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“Ah, and the brother,” Shasta said, glancing at Kaz. “I hope you’re not planning on bringing him, Alcatraz. It was to be only us three. You, me, Leavenworth.”
“And anyone else you approve.”
“Then I don’t approve Kazan.”
“Fine,” I said, meeting my mother’s gaze. “Kaz, tell Grandpa to power down the penguin. We’re not going anywhere.”
Shasta stared back at me, arms folded. “You’ve changed,” she finally said. “You’re harder now. I applaud that. Very well, Kazan may join us. Let’s be moving.”
No matter what situation my mother was in, she always seemed to be able to control it. She even made prison seem like a deliberate choice. Though … that might make sense. If you think about it, prison involves free food, a room all to yourself (so long as you are insistent about it), and a bunch of like-minded individuals with whom to make friends. Beyond that, all of the really hardcore criminals are too skillful to be caught, so you’ll be safe from them inside the prison.
Of course, if you’ve been doing all the things I tell you to in these books, you’re probably already in prison. To be honest, it’s a wonder to me that I haven’t spent most of these books locked up myself.*
Mother in tow, we headed back for the landing field. The missiles continued to fall—in fact, one exploded high above us, leaving me confused. Another malfunction? But no—this one dropped little parachutes bearing small, spiderlike machines, each the size of a basketball. These landed, then began to rip apart buildings, attacking them with lasers on their forelegs.
The Librarians knew everyone would evacuate. Now they were going to level the city with robots while the people were all hiding.
“This is what you’re part of,” I snapped at my mother. “This is what you support.”
“Don’t be tiresome, Alcatraz. I don’t support everything the Librarians do any more than you support everything the Free Kingdoms—and their monarchs—do.”
We pulled to a stop as Kaz waved for us to wait beside a broken hut. He looked out, watching a group of spider robots scramble past.
“Yeah?” I whispered to my mother as we waited. “You dress like a Librarian, talk like one. You work with them, and don’t speak out against them. You’re one of them. And you share responsibility for this.”
“You think I could simply leave the Hushlands behind? Join the Free Kingdoms?”
“It’s what I did.”
“Oh, so you’re a Free Kingdomer now?” my mother asked. “Do you think like them? Act like them? You don’t miss things like hamburgers and blue jeans?”
“I…”
“You’re not one of them, Alcatraz. A few months of irresponsible playing with your grandfather won’t erase a decade and a half of living in the Hushlands. You—”
I couldn’t talk to her. I moved as soon as Kaz nodded to us, and I outpaced the other two, angry. It probably wouldn’t have hurt so much if it hadn’t had a grain of truth to it.
Even still, I didn’t know where I belonged. I felt like an outsider in the Free Kingdoms; I rarely understood what was going on or why people did what they did. Yet I certainly didn’t miss the Hushlands as much as my mother wanted to imply. Burgers and jeans were great and all, but I’d never be able to live there in peace, knowing what I now knew of the world.
Was I destined to spend my life without a real home? Had anything changed from the days when I’d moved from family to family, like a bad smell through a crowded room?
I hated that my mother could get to me. I hated that she could be wrong, yet still be just right enough to get under my skin. Also I hated asparagus. But that’s not particularly relevant now, so I’m not sure why I brought it up.
I was charging so quickly that I didn’t notice the group of spider things gathering together up ahead, clicking to one another and gesturing at our little group. Kaz cried out, grabbing one of his guns. We were almost back to the landing field—we’d reached the place where that first missile had fallen, but not exploded.
“Lovely,” my mother said, stepping up beside me and regarding the bunch of robots. “You threw a tantrum and ran us into this. You are still a child, Alcatraz. Don’t forget that, just because the Nalhallans are willing to send thirteen-year-old kids into war zones.”
“Better than trying to crush their spirits,” I said, “letting them think they were orphans. Never telling them who you were.”
“Oh? And was your father any better? Your grandfather? At least I looked out for you.”
“Because you wanted the Sands of Rashid,” I said. “Not because you cared about me. You—”
“I’m your mother,” Shasta said. “You will not speak to me in such a way.”
“Uh, guys?” Kaz said. “Robot death army! Guys?”
“You’re not my mother,” I said. “You’re merely the woman who gave birth to me—and I’m surprised you didn’t find a surrogate for that endeavor! You seem to be content to avoid all the other hard work associated with raising a child!”
