Alcatraz Versus The Evil Librarians Part 3

"Sing," Grandpa Smedry said. "We need to do a full library infiltration. Now. Now."

"A library infiltration?" Sing said excitedly.

"Yes, yes," Grandpa Smedry said hurriedly. "Go get your cousin, and both of you get into your disguises. I need to gather my Lenses."

Sing rushed back the way he had come. Grandpa Smedry walked over to the wall on the other side of the hearth. Not sure what else to do, I followed, watching as Grandpa Smedry knelt beside what appeared to be a large box made entirely of black gla.s.s. Grandpa Smedry put his hand on it, closed his eyes, and the front of the box suddenly shattered.

I jumped back, but Grandpa Smedry ignored the broken shards of black gla.s.s. He reached into the chest and pulled out a tray wrapped in red velvet. He set this on top of the box, unwrapping the cloth and revealing a small book and about a dozen pairs of spectacles, each with a slightly different tint of gla.s.s.

Grandpa Smedry pulled open the front of his tuxedo jacket, then began to slip the spectacles into little pouches sewn into the lining of the garment. They hung like the watches on the inside of an illegal street peddler's coat.

"Something very strange is going on, isn't it?" I finally asked.

"Yes, lad," Grandpa Smedry said, still arranging the spectacles.

"We're really going to go sneak into a library?"

Grandpa Smedry nodded.

"Only, it's not really a library. But someplace more dangerous."

"Oh, it's really a library," Grandpa Smedry said. "What you haven't realized before is that all all libraries are far more dangerous that you've always a.s.sumed." libraries are far more dangerous that you've always a.s.sumed."

"And we're going to break into this one," I repeated. "A place filled with people who want to kill me."

"Most likely," Grandpa Smedry said. "But what else can we do? We either infiltrate, or we let them make those sands into Lenses."

This isn't a joke, I began to realize. I began to realize. This man isn't actually crazy. Or, at least, the craziness includes much more than just him. This man isn't actually crazy. Or, at least, the craziness includes much more than just him. I stood there for a moment, feeling overwhelmed, thinking about what I had seen. I stood there for a moment, feeling overwhelmed, thinking about what I had seen.

"Well, all right, then," I finally said.

Now, you Hushlanders may think that I took all of these strange experiences quite well. After all, it isn't every day that you get threatened with a gun, then discover a medieval dining room hiding inside the beverage cooler at a local gas station. However, maybe if you'd you'd grown up with the magical ability to break almost anything you touched, then you would have been just as quick to accept unusual circ.u.mstances. grown up with the magical ability to break almost anything you touched, then you would have been just as quick to accept unusual circ.u.mstances.

"Here, lad," Grandpa Smedry said, standing and picking up the final pair of spectacles. They were reddish tinted, like the pair Grandpa Smedry was currently wearing. "These are yours. I've been saving them for you."

I paused. "I don't need gla.s.ses."

"You're an Oculator, lad," Grandpa Smedry said. "You'll always always need gla.s.ses." need gla.s.ses."

"Can't I wear sungla.s.ses, like Sing?"

Grandpa Smedry chuckled. "You don't need Warrior's Lenses, lad. You can access abilities far more potent. Here, take these. They're Oculator's Lenses."

"What are Oculators?" I asked.

"We are, my boy. Put them on."

I frowned, but took the gla.s.ses. I put them on, then glanced around. "Nothing looks different," I said, feeling disappointed. "The room doesn't even look... redder."

Of course not," Grandpa Smedry said. "The tints come from the sands they're made of and help us keep the Lenses straight. They're not intended to make things look different."

"I just... thought the gla.s.ses would do something."

"They do," Grandpa Smedry said. "They show you things that you need to see. It's just subtle, lad. Wear them for a while let your eyes get used to them."

"All right...." I glanced over as Grandpa Smedry knelt to put the tray back inside the broken box. "What's that book?"

Grandpa Smedry looked up "Hmmm? This?" He picked up the small book, handing it to me. I opened to the first page. It was filled with scribbles, as if made by a child.

"The Forgotten Language," Grandpa Smedry said. "We've been trying to decipher it for centuries your father worked on that book for a while, before you were born. He thought its secrets might lead him to the Sands of Rashid."

"This isn't a language," I said. "It's just a bunch of scribbles."

"Well, any language you don't understand would just look like scribbles, lad!"

I flipped through the pages of the book. It was filled with completely random circles, zigzags, loop-dee-loops, and the like. There were no patterns. Some of the pages only had a couple marks on them; others were so black with ink that they looked like a child's rendition of a tornado.

