Alcatraz (59 page)

‘What are the Royal Archives?’
I asked.

‘They’re not a library,’ Folsom said quickly.

‘Yes, the sign said that,’ I replied.
‘But if they aren’t a library, what are they?’
(I mean, telling me what something
isn’t
really wasn’t all that useful.
I could put out a blorgadet and hang a sign on it that said ‘Most certainly
not
a hippopotamus’ and it wouldn’t help.
I’d also be lying, since ‘blorgadet’ is actually Mokian for hippopotamus.)

Grandpa Smedry turned toward me.
‘The Royal Archives—’

‘
Not
a library,’ Sing added.

‘—are a repository for the kingdom’s most important texts and scrolls.’

‘That, uh, sounds an
awful
lot like a library,’ I said.

‘But it’s not,’ Folsom said.
‘Didn’t you hear?’

‘Right .
.
.’
I said.
‘Well, a repository for books—’

‘Which is in no way a library,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘—sounds like exactly the sort of place the Librarians would be interested in.’
I frowned in thought.
‘Are there books in the Forgotten Language in there?’

‘I’d guess some,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘Never been in there myself.’

‘You haven’t?’
I asked, shocked.

‘Too much like a library,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘Even if it isn’t one.’

You Hushlanders may be confused by statements like this.
After all, Grandpa Smedry, Sing, and Folsom have all been presented as very literate fellows.
They’re academics – quite knowledgeable about what they do.
How, then, have they avoided libraries and reading?

The answer is that they
haven’t
avoided reading.
They love books.
However, to them, books are a little like teenage boys: Whenever they start congregating, they make trouble.

‘The Royal Archives,’ I said, then quickly added, ‘and I know it’s
not
a library.
Whatever it is, that’s where my mother was going.
I’m sure of it.
She has the Translator’s Lenses; she’s trying to find something in there.
Something important.’

‘Alcatraz, the place is
very
well guarded,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘I doubt even Shasta would be able to sneak in unseen.’

‘I still think we should visit,’ I said.
‘We can look and see if there’s anything suspicious going on.’

‘All right,’ Grandpa Smedry said.
‘You take Bastille and Sing and go.
I’ll compose a stirring speech to give at the final proceedings this evening!
Maybe if I’m lucky, someone will try to assassinate me during the speech.
That would make it at least ten times more dramatic!’

‘Grandpa,’ I said.

‘Yes?’

‘You’re crazy.’

‘Thank you!
All right, let’s get moving!
We have an entire continent to save!’

13

P
eople tend to believe what other people tell them.
This is particularly true if the people who are telling the people the thing that they’re telling them are people who have a college degree in the thing about which they are telling people.
(Telling, isn’t it?)

College degrees are very important.
Without college degrees, we wouldn’t know who was an expert and who wasn’t.
And if we didn’t know who was an expert, we wouldn’t know whose opinion was the most important to listen to.

Or at least that’s what the experts want us to believe.
Those who have listened to Socrates know that they’re supposed to ask questions.
Questions like ‘If all people are equal, then why is my opinion worth less than that of the expert?’
or ‘If I like reading this book, then why should I let someone else tell me that I
shouldn’t
like reading it?’

That isn’t to say that I don’t like critics.
My cousin is one, and – as you have seen – he’s a very nice fellow.
All I’m saying is that you should question what others tell you, even if they have a college degree.
There are a lot of people who might try to stop you from reading this book.
They’ll come up to you and say things like ‘Why are you reading that trash?’
or ‘You should be doing your homework,’ or ‘Help me, I’m on fire!’

Don’t let them distract you.
It’s of vital importance that you keep reading.
This book is very, very important.

After all, it’s about
me
.

‘The Royal Archives,’ I said, looking up at the vast building in front of me.

‘Not a library,’ Sing added.

‘Thanks, Sing,’ I said dryly.
‘I’d almost forgotten.’

‘Glad to help!’
he said as we walked up the steps.
Bastille followed; she was still barely responsive.
She’d come to us because she’d been kicked out of Crystallia.
Getting cut off from the knights’ magic rock also required a period of exile from their giant glass mushroom.

(Those of you in the Hushlands, I
dare
you to work that last sentence into a conversation.
‘By the way, Sally, did you know that getting cut off from the knights’ magic rock also requires a period of exile from their giant glass mushroom?’)

