Free Alcatraz versus the Knights of Crystallia by Brandon Sanderson

everything all the time like that?" (Thanks, Socrates!)
    "Hum?" Folsom asked. "Oh, well, I am a critic."
    "You are?"
    He nodded proudly. "Head literary critic for the Nalhallan Daily , and a staff writer for plays as well!"
    I should have known. Like I said, all of the Smedrys seemed to be involved in one academic field or another. This was the worst yet. I looked away, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
    " S hattering Glass!" Folsom said. "Why do people always get like that when they find out?"
    "Get like what?" I asked, trying to act like I wasn't trying to act like anything at all.
    "Everyone grows worried when they're around a critic," Folsom complained. "Don't they understand that we can't properly evaluate them if they're not acting normal?"
    "Evaluate?" I squeaked. "You're evaluating me?"
    "Well, sure ," Folsom said. "Everybody evaluates. We crit ics are just trained to talk about it."
    That didn't help. In fact, that made me even more uncomfortable. I glanced down at the copy of Alcatraz Smedry and the Mech a nic's Wrench. Was Folsom judging how much I acted like the hero in the book?
    "Oh, don't let that thing annoy you," Himalaya said. She was sitting next to me on the seat, uncomfortably close, considering how little I trusted her. Her voice sounded so friendly. Was that a trick?
    "What do you mean?" I asked.
    "The book," she said, pointing. "I know it's probably bothering you how trite and ridiculous it is."
    I looked down at the cover again. "Oh, I don't know, it's not that bad. . . ."
    "Alcatraz, yo u’ re riding a vacuum cleane r .”
    “ And a noble steed he was. Or, er, well, he appears to be one. . . ." Somewhere deep – hidden far within me, next to the nachos I'd had for dinner a few weeks back – a piece of me acknowledged that she was right. The story did seem rather silly.
    "It's a good thing that copy is Folsom ’s ,” Himalaya con tinued. "Otherwise we'd have to listen to that dreadful theme music every time you opened the book. Folsom removes the music plate before he reads the books."
    "Why' d he do that?" I asked, disappointed. I have theme music?
    "Ah," Folsom said. "Here we are!"
    I looked up as the carriage pulled to a halt outside a very tall, red-colored castle. It had a wide green lawn (the type that was randomly adorned with statues of people who were missing body parts) and numerous carriages parked in front. Our driver brought us right up to the front gates, where several men in white uniforms stood about looking very butler-y.
    One stepped up to our carriage. "Invitation?" he asked.
    "We don't have one," Folsom said, blushing.
    'Ah, well, then," the butler said, pointing. "You can pull around t hat direction to leave, then –“
    "We don't need an invita tion," I said, gathering my con fidence. "I'm Al catraz Smedry."
    The butler gave me a droll glance. "I'm sure you are. Now, you go that way to leave –“
    "No," I said, standing up. "Really, I'm him. Look." I held up the book cover.
    "You forgot your sombrero," the butler said flatly.
    "But it does look like me."
    "I'll admit that you are a good look-alike, but I hardly think that a mythical legend has suddenly appeared just so that he can go to a lunch party.”
    I blinked. It was the first time in my life someone had refused to believe that I was me.
    " S urely you recognize me ,” Folsom said, stepping up beside me. "Folsom Smedry."
    "The critic," the butler said.
    "Er, yes," Folsom replied.
    "The one who panned His Highness's latest book."
    " J ust . . . well, trying to offer some constructive advice," Folsom said, blushing again.
    "You should be ashamed of trying to use an Al catraz imposter to insult His Highness at his own party. Now, if you'll just pull along in that direction . . ."
    This was getting annoying. So I did the first thing that came to mind. I broke the butler's clothing.
    It wasn't that hard. My T a lent is very powerful, if a lit tle tough to control. I simply reached out and touched the butler's sleeve,