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Besides, the beauty of the hallway beyond those doors stopped me flat and cast all thoughts from my mind.
I'm no poet. Anytime I try to write poetry, it comes out as insults. I probably should have been a rapper, or at least a politician. Regardless, I sometimes find it hard to express beauty through words.
Suffice it to say that the enormous hallway stunned me, even after seeing a city full of castles, even after being carried on a dragon's back. The hallway was big. It was white. It was lined with what appeared to be pictures, but there was nothing in the frames. Other than glass.
Different kinds of glass, I realized as we walked down the magnificent hallway. Here, the glass is the art! Indeed, each framed piece of glass was a different color. Plaques at the top listed the types of glass. I recognized some, and most of them glowed faintly. I was wearing my Oculator's Lenses, which allowed me to see auras of powerful glass.
In a Hushlander palace, the kings showed off their gold and their silver. Here, the kings showed off their rare and expensive pieces of glass.
I watched in wonder, wishing Sing and Grandpa Smedry weren't rushing so quickly. We eventually turned through a set of doors and entered a long rectangular chamber filled with elevated seats on both the right and the left. Most of these were filled with people who quietly watched the proceedings below.
In the center of the room sat a broad table at which were seated about two dozen men and women wearing rich clothing of many exotic designs. I spotted King Dartmoor immediately. He was sitting on an elevated chair at the end of the table. Clothed in regal blue-and-gold robes, he wore a full red beard, and my Oculator's Lenses – which sometimes enhanced the images of people and places I looked at – made him seem slightly taller than he really was. More noble, larger than life.
I stopped in the doorway. I'd never been in the presence of royalty before, and –
"Leavenworth Smedry!" a vivacious feminine voice squealed. "You rascal! You're back!"
The entire room seemed to turn as one, looking at a full-figured (remember what that means?) woman who leaped from her chair and barreled toward my grandfather. She had short blond hair and an excited expression.
I believe that's the first time I ever saw a hint of fear in my grandfather's eyes. The woman proceeded to grab the diminutive Oculator in a hug. Then she saw me.
"Is this Alatraz?" she demanded. "Shattering Glass, boy, does your mouth always hang open like that?"
I shut my mouth.
"Lad,” Grandpa Smedry said as the woman finally released him. "This is your aunt, Pattywagon Smedry. My daughter, Quentin's mother."
"Excuse me," a voice called from the floor below. I blushed, realizing that the monarchs were watching us. "Lady Smedry," King Dartmoor said in a booming voice, "is it requisite that you disrupt these proceedings?"
"Sorry, Your Majesty," she called down. "But these fellows are a lot more exciting than you are!"
Grandpa Smedry sighed, then whispered to me, "Do you want to take a guess at her Smedry Talent?"
"Causing disruptions?" I whispered back.
"Close," Grandpa Smedry said. "She can say inappropriate things at awkward moments."
That seemed to fit.
"Oh, don't give me that look,” she said, wagging her finger at the king. "You can't tell me you're not excited to see them back too."
The king sighed. "We will take a recess of one hour for family reunions. Lord Smedry, did you return with your long-lost grandson, as reports indicated you might?"
"Indeed I did!" Grandpa Smedry proclaimed. "Not only that but we also brought a pair of the fabled Translator's Lenses, smelted from the Sands of Rashid themselves!"
This prompted a reaction in the crowd, and murmuring began immediately. One small contingent of men and women sitting directly across from us did not seem pleased to see Grandpa Smedry. Instead of tunics or robes, the members of this group wore suits – the men with bow ties, the women with shawls. Many wore glasses, which had horned rims.
Librarians.
The room grew chaotic as the audience members began to stand, producing an excited buzz, almost like a thousand hornets had suddenly been released. My aunt Patty began to speak animatedly with her father, demanding the details of his time in the Hushlands. Her voice managed to carry out over the noise of the crowd, though she didn't appear to be yelling. That's just how she was.
"Alcatraz?"
I glanced to the side, where Bastille stood shuffling uncomfortably. "Yeah?" I said.
"This . . . might be an appropriate place to mention something."
"Wait," I said, growing nervous. "Look, the king’s coming up this way!"
"Of course he is," Bastille said. "He wants to see his family."
"Of course. He wants to . . . Wait, what?”
