"I can't see them,” Bastille said. "I can feel them." She tapped the back of her neck, where the Fleshstone was set into her skin, hidden by her silvery hair. It connected her to the Crystin Mindstone, which then connected her to all of the other Knights of Crystallia.
I didn't see why they were so keen on the thing. I mean, it was because of that very connection that the Knights had all fallen to Archedis's tricks back in Nalhalla. He'd done something to the Mindstone, and it - connected to all of the Crystin - had knocked them out. Seemed like a liability to me.
Of course, that connection also had the ability to turn thirteen-year-old girls into superknight kung-fu killing machines. So it wasn't all bad.
"You can sense the other knights?" I said, frowning.
"Only in the most general of terms," she said. 'We . . . well, we don't talk about it. If a lot of them feel the same thing at once, I will notice it. And if a lot of them start moving at once, I can feel it. A large number of knights just left Nalhalla."
"They just left Nalhalla," I said, groaning inside. “The trip here will take hours and hours."
"We have to hold out," Bastille said fervently. “Alcatraz, your plan is working! For once."
“Assuming we can survive for a few more hours,” Kaz said. "You have a plan about that, kid?”
"Well," I said. "Kind of. Bastille, how good are you with stilts?"
“Um . . . okay I guess." she hesitated. "I should be worried, shouldn't I?"
"Probably."
She sighed. "Ah well. It can't possibly be worse than death by teddy-bear avalanche." She hesitated. “Can it?”
I just smiled.
CHAPTER FOUR TEENS AND A PICKLE
In March 1225, two years before his death, Genghis Khan sat down to breakfast to dine on a bowl of warm hearts cut from the chests of his enemies. At that time, he was ruler of the largest empire in the history of the world. He reached up, scratched his nose, and said something extremely profound.
"Zaremdaa, en ajil shall mea baina."
He knew what he was talking about. As do I. Trust me, I've been a king before. (No, really, I have. Sometime, check out volume four of my autobiography, page 139.)
I was only king of one city, really, and only for a short time. But it was ridiculously, insanely, bombastically tough to do the job right. Tougher than trying to get hit in the head with a baseball shot out of a cannon. Tougher than trying to climb a hundred-foot cliff using a rope made of used dental floss. Tougher, even, than trying to figure out where my stoopid metaphors come from.
I've never understood one thing: why do all of these megalomaniac dictators, secret societies, mad scientists, and totalitarian aliens want to rule the world? I mean really? Don't they know what a pain in the neck it is to be in charge? People are always making unreasonable demands of kings. "Please save us from the invading vandal hoards! Please make sure we have proper sanitation to prevent the spread of disease! Please stop beheading your wives so often; it’s ruining the rugs!"
Being a king is like getting your driver's license. It sounds really cool, but when you finally get your license, you realize that all it really means is that your parents can now make you drive your brothers and sisters to soccer practice.
Like Genghis Khan said, "Zaremdaa, en ajil shall mea baina." or, translated, "Sometimes, this job sucks.” But really, hasn't everyone said that at some point?
"Zaremdaa, en ajil shall mea baina!" Bastille said from way up high.
"What was that?" I called up. “I don’t speak Mongolian."
"I said, sometimes my job really sucks!”
"You're doing great!"
"That doesn't mean that this doesn't suck!" Bastille called.
You see, at this point, Bastille was balanced atop a set of stilts, which were in turn taped to another set of stilts, which were in turn taped to another set of stilts. Those were on top of a chair, which was on top of a table. And all of that was balanced on top of the Mokian University’s science building. (It was a large, island-bungalow-style structure. You know, the kind of place you’d expect to find Jimmy Buffett singing, Warren Buffett vacationing, or a pulled-pork buffet being served.)
"Do you see anything?" I called up to her.
"My entire life flashing before my eyes?"
"Besides that."
"It's really easy to see who's balding from up here."
"Bastille!" I said, annoyed.
"Sorry," she called down. "I'm just trying to distract myself from my impending death."
"You weren't so nervous when I suggested this!"
"I was on the ground then!"
I raised an eyebrow. I hadn't realized that Bastille was scared of heights. She hadn't acted like this before. Of course, other times she'd been up high, she'd been in a flying vehicle. Not strapped to three sets of stilts and balancing high in the air.
For all her complaining, she was doing a remarkable job, and she had been the one to suggest taping the stilts together to get her up higher. Besides, she was wearing her glassweave jacket, which would save her if she did fall. Her Crystin abilities allowed her to keep her balance, despite the height and the instability of her position. It was rather remarkable.
Of course, that didn't stop me from wanting to tease her. "You aren't feeling dizzy, are you?”
"You aren't helping."
"Man, I think the breeze is picking up. . . .”
"Shut up!"
"Is that an earthquake?"
"I'm going to kill you slowly when I get down from here. I'll do it with a hairpin. I'll go for your heart, by way of your foot."
I smiled. I shouldn't have taunted her. The situation was dire, and there was little cause for laughter in Tuki Tuki. The dome was cracking even further, and my counselors - the two kind of useful ones, at least - said they thought it would last only another fifteen minutes or so.
But seeing Bastille in a situation like she was – where she was uncomfortable and nervous - was very rare. I just . . . well, I had to do it. And that, by the way, is the definition of stoopiderlifluous: being so stoopid as to taunt Bastille while she's out of arm's reach, assuming she won't get revenge very soon after.
As I smirked, Kaz rounded the building and trotted up to me, wearing his dark Warrior's Lenses. He'd gotten two small pistols somewhere and wore them strapped to his chest. They looked like flint-and-powder models, perhaps taken from the Mokian stores.
"Everything's ready,” he said. "Mokians all over the city are climbing atop buildings, looking for the first sign of Librarian holes opening." He glanced up at Bastille. "I see you found a way to get even higher," he called at her. "Reason number fifty-six and a half: Short people know when to stay on the ground. We're closer to it, we appreciate it more. What is it with you tall people and extreme heights?"
"Kaz, I'm a thirteen-year-old girl," Bastille called down. "I'm only, like, a couple
of inches taller than you are."
"It's the principle of the thing,” he called back. Then he looked to me. "So, are you going to explain this plan of yours, kid?"
"Well, we've got two problems. The rocks hitting the shield and the tunnels digging up. We can’t stop the rocks because there's an army between us and the robots. But the Librarians are conveniently digging tunnels from their back lines up into our city. So one of the problems presents a solution to the other."
“Ah," Kaz said thoughtfully. "So those fellows . . .” He nodded to the six Mokian runners Aluki had gotten for me. They stood in a line, ready to dash away, bearing backpacks filled with stuffed bears.
I nodded. "Usually, after the Librarians are fought off from the hole they dig, the Mokians collapse the tunnel. But this time, as soon as the hole is spotted, we’ll move everyone out of the area. The emptiness will make the Librarians think that they haven't been spotted, and they’ll rush out to cause mayhem. These six men will then sneak down the tunnel and run out behind Mokian lines, then take down the robots. A single one of these bears to the leg should make the robot collapse.”
“Wow," Kaz said. “That's actually a good plan.”
"You sound surprised."
Kaz shrugged. "You're a Smedry kid. Half our ideas are insane. The other half are insane but brilliant at the same time. Deciding which is which can be trouble sometimes."
“I'll tell you how to decide," Bastille called down. "Look and see which one involves me having to climb up a hundred feet in the air and balance on stilts. Shattering Smedrys!"
"How can she even hear us from up there?" Kaz muttered.
"I have very good ears!" Bastille called.