Remarkably, Bastille blushed. Was she embarrassed for disobeying her mother? Bastille tried so hard to please the woman, but I was certain that pleasing Draulin was pretty much impossible. I mean, it couldn’t have been concern for me that made her jump out of the vehicle. I was well aware of how infuriating she found me.
But . . . what if she was worried about me? What did that mean? Suddenly, I found myself blushing too.
And now I am going to do everything in my power to distract you from that last paragraph. I really shouldn’t have written it. I should have been smart enough to clam up. I should have flexed my mental muscles and stopped thinking at a snail’s pace.
Have I mentioned how shellfish I can be sometimes?
At that moment, Sing burst up the stairs, saving Bastille and me from our awkward moment. Sing Sing Smedry, my cousin and Australia’s older brother, was an enormous titan of a man. Well over six feet tall, he was rather full-figured. (Which is a nice way of saying he was kinda fat.) The Mokian man had the Smedry Talent for tripping and falling to the ground – which he did the moment he reached the top of the tower.
I swear, I felt the stones themselves shake. Every one of us ducked, looking for danger. Sing’s Talent tends to activate when something is about to hurt him. That moment, however, no danger appeared. Sing looked around, then climbed to his feet and rushed over to grab me out of my nervous crouch and give me a suffocating hug.
‘Alcatraz!’ he exclaimed. He reached out an arm and grabbed Australia, giving her a hug as well. ‘You guys have to read the paper I wrote about Hushlander bartering techniques and advertising methodology! It’s so exciting!’
Sing, you see, was an anthropologist. His expertise was Hushland cultures and weaponry, though, fortunately, this time he didn’t appear to have any guns strapped to his body. The sad thing is, most people I’ve met in the Free Kingdoms – particularly my family – would consider reading an anthropological study to be exciting. Somebody really needs to introduce them to video games.
Sing finally released us, then turned to Grandpa Smedry and gave a quick bow. ‘Lord Smedry,’ he said. ‘We need to talk. There has been trouble in your absence.’
‘There’s always trouble in my absence,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘And a fair lot of it when I’m here too. What’s it this time?’
‘The Librarians have sent an ambassador to the Council of Kings,’ Sing explained.
‘Well,’ Grandpa Smedry said lightly, ‘I hope the ambassador’s posterior didn’t get hurt too much when Brig tossed him out of the city.’
‘The High King didn’t banish the ambassador, my lord,’ Sing said softly. ‘In fact, I think they’re going to sign a treaty.’
‘That’s impossible!’ Bastille cut in. ‘The High King would never ally with the Librarians!’
‘Squire Bastille,’ Draulin snapped, standing stiffly with her hands behind her back. ‘Hold your place and do not contradict your betters.’
Bastille blushed, looking down.
‘Sing,’ Grandpa Smedry said urgently. ‘This treaty, what does it say about the fighting in Mokia?’
Sing glanced aside. ‘I . . . well, the treaty would hand Mokia over to the Librarians in exchange for an end to the war.’
‘Debating Dashners!’ Grandpa Smedry exclaimed. ‘We’re late! We need to do something!’ He immediately dashed across the rooftop and scrambled down the stairwell.
The rest of us glanced at one another.
‘We’ll have to act with daring recklessness and an intense vibrato!’ Grandpa Smedry’s voice echoed out of the stairwell. ‘But that’s the Smedry way!’
‘We should probably follow him,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ Sing said, glancing about. ‘He just gets so excited. Where’s Lord Kazan?’
‘Isn’t he here?’ Australia said. ‘He sent the Hawkwind back for us.’
Sing shook his head. ‘Kaz left a few days ago, claiming he’d meet back up with you.’
‘His Talent must have lost him,’ Australia said, sighing. ‘There’s no telling where he might be.’
‘Uh, hello?’ Grandpa Smedry’s head popped out of the stairwell. ‘Jabbering Joneses, people! We’ve got a disaster to avert! Let’s get moving!’
‘Yes, Lord Smedry,’ Sing said, waddling over. ‘But where are we going?’
‘Send for a crawly!’ the elderly Oculator said. ‘We need to get to the Council of Kings!’
‘But . . . they’re in session!’