Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia

So there I was, holding a pink teddy bear in my hand. It had a red bow and an inviting, cute, bearlike smile. Also, it was ticking.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Now you throw it, idiot!” Bastille said urgently.

I frowned, then tossed the bear to the side, through the open window, into the small room filled with sand. A second later, an explosion blasted back through the window and tossed me into the air. I was propelled backward, then slammed into the far wall.

With an urk of pain, I slid down and fell onto my back. I blinked, my vision fuzzy. Little flakes of plaster—the kind they put on ceilings just so they can break off and fall to the ground dramatically in an explosion—broke off the ceiling and fell dramatically to the ground. One hit me on the forehead.

“Ow,” I said. I lay there, staring upward, breathing in and out. “Bastille, did that teddy bear just explode?”

“Yes,” she said, walking over and looking down at me. She had on a gray-blue militaristic uniform, and wore her straight, silver hair long. On her belt was a small sheath that had a large hilt sticking out of it. That hid her Crystin blade; though the sheath was only about a foot long, if she drew the weapon out it would be the length of a regular sword.

“Okay. Right. Why did that teddy bear just explode?”

“Because you pulled out the pin, stupid. What else did you expect it to do?”

I groaned, sitting up. The room around us—inside the Nalhallan Royal Weapons Testing Facility—was white and featureless. The wall where we’d been standing had an open window looking into the blast range, which was filled with sand. There were no other windows or furniture, save for a set of cabinets on our right.

“What did I expect it to do?” I said. “Maybe play some music? Say ‘mama’? Where I come from, exploding is not a normal bear habit.”

“Where you come from, a lot of things are backward,” Bastille said. “I’ll bet your poodles don’t explode either.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Pity.”

“Actually, exploding poodles would be awesome. But exploding teddy bears? That’s dangerous!”

“Duh.”

“But Bastille, they’re for children!”

“Exactly. So that they can defend themselves, obviously.” She rolled her eyes and walked back over to the window that looked into the sand-filled room. She didn’t ask if I was hurt. She could see that I was still breathing, and that was generally good enough for her.

Also, you may have noticed that this is Chapter Two. You may be wondering where Chapter One went. It turns out that I—being stoopid—lost it. Don’t worry, it was kind of boring anyway. Well, except for the talking llamas.

I climbed to my feet. “In case you were wondering—”

“I wasn’t.”

“—I’m fine.”

“Great.”

I frowned, walking up to Bastille. “Is something bothering you, Bastille?”

“Other than you?”

“I always bother you,” I said. “And you’re always a little grouchy. But today you’ve been downright mean.”

She glanced at me, arms folded. Then I saw her expression soften faintly. “Yeah.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I just don’t like losing.”

“Losing?” I said. “Bastille, you recovered your place in the knights, exposed—and defeated—a traitor to your order, and stopped the Librarians from kidnapping or killing the Council of Kings. If that’s ‘losing,’ you’ve got a really funny definition of the word.”

“Funnier than your face?”

“Bastille,” I said firmly.

She sighed, leaning down, crossing her arms on the windowsill. “She Who Cannot Be Named got away, your mother escaped with that book in the Forgotten Language, and—now that they’re not hiding behind the ruse of a treaty—the Librarians are throwing everything they’ve got at Mokia.”

“You’ve done what you could. I’ve done what I could. It’s time to let others handle things.”

She didn’t look happy about that. “Fine. Let’s get back to your explosives training.” She wanted me well prepared in case the war came to Nalhalla. It wasn’t likely to happen, but my ignorance of proper things—like exploding teddy bears—has always been a point of frustration to Bastille.

Now, I realize that many of you are just as ignorant as I am. That’s why I prepared a handy guide that explains everything you need to know and remember about my autobiography in order to not be confused by this book. I put the guide back in Chapter One. If you ever have trouble, you can reference it. I’m such a nice guy. Dumb, but nice.

Bastille opened one of the cabinets on the side wall and pulled out another small, pink teddy bear. She handed it to me as I walked up to her. It had a little tag on the side that said PULL ME! in adorable lettering.

I took it nervously. “Tell me honestly. Why do you build grenades that look like teddy bears? It’s not about protecting children.”

“Well, how do you feel when you look at that?”

I shrugged. “It’s cute. In a deadly, destructive way.” Kind of like Bastille, actually, I thought. “It makes me want to smile. Then it makes me want to run away screaming, since I know it’s really a grenade.”