Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

Australia finally let me go. She was probably around sixteen, and she had on a pair of blue Lenses.

“You’re an Oculator!” I said.

“Of course I am!” she said. “How else do you think I contacted you? I’m not really that good with these Lenses. Or … um, most Lenses, actually. Anyway, it’s so wonderful to meet you, finally! I’ve heard a lot about you. Well, a couple of things really. Okay, so only two letters from Sing, but they were very complimentary. Do you really have the Breaking Talent?”

I shrugged. “That’s what they tell me. What’s your Talent?”

Australia smiled. “I can wake up in the morning looking incredibly ugly!”

“Oh … how wonderful.” I still wasn’t certain how to respond to Smedry Talents. I usually couldn’t even tell if the person telling me was excited or disappointed by the power.

Australia, it seemed, was excited by pretty much everything. She nodded perkily. “I know. It’s a fun Talent—nothing like breaking things—but I make it work for me!” She glanced about. “I wonder where Kaz went. He’ll want to meet you too.”

“Another cousin?”

“Your uncle,” Australia said. “Your father’s brother. He was just here.… Must have wandered off again.”

I sensed another Talent. “His Smedry ability is to get lost?”

Australia smiled. “You’ve heard of him!”

I shook my head. “Lucky guess.”

“He’ll show up eventually—he always does. Anyway, I’m so excited to meet you!”

I nodded hesitantly.

“Lady Smedry,” Bastille’s mother said from behind. “I do not intend to give offense, but shouldn’t you be flying Dragonaut?”

“Gak!” Australia said, hopping back into her seat. She put her hand onto a glowing square on the front of what appeared to be a glass control panel.

I walked up beside her, looking out through the dragon’s eye. We were still moving upward and soon would enter the clouds.

“So,” I said, glancing back at Bastille. “Where’s Grandpa?”

Bastille remained silent, staring ahead, back stiff.

“Bastille?”

“You should not address her, Lord Smedry,” Bastille’s mother said. “She’s only here acting as my squire, and is currently beneath your notice.”

“That’s nonsense! She’s my friend.”

Bastille’s mother didn’t respond to that, though I caught a slight look of disapproval in her eyes. She immediately stiffened, as if having noticed that I was studying her.

“Squire Bastille has been stripped of her rank, Lord Smedry,” Bastille’s mother said. “You should address all of your questions to me, as I will be acting as your Knight of Crystallia from now on.”

Great, I thought.

I should note here that Bastille’s mother—Draulin—is by no means as stiff and boring a person as she might at first seem. I have it on good authority that once, about ten years ago, she was heard to laugh, though some still claim it was a particularly nasty sneeze. She has also been known to blink occasionally, though only on her lunch break.

“Squire Bastille has not executed her duty in a manner befitting one who carries the title Knight of Crystallia,” Draulin continued. “She performed in a sloppy, embarrassing manner that endangered not one, but both Oculators under her protection. She allowed herself to be captured. She allowed a member of the Council of Kings to be tortured by a Dark Oculator. And, on top of all of that, she lost her bonded Crystin sword.”

I glanced at Bastille, who still stared straight ahead, jaw clenched tightly. I felt anger rise in me.

“None of that was her fault,” I said, looking back at Draulin. “You can’t punish her for it! I’m the one who broke her sword.”

“It isn’t fault that is punished,” Draulin said, “but failure. This is the decision of the Crystin leaders, Lord Smedry, and I was sent to deliver it. The judgment will stand. As you know, the Crystin are outside the jurisdiction of any kingdom or royal line.”

Actually, I didn’t know that. I didn’t know a whole lot about Crystallia in the first place. I’d barely even gotten used to being called “Lord Smedry.” I had come to understand that Smedrys are held in great respect by most Free Kingdomers, and figured that my title was something of a term of affection for them.

There was, of course, a lot more to it than that. But, there always is, isn’t there?

I glanced back at Bastille, where she stood at the back of the cockpit, face red. I need to talk to my grandfather, I decided. He can help sort this out.

I sat down in the chair beside Australia. “All right, where’s my grandfather?”

Australia glanced at me, then blushed. “We’re not exactly sure. We got a note from him this morning—delivered via Transcriber’s Lenses. It told us what to do. I can show you the note, if you want.”

“Please,” I said.

Australia fished in her tunic for a moment, searching through pockets. Finally, she found a wrinkled-up piece of paper and handed it over to me.