Alcatraz vs. the Shattered Lens (9 page)

*

"Are you certain this is the right thing to do?" Bastille hissed to me.

We sat on a wicker bench, waiting as the king and his wife fetched the Communicator's Glass. Aydee was talking to one of the soldiers, getting news about her family. (Sing, Australia, and their parents had been sent to provide leadership at the other main battlefront in the Mokian war - though I suspect that the king really sent them away to prevent them from being captured when the city fell.) Kaz stood nearby, arms folded as he leaned against the wall, wearing his brown leather jacket and aviator sunglasses.

"I don't know if this is right," I admitted to Bastille. "But we can't just let them give up."

"If they fight, people will get hurt,” Bastille said, leaning in close to me. "Can we really offer them enough hope to justify that? Now that I've seen how bad it is, I don't even know if the full force of the Knights of Crystallia would be enough to turn this war around."

"I . . ." I trailed off, growing befuddled. I did that frequently when Bastille sat really close to me, particularly when I could smell the scent of the shampoo in her hair. Shouldn't girls smell like flowers or something like that? Bastille just smelled like soap.

It was strangely intoxicating anyway. Obviously she gives off some kind of brain-clouding radiation. That’s the only explanation.

"Shattering Glass, what am I saying?" she said, pulling back. "Of
course
it's better for them to fight! I’m sorry. I’ve just grown so used to contradicting you on principle that I'm shocked when you do something smart.”

"Duurrr . . ." I said.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "You aren’t still mooning over my sister, are you?" Her voice was quite threatening.

I shook out of my stupor. "What? No. Don’t be stoopid."

"Did you just call me stoopid?”

"No, I told you not to be stoopid. What is it with you and your sister anyway?”

"Nothing! I love my sister. We're like two shattering flowers in a field of shattering daisies."

"What does that even mean?"

“I don't know! It was supposed to sound sisterly or something."

I snorted in derision.

"So what's
that
supposed to mean?" Bastille demanded. "I'm
very
affectionate with my sister!"

"So much so that you’ve never visited her in Mokia?"

"It's a long way away, and I was busy training to become a knight. So that I could keep idiots like
you
out of trouble!"

"Wait. You get mad when I
imply
that you might be stoopid, but it's all right for you to call me an idiot?"

"Because you're a Smedry!"

"That's always your excuse," I said. “I don't buy it. Besides, this time you said you agreed with what I was doing!"

“So!”

"So!"

"So?"

"So maybe we should, like, go catch a movie together or something,” I said, standing up. "Sometime when we're not being chased by Librarians or being eaten by dragons or things like that!"

Bastille paused, cocking her head, frowning. "Wait. What?"

I found myself blushing. Why had I said
that?
I mean, I'd been thinking about it for a while, but . . .

Brain- clouding radiation. Obviously.

"It was nothing," I said, panicking. "I just, uh, got confused, and -"

"What's a 'movie'?" she asked. .And why would we need to catch it? Did one escape?”

"Er, yes. They're these big, monstrous creatures that the Librarians let loose in the Hushlands. To terrorize people . . . and, you know, and steal their time, and make them cringe at bad acting, and then make them sit through long boring award shows that give statues of little gold men to people you've never heard of.”

She frowned even further. "You’re an idiot sometimes, Smedry," she said, then glanced at Kaz, as if asking for an explanation from him.

"I'm not
touching
this one,” he said, smiling. “In fact, I'm staying so far away from it, I might as well be in the next kingdom over!”

"Whatever," Bastille said, turning her narrowed eyes back on me - as if she suspected that I was making fun of her in some way she couldn't figure out. I just continued to blush, right up until the point where Mallo and Angora returned. The queen carried a small hand mirror. She crossed the woven rug and handed it to me.

I hesitated, looking down at the mirror. Half of the glass was missing. "This is it?"

"Communicator's Glass is best if portable," Mallo said.

"We broke this piece in half and sent it to Nalhalla; it will allow us to communicate for some weeks through the two pieces, until the power fades. Then the glass must be reforged and broken again. It's not the easiest way to talk across a distance, but we were desperate, particularly after sending away our last Oculator to maintain my disguise."