At that moment, King Dartmoor stepped up to us. Grandpa Smedry and the others bowed to him – even Patty – so I did the same. Then the king kissed Draulin. That's right. He kissed her. I watched with shock, and not just because I'd never imagined that anyone would want to kiss Draulin. (Seemed a little like kissing an alligator.)
And if Draulin was the king's wife, that meant . . .
"You're a princess!" I said, pointing an accusing finger at Bastille.
She grimaced. "Yeah, kind of."
"How can you 'kind of' be a princess?"
"Well, I can't inherit the throne," she said. "I renounced claim on it when I joined the Knights of Crystallia. Vow of poverty and all that."
The crowd milled about us, some exiting the room, others stopping – oddly – to gawk at my grandfather and me.
I should have realized that Bastille was royalty. Prison names. She has one, but her mother doesn't. That was an easy indication that her father's family was of an important breed. Besides, stories such as this one always have at least one hidden member of royalty among the core cast. It's, like, some kind of union mandate or something.
I had several options at this point. Fortunately, I chose the one that didn't make me look like a total dork.
"That's awesome!" I exclaimed.
Bastille blinked. "You're not mad at me for hiding it?"
I shrugged. "Bastille, I'm some kind of freaky noble thing myself. Why should it matter if you are too? Besides, it's not like you were lying or anything. You just don't like to talk about yourself."
Brace yourselves. Something very, very strange is about to happen. Stranger than talking dinosaurs. Stranger than glass birds. Stranger, even, than my analogies to fish sticks.
Bastille got teary eyed. Then she hugged me.
Girls, might I make a suggestion at this point? Don't go around hugging people without warning. To many of us (a number somewhere near half), this is akin to pouring an entire bottle of seventeen-alarm hot sauce in our mouths.
I believe that at this point in the story, I made several very interesting and incoherent noises, followed – perhaps – by a blank expression and then some numb-faced drooling.
Someone was talking. ". . . I cannot interfere with the rules of Crystallia, Bastille."
I fuzzed back into consciousness. Bastille had released me from her unprovoked, unregistered hug and moved on to speak with her father. The room had cleared out considerably, though there was still a number of people standing at the perimeter of the room, curiously watching our little group.
"I know, Father," Bastille said. "I must face their reprimand, as is my duty to the order."
"That's my girl," the king said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "But don't take what they say too harshly. The world is far less intense a place than the knights sometimes make it out to be."
Draulin raised her eyebrow at this. Looking at them – the king in his blue-and-gold robes, Draulin in her silvery armor – they actually seemed to fit together.
I still felt sorry for Bastille. No wonder she's so uptight, l thought. Royalty on one side, hard-line knight on the other. That would be like trying to grow up pressed between two boulders.
"Br
ig," Grandpa Smedry said. "We need to speak about what the Council is planning to do."
The king turned. "You're too late, I'm afraid, Leavenworth. Our minds are all but made up. You'll have your vote, but I doubt it will make a difference."
"How could you even consider giving up Mokia?" Grandpa Smedry asked.
"To save lives, my friend." The king spoke the words in a wearied voice, and I could almost see the burdens he was carrying. "It is not a pleasant choice to make, but if it stops the war..."
"You can't honestly expect them to keep their promises. Highlighting Heinleins, man! This is insanity."
The king shook his head. "I will not be the king who was offered peace and who passed it by, Leavenworth. I will not be a warmonger. If there is a chance at reconciliation . . . But we should speak of this someplace outside the public eye. Let us retire to my sitting room."
My grandfather nodded curtly, then stepped to the side and waved me over. "What do you think?" he asked quietly as I approached.
I shrugged. "He seems sincere."
"Brig is nothing if not sincere," Grandpa Smedry whispered. "He is a passionate man; those Librarians must have done some clever talking to bring him to this point. Still, he's not the only vote on the Council."
"But he's the king, isn't he?"
"He's the High King," Grandpa Smedry said, raising a finger. "He is our foremost leader but Nalhalla isn't the only kingdom in our coalition. There are thirteen kings, queens, and dignitaries like myself who sit on that Council.
If we can persuade enough of them to vote against this treaty, then we might be able to kill it."
I nodded. "What can I do to help?" Mokia couldn't fall. I would see that it didn't.
"I'll speak with Brig," Grandpa Smedry said. "You go see if you can track down your cousin Folsom. I put him in charge of Smedry affairs here in Nalhalla. He might have some insight about this whole mess."
