Alcatraz versus the Scrivener's Bones (3 page)

I nodded hesitantly.

“Lady Smedry,” Bastille’s mother said from behind. “I do not intend to give offense, but shouldn’t you be flying the
Dragonaut
?”

“Gak!” Australia said, hopping back into her seat. She put her hand onto a glowing square on the front of what appeared to be a glass control panel.

I walked up beside her, looking out through the dragon’s eye. We were still moving upward and soon would enter the clouds.

“So,” I said, glancing back at Bastille. “Where’s Grandpa?”

Bastille remained silent, staring ahead, back stiff.

“Bastille?”

“You should not address her, Lord Smedry,” Bastille’s mother said. “She’s only here acting as my squire, and is currently beneath your notice.”

“That’s nonsense! She’
s
my friend.”

Bastille’s mother didn’t respond to that, though I caught a slight look of disapproval in her eyes. She immediately stiffened, as if having noticed that I was studying her.

“Squire Bastille has been stripped of her rank, Lord Smedry,” Bastille’s mother said. “You should address all of your questions to me, as I will be acting as your Knight of Crystallia from now on.”

Great,
I thought.

I should note here that Bastille’s mother – Draulin – is by no means as stiff and boring a person as she might at first seem. I have it on good authority that once, about ten years ago, she was heard to laugh, though some still claim it was a particularly nasty
sneeze
. She has also been known to blink occasionally, though only on her lunch break.

“Squire Bastille has not executed her duty in a manner befitting one who carried the title Knight of Crystallia,” Draulin continued. “She performed in a sloppy, embarrassing manner that endangered not one, but
both
Oculators under her protection. She allowed herself to be captured. She allowed a member of the Conclave to Kings to be tortured by a Dark Oculator. And, on top of all of that, she lost her bonded Crystin sword.”

I glanced at Bastille, who still stared straight ahead, jaw clenched tightly. I felt anger rise in me.

“None of that was her fault,” I said, looking back at Draulin. “You can’t punish her for it!
I’m
the one who broke her sword.”

“It isn’t fault that is punished,” Draulin said, “but failure. This is the decision of the Crystin leaders, Lord Smedry, and I was sent to deliver it. The judgment will stand. A
s
you know, the Crystin are outside the jurisdiction of any kingdom or royal line.”

Actually, I didn’t know that. I didn’t know a whole lot about Crystallia in the first place. I’d barely even gotten used to being called “Lord Smedry.” I had come to understand that Smedries are held in great respect by most Free Kingdomers, and figured that my title was something of a term of affection for them.

There was, of course, a lot more to it than that. But, there always is, isn’t there?

I glanced back at Bastille, where she stood at the back of the cockpit, face red.
I need to talk to my grandfather,
I decided.
He can help sort this out.

I sat down in the chair beside Australia. “All right, where’s my grandfather?”

Australia glanced at me, then blushed. “We’re not exactly sure. We got a
note
from him this morning – delivered via Transcriber’s Lenses
. It told us what to do. I can show
you
the note, if you want.”

“Please,” I said.

Australia fished in her tunic for a moment, searching through pockets. Finally, she found a wrinkled-up piece of paper and handed it over to me.

Australia,
it read.

I don’t know if I’ll be there at the pickup point. Something has come up that requires my attention. Kindly fetch my grandson for me, as planned, and take him to Nalhalla. I will meet up with you when I can.

Leavenworth Smedry

Outside, we rose into the clouds. The vehicle really seemed to be picking up speed.

“So, we’re going to Nalhalla?” I asked, glancing back at Bastille’s mother.

“As long as that’s what you command,” the woman said. Her tone implied it was really the only choice.

“I guess it is, then,” I said, feeling a slight disappointment, the reason for which I couldn’t pin down.

“You should go to your quarters, Lord Smedry,” Draulin said. “You can rest there; it will take several hours to journey across the ocean to Nalhalla.”

“Very well,” I said, rising.

“I will lead you,” Draulin said.

“Nonsense,” I said, glancing at Bastille. “Have the squire do it.”

“As you command,” the knight said, nodding her head at Bastille. I walked from the cockpit, Bastille trailing behind, then waited until the door slid closed. Though its glass, I could see Draulin turn and stand, still at parade rest, facing out the eyeball of the dragon.

I turned to Bastille. “What’s
that
all about?”

She flushed. “Just what she said, Smedry. Come on. I’ll take you to your room.”

“Oh, don’t get like that with me,” I said, rushing to catch up. “You lose one sword, and they bust you back to squire? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bastille flushed even more deeply. “My mother is a very brave and well-respected Knight of Crystallia. She always does what is best for the order and never acts without careful thought.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Bastille glanced down. “Look, I told you when I lost my sword that I would be
in trouble. Well, see
,
I’m in trouble. I’ll deal with it. I don’t need your pity.”

