Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia

“Does it have to be that way?” she asked. “Why, we’re old friends!”

“Hardly. Why have you come here?”

The old grandmother sighed, then hobbled forward on shaky legs, back bowed with age, using a cane to walk. The room was carpeted with a large maroon rug, the walls bearing similar tapestries, along with several formal-looking couches for meeting with dignitaries. She didn’t sit in one of these however; she just walked up to my grandfather.

“You never have forgiven me for that little incident, have you?” the Librarian asked, fiddling in her handbag.

“Incident?” Grandpa Smedry said. “Kangchenjunga, I believe you left me dangling from a frozen mountain cliff, my foot tied to a slowly melting block of ice, my body strapped with bacon and stuck with a sign that read ‘Free wolf chow.’”

She smiled wistfully. “Ah, now that was a trap. Kids these days don’t know how to do it correctly.” She reached into her handbag. I tensed, and then she pulled out what appeared to be a plate of chocolate chip cookies, swathed in plastic wrap. She handed these to me, then patted me on the head. “What a pleasant lad,” she said, then turned to my grandfather.

“You asked why I had come, Leavenworth,” she said. “Well, we want the kings to know that we are serious about this treaty, and so I have come to speak before the final vote this evening.”

I stared down at the cookies, expecting them to explode or something. Grandpa Smedry didn’t seem worried—he kept his eyes focused directly on the Librarian.

“We won’t let this treaty happen,” Grandpa said.

The Librarian tsked quietly, shaking her head as she shuffled out of the room. “So unforgiving, you Smedrys. What can we do to show that we’re sincere? What possible solution is there to all of this?”

She hesitated by the door, then turned and winked at us. “Oh, and don’t get in my way. If you do, I’ll have to rip out your entrails, dice them into little bits, then feed them to my goldfish. Toodles!”

I stared in shock. Everything about her screamed “kindly grandmother.” She even smiled in a cute-old-lady sort of way when she mentioned our entrails, as if discussing a favorite knitting project. She exited, and a couple of keep guards followed her.

Grandpa Smedry sat down on one of the couches, exhaling deeply, Folsom sitting next to him. Sing still stood by the door, looking disturbed.

“Well then,” Grandpa said. “My, my.”

“Grandfather,” I said, looking down at the cookies. “What should we do with these?”

“We probably shouldn’t eat them,” he said.

“Poison?” I asked.

“No. They’ll spoil our dinner.” He stopped, then shrugged. “But that’s the Smedry way!” He slipped a cookie out and took a bite. “Ah yes. As good as I remember. One of the nice things about facing off against Kangchenjunga is the treats. She’s an excellent baker.”

I noticed a motion to the side, and turned as Himalaya entered the room. “Is she gone?” the dark-haired former Librarian asked.

“Yes,” Folsom said, standing up immediately.

“That woman is dreadful,” Himalaya said, sitting down.

“Ten out of ten points for evilness,” Folsom agreed.

I remained suspicious of Himalaya. She had stayed outside because she didn’t want to face a former colleague. But that had left her unsupervised. What had she been doing? Planting a bomb, like the one that blew up Hawkwind? (See, I told you I hadn’t forgotten about that.)

“We need a plan,” Grandpa Smedry said. “We only have a few hours until the treaty vote. There has to be a way to stop this!”

“Lord Smedry, I’ve been talking to the other nobility,” Sing said. “It … doesn’t look good. They’re all so tired of war. They want it to end.”

“I’ll agree the war is terrible,” Grandpa Smedry said. “But, Clustering Campbells, surrendering Mokia isn’t the answer! We need to show them that.”

Nobody responded. The five of us sat in the room for a time, thinking. Grandpa Smedry, Sing, and Folsom enjoyed the cookies, but I held off. Himalaya wasn’t eating them either. If they were poisoned, then she would know.

A short time later, a servant entered. “Lord Smedry,” the young boy said, “Crystallia is requesting a swap time.”

“Approved,” Grandpa Smedry said.

Himalaya finally took a cookie and ate one. So much for that theory, I thought with a sigh. A short time later, Bastille walked in.

I stood up, shocked. “Bastille! You’re here!”

She appeared dazed, like she’d just suffered a repeated beating to the face. She looked at me and seemed to have trouble focusing. “I…” she said. “Yes, I am.”

That gave me chills. Whatever they’d done to her in Crystallia must have been horrible if it left her unable to make sarcastic responses to my dumb comments. Sing rushed to pull over a chair for her. Bastille sat, hands in her lap. She was no longer wearing the uniform of a Squire of Crystallia—she had on a generic brown tunic and trousers, like a lot of the people I’d seen in the city.

“Child,” Grandpa Smedry said, “how do you feel?”

“Cold,” she whispered.