Alcatraz Versus The Evil Librarians Part 4

Sing and Quentin glanced at each other, looking a bit surprised. Grandpa had mentioned a library infiltration to Sing, but apparently the downtown downtown library was not what he'd expected. It made me wonder, once again, what I was getting myself into. library was not what he'd expected. It made me wonder, once again, what I was getting myself into.

"I realize this will be a most ambitious mission, gentlemen," Grandpa Smedry said. "But we have no choice. Our goal is to recover the legendary Sands of Rashid, which the Librarians have acquired through some very clever scheming and plotting."

Grandpa Smedry turned, nodding to me. "The sands belong to my grandson, and so he will be lead Oculator on this mission. Once we breach the initial stacks, we'll split into two groups and search for the sands. Gather as much information as you can, and recover the sands at all costs. Any questions?"

Quentin raised his hand. "What exactly does this bag of sand do do?"

Grandpa Smedry wavered. "we don't actually know," he admitted. "Before this, n.o.body had ever managed to gather enough of them to smelt a Lens. Or, at least, n.o.body had managed to do it during our our recorded history. There are vague legends, however. The Lenses of Rashid are supposed to be recorded history. There are vague legends, however. The Lenses of Rashid are supposed to be very very powerful. They will be a great danger to the people of the Free Kingdoms if they are allowed to fall into Librarian hands." powerful. They will be a great danger to the people of the Free Kingdoms if they are allowed to fall into Librarian hands."

The room fell silent. Finally, Sing raised a meaty hand. "Does this mean I can bring weapons?"

"Of course," Grandpa Smedry said.

"Can I bring lots lots of weapons?" Sing asked carefully. of weapons?" Sing asked carefully.

"Whatever you deem necessary, Sing," Grandpa Smedry said. "You're the specialist. But go quickly! We're going to be late."

Sing nodded, dashing back down his hallway.

"And you?" Grandpa Smedry asked of Quentin.

"I'm fine," the short man said. "But... my lord, don't you think we should tell Bastille what we're doing?"

"Jabbering Jordans, no!" Grandpa Smedry said. "Absolutely not. I forbid it."

"She's not going to be happy...." Quentin said.

"Nonsense," Grandpa Smedry said. "She enjoys being ignored it gives her an excuse to be grumpy. Now, since we have to wait for Sing to get his weapons, I'm going to go get something to eat. I was clever enough to pack some lunches for myself and the lad. Coming Alcatraz?"

I shrugged, and we made our way out though the cooler pa.s.sing the armored knights and walked back into the shop. Grandpa Smedry nodded to the two hillbilly attendants, then walked out toward his car, apparently going to grab the briefcases stuffed with food.

I didn't follow him. At that point, I still felt a little overwhelmed by what was happening to me. Part of me couldn't believe what I had seen, so I decided to see if I could figure out how they were hiding that huge room inside. I turned, wandering around to the back of the small service station, then I carefully paced off the lengths of its walls.

The building was a rectangle, ten paces long on two sides, eighteen paces long on the other two. Yet the room inside had been far larger. A bas.e.m.e.nt? bas.e.m.e.nt? I wondered. (Yes, I realize that it took me quite some time to accept that the place was magical. You Free Kingdomers really have no idea what it's like to live in Librarian-controlled areas. So, stop judging me and just keep reading.) I wondered. (Yes, I realize that it took me quite some time to accept that the place was magical. You Free Kingdomers really have no idea what it's like to live in Librarian-controlled areas. So, stop judging me and just keep reading.) I kept at it, trying to figure out some logical explanation. I squatted down on the hot, tar-stained concrete, trying to find a slope in the ground. I stood up, eyeing the back of the building, which was set with a small window. I grabbed a broken chair from a nearby Dumpster, then climbed up to peek in the window.

I couldn't see anything through the dark gla.s.s. I pressed my face against it b.u.mping my gla.s.ses against the window and shaded the sunlight with my hand, but I still couldn't see inside.

I leaned back, sighing. But... then it seemed as if I could could see something. Not through the window, but alongside it. The edges of the window seemed to fuzz just a little bit, and I got the distinct, see something. Not through the window, but alongside it. The edges of the window seemed to fuzz just a little bit, and I got the distinct, strange strange impression that I could see through the wall's siding. impression that I could see through the wall's siding.

I pulled off my gla.s.ses. The illusion disappeared, and the wall looked perfectly normal. I put them back on, and nothing really changed. Yet, as I stared at the wall, I felt the odd sense again. As if I could just barely barely see something. I c.o.c.ked my head, teetering on the broken chair. Finally, I reached up a hand, laying it against the white siding. see something. I c.o.c.ked my head, teetering on the broken chair. Finally, I reached up a hand, laying it against the white siding.

Then I broke it.

