Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia

Great, I thought. This is not going to end well.

“If only my sister were here,” Sing said. “She could make herself look like one of those thugs and slip away.”

I froze. Sing’s sister, Australia, would be back with the Mokian contingent trying to lobby the Council of Kings to make the right decision. She had the Talent to go to sleep, then wake up looking really ugly. That usually meant looking like someone else for a short time. We didn’t have her, but we did have the Disguiser’s Lenses. I hurriedly retrieved them. They could get me out—but what about the others?

I looked across the corridor. Bastille met my eyes, then saw the Lenses in my hands. I could tell she recognized them. She nodded.

Go, the look said. Take that book to safety. Don’t worry about us.

If you’ve read through my series this far, then you know at that age I considered myself too noble to abandon my friends. I was starting to change, however. My nibble of fame—one I still secretly longed to taste again—had begun to work inside me.

I put on the Lenses and focused, imagining the image of a Librarian thug. Himalaya gasped quietly as I changed, and Sing raised an eyebrow. I glanced at them.

“Be ready to run,” I said. I looked at Bastille and held up one finger to indicate that she should wait. Then I pointed at the door. She seemed to get my meaning.

I took a deep breath, then stepped out. The center of the room was poorly lit, since we’d obscured a lot of the lamps with book walls. Those lamps were hung back in their places on the walls, even the one I’d tried to use to burn the place down.

I walked forward, holding my breath, expecting the Librarians to raise an alarm against me, but they were too busy searching. Nobody even turned. I walked right up to my mother. She glanced at me. The woman I’d always known as Ms. Fletcher, the woman who had spent years berating me as a child.

“Well, what is it?” she snapped, and I realized I’d just been standing there staring.

I held up the book, the one she was searching for. Her eyes opened wide with anticipation.

And so I handed the book to her.

* * *

Is this a good place? Can I stop here now? Okay, finally. About time.

Chapter 18

I’d like to apologize. Way back in my first book of this series, near the end, I made fun of the fact that readers sometimes stay up way too late reading books. I know how it is. You get involved in a story and you don’t want to stop. Then the author does very unfair things, like confront his mother face-to-face at the end of the chapter, forcing you to turn to the next page and read what happens next.

This sort of thing is terribly unfair, and I shouldn’t be engaging in such activities. After all, there is one thing that every good book should have in it: that, of course, is a potty break.

Sure, we characters can go between chapters, but what about you? You have to wait until there’s a portion of the book that is slow and boring. And since those don’t exist in my books, I force you to wait until the story is done. That’s just not fair. And so get ready, here’s your chance. It’s time for the slow, boring part.

The furry panda is a noble creature, known for its excellent chess-playing skills. Pandas often play chess in exchange for lederhosen, which make up a large chunk of their preferred diet. They also make a fortune off their licensing deals, in which they shrink and stuff members of their clan and sell them as plush toys for young children. It is often theorized that one day all of these plush pandas will decide to rise up and rule the world. And that will be fun, because pandas rock.

Okay, done doing your business? Great. Now maybe we can finally get on with this story. (It’s really annoying to have to wait for you like that, so you should thank me for my patience.)

My mother took the book from me and waved eagerly to the freckled Dark Oculator. “Fitzroy, get over here.”

“Yes, yes, Shasta,” he said a little too eagerly. He regarded her adoringly. “What is it?”

“Read this,” she said, handing him the book and the Translator’s Lenses.

The young man grabbed the book and the Lenses; it disgusted me how eager he was to please my mother. I inched away, raising my hand toward the nearby wall.

“Hum, yes…” Fitzroy said. “Shasta, this is it! The very book we wanted!”

“Excellent,” my mother said, reaching for the book.

At that moment, I touched the glass wall and released a powerful blast of breaking power into it. Now, I knew I couldn’t break the glass—I was counting on that. In previous circumstances, I’d been able to use things like walls, tables, even smoke trails as a conduit. Like a wire carried electricity, an object could carry my breaking power within it, shattering something on the other end.

It was a risk, but I wasn’t going to leave my allies alone in a room full of Librarians. Particularly not when one of those allies was the official Alcatraz Smedry novelist. I had my legacy to think about.