Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia

Eventually I spotted a crack of light down one brick-walled 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 lavish 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 sort of man my father was. 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 room 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 on the hallway carpeting. “Sit down, lad.”

Still a little stunned, I did so.

“I just got done speaking with Folsom and his lovely friend Himalaya,” Grandpa Smedry said, pleasantly smiling as if he hadn’t just smacked me in the face. “It seems that they think you are reckless!”

“That’s a problem?”

“Velcroed Verns, of course not! I was quite proud to hear that. Recklessness and boldness, great Smedry traits. Thing is, they said some other things about you—things they’d only admit after I pushed them on it.”

“What things?”