Alcatraz versus the Knights of Crystallia (30 page)

My grandfather said he tho
ught she'd never learned to con
trol it, so I could guess why she'd want to wear Inhibitor's
Glass.

"You people,"
S
ing said, struggling as the thugs snapped
a ring on his arm.
"All you want to do is control.
Y
ou want
everything to be normal and boring, no freedom or
uncertainty."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," my mother said,
putting her hands behind her back.

This was getting bad.
I cursed myself.
I should have let
Bastille fight, then tried to find a way to activate the swap
during the confusion.
W
ithout our T
alents, we were in seri
ous trouble.
I tested my T
a
lent anyway, but got nothing.
It
was a very odd feeling.
Like trying to start your car, but
only getting a pitiful grinding sound.

I wiggled m
y arm, trying to see if I could get the ring of
Inhibitor's Glass off, but it was on tight.
I ground
m
y teeth.
Ma
yb
e
I could use the Lenses on the table somehow.

Unfortunately, the only Lenses left were my basic
Oculator's Lenses and the single
T
r
uthfinder's
Lens.
Great
,
I thought, wishing
–
not
for the first time
–
that
Grandpa
Smedry had given me some Lenses that I could use in a
fight.

Still, I had to work with what I had.
I stretched
my neck, wiggling to the side, and finally managed to
touch the side of the Tr
uthfinder's spectacles with my
cheek.
I could activate them as long as I was touching the
frames.

"You are a monster," Sing said, still talking to my
mother.

"A monster?" Shasta asked.
"Because I like order?
I think
you'll agree with our way, once you see what we can do for
the Free Kingdoms.
Aren't
you Sing Sing Smedry the anthro
pologist?
I hear that you're fascinated by the Hushlands.
Why speak such harsh words about Librarians if you are so
fascinated by our lands?"

Sing fell silent.

"Yes," Shasta said.
"Everything will be better when the
Librarians rule."

I froze.
I could just barely see her through the side of
the Lens by my head on the table.
And those words she'd
just spoken
–
they
weren't completely true.
When
she'd said them, to my eyes she'd released a patch of air that
was muddied and gray.
It was as if my mother herself
weren't sure that she was telling the truth.

"Lady Fletcher," one of the Librarian thugs said,
approaching.
"I have informed my superiors of our
captives."

Shasta frowned.
"I . . . see."

"You will, of course, deliver them to us," the Librarian
soldier said.
"I believe that is Prince Rikers Dartmoor
–
he
could prove to be a very valuable captive."

"These are
my
captives, Captain
.”
Shasta said.
"I'll decide
what to do with them."

"Oh?
This equipment and these scientists belong to the
Scrivener's Bones.
All you were promised was the book.
You
said we could have anything else in the room we wanted.
Well, these people are what we demand."

Scrivener's Bones
, I thought.
That explains all the wires
.
The Scrivener's Bones were the Librarian sect who liked to
mix Free Kingdoms te
chnology and Hushlander technol
ogy.
That was probably why there were wires leading from
the brightsand containers.
Rather than just opening the
containers and bathing the glass in light, the Librarians
used wires and switches.

That could be a big help.
It meant there might be a way
to use the machinery to activate the swap.

“
We are very insistent,"
the leader of the Librarian sol
diers said.
"You can have the book and the Lenses.
We will
take the captives."

"Very well," my mother sna
pp
ed.
"You can have them.
But I want half of my payment back as compensation."

I felt a stab inside my chest.
So she
would
sell me
.
As if I
were nothing.

"But, Shasta," the youn
g Librarian Oculator said, step
ping up to her.
"You'll give them up?
Even the boy?"

"He means nothing to me."

I froze.

It was a lie.

I could see it plain and clear through the corner of the
Lens.
When she spoke the words, black sludge fell from
her lips.

"S
hasta Smedry," the soldier said, smiling.
"The woman
who would marry just to get a T
a
lent, and who would spawn
a child just to sell him to the highest bidder!"

"
W
hy should I feel anything for the son of a Nalhallan?
T
a
ke the boy.
I don't care
.”

Another lie.

"Let's just get on with this
,”
she finished.
Her manner
was so controlled, so calm.
You'd never have known that
she was lying through her teeth.

But . . . what did it mean?
She couldn't care for me.
She
was a terrible, vile person.
Monsters like her didn't have
feelings.

