I paused. ‘Something about airlift and physics and stuff like that.’
Bastille snorted again. ‘Physics,’ she muttered. ‘A Librarian scam.’
‘Physics isn’t a scam, Bastille. It’s very logical.’
‘Librarian logic.’
‘Facts.’
‘Oh?’ she asked. ‘And if they’re facts, then why are they so complicated? Shouldn’t explanations about the natural world be simple? Why is there all of that needless math and complexity?’ She shook her head, turning away from me. ‘All of that is just intended to confuse people. If the Hushlanders think that science is too complicated to understand, then they’ll be too afraid to ask questions.’
She eyed me, obviously watching to see if I would continue the argument. I did not. There was one thing about hanging around with Bastille – it was teaching me when to hold my tongue. Even if I didn’t hold my brain.
How does she know so much about what the Librarians teach in their schools? I thought. She knows an awful lot about my people.
Bastille was still an enigma to me. She’d wanted to be an Oculator when she was younger, so she knew quite a bit about Lenses. However, I still couldn’t quite figure out why she’d even wanted to be one so badly in the first place. Everyone – or, well, everyone outside the Hushlands – knows that Oculatory powers are hereditary. One can’t just ‘become’ an Oculator in the same way one can choose to become a lawyer, and accountant, or a potted plant.
Either way, I was finding it increasingly disconcerting to be able to see through the floor, particularly when we were so high up. The motions of the giant vehicle didn’t help either. Now that I was inside of it, I could see that the dragon was made of glass plates that slid together such that the entire thing could move and twist. Each flap of the wings made the body undulate around me.
We reached the head, which I assumed was the dragon’s version of a cockpit. The glass door slid open. I stepped up onto a maroon carpet – thankfully obscuring my view of the ground – and was met by two people.
Neither of them was my grandfather. Where is he? I wondered with growing annoyance. Bastille, strangely, took up position next to the doorway, standing with a stiff back and staring straight ahead.
One of the people turned toward me. ‘Lord Smedry,’ the woman said, standing with arms straight at her sides. She had on a suit of steel plate armor, like what I’d seen in museums. Except this armor seemed a lot better fitting. The pieces bent together in a more flexible manner, and the metal itself was thinner.
The woman bowed her head to me, helmet under her arm, her hair a deep, metallic silver. The face seemed familiar. I glanced at Bastille, then back at the woman.
‘You’re Bastille’s mother?’ I asked.
‘I am indeed, Lord Smedry,’ the woman said, the tone of her voice as stiff as her armor. ‘I am—’
‘Oh, Alcatraz!’ the other person said, interrupting the woman. This girl sat in the chair beside the dash of the cockpit, and she wore a pink tunic with brown trousers. She had the face I’d seen through the Courier’s Lenses – long black hair, a little bit curly, with dark skin and slightly plump features.
‘I’m so glad you made it,’ the girl exclaimed. ‘For a while, I thought we’d lost you! Then Bastille saw that light shooting into the air, and we figured it was from you. It seems that we were right!’
‘And you are . . .?’ I asked.
‘Australia Smedry!’ she said, hopping out of her chair and rushing over to give me a hug. ‘Your cousin, silly! Sing’s sister.’
‘Gak!’ I said, nearly being crushed by the powerful hug. Bastille’s mother looked on, arms crossed behind her back in a kind of parade-rest sort of pose.
Australia finally let me go. She was probably around sixteen, and she had on a pair of blue Lenses.
‘You’re an Oculator!’ I said.
‘Of course I am!’ she said. ‘How else do you think I contacted you? I’m not really that good with these Lenses. Or . . . um, most Lenses, actually. Anyway, it’s so wonderful to meet you, finally! I’ve heard a lot about you. Well, a couple of things really. Okay, so only two letters from Sing, but they were very complimentary. Do you really have the Talent of Breaking Things?’
I shrugged. ‘That’s what they tell me. What’s your Talent?’
Australia smiled. ‘I can wake up in the morning looking incredibly ugly!’
‘Oh . . . how wonderful.’ I still wasn’t certain how to respond to Smedry Talents. I usually couldn’t ever tell if the Person telling me was excited or disappointed by the power.
Australia, it seemed, was excited by pretty much everything. She nodded perkily. ‘I know. It’s a fun Talent – nothing like breaking things – but I make it work for me!’ She glanced about. ‘I wonder where Kaz went. He’ll want to meet you too.’
‘Another cousin?’
‘Your uncle, actually,’ Australia said. ‘Your father’s brother. He was just here . . . Must have wandered off again.’
I sensed another Talent. ‘His Smedry ability is to get lost?’
Australia smiled. ‘You’ve heard of him!’
I shook my head. ‘Lucky guess.’
‘He’ll show up eventually – he always does. Anyway, I’m just so excited to meet you!’
I nodded hesitantly.
‘Lady Smedry,’ Bastille’s mother said from behind. ‘I do not intend to give offence, 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. As 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. As 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.
3
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 Scrivener’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 possibly 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 her 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.’
Alcatraz Page 22
