Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

“Um, yes,” I said slowly.

“Wonderful!” Sing said. “Tell me, tell me. What is the significance of this?” He proffered something small and yellow which he had likely found in the gutter.

“Uh, it’s just a bottle cap,” I said.

“Yes,” Sing said, peering at it through his sunglasses, “I’m aware of your primitive liquid beverage packaging methods. But look, see here. What’s this on the underneath?”

I accepted the bottle cap. On the underside, I could see printed the words YOU ARE NOT A WINNER.

“See what it says?” Sing asked, pointing with a chubby finger. “Is it common for Hushlanders to print insults on their foodstuffs? What is the purpose of this advertising campaign? Is it to make the consumer feel less secure, so they purchase more highly caffeinated drinks?”

“It’s just a contest,” I said. “Some of the bottles are winners, some aren’t.”

Sing frowned. “Why would a bottle want to win a prize? In fact, how do bottles even go about claiming prizes? Have they been Alivened? Don’t your people understand that Alivening things is dark Oculary?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not Oculary, Sing. If you open the bottle and the cap says you’re a winner, then you can claim a prize.”

“Oh.” He seemed a bit disappointed. Still, he carefully tucked the cap inside a pouch at his waist.

“Why do you care about that anyway?” I asked. “Aren’t you an ancient weapons expert?”

“Yes, well,” Sing said, “an ancient weapons expert, and an ancient clothing expert, and an ancient cultures expert.”

“He’s an anthropologist, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said from beside the library window. “One of the most famous ones at the Mokian Royal University. That’s why he’s part of the team.”

“Wait,” I said. “He’s a professor?”

“Of course,” Grandpa Smedry said. “Who else would be able to work those blasted guns? The civilized world hasn’t used such things for centuries! We figured that we should have someone who can use them – swords might be more effective, but nobody carries them in the Hushlands. It’s better to have at least one person on the team who understands and can use local weapons, just to be sure.”

Sing nodded eagerly. “But don’t worry,” he said. “I may not be a soldier, but I’ve practiced with the weapons quite a bit. I’ve… never shot at something moving before, but how difficult can it be?”

I stood quietly, then turned to Grandpa Smedry. “And what about Quentin? Is he a professor too?”

Sing laughed. “No, no. He’s just a graduate student.”

“He’s quite capable, though,” Grandpa Smedry said. He’s a language specialist who focuses on Hushlander dialects.”

“So,” I said, holding up a finger. “Let me get this straight. Our strike team consists of a loony old man, and anthropologist, a grad student, and two kids.”

Grandpa Smedry and Sing nodded happily. Bastille, leaning against the library wall a short distance away, gave me a flat stare. “You see what I have to work with?”

I nodded, beginning to understand where she might have gotten such a grumpy attitude.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Grandpa Smedry said. He walked over, putting his arm around my shoulders and pulling me aside. “Here, lad, I’ve got some things I want to give you.”

Grandpa Smedry pulled open his tuxedo jacket and removed two pairs of spectacles. “You’ll recognize these,” he said, holding up a yellow-tinted pair. “I used them back when I first picked you up from the house. They’re fairly easy Lenses to wield – if you can already do readings like you did on the library building, you should be able to use these.”

I accepted the glasses, then covertly tried them on. At first, nothing changed – but then I thought I saw something. Footsteps, in various colors, fading slowly on the ground around me.

“Tracks,” I said with surprise, watching as Sing wandered over to another gutter, leaving a trail of blue footprints on the concrete behind him.

“Indeed, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said. “The better you know a person, the longer the footprints will remain visible. Once we get inside, we’ll split up – you and I are the only Oculators in the group, and so we’re the only ones who will be able to sense where the sands are. But the inside of a library can be deceptively large. Sometimes the stacks form mazes, and it’s easy to get lost. If you lose your way, you can use these Tracker’s Lenses to retrace our footprints. Also, you can probably track me down, if necessary.”

I glanced down. Grandpa Smedry’s footprints glowed a blazing white, like little bursts of flame on the ground. I could easily see the trail of white back to Grandpa Smedry’s black car, still parked across the street.

“Thanks,” I said, still feeling a little apprehensive as I removed and pocket the Tracker’s Lenses.

“You’ll do fine, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said, picking up a second pair of glasses. “Remember, this is your inheritance we’re searching for. You lost it, and you’ll have to get it back. I can’t hold your hand forever.”

I felt like noting that I had seen very little hand-holding in this adventure so far. I didn’t really know what was going on, didn’t quite trust my sanity anymore, and wasn’t even convinced that I wanted my inheritance back. Grandpa Smedry, however, didn’t give me an opportunity to complain. He held up the second pair of glasses – they had mostly clear Lenses, with a little dot of red at the center of each one.

