I admit nothing.
You might say that my dialogue in these books sounds too heroic at times to be real. “Alcatraz,” you say to me, “real people, particularly teenagers, don’t say things like ‘You’re merely the woman who gave birth to me—and I’m surprised you didn’t find a surrogate for that endeavor.’” To which I reply, “Stop reading over my shoulder as I type. And how did you get into my house anyway?”
I’ve told you before, and I guess I need to reiterate, that everything in these biographies is one hundred percent true and not altered in any way. Yes, a real teenage boy talking to his mother might have said, “Uh, you’re stupid. And stuff.” Fortunately, I’m far more eloquent.
And if you don’t believe me, well, uh, you’re stupid. And stuff.
Penguinator’s blastoff shoved me back in my seat. I could practically feel my skin pulling back from my mouth and eyes as we zoomed upward. Missiles fell around us, trailing smoke, but somehow—whether by luck or clever flying—we missed colliding with any of them. I was quite pleased by that fact. I hate exploding so early in the day.*
Kaz let out a whoop as we streaked away from Mokia. I let out a gurgle that was meant as a cross between a philosophic representation of my disgust for all things Librarian and a wish that I’d thought to use the bathroom before climbing aboard.
Eventually the machine leveled out in the sky, turning horizontal like a jet plane—a giant glass jet plane shaped like a penguin with a large flame shooting out of its butt. These are the kinds of classy moments the Librarians try to prevent you from reading, kids.
“What are we looking at for the flight time?” Grandpa asked once we’d leveled out.
“Maybe an hour,” Kaz said.
I checked the clock on the dashboard. That would put us at about one in the afternoon when the Librarian defenses around Washington, DC, blew us up. Much better.
“Any ideas on how we’re going to get in?” Kaz asked.
“Something will come up,” Grandpa said cheerfully.
“You always say things like that,” Draulin said. “Color me skeptical.”
“Could you get us in?” I asked my mother.
“Not a chance,” she said. “They don’t trust me. Haven’t in years. They’re not going to let me into the Highbrary.”
“Disguiser’s Lenses, then,” I said. “They can make us look like anyone else. Grandpa and I can put them on, and imitate important Librarians.”
“You think the Librarians aren’t ready for something like that?” my mother asked. “The Highbrary isn’t some simple local branch; it has protections in place. Defenses. Anytime an Oculator uses one of their Lenses inside the place, they glow brightly. You’ll never be able to use one for a disguise.”
“She’s right,” Draulin said. “That has always prevented us from being able to sneak in.”
“Well,” Kaz said, “maybe we could crash Penguinator as a distraction. We throw out some lifelike dummies to enhance the illusion that we’re all dead. You might work for one of those, Draulin. How dedicated are you to the Smedry cause?”
Draulin gave my uncle a very stern look, the type only she can—
Wait, Draulin?
Yes, that was her. Bastille’s mother, decked out in plate armor, Crystin sword strapped to her back. She had a severe haircut, a more severe face, and an even more severe temperament.
Draulin, like her daughter, was a knight sworn to protect my family line. That didn’t explain why she was here, standing by the doorway, arms folded.
“Uh,” I asked, looking at the others, “isn’t anyone else surprised that she’s suddenly here?”
“Nah,” Grandpa said. “Draulin has been doing this for years.”
She narrowed her eyes at Grandpa. “When I heard young Smedry’s proclamation to the Librarians, I realized you were likely going to try to sneak away.”
Shattering Glass. Had the entire city seen my little show for the monarchs?
“I easily determined you’d take this ship,” Draulin said, “as it is the fastest and most elegant in the Smedry fleet. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to guard you people when you never tell us where you’re going?”
“Obviously,” Grandpa said in his perky way. “Otherwise we wouldn’t do it!” He smiled at Draulin.
“Irresponsible troublemaker,” Draulin said.
“Stick-in-the-mud.”
“Detestable threat to peace.”
“Tu’mi’kapi.”
“That’s a new one.”
“It means ‘old bat’ in Mokian.”
“Ah.”
“A term of endearment, of course.”
“Among bats, perhaps,” Draulin said, settling herself into a seat with a clink.
I watched the exchange with befuddlement. Despite their words, the two seemed genuinely fond of one another, a sense I’d never gotten before. I mean, Draulin couldn’t possibly be fond of anything, could she?*
“I’m not sure what to be more offended by, Old Smedry,” Draulin said, perched in her seat in a way that didn’t look at all comfortable. “That you’d go on a mission with a notorious Librarian agent without telling me, or that you’d leave for the one place where we can find a cure for my daughter’s ailment and not think to invite me to help.”
“I figured you’d have more fun sneaking aboard,” Grandpa said. “Just like old times!”
“Old times were miserable.”
“Exactly the sort of thing you enjoy, then!”
Her lips—amazingly—tugged upward at the corners, as if she were smiling. And back in Nalhalla, she’d almost seemed to display an affection for her family. Maybe I’d overestimated this woman’s sternness.
Draulin reached out sideways with a sudden motion and punched my mother in the face with a gauntleted hand.
I stared in disbelief as Shasta was thrown off her seat by the punch. She rolled on the floor, but came up on one knee, hair mussed, glasses askew. All in all, she looked rather not dead for having been punched by a Knight of Crystallia.
“Stuttering Silverbergs!” Grandpa exclaimed, leaping from his seat. “Draulin, that was uncalled-for.”
“Be calm,” Draulin said, standing and meet
ing my mother’s gaze. “She’s obviously wearing some kind of protective glass. I needed to measure its damage capacity.”
“But still!” Grandpa looked from Draulin to Shasta.
My mother stood up calmly and straightened her glasses. “And I am supposed to be the ‘evil’ one? What if I hadn’t had a protective field, knight?”
“Then you’d be unconscious,” Draulin said. “And we’d all be safer.” She looked away from Shasta and stepped up next to Kaz at the glass control panel, then reached underneath it and pulled out a small device with a blinking light. She held it up, spinning on Shasta. “Did any of you see her plant this?”
I gawked, then looked at my mother. “How did you manage that?”
“I obviously didn’t,” Shasta said, folding her arms. “It’s a Librarian tracking device, but it’s not mine. I don’t know how it got there.”
I wished I could read Shasta. She said everything with the same passionless voice. To her, getting punched in the face seemed about as distracting as having a fly land on her knee.*
Draulin crushed the device in her fist. “As usual, you Smedrys have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into.”
“Oh, we know,” I said. “We just don’t care.”
Draulin gave me a glare that could have burned toast.
“I did not plant that bug,” Shasta said, settling back down on her seat. “And Leavenworth, if you wish my aid on this mission of yours, then you’ll keep your watchdog more carefully leashed.” She fished in her pocket and brought out a thin disc of glass that had cracked down the center. Whatever protective field she maintained, Draulin had done it some serious damage.
“Draulin,” Grandpa said, “no more punching things unless I give you the go-ahead.”
She regarded him with a raised eyebrow.
“And no more kicking them, attacking them with swords or other weapons, head-butting them, or body-slamming them.”
“Very well.”
“No biting either,” Grandpa added.
Draulin’s face fell visibly. “Watch that one,” she said, pointing at Shasta. “We need to be extra careful on this mission. My daughter’s safety is at stake. I want to have the cure in hand as soon as possible so that she can be revived to help us.”