Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia

Mokia was important. But even if we could do what he said, and even if we could get Bastille involved, how was fighting a political battle going to prove anything to do with knighthood?

“What’s a Mindstone?” I asked as we walked back to the Transporter’s Glass chamber.

“Well,” Grandpa Smedry said, “you’re not supposed to know about that. Which of course makes it all the more fun to tell you. There are three kinds of Crystin shards.”

“I know,” I interjected. “They make swords from one type.”

“Right,” Grandpa Smedry said. “Those are special in that they’re very resilient to Oculatory powers and things like Smedry Talents, which lets the Knights of Crystallia fight Dark Oculators. The second type of shards are the ones in their necks—the Fleshstones, they call them.”

“Those give them powers,” I said. “Make them better soldiers. But what’s the third one?”

“The Mindstone,” Grandpa Smedry said. “It is said to be a shard from the Worldspire, a single crystal that connects all the other Crystin shards. Even I don’t know for certain what it does, but I think it connects all Crystin together, letting them draw upon the strength of other knights.”

“And they’re going to cut Bastille off from it,” I said. “Maybe that will be a good thing. She’ll be more her own person.”

Grandpa Smedry eyed me. “The Mindstone doesn’t make the knights all have a single mind, lad. It lets them share skills. If one of them knows how to do something, they all get a fraction of a tad of an iota better at that same thing.”

We entered the room with the box, then stepped inside it; apparently Grandpa Smedry had left instructions for the boxes to be swapped every ten minutes until we returned.

“Grandfather,” I said. “My Talent. Is it as dangerous as you said back there?”

He didn’t reply.

“In the tomb of Alcatraz the First,” I said as the doors to our box closed, “the writing on the walls spoke of the Breaking Talent. The writing … called it the ‘Dark Talent’ and implied it had caused the fall of the entire Incarna civilization.”

“Others have held the Breaking Talent, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said. “None of them caused any civilizations to fall! Though they did knock down a wall or two.”

His attempt at mirth seemed forced. I opened my mouth to ask more, but the doors to the box opened. Standing directly outside was Folsom Smedry in his red robes, Himalaya at his side.

“Lord Smedry!” Folsom said, looking relieved. “Finally!”

“What?” Grandpa Smedry said.

“You’re late,” Folsom said.

“Of course I am,” Grandpa said. “Get on with it!”

“She’s here.”

“Who?”

“Her,” Folsom said. “She Who Cannot Be Named. She’s in the keep, and she wants to talk to you.”

Chapter 12

Right now you should be asking yourself some questions. Questions like: “How is it possible that this book can be so awesome?” and “Why did the Librarian slip and fall down?” and “What exactly was it that exploded and made Hawkwind crash in Chapter Two?”

Did you think I’d forgotten that last one? No, not at all. (The crash nearly killed me, after all.) I figured that the Librarians might be behind it, as everyone else assumed. But why had they done it? And, more important, how?

There just hadn’t been time to ask those questions, vital though they were. Too much was going on. We’ll get to it though.

(Also, the answer to the second question in the first paragraph is obvious. She fell because she was looking through the library’s nonfriction section.)

We approached Keep Smedry’s audience lounge, where Sing—with his hefty Mokian girth—stood guard. It was time to confront She Who Cannot Be Named—the most dangerous Librarian in all of the Order of the Wardens of the Standard. I’d fought Blackburn, Dark Oculator, and felt the pain of his Torturer’s Lens. I’d fought Kilimanjaro of the Scrivener’s Bones, with his bloodforged Lenses and terrible half-metal smile. Librarian hierarchs were not to be trifled with.

I tensed, entering the medium-sized castle chamber with Grandpa Smedry and Folsom, ready for anything. The Librarian, however, wasn’t there. The only person in the room was a little old grandmother wearing a shawl and carrying an orange handbag.

“It’s a trap!” I said. “They sent a grandmother as a decoy! Quickly, old lady. You’re in great danger! Run for safety while we secure the area!”

The old lady met Grandpa Smedry’s eyes. “Ah, Leavenworth. Your family is always such a delight!”

“Kangchenjunga Sarektjåkkå,” Grandpa Smedry said, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. Almost cold.

“You always were the only one out here who could pronounce that correctly!” said Kagechech … Kachenjuaha … She Who Cannot Be Named. Her voice had a decidedly kindly tone to it. This? This was She Who Cannot Be Named? The most dangerous Librarian of all? I felt a little bit let down.

“Such a dear you are, Leavenworth,” she continued.

Grandpa Smedry raised an eyebrow. “I can’t say it’s good to see you, Kangchenjunga, so instead perhaps I will say that it’s interesting to see you.”