“It isn’t pity! It’s annoyance.” I eyed her. “What aren’t you telling me, Bastille?”

Bastille muttered something about Smedries but otherwise gave no response. She stalked through the glass corridors, leading me toward – I
assumed
– my cabin.

As I walked, however, I grew more and more displeased with events. Grandpa Smedry must have discovered something, otherwise he wouldn’t have missed the pickup, and I hated feeling like I was being left out of important things. Now, this is a stupid way to feel, if you think about it.
I was
always
being left out of important things. At that very moment, there were thousands of people doing very important things all across the world – everything from getting married to jumping out windows – and I wasn’t a part of any of it. The truth is, even the most important people get left out of most things that happen in the world.

But I was still annoyed. A
s
I walked, I realized I still had on my Courier’s Lenses. They were very limited in range, but maybe Grandfather was close by.

I activated the Lenses.
Grandfather?
I thought, focusing.
Grandfather, are you there?

Nothing. I sighed. It had been a long shot anyway. I didn’t really –

A very faint image appeared in front of me.
Alcatraz?
a distant voice said.

Grandfather?
I thought, growing excited.
Yes, it’s me!

Flustered Farlands! How did you contact me across such a distance?
The voice was so weak that I could barely hear it, even though it was speaking directly into my mind.

Grandfather, where are you?

The voice said something, but was too soft to hear. I focused harder, closing my eyes.
Grandfather!

Alcatraz! I think I’ve found your father. He came here. I’m sure of it!

Where, Grandfather?
I asked.

The voice was growing even fainter.
The Library…

Grandfather! What Library?

Library… of Alexandria…

And then he was gone. I concentrated, but the voice didn’t come back. Finally, I sighed, opening my eyes.

“You all right, Smedry?” Bastille asked, giving me a strange look.

“The Library of Alexandria,” I said. “Where is it?”

Bastille eyed me. “Um, in Alexandria?”

Right.
“Where is that?”

“Egypt.”

“Like, the real Egypt? My Egypt?”

Bastille shrugged. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

I glanced back toward the cockpit.

“No,” Bastille said, folding her arms. “Alcatraz, I know what you’re thinking. We’re
not
going there.”

“Why not?”

“The Library of Alexandria is extremely dangerous. Even regular Librarians are scared to go into it. Nobody in their right mind ever visits that place.”

“That sounds about right,” I said. “Because Grandpa Smedry is there right now.”

“How would you know something like that?”

I tapped my Lenses.

“They wouldn’t work at such a distance.”

“They did. I just talked to him. He’s there, Bastille.”
And… he thinks my father is too.

That gave me a twist in my stomach. I’d grown up assuming that both of my parents were dead. Now I was beginning to think that both were actually alive. My mother was a Librarian and worked for the wrong side. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know what my father was like.

No. That’s wrong. I
really
wanted to know what my father was like. I was just afraid of it at the same time.

I glanced back at Bastille.

“You’re sure he’s there?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Shattering Glass,” she muttered. “Last time we tried something like this, you almost got killed, your grandfather got tortured and I lost my sword. Do we
really
want to
go
through that again?

“What if he’s in trouble?”

“He’s
always
in trouble,” Bastille said.

We fell silent. Then, both of us turned and rushed back to the cockpit.

I’d like to make something clear. I have been unfair to you. That is to be expected, liar that I am.

In the first book of this series, I made some sweeping generalizations about librarians, many of which are not completely true.

I need to come clean. There are several kinds of librarians. There are the ones that I talked about in my last book – the Librarians, with a capital L. We also call them the Librarians of Biblioden, or the Scriverner’s librarians. Most of what I said about that particular group is, indeed, factual.

However, I didn’t take the time to explain that they’re not the
only
kind of librarians. You may, therefore, have assumed that all librarians are evil cultists who want to take over the world, enslave humanity, and sacrifice people on their altars.

This is completely untrue. Not all librarians are evil cultists. Some librarians are instead vengeful undead who want to suck up your soul.

I’m glad we cleared that up.

“You want to do
what
?” Bastille’s mother demanded.

“Fly to the Library of Alexandria,” I said.

“Out of the question, my lord. We can’t possibl
y
do that.”

“We have to,” I said.

Australia turned toward me, leaving one hand on the glowing glass square that allowed her, somehow, to pilot the
Dragonaut
. “Alcatraz, why would you want to go to Alexandria? It’s not a very friendly place.”

“Grandpa Smedry is there,” I said. “That means we need to go too.”

“He didn’t say he was going to Egypt,” Australia said, glancing again at the crumpled note that he’d sent.