I didn't really do much. I didn't have to twist, pull, or yank. I just rested my hand against the wall for a moment, and one of the siding planks popped free and toppled to the ground. Through the broken section, I could see the true wall of the building.

Gla.s.s. The entire wall was made of a deep lavender gla.s.s.

I saw through the siding, I thought. I thought. Was it my gla.s.ses that let me do that? Was it my gla.s.ses that let me do that?

A footstep sounded on the gravel behind me.

I jumped, almost slipping off the chair. And there he was: the man from my house, the caseworker or whatever he was with the suit and the gun. I wobbled, feeling terror rise again. Of course he would chase us. Of course he would find us. What was I thinking? Why hadn't I just called the police?

"Lad?" Grandpa Smedry's voice called. He appeared around the corner, holding an open briefcase smeared with ketchup. "Your sand-burger is ready. Aren't you hungry?"

The man with the gun spun around, weapon still raised. "Don't move!" he yelled nervously. "Stay right there!"

"Hmm?" Grandpa Smedry asked, still walking.

"Grandpa!" I screamed as the caseworker pulled the trigger. I screamed as the caseworker pulled the trigger.

The gun went off.

There was a loud crack, and a chunk of siding blew off the building right in front of Grandpa Smedry. The old man continued to walk along, smiling to himself, looking completely relaxed.

The caseworker fired again, then again. Both times, the bullets. .h.i.t the wall right in front of Grandpa Smedry.

Now, a true hero would have tackled the man who was shooting his grandfather, or done something else equally heroic. I am not a true hero. I stood frozen with shock.

"Here now," Grandpa Smedry said. "What's going on?"

"Looking desperate, the caseworker pointed his gun back at me and pulled the trigger. The consequences, of course, were immediate.

The clip dropped out of the bottom of the gun.

The top of the weapon fell off.

The gun's trigger popped free, propelled by a broken spring.

The screws fell out of the gun's sides, dropping to the pavement.

The caseworker widened his eyes in disbelief, watching as the last part of the handle fell to pieces in his hand. In a final moment of indignity, the dying gun belched up a bit of metal an unfired bullet which spun in the air a few times before clicking down to the ground.

The man stared at the pieces of his weapon.

Grandpa Smedry paused beside me. "I think you broke it," he whispered to me.

The caseworker turned and scrambled away. Grandpa Smedry watched him go, a sly smile on his lips.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"Me?" Grandpa Smedry said. "No, you're you're the one who did that! At a distance, even! I've rarely seen a Talent work with such power. Though it's a shame to ruin a good antique weapon like that." the one who did that! At a distance, even! I've rarely seen a Talent work with such power. Though it's a shame to ruin a good antique weapon like that."

"I..." I looked at the gun pieces, my heart thumping. "It couldn't have been me. I've never done anything like that before."

"Have you never been threatened by a weapon before today?" Grandpa Smedry asked.

"Well, no."

Grandpa Smedry nodded. "Panic instinct. Your Talent protects you even at a distance when threatened. It's a good thing that he attacked with such a primitive weapon; Talents are much more powerful against them. Honestly, you'd think the Librarians would know not to send someone with a gun gun against a Smedry of the true line. They obviously underestimate you." against a Smedry of the true line. They obviously underestimate you."

"What am I doing here?" I whispered. "They're going to kill me."

"Nonsense, lad," Grandpa Smedry said. "You're a Smedry. We're made of tougher stuff than the Librarians give us credit for. Ruling the Hushlands for so long has made them sloppy."

I stood quietly. Then I looked up. "We're really going to go into into the library? The place where these guys come from? Isn't that kind of... stupid?" the library? The place where these guys come from? Isn't that kind of... stupid?"

"Yes," Grandpa Smedry said, speaking for once with a quiet solemnity. "You can stay back, if you wish. I know how this must all seem to you. Overwhelming. Terrifying. Strange. But you must understand me when I say our task is vital vital. We've made a terrible mistake I've I've made a terrible mistake by letting those sands get into the wrong hands. I'm going to make it right, before thousands upon thousands of people suffer." made a terrible mistake by letting those sands get into the wrong hands. I'm going to make it right, before thousands upon thousands of people suffer."

"But... isn't there anyone else who could do this?"

Grandpa Smedry shook his head. "Those sands will be forged into Lenses before the day is out. Our only chance the world's only chance is to get them before that happens."

I nodded slowly. "Then I'm going," I said. "You can't leave me behind."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Grandpa Smedry said. Then he glanced up at the wall where I had broken it. "You do that?"

I nodded again.

"Nagging Nixes! You really do do have quite the skill for breaking things," Grandpa Smedry said. "Must have been hard for you when you were younger." have quite the skill for breaking things," Grandpa Smedry said. "Must have been hard for you when you were younger."