"Librarian agents destroyed our other means of communication," one of the soldiers added. "The Transporter's Glass station, the soundrunners, even the city's stockpile of Messenger's Glass."

I frowned. "How'd they do that?"

"They continue to dig tunnels into the city,” Mallo said with a sigh. "And send strike teams up to harry us. We just caught one earlier today. We captured them before they could do any permanent damage, then collapsed the tunnel. There will be more, however."

I nodded, raising the hand mirror. They all looked at me expectantly, as if they figured that - being an Oculator - I'd immediately know how to use the glass. "Um," I said, turning it sideways. "Er. Mirror, mirror, in my hand, my food is tasty, but often bland.”

"Alcatraz?" Kaz asked. "What are you doing? You just have to touch the glass to make it work.”

"Oh," I said, tapping the mirror. It shimmered, like I'd disturbed the surface of a crystal-clear pool of water. A moment later, the image changed from a reflection of my face to show an image of a stone room. One of the castles in Nalhalla.

A small Mokian boy sat in front of the mirror. He grew alert the moment the image changed, then ran off, yelling. "Lord Smedry, Lord Smedry!”

Within seconds, my grandfather was there. He looked somewhat frazzled, his hair sticking out at odd angles, his bow tie on sideways. “Ah, Alcatraz, my lad! You did it!"

"I'm here, Grandpa," I said, nodding. “Inside Tuki Tuki. But things are bad here."

“Of course they are!" Grandpa said. “That's why we sent you in the first place, eh? Stay there for a moment. I need to get some knights!"

He rushed away. It looked like their half of the mirror had been hung on the wall in some kind of entryway or foyer.

I stood awkwardly for some time. The others crowded around me, looking through the mirror, waiting. Finally, Grandpa returned with several people dressed in full plate armor. One was Draulin, Bastille's mother. The other two were older-looking men.

"Alcatraz, tell them where you are," Grandpa Smedry said from somewhere to the side.

"I'm in Tuki Tuki," I said.

"You should leave there immediately,” Draulin said sternly. "It is not safe, Lord Smedry."

"Yes, I know" I said. "But you know us Smedrys. Crazy, without any regard for our own safety!"

One of the knights frowned. "This does indeed offer the proof the elder Lord Smedry promised,” he said.

"I sense we are being manipulated,” the other said, shaking his head. "I do not like the feel of it."

Draulin remained quiet during the conversation. She seemed to be studying me carefully with those dark eyes of hers.

A thought occurred to me. They needed motivation to come help. Making a snap judgment, I turned the hand mirror around, shining it on Mallo. "Guess who's here with me?" I said to the knights.

Mallo looked shocked. "Alcatraz! What are you doing?"

"Trust me,” I said.

"It's a Mokian warrior," one of the knights said. "I feel for his plight, but the rules of our order are -"

"Wait," Draulin's' voice said suddenly. There was a silence, followed by her saying, "Your . . . Majesty?"

Mallo sighed visibly, shooting me a glare. "Yes, it is I."

"You are supposed to be safe!"

"I will not abandon my people," Mallo said.

I spun the mirror around. "So, it's not just a couple of foolish Smedrys, but the Mokian royal line who are in danger here. You should . . ."

The image of the glass started to grow turbulent, ripples moving through it. I frowned, shaking the mirror.

". . . can't . . . what . . . doing . . ." Draulin's voice said. "What . . . ?"

"I can't see you either," I said to them.

The others in the room crowded around. I lowered the mirror so all could see.

"That doesn't look good," Kaz said, rubbing his chin.

"This was supposed to last at least twenty days," Mallo said. "We –”

"General Mallo!" a voice cried. We turned as a young Mokian girl ran up the front steps to the palace and entered the main chamber.

"What is it?" Mallo asked, turning sharply.

"The Librarian army,” the girl said. "They're doing something, something big. You should come see."