A dragon crawled along the sides of the castles above me, growling quietly to itself.
The Royal Archives (not a library) looked a lot like a building out of Greek history, with its magnificent white pillars and marble steps.
The only difference was that it had castlelike towers.
In Nalhalla,
everything
has castle towers.
Even the outhouses.
(You know, in case someone tries to seize the throne.)

‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been here,’ Sing said, happily waddling beside me.
It was good to spend time with the pleasant anthropologist again.

‘You’ve been here before?’
I asked.

Sing nodded.
‘During my undergraduate days, I had to do research on ancient weapons.
This place has books you can’t find anywhere else.
I’m actually a little sad to be back.’

‘This place is that bad?’
I asked as we entered the cavernous main room of the Royal Archives.
I didn’t see any books – it looked mostly empty.

‘This place?’
Sing asked.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean the Royal Archives, which is not a library.
I was talking about Nalhalla.
I didn’t get to do as much research in the Hushlands as I wanted!
I was deeply engaged in a study on Hushlander transportation when your grandfather got me and we started our infiltration.’

‘It’s really not that interesting there,’ I said.

‘You just say that because you are accustomed to it!’
Sing said.
‘Each day, something new and exciting happened!
Right before we left, I finally managed to meet a real
cabdriver
!
I had him drive me around the block, and while I was disappointed that we didn’t get into a car wreck, I’m sure after a few more days I could have experienced one.’

‘Those are kind of dangerous, Sing.’

‘Oh, I was ready for danger,’ he said.
‘I made sure to wear safety goggles!’

I sighed, but made no other comment.
Trying to curb Sing’s love of the Hushlands was like .
.
.
well, like kicking a puppy.
A six-foot-eight, three-hundred-fifty-pound Hawaiian puppy.
Who liked to carry guns.

‘This place doesn’t look all that impressive,’ I said, glancing about at the majestic pillars and enormous hallways.
‘Where are the books?’

‘Oh, this isn’t the archives,’ Sing said, pointing toward a doorway.
‘The archives are in there.’

I raised an eyebrow and walked to the door, then pulled it open.
Inside, I found an army.

There were a good fifty or sixty soldiers, all standing at attention in ranks, their metal helmets glistening in the lamplight.
At the back of the room, there was a set of stairs leading down.

‘Wow,’ I said.

‘Why, young Lord Smedry!’
a voice boomed.
I turned and was surprised to see Archedis – the big-chinned Knight of Crystallia from Bastille’s trial – walking toward me.
‘How surprising to see you here!’

‘Sir Archedis,’ I said.
‘I could say the same of you, I guess.’

‘There are always two full knights on guard at the Royal Archives,’ Archedis said.

‘Not a library,’ one of the soldiers added.

‘I was just here overseeing a shift change,’ Archedis said, stepping up to me.

He was a lot more intimidating when standing.
Silvery armor, rectangular face, a chin that could destroy small countries if it fell into the wrong hands.
Sir Archedis was the type of knight that people stuck on recruitment posters.

‘Well,’ I said.
‘We came to investigate the Royal Archives—’

‘Not a library,’ Sir Archedis said.

‘—because we think the Librarians might be interested in them.’

‘They’re quite well protected,’ Archedis said in his deep voice.
‘A half platoon of soldiers and two Crystin!
But I suppose it couldn’t hurt to have an Oculator around too, particularly when there are Librarians in town!’

He glanced over my shoulder.
‘I see that you’ve brought young Bastille with you,’ he added.
‘Good job – keep her moving about and not wallowing in her punishment!’

I glanced back at Bastille.
She’d focused on Sir Archedis, and I thought I was beginning to see some emotion return to her.
Likely she was thinking about how much she’d like to ram something long and pointy into his chest.

‘I’m sorry we had to meet under such poor circumstances, Lord Smedry,’ Archedis said to me.
‘I’ve been following your exploits.’

‘Oh,’ I said, flushing.
‘You mean the books?’

Archedis laughed.
‘No, no, your
real
exploits!
The battle against Blackburn was reportedly quite impressive, and I would have liked to see that fight with the Alivened.
I hear that you handled yourself quite well.’

‘Oh,’ I said, smiling.
‘Well, thanks.’

‘But tell me,’ he said, leaning down.
‘Did you
really
break a Crystin sword with that Talent of yours?’

