Alcatraz (4 page)

‘Ah,’ I said.
‘Right, then.
Are we going to need any .
.
.
I don’t know, special equipment for this?
Or, perhaps, some more help?’

‘Ah.
A very wise idea, lad,’ Grandpa Smedry said.

And the car suddenly jerked, turning onto a larger street.
Cars passed on either side, whizzing off to their separate destinations, Grandpa Smedry’s little black automobile puttering along happily in the center lane.
Grandpa gave the wheel a few good twists, and we rode in silence.

I kept glancing at the steering wheel, trying to sort out exactly what mechanism was controlling the vehicle.
In my world, vehicles don’t drive themselves, and men like Grandpa Smedry are generally kept in small padded rooms with lots of crayons.

Eventually (partially to keep myself from going mad from frustration) I decided to try conversation again.
‘So,’ I said, ‘why do you think that man tried to kill me?’

‘Because the Librarians got what they wanted from you, lad,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘They have the sands, which we all knew would make their way to you eventually.
Now that they have your inheritance, you’re no longer an asset to them.
In fact, you’re a threat!
They were right to be afraid of your Talent.’

‘My Talent?’

‘Breaking things.
All Smedrys have a Talent, my boy.
It’s part of our lineage.’

‘So .
.
.
you have one of these Talent things?’
I asked.

‘Of course I do, lad!’
Grandpa Smedry said.
‘I’m a Smedry, after all.’

‘What is it?’

Grandpa smiled modestly.
‘Well, I don’t like to brag, but it’s quite a powerful Talent indeed.’

I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

‘You see,’ Grandpa Smedry said, ‘I have the ability to arrive late to things.’

‘Ah,’ I said.
‘Of course.’

‘I know, I know.
I don’t deserve such power, but I try to make good use of it.’

‘You are completely nuts, you know.’
It’s always best to be blunt with people.

‘Thank you!’
Grandpa Smedry said as the car began to slow.
The vehicle pulled up to the pumps at a small gas station.
I didn’t recognize the brand – the sign hanging above the ridiculously high prices simply depicted the image of an upside-down teddy bear.

Our doors swung open on their own.
Grandpa hopped out of his seat and rushed over to meet the station attendant, who was approaching to fill up the tank.

I frowned, still sitting in the car.
The attendant was dressed in a pair of dirty overalls and no shirt.
He was chewing on the end of a piece of straw, as one might see a farmer doing in old Hushlander movies, and he had on a large straw hat.

Grandpa Smedry approached the man with an exaggerated look of nonchalance.
‘Hello, good sir,’ Grandpa Smedry said, glancing around.
‘I’d like a Philip, please.’

‘Of course, good sir,’ the attendant said, tipping his hat and accepting a couple of bills from Grandpa Smedry.
The attendant approached the car, nodding to me, then took out one of the gasoline hoses and held it up against the side of the car, whistling pleasantly to himself.

‘Come, Alcatraz!’
Grandpa Smedry said, walking up to the gas station’s store.
‘There isn’t time!’

Finally, I just shook my head and climbed out of the car.
Grandpa Smedry went inside, the screen door slamming behind him.
I walked up, pulled open the screen door – threw the door handle over my shoulder as it broke off – then stepped inside after Grandpa Smedry.

Another attendant – also with straw in his mouth and a large hat on his head – stood leaning against the counter.
The small ‘store’ consisted of a single stand of snacks and a wall-sized cooler.
The cooler was stocked completely with cans of motor oil, though a sign said
ENJOY A COOL REFRESHING DRINK!

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘where exactly are you people finding straw to chew on in the middle of the city?
It can’t be all that easy to get.’

‘Quickly, now.
Quickly!’
Grandpa Smedry gestured frantically from the back of the store.
Glancing to either side, he said in a louder voice, ‘I think I’ll have a cool refreshing drink!’
Then he pulled open the cooler door.

I froze in place.

Now, it’s very important to me that you understand that I am not stupid.
It’s perfectly all right if you end this book convinced that I’m not the hero that some reports claim me to be.
However, I’d rather not everyone I meet presume me to be slow-witted.
If that were the case, half of them would likely try and sell me insurance.

The truth is, however, that even clever people can be taken by surprise so soundly that they are at a loss for words.
Or, at least, at a loss for words that make sense.

‘Gak!’
I said.

You see.
Now, before you judge me, place yourself in my position.
Let’s say that you had watched a crazy old man open up a cooler full of oilcans.
You would have undoubtedly expected to see .
.
.
well, a cooler full of oilcans on the other side.

You would
not
expect to see a room with a large hearth at the center, blazing with a cheery reddish-orange fire.
You would not expect to see two men in full armor standing guard on either side of the door.
Indeed, you would not expect to see a room – instead of a cooler full of oilcans – at all.

Perhaps you would have said ‘Gak’ too.

‘Gak!’
I repeated.

‘Would you stop that, boy?’
Grandpa Smedry said.
‘There are absolutely
no
Gaks here.
Why do you think we keep so much straw around?
Now, come on!’
He stepped through the doorway into the room beyond.

I approached slowly, then glanced at the other side of the open glass door – and saw oilcans cooling in their wall racks.
I turned, looking through the doorway.
It seemed as if I could see much more than I should have been able to.
The two knights standing on either side of such a small doorway should have left no room to walk through, yet Grandpa Smedry had passed easily.

I reached out, rapping lightly on one of the knight’s breastplates.

‘Please don’t do that,’ a voice said from behind the faceplate.

‘Oh,’ I said.
‘Um, sorry.’
Still frowning to myself, I stepped into the room.

It was a large chamber.
Far larger, I decided than could have possibly fit in the store.
I could now see a rug set with thronelike chairs arranged to face the hearth in a homey manner (if your home is a medieval castle .
.
.).
To my left, there was a long, broad table, also set with chairs.

‘Sing!’
Grandpa Smedry yelled, his voice echoing down a hallway to the right.
‘Sing!’

If he breaks into song, I think I might have to strangle myself
.
.
.
I thought, cringing.

‘Lord Smedry?’
a voice called from down the hallway, and a huge figure rushed into sight.

If you’ve never seen a large Mokian man in sunglasses, a tunic, and tights before—

Okay.
I’m going to assume that you’ve never seen a large Mokian man in sunglasses, a tunic, and tights.
I certainly hadn’t.

The man – apparently named Sing – was a good six and a half feet tall, and had dark hair and dark skin.
He looked like he could be from Hawaii, or maybe Samoa or Tonga.
He had the mass and girth of a linebacker and would have fit right in on the football field.
Or, at least, he would have fit right in if he’d been wearing a football uniform, rather than a tunic – a type of garment that I still think looks silly.
Bastille has pictures of me wearing one.
If you ask her, she’ll probably show them to you gleefully.

Of course, if you do that, I’ll probably have to hunt you down and kill you.
Or dress you in a tunic and take pictures of you.
I’m still not sure which is worse.

‘Sing,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘We need to do a full library infiltration.
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 glass.
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 glass.
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 glass.

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
libraries are far more dangerous that you’ve always assumed.’

‘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.
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.

‘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
grown up with the magical ability to break almost anything you touched, then you would have been just as quick to accept unusual circumstances.

‘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 glasses.’

‘You’re an Oculator, lad,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘You’ll
always
need glasses.’

‘Can’t I wear sunglasses, 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 glasses.
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.’