Alcatraz (28 page)

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.’

‘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 such 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 snake-like 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.