Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia

I stepped into the ice cream shop, trying to be ready for anything. I had seen coolers that turned out to hide banquet rooms. I had seen libraries that concealed a dark hideout for cultists. I figured a place that looked like an ice cream shop was probably something entirely different, like an explosive crayon testing facility. (Ha! That’s what you get for writing on the walls, Jimmy!)

If the ice cream parlor was fake, it was doing a really good job of that fakery. It looked exactly like something from the fifties, including colorful pastels, stools by the tables, and waitresses in striped red-and-white skirts. Though said waitresses were serving banana splits and chocolate shakes to a bunch of people dressed in medieval clothing.

A sign on the wall proudly proclaimed the place to be an AUTHENTIC HUSHLANDER RESTAURANT! When Aunt Patty and I entered, the place grew still. Outside, others were clustering around the windows, looking in at me.

“It’s all right, folks,” Aunt Patty proclaimed. “He’s really not all that interesting. Actually, he kind of smells, so you probably want to keep your distance.”

I blushed deeply.

“Notice how I keep them from fawning over you?” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “You can thank me later, hon. I’ll go fetch Folsom!” Aunt Patty pushed her way through the busy room. As soon as she was gone, Free Kingdomers began to approach me, ignoring her warning. They were hesitant though; even the middle-aged men seemed as timid as children.

“Um … can I help you?” I asked as I was surrounded.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” one of them asked. “Alcatraz the Lost.”

“Well, I don’t feel that lost,” I said, growing uncomfortable. To have them so close and so in awe … well, I didn’t quite know how to react. What was the proper protocol for a long-lost celebrity when first revealing himself to the world?

A young fan, maybe seven years old, solved the problem. He stepped up, holding a square piece of glass five or six inches across. It was clear and flat, as if it had been cut right out of a windowpane. He offered the glass to me with a shaking hand.

Okay, I thought, that’s weird. I reached out and took the glass. As soon as I touched it, the glass began to glow. The boy pulled it back eagerly, and I could see that my thumb and fingers had left shining prints. Apparently this was the Free Kingdomer version of getting an autograph.

The others began to press forward. Some had squares of glass. Others wanted to shake my hand, get their pictures taken with me, or have me use my Talent to break something of theirs as a memento. The bustle might have annoyed someone else, but after a childhood of being alternately mocked (for breaking things) and feared (for breaking things), I was ready for a little bit of adulation.

After all, didn’t I deserve it? I’d stopped the Librarians from getting the Sands of Rashid. I’d defeated Blackburn. I’d saved my father from the horrors of the Library of Alexandria.

Grandpa Smedry was right; it was time to relax and enjoy myself. I made thumbprints, posed for pictures, shook hands, and answered questions. By the time Aunt Patty returned, I had launched into a dramatic telling of my first infiltration with Grandpa Smedry. That day in the ice cream parlor was the day I realized that I might make a good writer. I seemed to have a flair for storytelling. I teased the audience with information about what was coming, never quite revealing the ending but hinting at it.

By the way, did you know that later that day, someone was going to try to assassinate King Dartmoor?

“All right, all right,” Aunt Patty said, shoving aside some of my fans. “Give the boy some room.” She grabbed me by the arm. “Don’t worry, hon, I’ll rescue you.”

“But—!”

“No need to thank me,” Aunt Patty said. Then, in a louder voice, she proclaimed, “Everyone stay back! Alcatraz has been in the Hushlands! You don’t want to catch any of his crazy-strange Librarian diseases!”

I saw numerous people’s faces pale, and the crowd backed away. Aunt Patty then led me to a table occupied by two people. One, a young man in his twenties with black hair and a hawkish face, looked vaguely familiar. I realized this must be Folsom Smedry; he looked a lot like his brother, Quentin. The young woman seated across from him wore a maroon skirt and white blouse. She had dark skin and her spectacles had a chain.

To be honest, I hadn’t expected the Librarian to be so pretty or so young. Certainly none of the ones I’d met so far had been pretty. Granted, most of those had been trying to kill me at the time, so perhaps I was a little biased.

Folsom stood up. “Alcatraz!” he said, holding out a hand. “I’m Folsom, your cousin.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “What’s your Talent?” (I’d learned by now to ask Smedrys that as soon as I met them. Sitting down to eat with a Smedry without knowing their Talent was a little like accepting a grenade without knowing if the pin had been pulled or not.)