Grandpa Smedry said. “We need to speak about what the Council is planning to do.”

The king turned. “You’re too late I’m afraid, Leavenworth. Our minds are all but made up. You’ll have your vote, but I doubt it will make a difference.”

“How could you even consider giving up Mokia?” Grandpa Smedry asked.

“To save lives, my friend.” The king spoke the words in a wearied voice, and I could almost see the burdens he was carrying. “It is not a pleasant choice to make, but if it stops the war…”

“You can’t honestly expect them to keep their promises. Highlighting Heinleins, man! This is insanity.”