Alcatraz versus the Scrivener's Bones (22 page)

Bastille fell silent.

I don't have any offensive Lenses, and Bastille
’
s only got
a close-to-broken dagger.
How are we going to fight that
creature
?

I brushed the pieces of glass into a pouch, then put it
into one of my Lens Pockets.

"We're free
,”
Bastille said, "but we still don't really know
what to do.
In fact, we don't even know how to get to
K
i
l
i
man.
”

"We'
ll
find a way,
”
I said, standing up.

She looked at me, the
n –
surprisingly
–
nodded.
“
All
right, then, what do we do?"

"We –“

Suddenly, Australia rushed back into the room.
She
was puffing from exertion.
“
All right, I found your rope!"

She held u
p
an em
p
t
y
hand.

"Uh, thanks," I said. "Is the rope imaginary, then?"

"No, silly," she said, laughing.
She picked something up
between two fingers.
"Look!"

"T
r
ip wire," Bastille said.

"Is that what it is?" Australia said. "I just found it on
the ground over there."

"And how exactly were you going to use that to get us
out of the pit?" I asked.
"I doubt it's long enough, and even
if it is, it would never have held our weight
.
"

Australia cocked her head.
"
That's
why you
wanted rope?"

"Sure," I said. "So that we could climb out of the pit."

"But, you're already out of the pit."

“W
e are now," I said with exasperation.
“But we weren’
t
at the time.
I wanted you to find rope so that we could
climb it."

"Oh!" Australia said.
“
Well, you should have said
so, then!"

I stood, stupefied.
"
Y
ou know what, never mind,
”
I said,
taking the length of trip wire.
I was about to stuff it in my
pocket, then paused, looking at it.

"What?" Bastille asked.

I smiled.

"You have an idea?"

I nodded.

"What is it?"

"Tell you in a minute," I
said.
"First, we have to figure
out how to get
to the center of the Library.”

We all looked at one another.

"I've been wandering through the hal
lways all day,”
Australia said.
"
W
ith those ghost things offering me books
at every turn.
I keep explaining that
I
hate
reading, but they
don't listen.
If I hadn't run across your footprints, Alcatraz,
I'd still be lost!"

"Footprints!" I said.
“
Australia, can you see Kaz's
footprints?"

“
Of course." She tapped the yellow Lenses,
my
Tracker's
Lenses, which she was still wearing.

"Follow them!"

She nodded, then led us from the room.
Only a few feet
down the hallway,
however, she stopped.

"What?" I asked.

"They end here."

His Talent
, I realized
.
It's jumping him about the Library,
Ieading him to the center.
We'll never be able to track him
.

"That's it, then," Bastille said, beginning to sound
depressed again.
"We'
ll
never get there in time."

"No," I said.
"If I'm in charge, then we're not going to
give up."

She looked taken aback.
Then, she nodded.
“
All right.
What do we do?"

I stood for a moment, thinking.
There had to be a way.
Information,
l
a
d
, Grandpa Smedry's voice seemed to return
to me.
More powerful than any sword or gun
. . .

I looked up sharply.
"Australia, can you follow my footprints back the way I originally came, before I entered that
room with the pit?"

"Sure
,
" she said.

"Do it, then."

She led us through cagelike chambers and corridors.
In a few minutes, we left the dungeon section of the Library
and entered the section with the bookshelves.
The gold
bars I'd discarded on the ground proved that we were
back where we'd started.
I, of course, piled the bars into
Bastille's pack.

No, not because of some great plan to use them.
I
just figured that if I survived all this, I'd want some gold.
(I don't know if you realize this, but you can totally buy
stuff with it.)

"Great," Bastille said. "
W
e're back here. I don't
mean to question
you, O
Great Leader, but we were lost
when we were here too.
W
e still don't know which way
to go."

I reached into a pocket, then pulled out the Discerner
’
s
Lenses. I put them on, then looked at the bookshelves.
I
smiled.

"What?" Bastille asked.

"They hold every book ever written, right?"

"That's what the Curators claim."

“
So, they would have gathered them chronologically.
When a new book comes out, the Curators get a copy, then
put it on their shelves."

"So?"