She couldn't care about me.
I didn't want her to.
It was
so much more simple to assume that she was heartless.

"What about Father?" I found myself whispering.
"Do
you hate him too?"

She turned toward me, meeting my eyes.
She parted her
lips to speak, and I thought I caught a trail of black smoke
begin to slip out and pour toward the ground.

Then it stopped.
"What's he doing?
" she snapped, point
ing.
"Fitzroy, I thought
I
told you to keep those Lenses
secured!"

The
O
culator jumped
in shock, rushing over and grab
bing the Truthfinder's Lens and pocketing it.
"Sorry," he
said.
He took the other Lenses and placed them in another
pocket of his coat.

I leaned back, feeling frustrated.
W
hat now?

I was the brave and brilliant Al
catraz Smedry.
Books
had been written about me.
Rikers was smiling, as if this
were all a big adventure.
And I could guess why.
He didn't
feel threatened.
He had me to save him.

It was then that I understood what Grandpa Smedry
had been trying to tell me.
Fame itself wasn't a bad thing.
Praise wasn't a bad thing.
The danger was assuming that
you really
were
what everyone imagined you to be.

I'd come into this all presuming that my T
a
lent could
get us out.
Well, now
i
t
couldn't
.
I'd brought us into danger
because I'd let my self-confidence make me overconfident.

And you all are to blame for this, in part.
This is what
your adoration does.
You create for yourselves heroes using
our names, but those fabrica
tions are so incredible, so ele
vated that the real thing can never live up to them.
You
destroy us, consume us.

And I am what's left over when you're done.

O
h
,
wasn’t
that how you expected me to end that
last chapter?
Was it kind of a downer?
Made you feel bad
about yourself?

Well, good.

We're getting near the end, and I'm tired of putting on a
show for you.
I've tried to p
rove that I'm arrogant and self
ish, but I just don't think you're buying it.
So, maybe if I
make the book a depressing pile of slop, you'll leave me
alone.

"Alcatraz?
" Bastille whispered.

I mean, why is it that you readers always assume that
you're never to blame for
a
nything?
You just sit there, com
fortable on your couch while we suffer.
You can
enjoy
our
pain and our misery because
you're
safe.

Well, this is real to me. It's real. It still affects me.
Ruins me.

"Alcatraz?" Bastille repeated.

I am not a god.
I am not a hero.
I can't be what you
want me to be.
I can't save people, or protect them, because
I can't even save myself!

I am a murderer.
Do you understand?
I KILLED HIM.

"Alcatraz!" Bastille hissed.

I looked up from my bonds.
A good half hour had
passed.
We were still captive, and I'd tried dozens of times
to summon my T
a
lent.
It was unresponsive.
Like a sleeping
beast that refused to awaken.
I was powerless.

My mother chatted with the other Librarians, who had
sent in teams to rifle through the books and determine if
there was anything else of value inside the archives.
From
what I'd heard when I cared enough to pay attention, they
were planning on swapping the rooms back soon.

Sing had tried to crawl away at one point.
He had earned
himself a boot to the face
–
he
was already beginning to
get a black eye.
Himalaya sniffled quietly, leaning against
Folsom.
P
rince Rikers continued to sit happily, as if this
were all a big exciting amusement-park ride.

"We need to escape," Bastille said.
"We need to get out.
The treaty will be ratified in a matter of minutes!"

"I've failed, Bastille
,”
I whispered.
"I can't get us out."

“
Alcatraz . . ." she said.
S
he sounded so exhausted.
I
glanced at her and saw the haunted fatigue from before, but
it seemed even worse.

"I can barely keep myself awake," she whispered.
“
This
hole inside . . . it seems to be chewing on my mind, sucking
out everything I think and feel.
I can't do this without you.
Y
ou've
got
to lead us.
I love
m
y brother but he
’s useless.”

"That's the problem," I
said, leaning back. "I am too.”

The Librarians were approaching. I stiffened, but they
didn't come for me.
Instead, they grabbed Himalaya.

She cried out, struggling.

"Let go of her!" Folsom bellowed.
"What are you doing?”

He tried to jump after them, but his hands and legs were
tied, and all he managed to do was lurch forward onto his
face.
The Librarian thugs smiled, shoving him to the side,
where he caused the table beside us to topple over.
It
scattered our possessions – some keys, a couple of coin pouches, one book – to the floor.