Another attendant – also with straw in his mouth and a large hat on his head – stood leaning against the counter. The small “store” consisted of a single stand of snacks and a wall-sized cooler. The cooler was stocked completely with cans of motor oil, though a sign said ENJOY A COOL REFRESHING DRINK!
“Okay,” I said, “where exactly are you people finding straw to chew on in the middle of the city? It can’t be all that easy to get.”
“Quickly, now. Quickly!” Grandpa Smedry gestured frantically from the back of the store. Glancing to either side, he said in a louder voice, “I think I’ll have a cool refreshing drink!” Then he pulled open the cooler door.
I froze in place.
Now, it’s very important to me that you understand that I am not stupid. It’s perfectly all right if you end this book convinced that I’m not the hero that some reports claim me to be. However, I’d rather not everyone I meet presume me to be slow-witted. If that were the case, half of them would likely try and sell me insurance.
The truth is, however, that even clever people can be taken by surprise so soundly that they are at a loss for words. Or, at least, at a loss for words that make sense.
“Gak!” I said.
You see. Now, before you judge me, place yourself in my position. Let’s say that you had watched a crazy old man open up a cooler full of oilcans. You would have undoubtedly expected to see… well, a cooler full of oilcans on the other side.
You would not expect to see a room with a large hearth at the center, blazing with a cheery reddish-orange fire. You would not expect to see two men in full armor standing guard on either side of the door. Indeed, you would not expect to see a room – instead of a cooler full of oilcans – at all.
Perhaps you would have said “Gak” too.
“Gak!” I repeated.
“Would you stop that, boy?” Grandpa Smedry said. “There are absolutely no Gaks here. Why do you think we keep so much straw around? Now, come on!” He stepped through the doorway into the room beyond.
I approached slowly, then glanced at the other side of the open glass door – and saw oilcans cooling in their wall racks. I turned, looking through the doorway. It seemed as if I could see much more than I should have been able to. The two knights standing on either side of such a small doorway should have left no room to walk through, yet Grandpa Smedry had passed easily.
I reached out, rapping lightly on one of the knight’s breastplates.
“Please don’t do that,” a voice said from behind the faceplate.
“Oh,” I said. “Um, sorry.” Still frowning to myself, I stepped into the room.
It was a large chamber. Far larger, I decided than could have possibly fit in the store. I could now see a rug set with thronelike chairs arranged to face the hearth in a homey manner (if your home is a medieval castle…). To my left, there was a long, broad table, also set with chairs.
“Sing!” Grandpa Smedry yelled, his voice echoing down a hallway to the right. “Sing!”
If he breaks into song, I think I might have to strangle myself… I thought, cringing.
“Lord Smedry?” a voice called from down the hallway, and a huge figure rushed into sight.
If you’ve never seen a large Mokian man in sunglasses, a tunic, and tights before –
Okay. I’m going to assume that you’ve never seen a large Mokian man in sunglasses, a tunic, and tights. I certainly hadn’t.
The man – apparently named Sing – was a good six and a half feet tall, and had dark hair and dark skin. He looked like he could be from Hawaii, or maybe Samoa or Tonga. He had the mass and girth of a linebacker and would have fit right in on the football field. Or, at least, he would have fit right in if he’d been wearing a football uniform, rather than a tunic – a type of garment that I still think looks silly. Bastille has pictures of me wearing one. If you ask her, she’ll probably show them to you gleefully.
Of course, if you do that, I’ll probably have to hunt you down and kill you. Or dress you in a tunic and take pictures of you. I’m still not sure which is worse.
“Sing,” Grandpa Smedry said. “We need to do a full library infiltration. Now.”
“A library infiltration?” Sing said excitedly.
“Yes, yes,” Grandpa Smedry said hurriedly. “Go get your cousin, and both of you get into your disguises. I need to gather my Lenses.”
Sing rushed back the way he had come. Grandpa Smedry walked over to the wall on the other side of the hearth. Not sure what else to do, I followed, watching as Grandpa Smedry knelt beside what appeared to be a large box made entirely of black glass. Grandpa Smedry put his hand on it, closed his eyes, and the front of the box suddenly shattered.
I jumped back, but Grandpa Smedry ignored the broken shards of black glass. He reached into the chest and pulled out a tray wrapped in red velvet. He set this on top of the box, unwrapping the cloth and revealing a small book and about a dozen pairs of spectacles, each with a slightly different tint of glass.
Grandpa Smedry pulled open the front of his tuxedo jacket, then began to slip the spectacles into little pouches sewn into the lining of the garment. They hung like the watches on the inside of an illegal street peddler’s coat.