‘Alcatraz’s mother,’ Folsom said, nodding.
‘Really?’ Himalaya said. ‘Your mother is a recovering Librarian?’
‘Not so much on the “recovering” part,’ I said. The carriage bearing the look-alike stopped and let her off at a restaurant. I ordered our driver to wait so we could watch, but I knew we wouldn’t learn anything new.
‘She and his father broke up soon after he was born,’ Folsom said. ‘Shasta went back to the Librarians.’
‘Which order is she part of?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. She . . . doesn’t quite fit with the others. She’s something different.’ My grandfather had once said that her motivations were confusing, even to other Librarians.
She had the Lenses of Rashid; if she found an Oculator to help her she could read the Forgotten Language. That made her very, very dangerous. Why had she been at that party? Had she spoken with my father? Had she been trying to do something to the prince?
‘Let’s get back to the castle,’ I said. Perhaps Grandpa Smedry would be able to help.
9
Chapter breaks are very useful. They let you skip a lot of boring parts of stories. For instance, after tailing – then losing – my mother, we had a pleasant drive back to Keep Smedry. The most exciting thing that happened was when we stopped so that Folsom could use the restroom.
Characters in books, you may have noticed, rarely have to go potty. There are several reasons for this. Many books – unlike this one – simply aren’t real, and everyone knows fictional characters can ‘hold it’ as long as they need to. They just wait until the end of the book before using the restroom.
In books like this one, which are real, we have more problems. After all, we’re not fictional characters, so we have to wait until chapter breaks, when nobody is looking. It can get hard for longer chapters, but we’re quite self-sacrificing. (I really feel sorry for the people in Terry Pratchett’s novels, though.)
Our carriage pulled up to the dark, stone Keep Smedry, and I was surprised to see a small crowd gathered in front.
‘Not this again,’ Himalaya said with a sigh as some of the people began to wave pieces of glass in my direction, taking images of me in the strange Free Kingdoms way.
‘Sorry,’ Folsom said with a grimace. ‘We can send them away, if you want.’
‘Why would we do that?’ I asked. After the disappointment of losing Shasta, it felt good to see people eager to praise me again.
Folsom and Himalaya exchanged a look. ‘We’ll be inside, then,’ Folsom said, helping Himalaya down. I jumped out, then went to meet with my adoring fans.
The first ones to rush up to me carried pads of paper and quills. They all talked over one another, so I tried to quiet them down by raising my hands. That didn’t work; they all just kept talking, trying to get my attention.
So I broke the sound barrier.
I’d never done it before, but my Talent can do some really wacky things. I was standing there, frustrated, hands in the air, wishing I could get them to be quiet. Then my Talent engaged, and there were twin CRACK sounds in the air, like a pair of whips snapping.
The people fell silent. I started, surprised by the tiny sonic booms I’d made.
‘Er, yes,’ I said. ‘What do you want? And before you start arguing, let’s start with you on the end.’
‘Interview,’ the man said. He wore a hat like Robin Hood. ‘I represent the Eastern Criers Guild. We want to do a piece on you.’
‘Oh,’ I said. That sounded cool. ‘Yeah, we can do that. But not right now. Maybe later tonight?’
‘Before or after the vote?’ the man asked.
Vote? I thought. Oh, right. The vote about the treaty with the Librarians. ‘Uh, after the vote.’
The others began to talk, so I raised my hands threateningly and quieted them down. All were reporters, wanting interviews. I made appointments with each one, and they went on their way.
The next group of people approached. These didn’t appear to be reporters of any sort, which was good. Reporters, it might be noted, are a lot like little brothers. They’re talkative, annoying, and they tend to come in groups. Plus, if you yell at them, they get even in very unsettling ways.
‘Lord Smedry,’ a stout man said. ‘I was wondering . . . My daughter is getting married this upcoming weekend. Would you perform the ceremony?’
‘Uh, sure,’ I said. I’d been warned about this, but it was still something of a surprise.