Alcatraz (75 page)

She eventually stopped, hiding in the shadows just outside the camp near a watch fire that had been allowed to burn low.
It was mostly just coals now, a couple of tired-looking Librarian guards standing watch.
They were beefy men, the type with square jaws and stoopid names like ‘Biff,’ or ‘Chad,’ or ‘Brandon.’
They had on white shirts with pocket protectors and pink bow ties but had enormously strong bodies.
Like someone had combined a math nerd and a football player into one unholy hybrid.

Bastille took a deep breath, then dashed across the trampled ground with blurring speed.
The Librarians barely had time to stand up straight, squinting into the darkness before she was upon them.

Now, in case you somehow slept through the other three books, let me explain something.
Bastille is
fast
.
Like, cheetah on a sugar buzz fast.
She not only has those Warrior’s Lenses but she’s also a Crystin.
Every Knight of Crystallia has a little crystal grown into the skin at the back of their neck – that crystal comes from the Worldspire itself and connects every Crystin to all of the others.
They all share a little of their skills and abilities with the other knights.

This, in turn, turns every shattering one of them into crazy insane supersoldiers, even the thirteen-year-old girls.
Especially
the thirteen-year-old girls.
(Every teenage girl has a crazy insane supersoldier inside of them, waiting to get out.
If you don’t believe me, it probably means you don’t have any teenage sisters.
Particularly not two who both want to wear the same necklace to the prom.)

Bastille didn’t even need to get out her sword.
She made the first guard double over with a punch to the stomach, then grabbed his shoulder and used it to steady herself as she spun, kicking the other guard in the neck, dropping him to the ground.
She followed this by punching the first guard square in the forehead.

Both men fell to the ground, silent.
Bastille glanced back toward where we were hiding.
‘I think we ought to get our roads cobbled!’
she whispered.
Then – I could see her sighing visibly – she added, ‘Oink oink oink.’

I smiled as the three of us trotted up to the watch fire.
Kaz had out his sling, but hadn’t needed it.
The two guards were out cold.
Bastille waited, tense, glancing toward the two nearest watch fires – one in the distance to either side of us.
The guards at them didn’t seem to have noticed us.

‘Nice work, Bastille,’ Kaz said, inspecting the guards, setting aside their futuristic rifles.
Like most Free Kingdomers, he didn’t find guns and other ‘primitive’ weapons to be very useful.

I, on the other hand, had watched enough action movies to know that if you’re going to sneak through the middle of an enemy army, a gun can be a pretty cool thing to have.
So I reached down and picked up one of the rifles.

‘Alcatraz!’
Bastille said.
‘Put that down!
Your Talent!’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said.
‘I’ve learned to control it.
Look, the gun isn’t even falling apart.’

Indeed, it remained in one perfect piece.
Bastille relaxed as I lifted the gun, placing it against my shoulder, barrel toward the air.

And – as if to prove me wrong – I felt a little jolt as my Talent was engaged.
The gun didn’t fall apart, however.

It just fired.
Shooting directly into the air with an extremely loud cracking noise, blasting a glowing ball of light into the sky.

Shocked, I dropped the gun.
It hit the ground, going off again, shooting another glowing ball out into the forest.

The black night was completely still for a moment.
And then, a loud blaring alarm noise began to echo through the camp.

‘Frailty,’ Bastille said with a sigh, ‘thy name is Alcatraz.’

Act V, Scene III

T
he following chapter introduction is an except from Alcatraz Smedry’s bestselling book,
How to Sound Really Smart in Three Easy Steps
.

STEP ONE: Find an old book that everyone has heard of but nobody has read
.

The clever writers know that literary allusions are useful for lots of reasons other than giving you stuff to write when you run out of ideas.
They can also make you look
way
more important.
What better way to seem intelligent than to include an obscure phrase in your story?
It screams, ‘Look how smart I am.
I’ve read lots of old books.’

STEP TWO: Skim through that old play or document until you find a section that makes no sense whatsoever
.

Shakespeare is great for this for one simple reason:
None
of what he wrote makes any sense at all.
Using confusing old phrases is important because it makes you look mysterious.
Plus, if nobody knows what the original author meant, then they can’t complain that you used the phrase wrong.
(Shakespeare, it should be noted, was paid by other authors to write gibberish.
That way, when they wanted to quote something that didn’t make sense, they just had to reach for one of his plays.)

STEP THREE: Include a quote from that play or old document in an obvious place, where people will think they’re smart for spotting it
.