"No," I said. "No, I don't think so. A language has to make patterns! There's nothing like that in here."

"That's the big secret, lad," Grandpa Smedry said, taking back the book. "Why do you think n.o.body, despite centuries of trying, has managed to break the code? The Incarna people the ones who wrote in this language held vast secrets. Unfortunately, n.o.body can read their records, and the Incarna disappeared many centuries ago."

I wrinkled my brow at the strange comments. Grandpa Smedry stood up, stepping away from the gla.s.s box. And, suddenly, the shattered front of the box melted and reformed its gla.s.sy surface.

I stepped back in shock. Then I reached up, suspiciously pulling off my gla.s.ses. Yet the box still sat pristine, as if it hadn't been broken in the first place.

"Restore Gla.s.s," Grandpa Smedry said, nodding toward the box. "Only an Oculator can break it. Once he moves too far away, however, it will re-form into its previous shape. Makes for wonderful safes. It's even stronger than Builder's Gla.s.s, if used right."

I slipped my Lenses back on.

"Tell me, lad," Grandpa Smedry said, laying a hand on my shoulder, "why did you burn down your foster parents' kitchen?"

I started. That wasn't the question I'd been expecting. "How did you know about that?"

"Why, I'm an Oculator, of course."

I just frowned.

"So why?" he asked. "Why burn it down?"

"It was an accident," I replied.

"Was it?"

I looked away. Of course it was an accident, Of course it was an accident, I thought, feeling a bit of shame. I thought, feeling a bit of shame. Why would I do something like that on purpose? Why would I do something like that on purpose?

Grandpa Smedry was studying me. "You have a Talent for breaking things," he said. "Or so you have said. Yet lighting fire to a set of drapes and ruining a kitchen with smoke doesn't seem like a use of that Talent. Particularly if you let the fire burn for a while before putting it out. That's not breaking. That seems more like destroying."

"I don't destroy," I said quietly.

"Why, then?" Grandpa Smedry said.

I shrugged. What was he implying? Did he think I liked liked messing things up all the time? Did he think I liked being forced to move every few months? It seemed that every time I came to love someone, they decided that my Talent was just too much to handle. messing things up all the time? Did he think I liked being forced to move every few months? It seemed that every time I came to love someone, they decided that my Talent was just too much to handle.

I felt a stab of loneliness but shoved it down.

"Ah," Grandpa Smedry said. "You won't answer, I see. But I can still wonder, can't I? Why would a boy do such damage to the homes of such kind people? It seems like a perversion of his Talent. Yes, indeed..."

I said nothing. Grandpa Smedry just smiled at me, then straightened his bow tie and checked his wrist.w.a.tch. "Garbled Greens! We're late. Sing! Quentin!"

"We're ready, Uncle!" a voice called from down the hallway.

"Ah, good," Grandpa Smedry said. "Come, my boy. Let me introduce you to your cousins!"

Chapter 4

Hushlanders, I'd like to take this opportunity to commend you for reading this book. I realize the difficulty you must have gone through to obtain it after all, no Librarian is likely to recommend it, considering the secrets it exposes about their kind.

Actually, my experience has been that people generally don't recommend this kind of book at all. It is far too interesting. Perhaps you have had other kinds of books recommended to you. Perhaps, even, you have been given books by friends, parents, or teachers, then told that these books are the type you "have to read." Those books are invariably described as "important" which, in my experience, pretty much means that they're boring. (Words like meaningful meaningful and and thoughtful thoughtful are other good clues.) are other good clues.) If there is a boy in these kinds of books, he will not go on an adventure to fight against Librarians, paper monsters, and one-eyed Dark Oculators. In fact, the lad will not go on an adventure or fight against anything at all. Instead, his dog will die. Or, in some cases, his mother will die. If it's a really really meaningful book, both his dog meaningful book, both his dog and and his mother will die. (Apparently, most writers have something against dogs and mothers.) his mother will die. (Apparently, most writers have something against dogs and mothers.) Neither my mother nor my dog dies in this book. I'm rather tired of those types of stories. In my opinion, such fantastical, unrealistic books books in which boys live on mountains, families work on farms, or anyone has anything anything to do with the Great Depression have a tendency to rot the brain. To combat such silliness, I've written the volume you now hold a solid, true account. Hopefully, it will help anchor you in reality. to do with the Great Depression have a tendency to rot the brain. To combat such silliness, I've written the volume you now hold a solid, true account. Hopefully, it will help anchor you in reality.

