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“Yes, it is,” I said firmly.
Ms. Fletcher cocked her head, a strange look on her face.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “You merely … reminded me of someone I used to know. Anyway, I don’t care what game you are playing today. The time has come for us to deal.”
“Deal?”
Ms. Fletcher nodded, leaning in. “We want the old man. The crazy one who came and got you this morning.”
“You mean Grandpa Smedry?” I asked, glancing at Sing, who was watching quietly. Apparently he was content to let me take the lead in the conversation.
“Yes,” Ms. Fletcher said. “Grandpa Smedry. Tell us where he is, and we’ll let you go.”
“Let me go? Let me go where?”
“Out,” Ms. Fletcher said, motioning with her hand. “We’ll find you another foster family, and things can go back to the way they were.”
“That hardly seems compelling,” I said.
“Alcatraz,” Ms. Fletcher said flatly. “You’re in a Librarian dungeon, and you have Oculator blood. If you aren’t careful, you’ll end up as a sacrifice. I’d be a little more friendly if I were you—I’m likely the only ally you’ll find in this place.”
This was, of course, the first time I ever heard about a ceremony involving sacrificial Oculators. I dismissed the comment as an idle threat.
Foolish, foolish Alcatraz.
“If you’re the best ally I have, Ms. Fletcher,” I said, “then I’m in serious trouble.”
“That sounded a bit snide, Alcatraz,” Sing said helpfully. “You may want to back off a little.”
“Thank you, Sing,” I said, still watching Ms. Fletcher with narrowed eyes.
“I can get you out, Alcatraz,” Ms. Fletcher said. “Don’t make me do something we’d both regret. I’ve watched over you for years, haven’t I? You can trust me.”
Watched over you for years … “Yes,” I said. “Yes, you have watched over me. And every time a family gave up on me, you told me I was useless. It was like you wanted me to feel abandoned and unimportant.” I met her eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it? You were worried I’d come to understand and control my power—you worried that I’d learn what it meant to be a Smedry. That’s why you always treated me like you did. You needed me to be insecure, so that I would trust you—and distrust my Talent.”
Ms. Fletcher glanced away. “Look, let’s just make a deal. Let me get you out, and we can forget about the past for now.”
“And these others?” I asked, nodding toward Sing and Bastille. “If I go free, what happens to them?”
“What do you care?” Ms. Fletcher asked, looking back at me.
I folded my arms.
“You have changed,” Ms. Fletcher said. “And not for the better, I’d say. Is this the same boy who burned down a kitchen yesterday? Since when did you start caring about the people around you?”
The answer to that question was actually “About five minutes ago.” However, I didn’t intend to share that information with Ms. Fletcher.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll have an exchange. You want to know where the old man is? Well, I want to know some things too. Answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours.”
“Fine,” Ms. Fletcher said, folding her arms.
Businesslike as always, I thought. “How did you know about the Sands of Rashid?”
Ms. Fletcher waved an indifferent hand. “Your parents promised them to you at your birth. It’s a custom—to pronounce an inheritance upon a newborn and deliver it on the child’s thirteenth birthday. Everyone knew that you were supposed to get those sands. Some of us are a little surprised that they actually made their way to you, but we were happy to see them nonetheless.”
“Did you know my parents, then?”
“Of course,” Ms. Fletcher said. “In fact, I studied under them. I thought they might be able to train me to be an Oculator.”
I snorted. “That’s not something you can learn.”
“Yes, well,” Ms. Fletcher said, looking a little flustered, “I was young.”
“Were you friends with them, then?” I asked.
“I got along better with your father than your mother,” Ms. Fletcher said.
“Did you kill them?” I asked, teeth gritted.
Ms. Fletcher laughed a flat, lifeless laugh. “Of course not. Do I look like a killer?”
“You sent a man with a gun after me.”
“That was a mistake,” Ms. Fletcher said. “Besides, your parents were Smedrys. They would be even harder to kill than you.”
“And why do you want Grandpa Smedry?” I asked.
“No, I think I’ve answered enough questions,” Ms. Fletcher said. “Now, fulfill your end of the bargain. Where is the old man?”
I smiled. “I forgot.”
“But … our bargain!”
“I lied, Ms. Fletcher,” I said. “I do that sometimes.”
See, I promised you. Life-changing revelation or not, I never was all that good a person.
Ms. Fletcher’s eyes opened wide, and she displayed more emotion than I’d ever seen from her as she began muttering at me under her breath.
“Enough!” a new voice said. A dark-suited arm shoved Ms. Fletcher away, and Blackburn moved over to stand in front of the cell.
“Tell me where the old fool is, boy,” Blackburn said quietly. He stared at me, his monocle glistening with a reddish color. Even without my Oculator’s Lenses, I swear that I could see a little black cloud rising from him.
“If you don’t talk willingly,” Blackburn said, reaching up to take off his monocle, “I will make you.” He pulled another monocle from a vest pocket. It had green and black tints. “This is a Torturer’s Lens. By looking through it and focusing on a part of your body, I can make you feel intense agony. Your muscles will begin to rip, and while it probably won’t kill you, you will soon start to wish that it would.”
He reached up, putting the monocle in place. “I’ve seen men permanently paralyzed by these things, boy. I’ve seen them break their own bones as they thrash about on the ground, crying out with such pain that they’d have killed themselves to stop it. Does that sound like fun? Well, if not, you should start
talking. Now!”
It’s funny what a little taste of leadership can do to someone. A shade of responsibility, a smidgen of self-understanding, and I was ready to stand up to a full-blown Dark Oculator. I gritted my teeth, jutted out my chin defiantly, and stared him in the eye.
So, of course, I got my heroic little self blasted with a beam of pure pain.
This is supposed to be a book for all ages, so I won’t go into details about how it felt to get hit by a Torturer’s Lens. Just try and remember the worst wound you’ve ever felt. The most agonizing, most terrifying pain in your life. Remember it, hold it in your head.
Then imagine if a shark swam by and bit you in half while you were distracted. That’s a little what it felt like. Only, add in swallowing a few grenades and suffering through a night at the opera too. (And don’t try and tell me I didn’t warn you about the sharks.)
The pain let up. I lay on the floor of the cell, though I didn’t remember falling. Sing was at my side, and even Bastille was moving over to me, her face concerned. My agony faded slowly, and I looked up, seeing Blackburn as a dark shadow standing before the cell.
There was a small twist of pleasure on his lips. “Now, boy, tell me what I want to know.”
And I would have. This is your hero, Free Kingdomers. I broke that easily—I hadn’t ever known pain; I was no soldier. I was just a kid trapped by forces he had no hope of understanding. I would have told Blackburn anything he wanted to know.
However, I didn’t have a chance to spit it out. At that moment, you see, Grandpa Smedry poked his head into the dungeon hallway, smiling happily.
“Why, hello, Blackburn,” he said. Then he waved to me, holding up a pair of hands that were manacled together. He wasn’t wearing his Oculator’s Lenses, and a pair of beefy-looking men in dark robes and black sunglasses stood behind him, holding his arms.
“It appears that I’ve been captured,” Grandpa Smedry said, manacle chains clinking. “I hope I’m not too late!”