I nodded.
‘Hilt came right off in my hand.
I didn’t realize it, but the problem was my emotion.
I was so nervous that the Talent activated with a lot of power.’

‘Well, I guess I just have to take your word!’
Archedis said.
‘Would you like a knight as guard for your person during this investigation?’

‘No,’ I said.
‘I think we’ll be fine.’

‘Very well, then,’ he said, slapping me on the back.
(Side note: Getting slapped – even affectionately – on the back by someone wearing gauntlets is
not
comfortable.) ‘Carry on, and best of luck.’
He turned to the soldiers.
‘Let them pass and follow their orders!
This is the heir of House Smedry!’

The soldiers, en masse, saluted.
With that, Archedis marched out the door, armor clinking.

‘I
like
that guy,’ I said after he was gone.

‘Everyone does,’ Sing said.
‘Sir Archedis is one of the most influential knights in the order.’

‘Oh, I don’t think
everyone
likes him,’ I said, glancing at Bastille.
She was watching the doorway.

‘He’s amazing,’ she whispered, surprising me.
‘He’s one of the reasons I decided to join.’

‘But he was one of the ones who voted to have you stripped of your rank!’

‘He was the least harsh on me,’ Bastille said.

‘Only because
I
convinced him to be.’

She regarded me with an odd expression; it seemed that she was coming out of her funk a little bit.
‘I thought you liked him.’

‘Well, I do,’ I said.

Or at least I
had
liked him – right up until the point that Bastille had started talking about how wonderful he was.
Now, quite suddenly, I became convinced that Sir Archedis was plain and dull-witted.
I prepared to explain this to Bastille, but was interrupted as the soldiers began to make way for us to pass.

‘Ah, nice,’ Sing said, walking forward.
‘Last time, I had to spend an hour appeasing their security requirements.’

Bastille followed.
She obviously hadn’t recovered completely, even if she was a little more animated.
We entered the stairwell, and for a brief moment I was reminded of the Library of Alexandria, with its wraithlike Librarians and endless rows of dusty tomes and scrolls.
It had been beneath the ground too.

The similarity soon ended.
Not only was the Royal Archives
not
a library, but the stairwell didn’t end in a strange teleporting darkness.
Instead, it stretched on for a distance, dusty and dry.
When we finally reached the bottom, we found the two Knights of Crystallia standing guard at another set of doors.
They saluted, apparently recognizing Sing and me.

‘How long will you need access, my lord?’
one of the knights asked.

‘Oh,’ I said.
‘Um, I’m not really sure.’

‘Check back with us in an hour, if you don’t mind,’ said the other knight – a stout woman with blond hair.

‘All right,’ I said.

With that, the two knights pushed open the doors, letting me, Sing, and Bastille into the archives.
‘Wow,’ I said.
That just didn’t seem to cover it.
‘
Wow
,’ I repeated, this time with emphasis.

You’re probably expecting a grand description here.
Something impressive to depict the majestic collection of tomes that made up the archives.

That’s because you misinterpreted my ‘wow.’
You see, like all alphabetically late palindromic exclamations, ‘wow’ can be interpreted a lot of different ways.
It’s what we call ‘versatile,’ which is just another way of saying that it’s a dumb thing to say.

After all, ‘wow’ could mean ‘That’s great!’
Or it could mean ‘That’s disturbing.’
It could also mean ‘Oh, hey, look, a dinosaur is about to eat me!’
Or it could even mean ‘I just won the lottery, though I don’t know what I’ll do with all that money, seeing as how I’m in the stomach of a dinosaur.’

(As a side note to this side note: As we found in book one, it is true that most dinosaurs are fine folk and not at all man-eaters.
However, there are some notable exceptions, such as the Quesadilla and the infamous Brontësister.)

In my case, ‘wow’ didn’t mean any of these things.
It meant something closer to: ‘This place is a total mess!’

‘This place is a total mess!’
I exclaimed.

‘No need to repeat yourself,’ Bastille grumbled.
(Bastille speaks fluent woweeze.)

Books were heaped like piles of scrap in an old, rundown junk-yard.
There were mountains of them, discarded, abused, and in total disarray.
The cavern seemed to extend forever, and the piles of books formed mounds and hills, like sand dunes made from pages and letters and words.