Alcatraz (9 page)

7

I
seem to recall that last year a Free Kingdoms biographer wrote an article claiming I had spent my childhood performing a ‘deep infiltration’ of Library lands.
I guess in his mind, playing video games counted as a ‘deep infiltration.’

I hope you Free Kingdomers aren’t
too
put out to discover that dragons didn’t come and bow to me at my birth.
I wasn’t tutored by the spirits of my dead Smedry ancestors, nor did I kill my first Librarian by slitting his throat with his own library card.

This is the real me, the troubled boy who grew into an even more troubled young man.
Now, I’m not a terrible person.
I’m just not a particularly nice one either.
If you’d been tied to altars, nearly eaten by walking romance novels, and thrown off a glass pillar taller than Mt.
Everest, you might have turned out a little like me yourself.

Sing tripped.

Now, I’ve seen a lot of people trip in my lifetime.
I’ve seen people stumble, tumble, and misstep.
I once saw my foster brother fall down the stairs (not my fault) and I also saw a local bully belly flop when his diving board broke beneath him (I plead the Fifth on that one).

I have never, however, seen a trip quite so .
.
.
well executed as the one Sing performed in the library lobby that day.
The hefty Mokian quite convincingly stumbled on the welcome mat just inside the doors.
He cried out, hopping on one foot – a teetering, lumbering mound with the kinetic energy of a collapsing building.

People scattered.
Children cried, clutching picture books about aardvarks in their terrified fingers.
A Librarian raised her hand in warning.

With a weird mixture of skillful grace and a mad lack of control, Sing fell over a comfortable reading chair and collided with a massive bookshelf.
Those shelves – you may know – are usually bolted to the floor.
That didn’t matter.
When confronted with a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound Mokian missile, iron bends.

And the bookshelf fell.

Books flew in the air.
Pages fluttered.
Metal groaned.

‘Now’s our chance,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
He dashed forward, just one more body in the flurry of lobby activity.

The rest of us followed, scooting past the horrified Librarians.
Grandpa Smedry led us behind the children’s section, through the media section, and to a pair of shabby doors at the back marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.

‘Put your Oculator’s Lenses back on, lad,’ Grandpa Smedry said, sliding on his reddish pair.

I did so as well, and through those Lenses I could see a certain faint glow around the doors.
Not a white or black glow, like I’d seen before.
But instead .
.
.
a bluish one.
The power was focused on a square in the wall.
On closer inspection, I could see that that section of the wall was inset with a small square of glass.

‘A Hushlander handprint scanner,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘Kind of like Recognizer’s Glass.
How quaint.
All right, lad, it’s your turn.’

I gulped quietly, feeling nervous – both because of the Librarians so near and because everyone was counting on me.
I reached out and pressed my hand against the door.
There was a hum from the glass panel, but I ignored it.
Instead I focused on myself.

I’d always known, instinctively, about my power.
I’d always had it, but I’d rarely tried to control it specifically.
Now I focused on it, and I felt a tingle – like the shock that comes from touching a battery to your tongue – pulse out of my chest and down my arm.

There was a crack from the door as the lock snapped.
‘Masterfully done, lad!’
Grand Smedry said.
‘Masterfully done indeed.’

I shrugged, feeling proud.
‘Doors have always been my specialty.’

Quentin quickly pushed open the door and waved everyone through.
Grandpa Smedry’s eyes twinkled as he passed me.
‘I’ve
always
wanted to do this,’ he whispered.

I could hear Bastille grumbling something under her breath as she joined us in the hallway, Sing’s bag of guns slung over her shoulder.
Quentin held the door open for a moment longer, and finally a puffing Sing rounded the bookshelves and joined us.

‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘One of the female patrons insisted on wrapping my ankle for me.’
Indeed, his sandal-shod right foot now bore a support bandage.

Quentin closed the door, then checked the handle, twisting it a few times.
‘Coconuts, the pain don’t hurt,’ he said, then paused.
‘Sorry,’ he said, flushing.
‘Sometimes the gibberish comes out when I don’t want it to.
Anyway, the lock is still broken – it will be suspicious next time someone comes through here.’

‘Can’t be helped,’ Grandpa Smedry said, pulling out what appeared to be two small hourglasses.
He gave them each a tap, and the sand started flowing.
He handed one to me.
The sand continued to flow at the same rate no matter which way I turned the device.
Nifty
, I thought.
I’d always wanted a magical hourglass.

Well, not really.
But if I’d
known
that there were such things as magical hourglasses, I’d have wanted one.
Who wouldn’t?
I should note, however, that the Free Kingdomers would be offended by my calling the hourglass magical.
They have very strange feelings on what counts as magical and what doesn’t.
For instance, Oculatory powers and Smedry Talents are considered a form of magic to most Free Kingdomers, since they are things that can only be performed or used by a few select people.
The hourglasses, like the silimatic cars, Sing’s glasses, or Bastille’s jacket, can be used by anyone.
That makes those things ‘technology’ in Free Kingdomer speak.

