‘Nonsense,’ Kaz said. ‘Maybe our feet fall as far as yours, but our heads have less distance to fall. So it’s less dangerous for us on average.’
‘I don’t think it works that way,’ Bastille said.
Kaz shrugged. ‘Anyway, Al, if you ever write your autobiography, you’re going to have a real tough time writing out that trip here. I mean . . . words just won’t be able to describe how perfectly awesome it was.’
‘I’m sure I’ll think of something,’ I said, letting Bastille help me untangle myself from the vines. I dropped awkwardly to the ground beside Kaz, and then Bastille went to help Aydee get down.
‘Where are we?’ I asked.
‘Just outside of Tuki Tuki, by my guess,’ Kaz said. ‘I’m certain that rock that knocked down the Colorfly was thrown by a Librarian machine. I’ll go scout for a moment. Wait here.’
Kaz moved off into the bushes, pulling out his machete. He didn’t – thankfully – engage his Talent. I made sure to keep an eye on him as he walked out toward the sunlit ridge in the near distance. We were in a dense, tropical jungle arrayed with a large number of flowers hanging from vines, sprouting from trees, and blooming at our feet. Insects buzzed around, moving from flower to flower, and didn’t seem to have any interest in me or the others.
The flight had taken a long time, but it had seemed to pass remarkably quickly, considering how busy we’d been with wombats, outer space, and stamp collections. It seemed like just a few moments ago that we’d left Nalhalla, yet now here we were, hours of flying later, in Mokia. In fact, those chapters were so fast, so quick, so exciting, it almost feel like I skipped writing them.
Good thing I didn’t, though. That would have been pretty stoopid of me, eh?
Aydee sighed as Bastille helped her down. ‘I’m going to miss that ship.’
‘You know,’ I said, ‘that’s the third time I’ve been up in one of those glass ships, and it’s also the third time I’ve crash-landed. I’m beginning to think that they aren’t very safe.’
‘Of course there couldn’t be another explanation,’ Bastille said dryly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve flown in them hundreds of times,’ Bastille said. ‘And the only three times I’ve crash-landed, I’ve been flying with you.’
‘Oh,’ I said, scratching my head.
‘I’m going to have to travel with you more often, cousin!’ Aydee said. ‘I never get shot down when I fly on my own!’
It appeared that Aydee had inherited the characteristic Smedry sense of adventure. I eyed my diminutive cousin. We hadn’t had much of a chance to talk, despite the lengthy flight – we’d had to spend too much time dodging war koalas while building a new lighthouse for underprivileged children. (You might want to reread Chapters Five through Forty-One to relive the adventure of it all.)
I reached out to her. ‘I don’t believe I’ve properly introduced myself. I’m Alcatraz.’
‘Aydee Ecks,’ she said energetically. ‘Is it true you have the Breaking Talent?’
‘The one and only,’ I said. ‘It’s not everything it’s cracked up to be.’
‘No,’ Bastille added, ‘everything else is what it cracks up.’
‘What’s your Talent?’ I asked Aydee, shooting a dry look at Bastille.
‘I’m really bad at math!’ she proclaimed.
By now I was getting used to Smedry Talents. I’d met family members who were magically bad at dancing, others who were great at looking ugly in the morning. Being bad at math . . . well, that just seemed to fit right in. ‘Congratulations,’ I said. ‘That sounds useful.’
Aydee beamed.
Kaz came traipsing back a few moments later, his pack slung on his shoulder. ‘Yup,’ he said, ‘we’re here. The capital city is just a short hike down that direction, but there’s a full Librarian blockade set up around the place.’
‘Great,’ I said.
The others looked at me, expecting me to take the lead. Partially because of my lineage, but also because I’d organized this trip. It was still odd to be in charge, but I’d taken the lead a number of times now. Though it had originally bothered me, I was getting used to it. (Kind of how listening to really loud music a lot will slowly make your hearing worse.)
‘All right,’ I said, kneeling down. ‘Let’s go over our resources. Bastille, what do you have?’
‘Sword,’ she said, patting the sheath at her side. ‘Dagger. Warrior’s Lenses. Glassweave outfit.’ Her militaristic trousers and jacket were made of a special kind of defensive glass; they could take a pounding and leave her unharmed. She pulled her stylish sunglasses out of her pocket and put them on. They’d enhance her physical abilities.