Alcatraz vs. the Shattered Lens (6 page)

"Yeah,
without
giant robots."

"They're not so tough," Bastille said, eyes narrowed. "They're nearly useless in battle. Always tripping over things."

"But they're great at throwing rocks," Kaz added.

"All right," I said, taking a deep breath. "Grandpa needs us to sneak into the palace and call from inside, using the queen's Communicator's Glass. Any ideas?"

"Well," Kaz said, "I could use my Talent to -"

"No!" Bastille and I both said at the same time. I
still
hadn't gotten all of the dragon stomach snot out of my hair.

"You tall people," Kaz said with a sigh. "Always so paranoid."

"We could steal one of those six robots," Aydee said, thoughtful. "I might be able to pilot one. My training includes Librarian technology."

"That's an idea," I said. "Maybe . . . Wait,
six
robots?"

I looked again, and indeed, where three of the enormous machines had stood, there were now six. A group of Librarians stood around the robots' feet, looking up, seeming confused at where the extra three had come from.

Aydee's Talent, it appeared, could be a hindrance.

"Great,” I said flatly. "Let's ignore the robots for now.”

"How are we going to get in, then?" Kaz asked.

I bit my lip in thought. At that point, something deeply profound occurred to me. A majestic plan of beauty and power, a plan that would save us all and Mokia as well.

But, being stoopid, I forgot it immediately. So we did something ridiculous instead.

For my plan to work, we had to wait until it grew dark. It was a cold night, chill, and I stood, a lone sentry atop a stone shelf, lost inside my mind. The ghosts of my past seemed, in that caliginous night, to crawl up from the bowels of the earth and whisper to me. At their forefront was the image that I'd once had of my father, my dreams of what he would be when I finally discovered him. A brave man, a man forced to abandon me because of circumstances, not lack of affection. A person I'd be proud to have as my sire.

That man was just illusion. Dead. Killed by the truth that was Attica Smedry. But the ghost whispered at me for vengeance. Whispered at me to . . .

. . . stop being so pretentious.

The above paragraphs are what we authors like to call literary allusion. That's what we do when we don’t know what else to write, so we go and read some other story, looking for great ideas we can steal. However, to avoid
look
ing
like we're stealing, we leave just enough clues so that someone who is curious can discover the original source. That way, instead of looking like thieves, we instead appear very clever because of the secret meaning we've hidden in our text.

Authors are the only people who get in trouble if they steal from others and try to hide it but get
praised
for stealing when they do it in the open. Remember that. It'll help you a lot in college.

So, to repeat the previous phrase without the literary allusion: I sat on a rock, waiting for it to get dark, thinking about my stoopid father and how he didn't live up to my expectations. It wasn't actually cold out - Mokia is in the tropics, unlike Denmark. My stomach rumbled; the others were eating some bread and cheese that Kaz had brought, but I didn't feel like eating.

A rustling sound came from behind, and Bastille walked up to my rock, Warrior's Lenses tucked into her jacket pocket. Below, the besieging army was getting ready to camp for the night. I was wearing my Oculator's Lenses - which were also called "Primary Lenses," I'd come to learn.

They had a reddish tint, and allowed an Oculator to do some very basic things: see auras around types of glass and fight off other Oculators. Sometimes they let you see other kinds of auras as well, little hints about the world. I wasn’t good at using them for that sort of thing yet, though.

Right now, they showed me that the dome around Tuki Tuki was made of a very powerful type of glass. It was in even worse shape than it looked; my Lenses let me see that the aura was wavering. It pulsed with an almost sickly glow. Whatever the Librarians were doing to break down the dome, it was working.

"Hey," Bastille said, sitting down. "What's reflecting?”

"Huh?"

"Free Kingdoms phrase," Bastille said. "It just means 'What are you thinking about?’”

I shrugged.

"It's your parents, isn't it?” Bastille asked. You always get the same look in your eyes when you think about them.”

I shrugged again.

“You’re wondering what the point was in rescuing your father, since he didn’t end up spending any time with you.”

I shrugged, my stomach rumbling again.

Bastille hesitated. "I'm not sure I understood that one. My shrug-ese is kind of rusty."

"I don't know, Bastille," I said, still looking at the city. "It's just that . . . well, I've lost them both again. For a few moments, we were all there, in the same city. And now I'm alone again."

"You're
not
alone," she said, sitting down on the rock next to me.

"Even when I was with my father, I wasn't
with
him,” I said. "He practically ignored me. Every time I tried to talk to him, he acted like I was a bother. He kept sending me off to enjoy myself, offering to give me money, as if the only thing he had to do as a father was provide for me.

"And now, they're both gone. And I don't know what any of it was about. They were in love once. When we were captured a few months ago, I watched my mother talk about me to the other Librarians. She said she didn't care about me, but the Truthfinder's Lens said that she was lying."

“Huh," Bastille said. "Well, that's good, right? It means she cares."

"It's not good,” I said. "It's confusing. It would be so much easier if I could just believe that she hates me. Why did they break up? Why did they think a Librarian and a Smedry could marry in the first place? And what made them change their minds? Whose fault was it? They were together until I was born. . . ."

"Alcatraz," Bastille said. "It's
not
your fault.”

I didn't respond.

"Alcatraz . . .”

"I know it's not," I said, mostly to get her to stop prodding me. Bastille fell silent, though I could tell she didn't believe me. She shouldn’t have.