So, when people try to give you some book with a shiny round award on the cover, be kind and gracious, but tell them that you don't read "fantasy," because you prefer stories that are real. Then come back here and continue your research on the cult of evil Librarians who secretly rule the world.

"This," Grandpa Smedry proclaimed, pointing to Sing, "is your cousin Sing Sing Smedry. He's a specialist in ancient weapons."

Sing nodded modestly. He had exchanged his tunic for what appeared to be a formal kimono though he still wore his dark sungla.s.ses. The kimono was of a very rich dark blue silk and, though it fit him quite well, there was something... wrong about the entire presentation. More than just the fact that the kimono itself wasn't something a regular person in America wore. Sing's chest parted the front of the silk, and the loose garment hung tied about the waist with a large sash tucked beneath his ma.s.sive stomach.

"Uh, nice to meet you Sing... Sing," I said.

"You can just call my Sing," the large man replied.

"Ask him what his Talent is," Grandpa whispered.

"Oh," I said. "Um, what's your Talent, Sing?"

"I can trip and fall to the ground," Sing said.

I blinked. "That's a Talent?" a Talent?"

"It's not as grand as some, I know," Sing said, "but it serves me well."

"And the kimono?" I asked "I come from a different kingdom than your grandfather," Sing said. "I am from Mokia, while your grandfather and Quentin are from Melerand."

"Okay," I said. "But what difference does that make?"

"It means I have to wear a different disguise from the rest of you," Sing explained. "That way, I won't stand out as much. If I look like a foreigner to America, people will ignore me."

I paused. "Whatever," I finally said.

"It makes perfect sense," Grandpa Smedry said. "Trust me. We've researched this." He turned and pointed to the other man. "Now, this is your cousin Quentin Smedry." Short and wiry, Quentin wore a sharp tuxedo like that of Grandpa Smedry, complete with a red carnation on the lapel. He had dark brown hair, pale skin, and freckles. Like Sing, he looked to be about thirty years old.

"Well met, young Oculator," Quentin said from behind his dark sungla.s.ses.

"And what is your Talent?" I dutifully asked.

"I can say things that make absolutely no sense whatsoever."

"I thought everyone here had that Talent," I noted.

n.o.body laughed. Free Kingdomers never get my jokes.

"He's also really sneaky," Grandpa Smedry said.

Quentin nodded.

"Great," I said. "So, are both of you... Oculators?"

"Oh, goodness no," Sing said. "We're cousins to the Smedry family, not members of the direct line."

"Didn't you notice the gla.s.ses?" Grandpa Smedry asked. "They're wearing Warrior's Lenses, one of the only kinds of Lenses that a non-Oculator can use."

"Um, yes," I said. "Actually, I did notice the gla.s.ses. I... noticed the tuxedos too. Is there a reason you dress like that? If we go out like this, we'll kind of stand out, right?"

"Maybe the young lord has a point," Sing said, rubbing his chin.

Lord? I thought. I had no idea what to make of that. I thought. I had no idea what to make of that.

"Should we get Alcatraz a disguise too, Lord Smedry?" Quentin asked my grandfather.

"No, no," Grandpa Smedry said. "He isn't supposed to wear a suit at his age. At least, I don't think..."

"I'm fine," I said quickly.

The collection of Smedrys nodded.

Now, many of you Hushlanders may be scoffing at the disguises used by the Smedry group. Before you pa.s.s judgment on them, realize that they were somewhat out of their element. Imagine if you were suddenly thrust into a different culture, with very little knowledge of its customs or fashions. Would you know the difference between a Rounsfield tunic and a Larkian tunic? Would you be able to distinguish when to wear a batoled and when to wear a carfoo? Would you even know where where you wrap a Carlflogian wickerstrap? No? Well, that's because I just made all of those items up. But you didn't know that, did you? you wrap a Carlflogian wickerstrap? No? Well, that's because I just made all of those items up. But you didn't know that, did you?

Therefore, my point is proven. All things considered, I think the Smedrys did quite well. I've seen other infiltration teams ones without without Grandpa Smedry, who is widely held as the Free Kingdoms' foremost expert on American culture and society. The last group that tried an infiltration without him ended up trying to sneak into the Federal Reserve Bank disguised as potted plants. Grandpa Smedry, who is widely held as the Free Kingdoms' foremost expert on American culture and society. The last group that tried an infiltration without him ended up trying to sneak into the Federal Reserve Bank disguised as potted plants.

They got watered.

"Are we ready, then?" Grandpa Smedry said. "My grandson will be leading this infiltration. Our target is the central downtown library."