There was a scrambling sound, and a figure finally managed to leap from the broken side of the Hawkwind and land on the tower top. Draulin, Bastille’s mother, was an austere woman in silvery armor. A full Knight of Crystallia – a title Bastille had recently lost – Draulin was very effective at the things she did. Those included: protecting Smedrys, being displeased by things, and making the rest of us feel like slackers.
Once on the ground, she was able to assist the vehicle’s other two occupants. Australia Smedry, my cousin, was a plump, sixteen-year-old Mokian girl. She wore a colorful, single-piece dress that looked something like a sheet and – like her brother – had tan skin and dark hair. (Mokians are relatives of the Hushlands’ Polynesian people.) As she hit the floor, she rushed over to Grandpa Smedry and me.
‘Oh, Alcatraz!’ she said. ‘Are you all right? I didn’t see you fall, I was too busy with the explosion. Did you see it?’
‘Um, yes, Australia,’ I said. ‘It kind of blew me off of the Hawkwind.’
‘Oh, right,’ she said, bouncing slightly up and down on her heels. ‘If Bastille hadn’t been watching, we’d have never seen where you hit! It didn’t hurt too much when I dropped you on the top of the tower here, did it? I had to scoop you up in the Hawkwind’s leg and set you down here so that I could land. It’s missing a leg now. I don’t know if you noticed.’
‘Yeah,’ I said tiredly. ‘Explosion, remember?’
‘Of course I remember, silly!’
That’s Australia. She’s not dim-witted, she just has trouble remembering to be smart.
The last person off the Hawkwind was my father, Attica Smedry. He was a tall man with messy hair, and he wore a pair of red-tinted Oculator’s Lenses. Somehow, on him, they didn’t look pinkish and silly like I always felt they did on me.
He walked over to Grandpa Smedry and me. ‘Ah, well,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s all right, I see. That’s great.’
We watched each other awkwardly for a moment. My father didn’t seem to know what else to say, as if made uncomfortable by the need to act parental. He seemed relieved when Bastille charged back up the steps, a veritable fleet of servants following behind, wearing the tunics and trousers that were standard Free Kingdomer garb.
‘Ah,’ my father said. ‘Excellent! I’m sure the servants will know what to do. Glad you’re not hurt, son.’ He walked quickly toward the stairwell.
‘Lord Attica!’ one of the servants said. ‘It’s been so long.’
‘Yes, well, I have returned,’ my father replied. ‘I shall require my rooms made up immediately and a bath drawn. Inform the Council of Kings that I will soon be addressing them in regards to a very important matter. Also, let the newspapers know that I’m available for interviews.’ He hesitated. ‘Oh, and see to my son. He will need, er, clothing and things like that.’
He disappeared down the steps, a pack of servants following him like puppies. ‘Wait a sec,’ I said, standing and turning to Australia. ‘Why are they so quick to obey?’
‘They’re his servants, silly. That’s what they do.’
‘His servants?’ I asked, stepping over to the side of the tower to get a better look at the building below. ‘Where are we?’
‘Keep Smedry, of course,’ Australia said. ‘Um . . . where else would we be?’
I looked out over the city, realizing that we had landed the Hawkwind on one of the towers of the stout black castle I’d seen earlier. Keep Smedry. ‘We have our own castle?’ I asked with shock, turning to my grandfather.
A few minutes of rest had done him some good, and the twinkle was back in his eyes as he stood up, dusting off his soggy tuxedo. ‘Of course we do, lad! We’re Smedrys!’
Smedrys. I still didn’t really understand what that meant. For your information, it meant . . . well, I’ll explain it in the next chapter. I’m feeling too lazy right now.
One of the servants, a doctor of some sort, began to prod at Grandpa Smedry, looking into his eyes, asking him to count backward. Grandpa looked as if he wanted to escape the treatment, but then noticed Bastille and Draulin standing side by side, arms folded, similarly determined expressions on their faces. Their postures indicated that my grandfather and I would be checked over, even if our knights had to string us up by our heels to make it happen.
I sighed, leaning back against the rim of the tower. ‘Hey, Bastille,’ I said as some servants brought me and Grandpa Smedry towels.
‘What?’ she asked, walking over.
‘How’d you get down?’ I said, nodding to the broken Hawkwind. ‘Everyone else was trapped inside when I woke up.’
‘l . . .’
‘She jumped free!’ Australia exclaimed. ‘Draulin said the glass was precarious and that we should test it, but Bastille jumped right on out!’
Bastille shot Australia a glare, but the Mokian girl kept on talking, oblivious. ‘She must have been really worried about you, Alcatraz. She ran right over to your side. I—’
Bastille tried, subtly, to stomp on Australia’s foot.
‘Oh!’ Australia said. ‘We squishing ants?’