Alcatraz (87 page)

???

I
’m afraid it’s time to contradict myself.
I know, this is very surprising.
After all, I’m
never
inconsistent in these books.
But it’s time to make an exception.
Just this once.
Please forgive me.

Don’t act this chapter out.

I know you’ve been following along since I told you to, acting out every single event in this book.
When I saved the city by powering the dome, you were there, face pressed up against the window of your room.
When I had my conversation with my mother, you were repeating the same words to your mother.
(She was pretty confused, eh?) When Bastille and the crew were throwing teddy bears at robots, I presume that you ran through your house with stuffed bears, throwing them at anything that moved.
And when I got out all of the boxes of macaroni and cheese in my house and mailed them to myself, you did the same thing, sending it all to me care of my publisher.

Oh.
You didn’t read that part?
It happened between Chapters 24601 and 070706.
Really, I promise.
You should go act it out right now.
I can wait.

Anyway,
do not
act out this chapter.
You’ll see why.

My fall ended abruptly as I crashed into a bunch of surprised Librarians.
I struggled, cursing.
Everything was jumbled together in the dark, dirty tunnel.
There were limbs all over the place; it was like I’d fallen into a bin filled with mannequin arms.

Something looped around me, something made of wire and rope, and as I tried to scream out, something else got stuffed in my mouth.

About thirty seconds later, the group of Librarian soldiers slung me out of their hole, bound up in a net, a gag around my mouth.
It had happened so quickly that I was still dazed.

The Librarians were wearing the standard bow ties and business suits – the men extraordinarily muscular, the women looking lean and dangerous – but their suits were camouflaged.
They carried guns and moved with a sleek, threatening air.
This was a particularly dangerous group of infiltrators – though, oddly, they didn’t wear Warrior’s Lenses.

I tried to scream out and give warning to Aluki and Aydee, who were waiting just around the corner.
But the gag was firmly in place.
The Librarians began to chat tersely with one another, speaking a language I didn’t recognize.
That surprised me, but it really shouldn’t have.
Not all Librarians in the Hushlands are from English-speaking countries.

I calmed myself, breathing in and out.
My Talent would get me out of a stoopid net, no problem.
I just had to do it at the right time, when they weren’t looking.

Several of the Librarians scouted around the sides of the alleyway, peeking out, while two others – a brutish man and a woman with red hair – knelt down and began to go through my pockets.
The woman pulled off my backpack, yanking it out through a hole in the net, while the man held my hands together and wrapped them with a tight string.

The woman pulled open the backpack, rifling through it.
She raised an eyebrow at the bears, but stuffed them back inside.
Next she began searching through the pockets of my jacket.

That’s when I got nervous.
If they found my Lenses .
.
.
It was time to escape.
My Talent would probably surprise them, give me a chance to run.
I took a deep breath through the gag and activated the Breaking Talent.

Nothing happened.

Well, okay.
That was kind of a lie.
Lots of things happened.
Some birds flew by, a beetle crawled past, the grass converted carbon dioxide into sugar by means of the sun’s energy.
My heart beat (very quickly), the Librarians chatted (very quietly), and the Earth rotated (very unnoticeably).

I guess what I meant, then, is this: As far as my Talent was concerned, nothing happened.

It didn’t engage.
Nothing broke.
I felt a moment of desperation and tried again.
The Talent refused.
It was like I could .
.
.
feel it in there, seething, angry at me.
Almost like it was
offended
by the things I’d talked about with my mother.

It had been a long time since I’d had trouble getting my Talent to do what I wanted it to.
I had flashbacks to earlier years in my life, when it ran rampant, breaking everything I didn’t want to but unable to break things I did want to.

I squirmed in my bindings, and the beefy Librarian pushed me down harder.
He had a cruel, twisted face.

The woman said something, sounding surprised as she pulled my pair of Oculator’s Lenses out of my pocket.
I hadn’t put them back on after using my Truthfinder’s Lens on my mother.

The Librarians nearby all got dark expressions on their faces.
The woman pulled something from her pocket – a kind of small gun.
She pointed it at the Lenses in her hand.

They vaporized, turning to dust, then even that dust seemed to burn away.
She shook the frames – which were intact – and inspected them, then tossed them aside.

That’s right!
I thought.
The Order of the Shattered Lens has the army.
They hate all kinds of glass
.
That made me even more frantic.
I squirmed enough that the big guy holding me down grumbled, and pulled something out of his pocket.
Another type of gun.

My eyes opened wide, and I froze as he pointed it down and pulled the trigger.

And then I died.

No, really.
I died.
Dead, dead, dead.

What’s that, you say?
How could I be dead?
I survived long enough to write this book, you claim?

Well .
.
.
um .
.
.
I
could
be writing it as a ghost.
So there.

BOO!

Anyway, you’re right.
The gun didn’t kill me.
It fired some kind of dart into the ground next to me, attached by a rope.
He fired another dart on the other side, and the rope tightened, holding the net – and therefore me – to the ground.
The woman got out a knife and cut my jacket off of me.