I shrugged.

"What kinds of things can you break?" Grandpa Smedry asked.

"All kinds of things," I said. "Doors, electronics, tables. Once I broke a chicken."

"A chicken chicken?"

I nodded. "It was on a field trip. I got... kind of frustrated, and I picked up a chicken. When I put it down, it immediately lost all of its feathers, and from then on refused to eat anything but cat food."

"Breaking living things..." Grandpa Smedry mumbled to himself. "Extraordinary. Untamed, yes, but extraordinary nonetheless..."

I pointed at the building, hoping to change the subject. "It's a gla.s.s box."

"Yes," Grandpa Smedry said. "Expander's Gla.s.s if you make s.p.a.ce inside of it, you can push out the walls inside without pushing out the walls on the outside."

"That's impossible. It disobeys the laws of physics." (We Hushlanders pay a lot lot of attention to physics.) of attention to physics.) "That's just Librarian talk," Grandpa Smedry said. "You've got a lot to learn, lad. Come on, we need to get moving. We're late!"

I allowed myself to be led away, past the three bullet holes in the siding. "They missed," I said, almost to myself. "It's a good thing that man had such bad aim."

Grandpa Smedry laughed. "Bad aim! He didn't have a chance of hitting me. I arrived late to every shot. Your Talent can do some great things, my boy, but it's not the only powerful ability around! I've been arriving late to my own death since before you were born. In fact, once I was so late to an appointment that I got there before I left!"

I paused, trying to work through that last statement, but Grandpa Smedry waved me on. We rounded the building. Quentin and Sing stood with one of the station attendants, talking quietly. Sing had a good dozen different guns strapped to his body. He wore two holsters on each leg, one holster around each upper arm, and one underneath each arm. These were complemented by a couple of uzis tucked into his sash, and what looked like a shotgun tied to his back in kind of swordlike fashion.

"Oh, dear," Grandpa Smedry said. "He's not supposed to show them off like that, is he?"

"Um, no," I said.

Could we peace bond them, you think?"

"I don't know what that is," I said, "but I doubt it would help." Still, after getting shot at, the sight of Sing with all those weapons did make me feel a little more comfortable. Until I realized that, if we were going to be bringing an a.r.s.enal like that, what would our enemies enemies have? have?

"Ah, well," Grandpa Smedry said. "I already told him he could bring them. We can hide them in a bag or something. They're really not that dangerous it's not like he's got a sword or something. Anyway, we need to get moving, we're "

"-- late," I said. "Yes, I know."

"Good, then let's "

At this point, you should be very annoyed with people getting interrupted midsentence. I a.s.sure you that I feel the same way. In fact, I think A silver sports car screeched into the parking lot. Its windows were tinted the deepest black even the windshield and it had a sleek, ominous design, the make and model of which I couldn't quite place. It was like every spy car I'd ever seen melded into one.

The door burst open, and a girl about my age jumped out. Her hair was silvery, matching the car's paint, and she wore a fashionable black skirt and silver jacket, and carried a black handbag.

She appeared to be very, very very angry. angry.

"Smedry!" she snapped, swatting her purse at Sing as he moved too slowly to get out of her way.

"What?" I asked, jumping back slightly.

"Not you, lad," Grandpa Smedry said with a sigh. "She means me."

"What?" I asked. "What did you do?"

"Nothing much," Grandpa Smedry said. "I just kind of left her behind. That's Bastille, lad. She's our team's knight."

If I'd had any sense, I'd have run away right then.

Chapter 5

At this point, perhaps you Hushlanders are beginning to doubt the truth of this narrative. You have seen several odd and inexplicable things happen. (Though, just as a warning, the story so far has actually been quite tame. Just wait until we get to the part with the talking dinosaurs.) Some readers might even think that I'm just making this story up. You might think that everything in this book is dreamy silliness.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

This book is serious. Terribly serious. Your skepticism results from a lifetime of training in the Librarians' school system, where you were taught all kinds of lies. Indeed, you'd probably never even heard of the Smedrys, despite the fact that they are the most famous family of Oculators in the entire world. In most parts of the Free Kingdoms, being a Smedry is considered equivalent to being n.o.bility.

(If you wish to perform a fun test, next time you are in history cla.s.s, ask your teacher about the Smedrys. If your teacher is a Librarian spy, he or she will get red-faced and give you a detention. If, on the other hand, your teacher is innocent, he or she will simply be confused, then likely give you a detention.) Remember, despite the fact that this book is being sold as a "fantasy" novel, you must take all of the things it says extremely seriously, as they are quite important, are in no way silly, and always make sense.

Rutabaga.

"That is a knight?" I asked, pointed at the silver-haired girl. is a knight?" I asked, pointed at the silver-haired girl.