Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia

“Of course,” Patty said, climbing into the carriage. “What were you expecting? A … what is it you call them? A pottlemobile?”

“Automobile,” I said, joining her. “No, I wasn’t expecting one of those. Horses just seem so … rustic.”

“Rustic?” she said as the coachman urged his beasts into motion. “Why, they’re far more advanced than those bottlemobiles you Hushlanders use!”

It’s a common belief in the Free Kingdoms that everything they have is more advanced than what we backward Hushlanders use. For instance, they like to say that swords are more advanced than guns. This may sound ridiculous until you realize their swords are magical and are indeed more advanced than some guns—the kinds of early guns the Free Kingdomers had before they switched to silimatic technology.

Horses, though … I’ve never bought that one.

“Okay, look,” I said. “Horses are not more advanced than cars.”

“Sure they are,” Patty said.

“Why?”

“Simple. Poop.”

I blinked. “Poop?”

“Yup. What do those slobomobiles make? Foul-smelling gas. What do horses make?”

“Poop?”

“Poop,” she said. “Fertilizer. You get to go somewhere, and you get a useful by-product.”

I sat back, feeling a little bit disturbed. Not because of what Patty said—I was used to Free Kingdomer rationalizations. No, I was disturbed because I’d somehow managed to talk about both excrement and flatulence in the course of two chapters.

If I could somehow work in barfing, then I’d have a complete potty humor trifecta.

Riding in the carriage allowed me a good look at the city’s people, buildings, and shops. Oddly, I was surprised by how … well, normal everyone seemed. Yes, there were castles. Yes, the people wore tunics and robes instead of slacks and blouses. But the expressions on their faces—the laughter, the frustration, even the boredom—were just like those back home.

Riding down that busy road—with the castle peaks rising like jagged mountains into the sky—felt an awful lot like riding in a taxi through New York City. People are people. Wherever they come from or whatever they look like, they’re the same. As the philosopher Garnglegoot the Confused once said: “I’ll have a banana and crayon sandwich, please.” (Garnglegoot always did have trouble staying on topic.)

“So where do all these people live?” I asked, then cringed, expecting Bastille to shoot back something like “In their homes, stupid.” It took me a second to remember that Bastille wasn’t there to make fun of me. That made me sad, though I should have been happy to avoid the mockery.

“Oh, most of them are from Nalhalla City here,” Patty said. “Though a fair number of them probably traveled in today via Transporter’s Glass.”

“Transporter’s Glass?”

Aunt Patty nodded her blonde-haired head. “It’s some very interesting technology developed by the Kuanalu Institute over in Halaiki using sands your father discovered a number of years ago. It lets people cross great distances in an instant, using a feasibly economic expenditure of brightsand. I’ve read some very exciting research on the subject.”

I blinked. I believe I’ve mentioned how unreasonably scholarly the Smedry clan is. A remarkable number of them are professors, researchers, or scientists. We’re like an unholy mix of the Brady Bunch and the UCLA honors department.

“You’re a professor, aren’t you?” I accused her.

“Why, yes, dear!” Aunt Patty said.

“Silimatics?”

“That’s right; how’d you guess?”

“Just lucky,” I said. “Have you ever heard of a theory that says Oculators can power technological types of glass in addition to their Lenses?”

She harrumphed. “Been speaking with your father, I see.”

“My father?”

“I’m well aware of that paper he wrote,” Aunt Patty continued, “but I don’t buy it. Claiming that Oculators were somehow brightsand in human form. Doesn’t that seem silly to you? How can sand be human in form?”

“I—”

“I’ll admit that there are some discrepancies,” she continued, ignoring my attempt to interject. “However, your father is jumping to conclusions. This will require far more research than he’s put into it! Research by people who are more practiced at true silimatics than that scoundrel. Oh, looks like you’re getting a zit on your nose, by the way. Too bad that man in the carriage next to us just took a picture of you.”

I jumped, glancing to the side where another carriage had pulled up. The man there was holding up squares of glass about a foot on each edge, pointing them toward us, then tapping them. I was still new to all this, but I was pretty sure he was doing something very similar to taking pictures with a camera. When he noticed my attention, he lowered his panes of glass and tipped his cap toward me, and his carriage pulled away.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Well, hon, you are the heir of the Smedry line—not to mention an Oculator raised in the Hushlands. That kind of thing interests people.”

“People know about me?” I asked, surprised. I knew I’d been born in Nalhalla, but I’d just assumed that the people in the Free Kingdoms had forgotten.