That’s right.
My favorite green jacket, the one I’d been wearing since I’d left the Hushlands.

This
, I thought with sudden fierceness,
means war!

(And please don’t tell Bastille that I was nearly as broken up about losing my jacket as I was when she got knocked unconscious.)

The two Librarians retreated, one carrying the remnants of my jacket.
They left me squirming on the ground, pinned against the grass, gagged.
I was desperate by this point.
Up above, the flying bats were descending into the city, bearing Librarian soldiers.
People screamed throughout the city, yelling, a sense of panic to their voices.

This is the point where, usually, I come up with some brilliant plan to save everyone.
I tried hard, searching through my options.
But nothing occurred to me.
I was pinned down, my Talent refused to work, and I had no Lenses.
About a billion Librarian soldiers were descending on Tuki Tuki, and dawn was still hours away.

Why is it I always ended up in these kinds of scrapes?
My life over the past six months seemed to me like one bumbling disaster after another.
I wasn’t any good at fighting the Librarians, I was just good at getting kidnapped, locked up, knocked out, and covered in tar.

Just like my Talent, my wits failed me.
It happens, sometimes, particularly when your victories seem so accidental, like mine often do.
Besides, even if I could somehow escape the net, Tuki Tuki was still doomed.
I couldn’t stop thousands of Librarian soldiers.

It was hopeless.

To the side, the Librarians emptied my jacket pockets.
They lifted up the Translator’s Lenses.

And, with a flash, destroyed them.
My inheritance was gone.
One of the most powerful sets of Lenses ever created, something my father had searched for more than a decade to gather.
And these Librarians had destroyed them without ever knowing what they meant.

Well, so be it.

Now, at this point, you’re probably pretty frustrated with me.
‘Alcatraz,’ you’re probably screaming, ‘you can do it, little guy!’
Or maybe you’re screaming, ‘Hey, Bozo, stop being so depressed and
do
something!’

If you’re yelling either of those things, might I remind you that you’re talking to a book?
It can’t really respond to you.
Do you talk to inanimate things often?
(Man, you really are a weirdo.)

Anyway, whenever I’d been put in a situation like this before, I’d thought of some kind of brilliant plan at the last moment.
However, it’s really tough to be brilliant on command.
Sometimes, you get trapped, and there just
isn’t
any way out.

I lay, pinned down, staring up at the sky.
What had I really accomplished since I’d met my grandfather?
I’d rescued my father, and in doing so had unwittingly helped him in his crazy quest to give everyone Smedry Talents.
In Nalhalla, I’d gotten back my father’s Translator’s Lenses for him.
Another step toward helping him destroy the world.

And now, here I was in Mokia.
I’d accepted the
throne
, becoming king.
For what?
So I could convince them to keep on fighting when they should have surrendered?
So I could make Bastille fall in combat?

The Librarians vaporized my Courier’s Lenses next.
Then they got out my Bestower’s Lenses and my single Truthfinder’s Lens.
The Librarians vaporized one of the Bestower’s Lenses.

There
, I thought.
I’ve finally done it.
I’ve failed
.

Above, in the air, Librarians dove into the city on the backs of their robotic bats.

And behind them, something appeared from the darkness.

Tiny at first, but growing larger.
Shadowy vehicles, flying through the night.

More Librarians
, I thought.
That’s obviously what that is.
More Librarians, flying in gigantic glass birds.
That makes perfect sense.
My, those Librarians look awfully strange, wearing armor and carrying swords like that.
One might even think that they’re actually
.
.
.

I sat upright, shocked.
Or, well, I
would
have sat upright, save for that whole pinned-to-the-ground-and-tied-up thing.
So, anyway, I lay pinned to the ground, tied up, but I did it feeling completely shocked.

There, swooping down out of the darkness, was a fleet of twenty glass vehicles with Knights of Crystallia riding on their backs.
They dove behind the bats, dropping into the city.
The sounds of yelling, fighting, and cheers of war rose in the air.

It had worked.
My stoopid plan had worked.

Perhaps I should explain.
Do you remember back right before Kaz ran off to attack the robots?
You should, it was only, like, two chapters ago.
(Too busy talking to books to pay attention to reading them, eh?) Anyway, I sent him with a message for my grandfather.
‘Tell him that we really,
really
need him here by midnight.
If he doesn’t arrive by then, we’re doomed!’

You might have ignored the message.
Of course we wanted my grandfather to arrive immediately; it was obvious.

But Kaz’s explanation of Talents had changed my perception of them.
The way we, as Smedrys, see the world affects how the Talents work.
Like Aydee – if she
thinks
there are thousands of teddy bears, then there are.
Reality doesn’t matter as much as the Smedry’s view of reality.

Aydee’s and Grandpa’s Talents are very similar.
She moves things through space and puts them where she thinks they should be.
Grandpa moves things through time, putting them
when
he thinks they should be – so long as that
when
is something he perceives as being late.