"That means," I said, "that the newer books are going to
be at the outer edges of the Library.
The older the books
get, the closer we'll get to the center.
That's the place where
they would have put their first books."

Bastille opened her mo
uth slightly, then her eyes wid
ened as she understood.
“
Alcatraz, that's brilliant!"

"Must have been that bump to the head," I said, then
pointed down the hallway.
"That way.
The books get older
as they move down the row that direction."

Bastille and Australia nodded, and we were off.

We're almost at th
e
end of the second book.
Hopefully, you've enjoyed the ride.
I'm certain
y
ou know
more about the world now than you did when you began.

In fact, you've probably learned a
l
l you need to.
Y
ou
k
now about the Librarian conspir
acy, and you know that
I'm a liar.
Everything I wanted to do has been accomplished.
I suppose I can just end the book right here.

Thanks for
reading
.

The end.

Oh, so that's not good enough for you, eh?
Demanding
today, are we?

All right, fine. I'll finish it for you.
But, not because I'm
a nice guy.
I'll do it because I can't wait to see the look on
your face when Bastille dies.
(You didn't forget about that
part, did you?
I'll bet you think I'm lying.
However, I prom
ise you that I'm not.
She really dies.
You'll see.)

Bastille, Australia, and I
raced through the Library hall
ways.
We'd passed through the rooms with books and were
up to the ones with scrolls.
These too were arranged by
age.
We were close.
I could feel it.

That worried me.
Bastille's mother was dying, and Kaz
was likely in serious danger.
We had little hope in fi
ghting
Kiliman.
We were outmatched and outmaneuvered, and
we were charging right into the enemy's hands.

However, I figured that it wasn't a good idea to explain
to the others how bad things seemed.
I was determined to
keep a "stiff upper lip," even if I didn't really understand
what that meant.
(Tho
ugh it does sound vaguely uncom
fortable.)

“
All right," I said.
"We have to beat this guy.
What are
our resources?"
That sounded like the kind of thing a leader
would say.

"One cracked dagger," Bastille said.
"Probably won't
survive another hit from those Frostbringer's Lenses."

"We've got that string," Australia added, poking through
Bastille's pack as we ran.
“
And . . . it looks like a couple of
muffins.
Oh, and one pair of boots."

Great, I thought.
"Well, I'm down to three pairs of
Lenses.
We've got my Oculator's Lenses
–
which
won't be
much good, since Grandpa Smedry
still
hasn't bothered
to teach me how to use them defensively.
We've got the
Discerner's Lenses, which will get us to the center.
And
we've got Australia's Tracker's Lenses."

"Plus that Lens you found in the tomb," Bastille noted.
"Which, unfortunately, we can't seem to use."

Bastille nodded.
"Though, we've also got two
Smedries
–
and
two T
a
lents."

"That's right," I said.
“
Australia, do you have to fall
asleep for yours to work?"

"Of course I do, silly," she said. "I can't wake up looking
ugly if I don't fall asleep!"

I sighed.

"I'm
really
good at falling asleep," she said.

"Well, that's something at least," I grumbled.
Then, I
cursed myself.
"I mean, bravely onward we must go, troops!"

Bastille shot me a gr
imace.

"Little too much?"

"
J
ust a smidge," she said drily
,
"
I –“

She cut off as I held up a hand.
W
e skidded to a halt in
the musty hallway.
To the sides, ancient lamps flickered,
and a trio of
Curators floated around us, ever present,
watching for a
n opportunity to offer us books.

"What?" Bastille asked.

"I can feel the creature
,”
I said.
“
At least, his Lenses
.
"

"Then he can feel us?"

I shook my head.
"
S
cr
ivener's Bones aren't Oculators.
Those blood-forged Lenses might make him tough, but
we hold the edge in information
.
We
… “

I tra
iled off as I noticed something.

“
Alcatraz?" Bastille asked, but I wasn't payin
g attention.

There, on the wall directly above the archway leading
onward, was a set of
scribbles. Like those made by a
child
too
young
to
even
draw
pictures.
To
my
eyes
,
they
seemed
to glow with a pure white color.

That aura came from the Discerner's
Lenses. The scrib
bles were fairly fresh
–
no
older than
a couple of day
s.
Compared with the ancient stones and
scrolls in the hallway, the scribbles seemed a pure white.