“The Library of Alexandria is one of the most dangerous places in the Hushlands, Lord Smedry,”
Draulin continued. “Most regular Librarians will only kill or imprison you. The Curators of Alexandria, however, will steal your soul. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to be placed in such danger.”

The tall, armored woman still stood with her arms behind her back. She kept he
r
silver hair long but in a utilitarian ponytail, and she did not meet my eyes, but instead stared directly forward.

Now, I’d like to point out that what I did next was completely logical. Really. There’s a law of the universe – unfamiliar to most people in the Hushlands but quite commonly known to Free Kingdoms scientists. It is the called the Law of Inevitable Occurrence.

In simple layman’s terms, this law states that some things just
have
to happen. If there’s a red button on a console with the words
DON’T PUSH
taped above it, someone will push it. If there’s a gun hanging conspicuously above Chekhov’s fireplace, someone is going to end up shooting it (probably at Nietzsche).

And if there’s a stern woman telling you what to do – yet at the same time calling you “my lord” – you’re going to just have to figure out how far you can push her.

“Jump up and down on one foot,” I said, pointing at Draulin.

“Excuse me?” she asked, flushing.

“Do it. That’s an order.”

And she did, looking rather annoyed.

“You can stop,” I said.

She did so. “Would you mind telling me what that was about, Lord Smedry?”

“Well, I wanted to figure out if you’d do what I commanded.”

“Of course I will,” Draulin said. “As the oldest child of Attica Smedry, you are the heir to the pure Smedry line. You outrank both your cousin and your uncle, which means you are in command of this vessel.”

“Wonderful,” I said. “So that means I can decide where we go, right?”

Bastille’s mother fell silent. “Well,” she finally said, “that is technically true, my lord. However, I have been charged with bringing
you
back to Nalhalla. Asking me to
take you to suc
h
a dangerous location would be foolhardy, and – “

“Yeah, that’s just spiffy,” I said. “Australia, let’s get going. “I want to be in Egypt as soon as possible.’

Bastille’s mother closed her mouth, growing even more red in the face. Australia just shrugged and reached over to put her hand on another glass square. “Um, take us to the Library of Alexandria,” she said.

The giant glass dragon shifted slightly, beginning to undulate in a different direction, six wings flapping in succession.

“That’s it?” I asked.

Australia nodded. “It’ll still take us a few hours to get there, though. We’ll fly up over the pole and down into the Middle east, rather than out toward Nalhalla.”

“Well, good, then,” I said, feeling a little anxious as I realized what I’d done. Only a short time back, I’d been eager to get to safety. Now I was determined to head to a place that everyone else was telling me was insanely, ridiculously dangerous?

What was I doing? What business did I have taking command and giving orders? Feeling self-conscious, I left the cockpit again. Bastille trailed along behind me. I’m not sure why I did that,” I confessed as we walked.

“Your grandfather might be in danger.”

“Yeah, but what are
we
going to do about it?”

“We helped him in the last Library infiltration,” she said. “Saved him from Blackburn.”

I fell silent, walking down the glass corridor. Yes, we had saved Grandpa Smedry… but… well, something told me that Grandpa Smedry would have gotten away from Blackburn eventually. The old Smedry had lived for more than a century, and – from what I understood – had managed to wiggle out of plenty of predicaments far worse than that one.

He’d been the one to fight
Blackburn
with the Lenses – I’d been helpless. True, I’d managed to break the Firebringer’s Lens and trick Blackburn in the end. But I hadn’t really known what I was doing. My victories seemed more like happenstance than they did anything else. And now I was heading into danger yet again?

Nevertheless, it was done. The
Dragonaut
had changed course, and we were on our way.
We’ll look around outside the place,
I thought.
If it looks too dangerous, we don’t have to go in.

I was about to explain this decision to Bastille when a sudden voice spoke from behind us. “Bastille! We’ve changed course. What’s that all about?”

I turned in shock. A short man, perhaps four feet tall, was walking down the corridor toward us. He most certainly hadn’t been there before and I couldn’t
figure out where he’d come from.

The man wore rugged clothing: a leather jacket, his tunic tucked into sturdy pants, a pair of boots. He had a wide face with a broad chin and dark curly hair.

“A fairy!” I said immediately.

The short man stopped, looking confused. “That’s a new one,” he noted.

“What kind are you?” I asked. “Leprechaun? Elf?”

The short man raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Bastille. “Hazelnuts, Bastille,” he swore. “Who’s
this
clown?”

“Kaz, this is your nephew Alcatraz.”

The short man glanced back at me. “Oh… I see. He seems a bit more dense than I assumed he’d be.”

I flushed. “You’re… not a fairy then?”