0kay, I can't help myself. I've written three and a half books. I held my tongue. (Figuratively, unlike that guy back in Act V.) But I'm about to burst.

It is time to talk about religion in the Hushlands. You Free Kingdomers may be confused by Hushlander religions. After all, they are all so very different, and their followers are all so very good at yelling at one another loudly that it's hard to tell what any of them are saying. However, should you infiltrate Librarian nations and need to imitate a Hushlander, you'll probably need to join one of their religions to blend in. Therefore, I’ve prepared this handy guide.

Religions, in the Hushlands, are basically about food.

That's right, food. In following one religion or another, you end up boycotting certain foods. If you become Hindu, for instance, you give up beef. Mormons give up alcohol and coffee. Catholics can eat pretty much whatever they want, but have to give up the stuff they like the most for one month a year, while Muslims give up
all
food during the daytime hours of Ramadan.

So which religion is the best? Well, it depends. In my cultivated opinion, I'd suggest Judaism.

But that's because I prefer the path of yeast resistance.

We stood atop the wooden palisade wall of Tuki Tuki watching the gigantic Librarian robots drive large, glowing rods into the ground. They shone blue in the night and were as tall as buildings. They illuminated the Librarian war camp, which was far more active now. Men and women had been awakened and were collecting their weapons and forming up battle lines.

"What are they?" Angola asked.

"They look like some kind of glass device," Aydee said.

"No,” Kaz said. He stood atop a step stool and looked out at the Librarian camp, rubbing his chin. "This war is being led by the Order of the Shattered Lens."

"Who?" I asked.

Bastille rolled her eyes at my ignorance.

"The Shattered Lens is a Librarian sect, Al," Kaz said. He was a scholar of Talents, Oculatory Distortions, and – by extension - Librarians. "You've met the Dark Oculators, the Scrivener's Bones, and the Wardens of the Standard. Well, the shattered Lens is the last of them. And probably the largest. The other orders accept, even use, silimatic technology and Oculatory Lenses. These guys, though . . .”

"They don't?" I asked.

"They
hate
all forms of glass,” Kaz said. “They take Biblioden's teachings very literally. He didn't like anything 'strange' like magic or silimatics. Most of the orders interpret his teachings as meaning ‘Lenses and glasses need to be controlled
ve
ry
carefully, so only the important can use them.' Those Librarians hide the truth from most Hushlanders, but have no qualms about using Free Kingdomer technology and ideas when they can benefit from them.

"The order of the Shattered Lens is different.
V
ery
different. They feel that Lenses and silimatic glasses should
never
be used, not even by Librarians. They think Free Kingdom technology is evil and disgusting.”

I nodded slowly. "So those piles of glass we passed while running into the city?”

"They hold glass-breakings,” Angola said softly. “They gather together in groups and smash pieces of glass. Even regular glass, with no kind of Oculatory or silimatic abilities. It's symbolic to them."

"The other Librarians let them run the wars," Kaz added.

"Partially, I suspect, to keep them away. There will be trouble within the Librarian ranks if the Free Kingdoms ever
do
fall. The Order of the Shattered Lens works with the Dark Oculators and the Scrivener's Bones for now. There's a bigger enemy to fight. But once we're gone, there will likely be civil war as the orders struggle for dominance."

"Civil war across the entire world,” Bastille said softly, nodding. "The four Librarian sects using people as their pawns. The Shattered Lens trying to hunt down and kill Dark Oculators, the Wardens of the Standard trying to manipulate things with cool-headed politics, the Scrivener's Bones working for whomever will pay them the most . . ."

We fell silent. That army outside was large; I glanced back at the city. There didn't seem to be many Mokian soldiers. Perhaps five or six thousand, both men and women. The Librarians had easily four times that number, and they were armed with futuristic guns. The enormous robots continued their work, planting the rods in the ground. They were making a ring of them, encircling the city.

Faced by such daunting numbers, I finally began to realize what I'd gotten myself into. And that's when I invented the term
stoopidanated
, meaning "about as stoopid as Alcatraz Smedry the day he snuck into Tuki Tuki just in time to be there when it got overwhelmed by Librarians."

