‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Do you think . . .’
‘He just left without saying good-bye?’ I watched the Hawkwind streak away into the distance. ‘Yes.’
‘To my father and son,’ Grandpa Smedry read, adjusting his Oculator’s Lenses as he examined the note. ‘I am bad at saying good-bye. Good-bye.’ He lowered the paper, shrugging.
‘That’s it?’ Bastille exclaimed. ‘That’s all he left?’
‘Er, yes,’ Grandpa Smedry said, holding up two small orange pieces of paper. ‘That and what appears to be two coupons for half off a scoop of koala-flavored ice cream.’
‘That’s terrible!’ Bastille said.
‘Actually, it’s my favorite flavor,’ Grandpa replied, tucking the coupons away. ‘Quite considerate of him.’
‘I meant the note,’ she said, standing with arms folded. We were back in Keep Smedry, an enormous black stone castle nestled on the far south side of Nalhalla City. Fireglass crackled on a hearth at the side of the room. Yes, in the Free Kingdoms there is a kind of glass that can burn. Don’t ask.
‘Ah yes,’ Grandpa said, rereading the note. ‘Yes, yes, yes. You have to admit, though, he is very bad at good-byes. This note makes a very good argument for that. I mean, he even spelled good-bye wrong. Bad at it indeed!’
I sat in an overstuffed red chair beside the hearth. It was the chair on which we’d found the note. Apparently my father hadn’t told anyone outside his inner circle that he was leaving. He’d gathered his group of soldiers, assistants, and explorers and then taken off.
We were the only three in the black-walled room. Bastille eyed me. ‘I’m sorry, Alcatraz,’ she said. ‘This has to be the worst thing he could have done to you.’
‘I don’t know,’ Grandpa said. ‘The coupons could have been for Rocky Road instead.’ He cringed. ‘Dreadful stuff. Who puts a road in ice cream? I mean really.’
Bastille regarded him evenly. ‘You’re not helping.’
‘I wasn’t really trying to,’ Grandpa said, scratching his head. He was bald save for a tuft of white hair running around the back of his head and sticking out behind his ears – like someone had stapled a cloud to his scalp – and he had a large white mustache. ‘But I suppose I should. Ragged Resnicks, lad! Don’t look so glum. He’s a horrible father anyway, right? At least he’s gone now!’
‘You’re terrible at this,’ Bastille said.
‘Well, at least I didn’t spell anything wrong.’
I smirked. I could see a twinkle in my grandfather’s eyes. He was just trying to cheer me up. He walked over, sitting down on the chair beside me. ‘Your father doesn’t know what to make of you, lad. He didn’t have a chance to grow into being a parent. I think he’s scared of you.’
Bastille sniffed in disdain. ‘So Alcatraz is just supposed to sit here in Nalhalla waiting for him to come back? Last time Attica Smedry vanished, it took him thirteen years to reappear. Who knows what he’s even planning to do!’
‘He’s going after my mother,’ I said softly.
Bastille turned toward me, frowning.
‘She has the book he wants,’ I said. ‘The one that has secrets on how to give everyone Smedry Talents.’
‘That’s a specter your father has been chasing for many, many years, Alcatraz,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘Giving everyone Smedry Talents? I don’t think it’s possible.’
‘People said that about finding the Translator’s Lenses too,’ Kaz noted. ‘But Attica managed that.’
‘True, true,’ Grandpa said. ‘But this is different.’
‘I guess,’ I said. ‘But—’
I froze, then turned to the side. My uncle, Kazan Smedry, sat in the third chair beside the fireplace. He was about four feet tall and, like most people, hated being called a midget. He wore sunglasses, a brown leather jacket, and a tunic underneath that he tucked into a pair of rugged trousers. He was covered in a black, sootlike dust.
‘Kaz!’ I exclaimed. ‘You’re back!’
‘Finally!’ he said, coughing.
‘What . . .’ I asked, indicating the soot.