Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia

Chapter 15

Humans are funny things. From what I’ve seen, the more we agree with someone, the more we like listening to them. I’ve come up with a theory. I call it the macaroni and cheese philosophy of discourse.

I love macaroni and cheese. It’s amazing. If they serve food in heaven, I’m certain mac and cheese graces each and every table. If someone wants to sit and talk to me about how good mac and cheese is, I’ll talk to them for hours. However, if they want to talk about fish sticks, I generally stuff them in a cannon and launch them in the direction of Norway.

That’s the wrong reaction. I know what mac and cheese tastes like. Wouldn’t it be more useful for me to talk to someone who likes something else? Maybe understanding what other people like about fish sticks could help me understand how they think.

A lot of the world doesn’t take this point of view. In fact, many people think that if they like mac and cheese rather than fish sticks, the best thing to do is ban fish sticks.

That would be a tragedy. If we let people do things like that, eventually we’d end up with only one thing to eat. And it probably wouldn’t be mac and cheese or fish sticks. It’d probably be something that none of us likes to eat.

You want to be a better person? Go listen to someone you disagree with. Don’t argue with them, just listen. It’s remarkable what interesting things people will say if you take the time to not be a jerk.

We dashed from the giant glass pig like deployed soldiers, then stormed up the steps to the Royal Archives. (Go ahead, say it with me. I know you want to.)

Not a library.

Bastille in her Warrior’s Lenses was the fastest of course, but Folsom and Himalaya kept up. Sing was in the rear, right beside …

“Prince Rikers?” I said, freezing in place. I’d assumed that the prince would remain with his vehicle.

“Yes, what?” the prince said, stopping beside me, turning and looking back.

“Why are you here?” I said.

“I finally have a chance to see the famous Alcatraz Smedry in action! I’m not going to miss it.”

“Your Highness,” I said, “this might be dangerous.”

“You really think so?” he asked excitedly.

“What’s going on?” Bastille said, rushing back down the steps. “I thought we were in a hurry.”

“He wants to come,” I said, gesturing.

She shrugged. “We can’t really stop him—he’s the crown prince. That kind of means he can do what he wants.”

“But what if he gets killed?” I asked.

“Then they’ll have to pick a new crown prince,” Bastille snapped. “Are we going or not?”

I sighed, glancing at the red-haired prince. He was smiling in self-satisfaction.

“Great,” I muttered, but continued up the stairs. The prince rushed beside me. “By the way,” I said. “Why a pig?”

“Why,” he said, surprised, “I heard that in the Hushlands, it is common for tough guys to ride hogs.”

I groaned. “Prince Rikers, ‘hog’ is another word for a motorcycle.”

“Motorcycles look like pigs?” he asked. “I never knew that!”

“You know what, never mind,” I said. We rushed into the room with the soldiers; it looked like the knights had sent for reinforcements. There were a lot of them on the stairs too. I felt good knowing they were there in case the Librarians did break into the Royal Archives.

“Not a library,” Sing added.

“What?” I asked.

“Just thought you might be thinking about it,” Sing said, “and figured I should remind you.”

We reached the bottom. The two knights had taken up guard positions inside the room, and they saluted the prince as we entered.

“Any Librarians?” I asked.

“No,” the blonde knight said, “but we can still hear the scraping noise. We have two platoons on command here, and two more searching nearby buildings. So far we’ve not discovered anything—but we’ll be ready for them if they break into the stairwell!”

“Excellent,” I said. “You should wait outside, just in case.” I didn’t want them to see what was about to happen. It was embarrassing.

They left and closed the door. I turned to Himalaya. “All right,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

She looked confused. “Do what?”

Oh right, I thought. We’d never actually explained why we needed her. “Somewhere in this room are some books the Librarians really want,” I said. “Your former friends are tunneling in here right now. I need you to…”

I could see Bastille, Folsom, and Sing cringe as I prepared to say it.

“… I need you to organize the books in here.”

Himalaya paled. “What?”

“You heard me right.”

She glanced at Folsom. He looked away.

“You’re testing me,” she said, forming fists. “Don’t worry, I can resist it. You don’t need to do this.”

“No, really,” I said, exasperated. “I’m not testing you. I just need these books to have some kind of order.”

She sat down on a pile. “But … but I’m recovering! I’ve been clean for months now! You can’t ask me to go back, you can’t.”

“Himalaya,” I said, kneeling beside her. “We really, really need you to do this.”

She started trembling, which made me hesitate.

“I—”