It's a very specific word, I know. Odd how many times I've been able to use it in my life.

"So the rods aren't glass," I said. "What are they, then?"

"Plastic," Bastille guessed. "Some sort of glassdisrupting technology? That might be what's making the Communicator's Glass stop working."

"Might just be for light, though,” Aydee said. "Look. Those rods are bright enough that the Librarians can move about as if it were day. They look like they're getting ready to attack." She shrank down a little bit on her stool, as if to hide behind the wall.

Something occurred to me. I pulled the Courier's Lenses out of my pocket and slid them on.

Now, it might seem odd to you Hushlanders that we had so many different ways of talking to one another over a distance. But if you think about it, this makes sense. How many different ways do we have in the Hushlands? Telephone, fax, telegraph, VoIP, e-mail, regular mail, radio, shouting really loud, bottles with notes in them, texting, blimps with advertisements on them, skywriting, voodoo boards, smoke signals, etc.

Communicating with one another is a basic human need. And communicating with people far away is an even more basic human need, because that way we can make fun of people and they can't kick us in the face.

By the way, have I mentioned how ugly that shirt is? Yeah. Next time, please try to dress up a little bit when you read my books. Someone might see you and I have a reputation to maintain.

I concentrated, feeding power into my Lenses, questing out for my grandfather. His face appeared in front of me, but it was fuzzy and indistinct.

Alcatraz, lad! Grandpa said. I was hoping you'd use the Courier's Lenses. What's happening? Why doesn't the Communicator's Glass work?

“I don t know,” I replied. "The Librarians are doing something outside the city - planting these glowing rods in the ground. That might have something to do with it.”

Even as I spoke, one of the robots placed another of the rods. When it did, my grandfather's form fuzzed even more.

"Grandpa," I said urgently. "Did we convince the knights?"

Think
. .
. enough
.
.
.
he
l
p
.
.
.
Grandpa said, his voice cutting in and out.
They know . . . king sti
l
l . . . save His
Majesty . . .

"I can't understand you!" I said. Another robot raised a rod into the air, preparing to place it.

I raised my hands to the side of the glasses, focusing everything I had into the Lenses. I strained, teeth gritted. Shockingly, the glass started to glow, forcing me to close my eyes as they blazed alight. My grandfather’s voice, once weak, surged back, audible again.

.
. . Luring Lovecrafts, what a mess! I said
I’
ve nearly got
them persuaded. I'
l
l bring them,
l
ad, and anyone e
l
se I can
get to come. We'l
l be there. Hold out until morning!
C
an you
hear me, Alcatr
az? Morning's first light. Er. W
e
l
l, no,
I’ll
be
late. And that's been done befo
re. But morning’
s second
l
ight,
for certain. By third light at the latest. I promise!

The robot planted the rod. My grandfather’s voice fuzzed again, and I tried another surge of power, but I’d pushed it too far. My Talent slipped through, mixing with my Oculatory power. I had trouble keeping the two separate; they were like two brightly different colors of paint, mixing and churning inside of me. Use one, and some of the other always wanted to come along.

The Talent surged through my hands before I realized what I was doing, and the frames of the Lenses shattered, dropping the bits of glass off my eyes. I caught them clumsily. Unfortunately, after feeling that resistance, I knew that they wouldn't work again - not as long as those Librarian rods were interfering. I reluctantly slipped the Lenses back in my pocket.

"What did he say?" Aydee asked, anxious.

"He's coming," I replied. "With the Knights of Crystallia."

"When?" Bastille asked.

"Well . . . he wasn't really that specific. . . ." I grimaced. "He said dawn. Probably.”

"Probably?" Mallo said. "Young Smedry, I'm not certain I can stake the lives of my people on a 'probably.'"

"My grandfather is reliable,” I said. "He's never let me down."

"Except when he arrived too late to get the Sands of Rashid before the Librarians," Bastille added. "Or . . . well, when he arrived too late to stop your mother from stealing the Translator's Lenses from the Library of Alexandria. Or when he was too late to –”