I continued staring out into the night.
W
hat is it
you're really after, Mother?
I thought.
What is in that
book you stole? And why did you lie to the other Librarians
about me?

I'm sorry. Did that last part make you a little depressed? Someone needs to say something funny. How about this: By the end of this book, you'll see me realize that everything I thought I knew about my life was a lie, and I'll be left even more alone than before.

Oh? That wasn't very funny, you say? That's because you didn't hear the joke. I hid it in the sentence, but you have to read it backward to get it.

Did you get it? You might have to read it out loud to sound it out right, if you want to see the joke. Give it a try. Sound out every word.

How was that? What? Oh, that wasn't supposed to make
you
laugh - it was supposed to make everyone around you laugh at how silly you sounded. Did it work? (If you’ll look above, I said, "Someone needs to say something funny," but I didn’t say it would be me. . . .)

"So," Bastille said. "Do you want to know about those Lenses your grandfather gave you?"

"Sure," I said, glad for the change in topic. I pulled out the pair of Bestower's Lenses, with their purple-and-green tint. When I wore my Primary Oculator's Lenses, the ones in my hand glowed with a strong aura; they were very powerful.

"These are supposed to be tough to use,” Bastille said, taking the Bestower's Lenses and inspecting them. "Essentially, they let you give something of yourself to someone else."

"Something?" I asked. "What something?"

She shrugged. "It depends. Like I said, they're hard to use, and nobody seems to understand them perfectly. You put them on, you look at someone and focus on them, then you send them something. Some of your strength, something you're feeling, something you can do that they can’t.

There are reports of some strange events tied to this kind of Lens. An Oculator who had hives from a troll allergy once took a set of these and
gave
the hives to his political opponent when she was giving a speech.”

"Huh," I said, taking the Lenses back, looking them over.

"Yeah, and since his opponent was a troll herself, it was kind of weird. Anyway, the Lenses are powerful - and dangerous. I'm kind of surprised that your grandfather gave them to you."

"He trusts me more than he should," I said, slipping off my Primary Lenses and putting on the Bestower's Lenses.

As always, the tint to the glass was invisible to me once I put the Lenses on.

Bastille jumped as I turned toward her. “Don’t point those at me, Smedry!"

"I haven't activated them," I said, stomach rumbling. I'd need to eat before -

Suddenly, I felt full. I cocked my head as Bastille’s stomach rumbled.

"Great," she said. "You gave me your hunger. Thanks a lot, Smedry. And I just
ate
.”

I felt embarrassed, but Bastille was the one who blushed.

I'd given her my embarrassment.

Hurriedly, I pulled the Lenses off. Immediately, the effect wore off - I was hungry and embarrassed again. "Wow."

"I
warned
you," Bastille said. "Shattering Glass! You Smedrys never listen." She stormed off, leaving me to sheepishly tuck the Lenses back into my pocket.

Still, they
did
seem like they would be very useful.

I joined the others at our impromptu camp set back from the ridge. "All right," I said, squatting down beside them. "I think it's dark enough. Let's go."

"Sounds good," Kaz said. "What does this plan of yours entail?"

"It's dark," I said.

"And?"

"And so we sneak past the guards and run to the city," I said.

The other three blinked at me. "That's your plan?" Kaz said.

"Sure," I replied. "What did you think it was?"

"Something not lame," Aydee said with a frown.

Kaz nodded. "You said you had a plan, and then told us to wait for dark. I figured . . . well, that you’d have something a little more original.”

“We could try knocking out guards,” I said, “and taking their uniforms."

"I said
more
original,” Kaz said.

"What does originality have to do with it?" I asked.

"Everything!" Kaz said, glancing at Aydee, who nodded vigorously. "We're Smedrys! We can’t do things the way everyone else does."

"Okay then . . ." I said slowly. "We'll sneak past the guards in the dark, and we'll do it
while quoting Hamlet
.”

"Now that's more like it!” Kaz said.

"Never seen anything like it," Aydee added. “It just might be crazy enough to work." she paused. “What’s a hamlet?”

"It's a small village,” Kaz said.

Bastille rolled her eyes. “I'll go first," she said, slipping on her warrior's Lenses despite the dark night. “Follow me to the rim of the camp, but don't come any closer until I give the signal."

"Right," I said. "What's the signal?”

“A quote from a hamlet,” Kaz said. “Obviously.”

“Are you sure a hamlet isn’t a very small pig?" Aydee said.

“Nah," Kaz said. "That's a hammer."

Bastille sighed, then hurried off, her dark uniform making her blend into the night. The rest of us followed more slowly, Kaz putting on a pair of rugged, aviator-style sunglasses that were obviously Warrior's Lenses. Aydee got out her own, though hers had yellow rims with flowers painted on them. Uncertain what else to do, I put the Bestower's Lenses back on, though I made certain not to look directly at Kaz or Aydee.

We climbed down from the rim, moving along a game trail through the dense jungle. The Librarian army didn't seem to be anticipating any danger from outside, and most of their attention was focused on Tuki Tuki. Still, guard posts were spaced around the perimeter, each lit by a bonfire. We followed Bastille - who was amazingly quiet as she moved through the underbrush - as she rounded the camp, obviously looking for a place that we could sneak through without causing too much of a disturbance.

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," "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."