“These,” he said, handing the Lenses to me, “are one of the most powerful pairs of Oculatory Lenses I possess. However, they’re also one of the easiest to use, which is why I’m loaning them to you.”

I eyed the glasses. “What do they do?”

“You can use them for many purposes,” Grandpa Smedry said. “Once you switch them on – you just have to concentrate a bit to do that – they’ll begin gathering the light around you, then direct it out in concentrated beams.”

“You mean, like a laser?” I asked.

“Yes,” Grandpa Smedry said. “These are very dangerous, Alcatraz. I don’t carry many offensive Lenses, but I’ve found these too useful to leave behind. However, let me warn you – if there really is a Dark Oculator in there, he’ll be able to sense when you activate these. Only use the Firebringer’s Lenses in an emergency!”

Don’t get too worried – this isn’t the sort of story in which emergencies occur. Yes, it is highly unlikely that you will ever see those Firebringer’s Lenses activated. So don’t get your hopes up.

I accepted the Firebringer’s Lenses from my grandfather and they immediately started glowing.

“Cavorting Cards!” Grandpa Smedry yelped, dodging to the side as the Lenses blasted a pair of intensely hot beams into the ground just in front of my feet. I hopped backward in shock, nearly dropping the Lenses in surprise.

Grandpa Smedry grabbed the Lenses from behind, deactivating them. The scent of melted tar rose in the air, and I blinked, my vision marked by two bright afterimages of light.

“Well, well,” Grandpa Smedry said. “I told you they were easy to use.” He glanced up at the building. “We should be too far away for that to have been sensed….”

Great, I thought. As my vision cleared, I could see Bastille rolling her eyes.

Sing waddled over, raising his sunglasses and inspecting the three-foot-wide disk of blackened, half-melted concrete. “Nice shot,” he noted. “I think it’s dead now.”

I blushed, but Grandpa Smedry just laughed. “Here,” he said, slipping a small velvet bag around the Firebringer’s Lenses. He pulled the drawstring tight at the top. “This should keep them safe. Now, with these Lenses and your Talent, you should be able to handle pretty much anything the Librarians throw at you!”

I accepted the glasses back, and fortunately they didn’t go off. Now, as I was telling you previously, these Lenses will probably never get used in this story. You’ll be lucky if you ever get to see them fired. Again.

“Grandfather,” I said quietly, eyeing Bastille, then stepping aside again with Grandpa Smedry. “I’m not sure that I can do this.”

“Nonsense, lad! You’re a Smedry!”

“But I didn’t even know I was until earlier today,” I said. “Or… well, I didn’t know what being a Smedry meant. I don’t think… well, I’m just not ready.”

“What makes you say that?” Grandpa Smedry asked.

“I tried to use my Talent earlier,” I said. “To stop Bastille from smacking me with her purse. It didn’t work. And that wasn’t the first time – sometimes I just can’t make things break. And when I don’t want them to break, they usually do anyway.”

“Your Talent is still wild,” Grandpa Smedry said. “You haven’t practiced it enough. Being a Smedry isn’t just about having a Talent, it’s about finding out how to use that Talent. A clever person can make anything turn to his advantage, no matter how much a disadvantage it may seem at first.

“No Smedry Talent is completely controllable. However, if you practice enough, you’ll begin to get a grasp on it. Eventually, you’ll be able to make things break not just when and where you want, by also how you want.”

“I…,” I said, still uncertain.

“This doesn’t sound like you, Alcatraz,” Grandpa Smedry said. “Where’s that spark of spirit – that stubbornness – that you’re always tossing about?”

I frowned. “How do you know what I’m like? You only just met me.”

“Oh? You think I’ve left you in Librarian hands all this time, never checking in on you?”

Of course he checked on me, I thought. Bastille mentioned something about that. “But you don’t know me,” I said. “I mean, you didn’t even know what my Talent was.”

“I suspected, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said. “But I’ll admit – I usually got to your foster homes after you’d moved somewhere else. Still, I’ve been watching over you, in my own way.”

“If that’s the case,” I said, “then why –“

“Why did I leave you to the foster homes?” Grandpa Smedry asked. “I’m not that great a parent. A boy needs somebody who can arrive on time to his birthdays and ball games. Besides, there were… reasons for letting you grow up in this world.”

That didn’t seem like much of an explanation to me, but Grandpa didn’t look like he’d say more. So, I just sighed. “I just can’t help feeling like I won’t be much help in this fight. I don’t know how to use my Talent, or these Lenses. Maybe I should get a gun or a sword or something.”

Grandpa Smedry smiled. “Ah lad. This war we’re fighting – it isn’t about guns, or even about swords.”