It’s confusing, I know.
However, you’re probably smart enough to figure it out.
And if you aren’t, then I shall likely call you an insulting name.
(Wait for Chapter Fifteen.)

‘We’ll meet here in one hour,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘Any longer than that, and we’ll be getting close to closing time.
When that happens, all those Librarians out on patrol will return to check in – and we’ll be in serious trouble.
Quentin is with me – Sing and Bastille, go with Alcatraz.’

‘But—’ Bastille said.

‘No,’ Grandpa Smedry interrupted.
‘You’re going with him, Bastille.
I order you to.’

‘I’m
your
Crystin,’ she objected.

‘True,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘But you’re sworn to protect
all
Smedrys, especially Oculators.
The lad will need your help more than I will.’

Bastille huffed quietly but made no further objections.
As for myself, I wasn’t really sure whether to be annoyed or glad.

‘You three inspect this floor, then move up to the second one,’ Grandpa Smedry said quietly.
‘Quentin and I will take the top floor.’

‘But,’ Bastille said, ‘that’s where the Dark Oculator is!’

‘That’s where his lair is,’ Grandpa Smedry corrected.
‘That aura glows so brightly because he spends so much time there.
You might be able to notice the Dark Oculator’s own aura if he’s nearby, Alcatraz, but it won’t give you much advance warning.
Stay quiet and unseen, all right?’

I nodded slowly.

Grandpa Smedry stepped a little closer, speaking quietly.
‘If you
do
run into him, lad, make certain you keep those Oculator’s Lenses on.
They can protect you from an enemy’s Lenses, if you use them right.’

‘How .
.
.
how do I manage that?’
I asked.

‘It takes time to practice, lad,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘Time we don’t have!
But, well, it probably won’t come to that.
Just .
.
.
try to stay away from any rooms that shine black, okay?’

I nodded again.

‘Well, then!’
Grandpa Smedry said to the whole group.
‘The Librarians will have to spend ages cleaning up that mess in the lobby.
Hopefully, they won’t even notice the door until we’re gone.
One hour!
Quickly, now.
We’re late!’

With that, Grandpa Smedry spun to the left and began walking down the empty white hallway.
Quentin waved good-bye.
‘Rutabaga, fire over the inheritance!’
he said, then rushed after the elderly Oculator.

Sing and Bastille turned to me.
It .
.
.
looks like I’m in charge
, I thought with surprise.

This was a strange realization.
Yes, yes, I know – Grandpa Smedry had already said that I would have to lead my group.
I shouldn’t have been surprised to find myself in this situation.

The truth is, however, that I was never the sort of person that people put in charge.
Those kinds of duties generally go to the types of boys and girls who deliver apples, answer questions, and smile a lot.
Leadership duties do
not
generally go to boys whose desks collapse, who are often accused of playing pranks by removing the doorknobs of school bathrooms, and who once unwittingly made a friend’s pants fall down while he was writing on the chalkboard.

I never did manage to get that stunt to work again.

‘Um, I guess we go this way,’ I said, pointing down the hallway.

‘You think?’
Bastille asked flatly, handing Sing his gym bag of guns.
She pulled a pair of sunglasses – Warrior’s Lenses, as the others called them – out of her jacket packet and slipped them on.
Then she took off, walking down the hallway, handbag flipped around her shoulder.

If I ordered her to go back and follow Grandpa instead, I wonder if she’d go
.
.
.
I decided that she probably wouldn’t.

‘Say, Alcatraz,’ Sing said as we followed Bastille.
‘What do you suppose this little wrap on my ankle means?’

I frowned, glancing down.
‘The bandage?’

‘Oh,’ Sing said.
‘Is
that
what it is?
First aid, it is called, correct?’

‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Why else would someone wrap your ankle like that?’

Sing glanced down, obviously trying to inspect the ankle bandage while still walking.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said, ‘I thought maybe it was some preliminary courtship ritual .
.
.’
He trailed off, looking toward me hopefully.

‘No,’ I said.
‘Not a chance.’

‘That’s sad,’ Sing said.
‘She was pretty.’

‘Is that the sort of thing you should be thinking about?’
I asked.
‘I mean, you’re an anthropologist – you study cultures.
Are you allowed to interfere with the “natives” you meet?’

‘What?’
Sing said.
‘Of course we can!
Why, we’re
here
to interfere!
We’re trying to overthrow Librarian domination of the Hushlands, after all.’

‘Why not just let people live their lives, and live yours?’

Sing looked taken aback.
‘Alcatraz, the Hushlanders are enslaved!
They’re being kept in ignorance, living only with the most primitive technologies!
Besides, we need to do
something
to fight.
Back at the Conclave of Kings, some people are starting to talk about surrendering to the Librarians completely!’
He shook his head.
‘I’m glad for people like your grandfather, people willing to take the fight into Librarian lands.
It shows that we won’t just sit back and slowly have our kingdoms taken from us.’

Up ahead, Bastille glared back at us.
‘Would you two like to chat a little more?’
she snapped.
‘Perhaps sing a little tune?
If there are any Librarians up ahead, we wouldn’t want them to miss out on
hearing us coming
.’