He shook his head.

“Are you a dwarf? Like in
Lord of the Rings
?”

He shook his head.

“You’re just a… midget?”

He regarded me with a flat stare. “You realize that
midget
isn’t a good term to use, don’t you? Even most Hushlanders know that. Midgets are what people used to call my kind when they stuck us in freak shows.”

I paused. “What should I call you, then?”

“Well, Kaz is preferable. Kazan is my full name, though the blasted Librarians finally named a prison that a while back.”

Bastille nodded. “In Russia.”

The short man sighed. “Regardless, if you absolutely
have
to reference my height, I generally think that
short person
works just fine. Anyway, is someone going to explain why we changed course?”

I was still too busy being embarrassed to answer. I hadn’t intended to insult my uncle. (Fortunately, I’ve gotten much better at this over the years. I’m now quite good at insulting people intentionally, and I can even do it in languages you Free Kingdomers don’t speak. So there, you dagblad.)

Thankfully, Bastille spoke up and answered Kaz’s question. “We got word that your father is at the Library of Alexandria. We think he might be in trouble.”

“So we’re heading there?” Kaz asked.

Bastille nodded.

Kaz perked up. “Wonderful!” he said. “Finally, some good news on this trip.”

“Wait,” I said. “That’s
good
news?”

“Of course it is! I’ve wanted to explore that place for decades. Never could find a good enough excuse. I’ll go get preparing!” He took off down the corridor toward the cockpit.

“Kaz?” Bastille called. He stopped, glancing back.

“Your room is that way.” She pointed down a side corridor.

“Coconuts,” he swore under his breath. Then, he headed the way she’d indicated.

“That’s right,” I said. “His Talent. Getting lost.”

Bastille nodded. “What’s worse is that he generally acts as our guide.”

“How does
that
work?”

“Oddly,” she said, continuing down the corridor.

I sighed. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“You seem to have that effect on people when they first meet you. I didn’t like you very much at first either.” She eyed me. “Still not sure if that’s changed or not.”

“You’re so kind.” As we walked down the dragon’s snakelike body, I noticed a large glow coming from between the shoulder blades of a pair of wings above. The glass here sparkled and shifted, as if there were a lot of surfaces and delicate parts moving about. At the center of the mass was a deep, steady glow – like a smoldering fire. The light was being shaded by occasional moving pieces of glass that weren’t translucent. So, every few seconds, the light would grow darker – then grow brighter again.

I pointed up, “What’s that?”

“The engine,” Bastille said.

“There weren’t any of the noises I had come to associate with a running motor – no hum, no moving pistons, no burning fire. Not even any steam. “How does it work?”

Bastille shrugged. “I’m no silimatic engineer.”

“You’re no Oculator, either,” I noted. “But you know enough about Lenses to surprise most people.”

“That’s because I
studied
Lenses. Never did care much about silimatics. Come on. Do you want to get to your room or not?”

I did, and I was tired, so I let her lead me away. Turns out, actually, that silimatic engines aren’t really that complex. They’re actually a fair bit more easy to understand than regular Hushlander engines.

It all involves a special kind of sand, named brightsand, which gives off a glow when it’s heated. That light then causes certain types of glass to do strange things. Some will
rise into the air when exposed to silimatic light, others will drop downward when exposed to it. So, all you have to do is control which glass sees the light at which time, and you’ve got an engine.

I know you Hushlanders probably find that ridiculous. You ask yourselves, “If sand is that valuable, why is it so commonplace?” You are, of course, the victims of a terrible conspiracy. (Don’t you ever get tired of that?)

The Librarians take great pains to make people ignore sand. They have, at great expense, flooded the Hushlands with dullsand – one of the few types of sand that doesn’t really do anything at all, even when you melt it. What better way is there to make people ignore something than to make it seem commonplace?

Don’t even get me started on the economic value of belly-button lint.

We finally reached my quarters. The body of the dragon-snake was a good twenty feet wide, so there was plenty of room along its length for rooms. I noticed, however, that all of the rooms were translucent.

“Not a lot of privacy here, is there?” I asked.

Bastille rolled her eyes, then placed her hand on a panel on the side of the wall. “Dark,” she said. The wall immediately grew black. She glanced back at me. “We had it on translucent so that it would be easier to hide from people.”

“Oh,” I said. “So, this is technology and not magic?”

“Of course it is. Anyone can do it, after all. Not just Oculators.”

“But Australia is the one flying the dragon.”

“That’s not because she’s an
Oculator
, it’s because she’s a pilot. Look, I’ve got to get back to the cockpit. My mother’s going to be angry at me for taking so long.”

I glanced back at her. It seemed like something was really bothering her. “I’m sorry I broke your sword,” I said.