Note that you get bonus points for changing a few of the words to make a clichéd turn of phrase, as it will stick in people’s minds that way.
Reference the last sentence of the previous chapter for an example.

Note that if you aren’t familiar with Shakespeare, you can always use Greek philosophers instead.
Nobody knows what the heck
they
were talking about, so talking about them in your books is a great way to pretend to be smart.

Everybody wins!

‘O horrible, O horrible, most horrible!’
Kaz cried as the alarm went off.

‘Why,’ Aydee said.
‘What should be thy fear?’

‘More matter,’ Bastille said, pointing at the glass dome of the city, then pulling out her sword.
‘With
less art
.’

‘Bid the players make haste!’
I cried, dashing away from the fallen gun.
We took off at a run toward Tuki Tuki.

All around us, the camp was coming alert.
Fortunately, they didn’t know what the disturbance was or what had caused it.
Many of the Librarians seemed to assume that the shot had come from the besieged city, and they were forming up battle lines facing the dome.
Others were running toward the place where the shot I’d fired had entered the jungle.

‘If there be any good thing to be done .
.
.’
Bastille said, looking about, worried.

The scrambling soldiers gave me an idea.
Up ahead, I saw a gun rack where a bunch of rifles leaned, waiting to be picked up by Librarians for battle.
I waved to the others, racing toward the rack.
I ran past it, fingers brushing the weapons and engaging my Talent.
They all fired, shooting glowing shots up into the air, arcing over the camp and furthering the chaos.

‘What a piece of work is a man!’
Kaz called, giving me a thumbs-up.

Librarian soldiers ran this way and that, confused.
Amid them were men and women dressed in all black – stark black uniforms for the men, with black shirts and ties, and black skirts with black blouses for the women.
Some of these noticed my group running through camp and began to cry out, pointing at us.

Aydee yelped suddenly, pointing ahead of us.
‘Something is rotten in the state of Denmark!’

Indeed, a group of soldiers had noticed us and – spurred by the Librarians in black – was sprinting for us.

There wasn’t much time to think.
Bastille charged them at the head, of course.
She wouldn’t be able to take them all, though.
There were too many.

Kaz raised his sling, whipping a rock at a Librarian.
The man dropped like Polonius in Act III, Scene iv, but there were still a good ten Librarians to fight.
Kaz kept slinging rocks as Bastille surged into the middle of them, sword out and raised before her.
Aydee hid behind some barrels at a command from Kaz.

And me.
What could I do?
I stood there in the chaotic night, trying to decide.
I was the leader of this expedition.
I needed to help
somehow
!

A Librarian soldier came rushing at me, crying, ‘Let me be cruel, not unnatural!’
He carried a sword; obviously, these men were ready to deal with Smedrys, just in case.
A gun would have been useless against my Talent.

I stepped back nervously.
What could I do?
Break the ground beneath him?
That might as easily toss me into the hole, as well as the others.
I couldn’t hurt myself in order to .
.
.

Something occurred to me.

Without bothering to think if it were a good idea, I focused on the men, activating my Lenses.
Then, I punched myself in the head.

Now, under normal circumstances, this kind of activity should be frowned upon.
In fact, punching yourself in the head is most definitely what we call stoopiderific (defined as ‘the level of stoopidity required to go slip-’n’-sliding at the Grand Canyon’).
However, in this case, it was slightly less stoopiderific.

The Bestower’s Lenses transferred the punch from me to the Librarian.
He was suddenly knocked sideways, looking more shocked than hurt.

He stumbled to his feet.
‘O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I.’

‘There is nothing either good or bad,’ I noted, smiling.
‘But
thinking
makes it so.’
I punched myself in the stomach as hard as I could.

The Librarian grunted, stumbling again.
I went at it over and over, until he was groaning and in no shape to get back up.
I looked up, scanning the chaotic grounds of the fight.
People were running everywhere.
Kaz was standing atop the barrels that Aydee was hiding behind, and she’d pulled out a few of the teddy bear grenades.
I just managed to dodge to the side as she pulled the tag on a blue one and tossed it at some nearby Librarians, causing them to reverse explode toward each other in a lump.

I picked another Librarian running by and began to pound on him by pounding on myself.
However, I wasn’t avoiding damage entirely.
In fact, when I stopped focusing on Librarians I’d pummeled, the pains started to come back to me.
I needed a different method.

‘Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!’
a Librarian cried, dashing toward me.