Shasta folded her arms.
“As for being young,” I said, kneeling down, “yeah, I’m aware. Doesn’t mean I haven’t figured out a few things.” I pressed my hand against the unexploded missile on the ground beside us, sending a surge of Oculator energy into it.
The rocket came alive, glowing white, a jet of flame shooting out the back. It burst away from me and slammed into the approaching pack of robots, then exploded. The blast was far enough from us that we weren’t hurt, but the robots weren’t so lucky; it probably sent little bits of them flying as far as Mongolia.
I blinked in shock. I hadn’t been expecting the thing to explode; I’d planned for it to push through the robots and make a path. So it hadn’t been a dud after all? And I’d knelt down and touched the thing?
My mother didn’t so much as cringe as the pieces of robots fell around us, and she seemed completely unimpressed by my awesome robot-destroying skills.
“You’re as bad as your father,” she said.
“So now I’m like the Free Kingdomers?” I said, shaken.
“Don’t be silly,” Shasta said, striding away from me. “Your father never fit in here either. He never fit in anywhere. It’s part of what I like about him.”
Troubled, I followed until we reached the airfield, which had collected some smoldering holes during our absence. The enormous glass penguin stood in their midst like the last flag flapping on a battlefield, only far dumber-looking.
My grandfather’s torso poked out of a window about where the penguin’s navel would have been, if it were a glass mammal instead of a glass bird. “Colliding Kowals!” he yelled at us. “What took you so long? Get in, get in! Oh, and by the way, Shasta, I’m giving this penguin to you!”
“Giving it to me?” she shouted up at him as we reached the base of the penguin. “Why in the world would you do that?”
“Because I promised my grandson we’d steal a ship to ride out,” Grandpa yelled back, “and we can’t very well do that if we own the blasted thing. So it’s yours. Incidentally, we’re stealing it. Onward!” He pulled back into the penguin.
Kaz led us up a stairway into the base of the penguin. Within, the vehicle consisted of lots of steps and small rooms off to the sides. An elevator would have been lovely, but Free Kingdomers have this strange idea about steps being more advanced than something like elevators. Don’t ask me to explain it again—it really doesn’t make much sense.
After a lot of climbing, we reached the head of the penguin, where the eyes acted like a windshield for us to look out of. “Welcome to Penguinator!” Grandpa said from a bucket seat next to a window.
“Penguinator?” Shasta said flatly.
“Named it myself!” Grandpa said.
“I couldn’t tell.” Shasta settled down in one of the seats, and Kaz took the seat nearest the eye-windows. He’d be our pilot. He flipped some switches and the entire vessel rattled, a hum coming from down below.
I remained standing, lea
ning back against a glass wall. I’d come to Mokia in a flash, on a quest equal parts determination and desperation. I’d barely gotten to see the place, despite wearing its crown, and now I was off again.
That was my life. I’d only been in Nalhalla for a few months before leaving for Mokia, and now I was off back to the Hushlands.
Where did I belong?
Penguinator vibrated more violently. The way Free Kingdomer vehicles worked, the entire thing was made of glass, but it wasn’t a hundred percent transparent.
“Alcatraz?” Kaz asked. “You going to sit down?”
“I think I’ll stand.”
“Might not be safe,” Kaz said, pulling a lever. The vehicle shook as an explosion came from nearby. Missiles were still falling on the city.
“We going to rock a lot as we waddle to the ocean?” I asked, settling down in a glass seat.
“Waddle?” Grandpa asked. “Don’t tell me you believe Librarian penguin propaganda.”
“Flightless sea fowl?” I asked. “Adorable and silly? I’ve seen them at zoos.”
“Those are the juveniles,” Grandpa said. “Not fully grown.”
“Uh … and what are the adults like?”
The entire room rotated unexpectedly; the penguin’s head was turning up toward the sky.
Something rumbled down below.
“Well,” Grandpa said, “we’ve tried to replicate their biological jet boosters. Unfortunately, we haven’t ever been able to match their natural airspeed. But I believe they were the original inspiration that made Librarian scientists create the first rockets.”
“That’s—”
The rest of what I was going to say was lost as the giant glass penguin exploded out of Mokia and shot into the air.
Chapter
Bob
