"You're here!" the prince said, grabbing and shaking my hand. "I can barely contain myself! Alcatraz Smedry, in the flesh! I hear you exploded upon landing in the city!"
"Yes, well," I said. "It wasn't that bad an explosion, all things considered."
"Your life is so exciting!" Rikers said. "Just like I imagined it. And now you're at my party! And who is this with you?" His face fell as he recognized Folsom, whose ears were now stuffed with cotton. "Oh, the critic," the prince said. Then, more softly, "Well, I guess we can't help who we're related to, can we?" He winked at me. "Please, come in! Let me introduce you to everyone!"
And he meant everyone.
When I first wrote this next section of the book, I tried to be very accurate and detailed. Then I realized that's just plain boring. This is a story about evil Librarians, Teleporting Glass, and sword fights. It's not a book about dumb parties. So, instead, I'm just going to summarize what happened next:
Person one: "Alcatraz, you're so awesome!”
Me: "Yes, I know I am."
The prince: "I always knew he was. Have you read my latest book?”
Person two: "Alcatraz, you are more awesome even than yourself."
Me: "Thank you. I think."
The prince: "He's my buddy, you know. I write books about him."
This went on for the better part of an hour or so. Only, it wasn't boring for me at the time. I enjoyed it immensely. People were paying attention to me, telling me about how wonderful I was. I actually started to believe I was the Alcatraz from Rikers's stories. It became a little hard to focus on why I'd come to the party in the first place. Mokia could wait, right? It was important that I get to know people, right?
Eventually, Prince Rikers brought me to the lounge, chatting about how they'd managed to make his books play music. In the lounge, people sat in comfortable chairs, making small talk while they sipped exotic drinks. We passed a large group of partygoers laughing together, and they seemed focused on someone I couldn't see.
Another celebrity, I thought. I should be gracious to them – I wouldn't want them to get jealous of how much more popular I am than they are.
We approached the group. Prince Rikers said, “And, of course, you already know this next person."
"I do?" I asked, surprised. The figure in the middle of the crowd of people turned toward me.
It was my father.
I stopped in place. The two of us looked at each other. My father had a large group of people doting on him, and most of them – I noticed – were attractive young women. The types who wore gowns that were missing large chunks of cloth on the back or on the sides.
"Attica!" the prince said. "I must say, your son is proving to be quite a popular addition to the party!"
"Of course he is," my father said, taking a sip of his drink. "He's my son, after all."
The way he said it bothered me. It was as if he implied that all of my fame and notoriety were simply because of him. He smiled at me – one of those fake smiles you see on TV – then turned away and said something witty. The women twittered adoringly.
That completely ruined my morning. When the prince tried to pull me away to meet some more of his friends, I complained of a headache and asked if I could sit down. I soon found myself in a dim corner of the lounge, sitting in a plush chair. The soft, whisperlike sounds of the crystal music floated over the buzz of chattering people. I sipped some fruit juice.
What right did my father have to act so dismissive of me? Hadn't I been the one to save his life? I'd grown up inside the Hushlands, oppressed by the Librarians, all because he wasn't responsible enough to take care of me.
Of all the people in the room, shouldn't he be the one who was most proud of me?
I should probably say something to lighten the tone here, but I find it hard. The truth was that I didn't feel like laughing, and I don't really think you should either. (If you must, you can imagine the butler in his underpants again.)
"Alcatraz?" a voice asked. "Can we join you?"
I looked up to find Folsom and Himalaya being held back by the servant left to guard me. I waved for him to let them pass, and they took seats near me.
"Nice party,” Folsom said in an overly loud voice. "I give it four out of five wineglasses, though the finger food only rates a one and a half."
I made no comment.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Folsom asked in a loud voice. His ears were still stuffed with cotton for some reason.
Had I found what I was looking for? What had I been looking for? Librarians, I thought. That's right. "I didn't see any Librarians around."
"What do you mean?" Himalaya said. "They're all over the place."
They were? "Er . . . I mean, I didn't see them doing anything nefarious."
"They're up to something," Himalaya said. "I bet you anything. There are a lot of them here. Look, I made a list."
I looked over with surprise and embarrassment as she handed me a sheet of paper.
"They're listed by their Librarian sect," she said, somewhat apologetically. "Then by age. Then, uh, by height." She glanced at Folsom. "Then by blood type. Sorry. Couldn't help it."
"What?" he asked, having trouble hearing.
I scanned the list. There were some forty people on it. I really had been distracted. I didn't recognize any of the names, but –
I cut off as I read a name near the bottom of the list. Fletcher.
“Who is this?" I demanded, pointing at the name.
“Hum?" Himalaya asked. "Oh. I only saw her once. I don't know which of the orders she belongs to."
"Show me,” I said, standing.
Himalaya and Folsom rose and led me through the ballroom.
"Hey, Alcatraz!" a voice called as we walked.
I turned to see a richly dressed group of young men waving at me. One of those at their lead, a man named Rodrayo, was a minor nobleman the prince had introduced me to. Everyone seemed so eager to be my friend; it was difficult not to join them. However, the name on that list – Fletcher – was too intimidating. I waved apologetically to Rodrayo, then continued with Himalaya.
A few moments later, she laid a hand on my shoulder. "There," she said, pointing at a figure who was making her way out the front doors. The woman had dyed her hair dark brown since I'd last seen her, and she wore a Free Kingdomer gown instead of her typical business suit.
But it was her: my mother. Ms. Fletcher was an alias. I felt a sudden sense of shame for getting so wrapped up in the party. If my mother was in the city, it meant something. She was too businesslike for simple socializing; she was always plotting.
And she had my father's Translator's Lenses.
"Come on," I said to Folsom and Himalaya. "We're following her."
CHAPTER 8
Once there was a boy named Alcatraz. He did some stuff that was kind of interesting. Then one day, he betrayed those who depended on him, doomed the world, and murdered someone who loved him.
The end.
Some people have asked me why I need multiple volumes to explain my story. After all, the core of my argument is very simple. I just told it to you in one paragraph.
Why not leave it at that?
Two words: Summarizing sucks.
Summarizing is when you take a story that is complicated and interesting, then stick it in a microwave until it shrivels up into a tiny piece of black crunchy tarlike stuff. A wise man once said, 'Any story, no matter how good, will sound really, really dumb when you shorten it to a few sentences."
For example, take this story: "Once there was a furry-footed British guy who has to go throw his uncle's ring into a hole in the ground." Sounds dumb, doesn't it?
I don't intend to do that. I intend to make you experience each and every painful moment of my life. I intend to prove how dreadful I am by talking about how awesome I am. I intend to make you read through a whole series before explaining the scene in which I started the first book.
You remember that one, r
ight? The one where I lay tied to an altar made from encyclopedias, about to get sacrificed by the Librarians? That's when my betrayal happened. You may be wondering when I'm finally going to get to that most important point in my life.
Book five. So there.
"So who is this person we're following?" Folsom asked, pulling the cotton from his ears as we left the prince's castle.
"My mother," I said curtly, glancing about. A carriage was leaving, and I caught a glance of my mother's face in it. "There. Let's go."
"Wait," Folsom said. "That's Shasta Smedry?"
I nodded.
He whistled. "This could get dangerous."