I spun, focusing on him, and did the first thing I could think of.
I pretended that I was crazy.
I’m insane, I’m insane, I’m insane!
I thought.

The man hesitated, lowering his sword.
He cocked his head, then wandered away.
‘Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel?’
he asked, glancing at the sky.

Bastille was in the center of a furious battle.
She tried not to hurt people too much, but there was no helping it here.
She’d had to stab several of the Librarians, and they lay on the ground holding leg wounds or arm wounds.
One man, shockingly, had been stabbed in the mouth.
He clutched something in his hand, and as I ran past him, he mumbled, ‘But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue .
.
.’

‘O, woe is me,’ I said, squeezing my eyes shut, ‘to have seen what I have seen, see what I see!’

I couldn’t leave my eyes closed for long, though.
I opened them, trying to get close to Bastille to help.
She seemed to be holding out well.
One Librarian came up behind her, trying to attack her from the side.
He jumped at her, joined by a group of friends, grabbing her arm and knocking her large, crystal sword out of her hand.

‘O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!’
I yelled, pointing.

Kaz glanced toward us and nodded, grabbing a pink bear from Aydee and tossing it in our direction.
It hit, blowing all of us backward.
I hit the ground in a roll, but like before, the grenade didn’t actually hurt any of us.

That explosion was enough to get Bastille free from her grapplers, but her sword had been knocked far away.
I scrambled to get it for her as she pulled her dagger free from her belt, facing down a Librarian.

‘Is this a dagger which I see before me?’
the Librarian said, holding up a larger, much more imposing sword.
He swung.

Bastille just smiled, blocking his sword with her dagger, then stepping unexpectedly forward and kicking him in the crotch with a booted foot.

‘Get thee to a nunnery,’ she said as he squeaked and fell to the ground.

Bastille
hates
it when people quote from the wrong play.

I grabbed Bastille’s sword, then dashed toward her, tossing it into her hands as I passed.
‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be: For loan oft loses both itself and friend.’

‘Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks,’ she said with an appreciative nod.

I looked about for more enemies.
Shockingly, most of the Librarians in this group were down.

‘Will you two help to hasten them?’
Kaz yelled, running past us, Aydee at his side.
‘Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind!’

I nodded in agreement, bolting toward the far side of the camp.
Oddly, as we ran, we passed heaped-up piles of what appeared to be glass.
Cups, mirrors, windows – all broken, many broken so badly that they were nearly unrecognizable.
I didn’t have much energy to ponder on the oddity, though.
Using the Bestower’s Lenses had taken a lot out of me – my stomach hurt from being punched so often, and the Lenses had sapped away a lot of my strength.

Fortunately, the Librarians were confused enough by the nighttime attack that we were able to run the rest of the distance without being stopped again.
We burst out of the camp and ran up the hillside toward the glass-domed city above.
Behind, Librarians shouted, some pointing at us.
A rank of riflemen set up to shoot us down, but they made the mistake of pointing at not one but
three
Smedrys.
Three of the riflemen got lost while trying to raise their guns, five miscounted and didn’t put any bullets in their guns, and the rest of the weapons fell apart as their owners tried to use them.

Sometimes it’s good to have a Talent.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t considered how we were going to get
into
the city once we reached it.
The glass dome ran all the way down to the ground, and although there appeared to be a place where hinges made a glass door, that was guarded by a group of Mokian soldiers.
The stout, well-muscled men were bare-chested, their faces painted with black swirling lines and patterns like Maori war paint.
They carried spears made from a black wood, and some of the spearheads were on fire.

Despite the fearsome display, the soldiers themselves looked like they’d had a hard time of it in the fighting.
Most of them wore bandages or slings, and they looked at me and my group with suspicion.

‘Our purpose may hold there!’
one of the men said through a small slit in the glass.
‘Who comes here?’
They didn’t open the door for us.

I stepped forward.
‘Sir, my good friend.
I do commend me to you.’

Bastille stepped forward, showing her Crystin blade, the symbol of a Knight of Crystallia.
‘Swear by my sword,’ she proclaimed.

A Crystin seemed enough proof for the Mokians that we were good guys.
They opened the small glass doorway, waving us in.
We let Kaz and Aydee go first while I looked back at the camp.
We’d done it!
I puffed in fatigue, but smiled at our victory.

Beside me, Bastille seemed less enthusiastic.

‘How is it that the clouds still hang on you?’
I asked her.