"I meant the note," she said, standing with arms folded. We were back in Keep Smedry, an enormous black stone castle nestled on the far south side of Nalhalla City. Fireglass crackled on a hearth at the side of the room. Yes, in the Free Kingdoms there is a kind of glass that can burn. Don't ask.
"Ah yes," Grandpa said, rereading the note. "Yes, yes, yes. You have to admit, though, he is very bad at good-byes. This note makes a very good argument for that. I mean, he even spelled good-bye wrong. Bad at it indeed!"
I sat in an overstuffed red chair beside the hearth. It was the chair on which we'd found the note. Apparently my father hadn't told anyone outside his inner circle that he was leaving. He'd gathered his group of soldiers, assistants, and explorers and then taken off.
We were the only three in the black-walled room. Bastille eyed me. "I'm sorry, Alcatraz,” she said. “This has to be the worst thing he could have done to you."
"I don't know,” Grandpa said. “The coupons could have been for Rocky Road instead." He cringed. "Dreadful stuff. Who puts a road in ice cream? I mean really."
Bastille regarded him evenly. "You're not helping."
"I wasn't really trying to," Grandpa said, scratching his head. He was bald save for a tuft of white hair running around the back of his head and sticking out behind his ears - like someone had stapled a cloud to his scalp - and he had a large white mustache. "But I suppose I should. Ragged Resnicks, lad! Don't look so glum. He's a horrible father anyway, right? At least he's gone now!"
"You're terrible at this," Bastille said.
"Well, at least I didn't spell anything wrong."
I smirked. I could see a twinkle in my grandfather's eyes. He was just trying to cheer me up. He walked over, sitting down on the chair beside me. "Your father doesn't know what to make of you, lad. He didn't have a chance to grow into being a parent. I think he's scared of you."
Bastille sniffed in distain. "So Alcatraz is just supposed to sit here in Nalhalla waiting for him to come back? Last time Attica Smedry vanished, it took him thirteen years to reappear. Who knows what he's even planning to do!"
"He's going after my mother," I said softly.
Bastille turned toward me, frowning.
"She has the book he wants," I said. "The one that has secrets on how to give everyone Smedry Talents."
"That's a specter your father has been chasing for many, many years, Alcatraz," Grandpa Smedry said. "Giving everyone Smedry Talents? I don't think it's possible."
"People said that about finding the Translator's Lenses too," Kaz noted. "But Attica managed that."
"True, true," Grandpa said. "But this is different."
"I guess," I said. “But – ”
I froze, then turned to the side. My uncle, Kazan Smedry, sat in the third chair beside the fireplace. He was about four feet tall and, like most little people, hated being called a midget. He wore sunglasses, a brown leather jacket, and a tunic underneath that he tucked into a pair of rugged trousers. He was covered in a black, sootlike dust.
"Kaz!" I exclaimed. "You're back!"
"Finally!" he said, coughing.
"What . . ." I asked, indicating the soot.
"Got lost in the fireplace," Kaz said, shrugging. "Been in the blasted thing for a good two weeks now."
Every Smedry has a Talent. The Talent can be powerful, it can be unpredictable, and it can be disastrous. But it's always interesting. You could get one by being born a Smedry or by marrying a Smedry. My father wanted everyone to get a Talent.
And I was beginning to suspect that this is what my mother had been seeking all along. The Sands of Rashid, the years of searching, the theft from the Royal Archives (not a library) in Nalhalla - all of this was focused on finding a way to bestow Smedry Talents on people who didn’t normally have them. I suspected that my father did it because he wanted to share our powers with everyone. I suspected that my mother, however, wanted to create an invincible, Talent-wielding Librarian army.
Now, I'm not too bright, but I figured that this was a bad thing. I mean, if Librarians had my Talent – breaking things? Here's a handy list of things I figure they'd probably break if they could:
1) Your lunch. Every day, when you’d open your lunch - no matter what you brought – you’d find it had been changed into a pickle-and-orange-slug sandwich. And there would be NO SALT.
2) Dance. You don't want to see any break-dancing Librarians. Really. Trust me.
3) Recess. That's right. They'd break recess and turn it into a session of advanced algebra instead. (Note: The same thing happens when you go to middle school or junior high. Sorry.)
4) Wind. No explanation needed.
As you can see, it would be a disaster.
"Kazan!" Grandpa said, smiling toward his son.
"Hay, Pop."
"Still getting in trouble, I presume?"
"Always."
"Good lad. Trained you well!"
"Kaz,” I said. “It's been months! What took you so long?"
Kaz grimaced. "The Talent."
In case you've forgotten, my grandfather had the Talent of arriving late to things, while Kaz had the Talent to get lost in rather amazing ways. (I don't know why I'm repeating this, since I clearly explained it all in Chapter One. Ah well.)
"Isn't that a long time to get lost, even for you?" Bastille asked, frowning.
"Yeah,” Kaz said. "I haven't been this lost for years."
"Ah yes,” Grandpa Smedry said. "Why, I remember your mother and I once spending upward of two months frantically searching for you when you were two, only to have you appear back in your crib one night!"
Kaz looked wistful. "I was an . . . interesting child to raise."
"All Smedrys are,” Grandpa added.
"Oh?" Bastille said, finally sitting down in the fourth and final chair beside the hearth. "You mean there are Smedrys who eventually grow up? Can I get assigned to one of them sometime? It would be a nice change."
I chuckled, but Kaz just shook his head, looking distracted by something. "I've got my Talent under control again," he said. "Finally. But it took far too long. It's like . . . the Talent went haywire for a while. I haven't had to wrestle with it like this for years." He scratched his chin. “I'll have to write a paper about it."
Most members of my family, it should be noted, are some kind of professor, teacher, or researcher. It may seem odd to you that a bunch of dedicated miscreants like us are also a bunch of scholars. If you think that, it means you haven't known enough professors in your time. What better way is there to avoid growing up for the rest of your life than to spend it perpetually in school?
"Pelicans!" Kaz swore suddenly standing up. "I don't have time for a paper right now! I nearly forgot. Pop, while I was wandering around lost, I passed through Mokia. Tuki Tuki itself is besieged!"
"We know," Bastille said, her arms folded.
"We do?" Kaz said, scratching at his head.
"We've sent troops to help Mokia," Bastille said. "But the Librarians have begun to raid our nearby coasts. We can't give any more support to Mokia without leaving Nalhalla undefended."
"It's more than that, I'm afraid," Grandpa Smedry said.
"There are . . . elements in the Council of Kings who are dragging their feet."
"What?" Kaz exclaimed.
"You missed the whole thing with the treaty, son," Grandpa said. "I fear some of the kings have made alliances with the Librarians. They nearly got a motion through the Council to abandon Mokia entirely. That was defeated, but only by one vote. Those who were in favor of the motion are still working to deny support to Mokia. They have a lot of influence in the Council."
"But the Librarians tried to kill them!" I exclaimed. "What about the assassination attempt?"
As a side note, I hate assassination. It looks way too much like a dirty word. Either that or the name of a country populated entirely by two donkeys.
Grandpa just shrugged. "Bureaucrats, lad! They can be denser than your uncle Kaz's bean s
oup."
"Hey!" Kaz said. "I like that soup!"
"I do too," Grandpa said. "Makes wonderful glue."
"We need to do something,” Kaz said.
"I'm trying to,” Grandpa said. "You should hear the speeches I'm giving!"