Chapter
9
Chapter breaks are very useful. They let you skip a lot of boring parts of stories. For instance, after tailing—then losing—my mother, we had a pleasant drive back to Keep Smedry. The most exciting thing that happened was when we stopped so that Folsom could use the restroom.
Characters in books, you may have noticed, rarely have to go potty. There are several reasons for this. Many books—unlike this one—simply aren’t real, and everyone knows fictional characters can “hold it” as long as they need to. They just wait until the end of the book before using the restroom.
In books like this one, which are real, we have more problems. After all we’re not fictional characters, so we have to wait until chapter breaks when nobody is looking. It can get hard for longer chapters, but we’re quite self-sacrificing. (I really feel sorry for the people in Terry Pratchett’s novels though.)
Our carriage pulled up to the dark stone Keep Smedry, and I was surprised to see a small crowd gathered in front.
“Not this again,” Himalaya said with a sigh as some of the people began to wave pieces of glass in my direction, taking images of me in the strange Free Kingdoms manner.
“Sorry,” Folsom said with a grimace. “We can send them away, if you want.”
“Why would we do that?” I asked. After the disappointment of losing Shasta, it felt good to see people eager to praise me again.
Folsom and Himalaya exchanged a look. “We’ll be inside then,” Folsom said, helping Himalaya down. I jumped out, then went to meet with my adoring fans.
The first ones to rush up to me carried pads of paper and quills. They all talked over one another, so I tried to quiet them down by raising my hands. That didn’t work; they all just kept talking, trying to get my attention.
So I broke the sound barrier.
I’d never done it before, but my Talent can do some really wacky things. I was standing there, frustrated, hands in the air, wishing I could get them to be quiet. Then my Talent engaged, and there were twin crack sounds, like a pair of whips snapping.
The people fell silent. I started, surprised by the tiny sonic booms I’d made.
“Er, yes,” I said. “What do you want? And before you start arguing, let’s start with you on the end.”
“Interview,” the man said. He wore a hat like Robin Hood. “I represent the Eastern Criers Guild. We want to do a piece on you.”
“Oh,” I said. That sounded cool. “Yeah, we can do that. But not right now. Maybe later tonight?”
“Before or after the vote?” the man asked.
Vote? I thought. Oh right. The vote about the treaty with the Librarians. “Uh, after the vote.”
The others began to talk, so I raised my hands threateningly and quieted them down. All were reporters wanting interviews. I made appointments with each one, and they went on their way.
The next group of people approached. These didn’t appear to be reporters of any sort, which was good. Reporters, it might be noted, are a lot like little brothers. They’re talkative, annoying, and they tend to come in groups. Plus if you yell at them, they get even in very unsettling ways.
“Lord Smedry,” a stout man said. “I was wondering … My daughter is getting married this upcoming weekend. Would you perform the ceremony?”
“Uh, sure,” I said. I’d been warned about this, but it was still something of a surprise.
He beamed, then told me where the wedding was. The next woman in line wanted me to represent her son in a trial and speak on his behalf. I wasn’t sure what to do about that one, so I said I’d get back to her. The next man wanted me to seek out—then punish—a miscreant who had stolen some galfalgos from his garden. I made a mental note to ask someone what the heck galfalgos were, and told him I’d look into it.
There were some two dozen people with questions or requests like those. The more that was asked of me, the more uncomfortable I grew. What did I really know about any of this stuff? I finally cleared through that group, making vague promises to most of them.
There was one more group of people waiting for me. They were well-dressed younger men and women, in their late teens or early twenties. I recognized them from the party.
“Rodrayo?” I asked the guy at their lead.
“Hey,” he said.
“And … what is it you want of me?” I asked.
A couple of them shrugged.
“Just thought being around you would be fun,” Rodrayo said. “Mind if we party with you for a bit?”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, sure, I guess.”
I led the group through some hallways in Keep Smedry, getting lost and trying to act like I knew where everything was. The hallways of Keep Smedry were appropriately medieval, though the castle was far more warm and homey than one might have expected. There were hundreds of rooms—the building was of mansion-size proportions—and I really didn’t know where I was going.
Eventually I found some servants and had them take us to a sitting room, which had couches and a hearth. I wasn’t certain what “partying with me” meant to Rodrayo and the others. Fortunately they took the lead, sending the servants to get some food, then lounging around on the couches and chairs, chatting. I wasn’t sure why they needed me there, or even who most of them were, but they’d read my books and thought my adventures were very impressive. That made them model citizens in my opinion.
I had just finished telling them about my fight with the paper monsters when I realized that I’d never checked in with Grandpa Smedry. It had been about five hours since we’d split up, and I was tempted to let it slide until he came looking for me. But we needed more hooberstackers, and the servants had vanished, so I decided to leave my new friends and go looking for the servants to ask for a resupply. Maybe they’d know where my grandfather was.
However, finding servants proved more difficult than I’d assumed. I felt uncharacteristically fatigued as I wandered the hallways, even though I hadn’t really done that much during the last couple of hours. Just sit around and be adored.
Eventually I spotted a crack of light down one brick-walled corridor. It turned out to be coming from a half-open door, so I peeked inside. There I found my father sitting at a desk, scribbling on a piece of parchment. An ancient-looking lamp gave off a flickering light, only faintly illuminating the room. I could see lavish furniture and sparkling bits of glass—Lenses and other Oculatory wonders, which seemed to have a glow about them because of my Oculator’s Lenses. On his desk was a half-empty wineglass, and he still wore the antiquated suit he’d had on at the party, though he’d undone the ruffled tie. His shoulder-length hair was wavy and disheveled. He looked a lot like a Hushlands rock star after an evening performance.
As a child, I’d often dreamed about what sort of man my father was. The only facts I’d had to go on were that he’d named me after a prison and that he’d abandoned me. One would think that I would have imagined a terrible person.
And yet I’d secretly wished for there to be more. A good reason why he’d given me up. Something impressive and mysterious. I had wondered if perhaps he’d been involved in some dangerous line of work, and had sent me away to protect me.
Grandpa Smedry’s arrival, and the discovery that my father was both alive and working to save the Free Kingdoms, fulfilled a lot of these secret wishes. Finally I gained a picture of who my father might be. A dashing, heroic figure who hadn’t wanted to get rid of me, but had been betrayed by his wife, then forced to give me up for the greater good.