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I shrugged. "She seems a bit scatterbrained, but is a good person. She's an Oculator and has a Smedry Talent."
"Okay," Kaz said. "Now talk about me."
“Well, you're a short person who –“
"Stop," Kaz said.
I did so, shooting him a questioning glance.
"Why is it," Kaz said, "that with the others, the first thing you described about them was their job or their personality? Yet, with me, the first thing you mentioned was my height?"
"I ...uh..."
Kaz laughed. "I'm not trying to trap you, kid. But, maybe you see why I get so annoyed sometimes. The trouble with being different is that people start defining you by what you are instead of by who you are."
I fell silent.
"Your mother is a Librarian," Kaz said. "Because of that, we tend to think of her as a Librarian first, and a person second. Our knowledge of her as a Librarian clouds everything else."
"She's not a good person, Kaz,” I said. “She offered to sell me to a Dark Oculator."
"Did she?" Kaz asked. "What exactly did she say?"
I thought back to the time when Bastille, Sing, and I had been hiding in the library, listening to Ms. Fletcher speak with Blackburn. “Actually," I said, "she didn't say anything. It was the Dark Oculator who said something like, ‘You'd sell the boy too, wouldn't you? You impress me.’ And she just shrugged or nodded or something."
"So," Kaz said, "she didn't offer to sell you out."
"She didn't contradict Blackburn."
Kaz shook his head. "Shasta has her own agenda, kid. I don't think any of us can presume to understand exactly what she's up to. Your father saw something in her. I still think he's a fool for marrying her, but for a Librarian, she wasn't too bad."
I wasn't convinced. My bias against Librarians wasn't the only thing making me distrust Shasta. She had consistently berated me as a child, saying I was worthless. (I now know she had been trying to get me to stop using my Talent, for fear it would expose me to those who were searching for the Sands.) Either way, she'd been my mother all that time, and she hadn't ever given me even a hint of confirmation.
Though . . . she had stayed with me, always, watching over me.
I pushed that thought aside. She didn't deserve credit for that – she'd just been hoping for the chance to grab the sands of Rashid. The very day they arrived, she showed up and swiped them.
". . . don't know, Kaz,” Bastille was saying. "I think that the main reason people think of your height first is because of that ridiculous List of yours."
"My List is not ridiculous," Kaz said with a huff. "It's very scientific."
"Oh?" Bastille asked. "Didn't you claim that 'short people are better because it takes them longer to walk places, therefore they get more exercise'?"
"That one has been clinically proven.” Kaz said, pointing at her.
"It does seem a bit of a stretch," I said, smiling.
"You forget Reason number one," he said. "'Don't argue with the short person.' He's always right."
Bastille snorted. "It's a good thing you don't claim short people are more humble."
Kaz fell silent. "That's Reason two thirty-six," he muttered quietly. "I just haven't mentioned that one yet."
Bastille shot me a glance through her sunglasses, and I could tell she was rolling her eyes. However, even though I didn't believe Kaz about my mother, I thought his comments about how to treat people were valid.
Who we are - meaning, the person we become by doing things – which – incidentally – is actually a function of who we are – for example, I’ve become an Oculator – which is quite fun – but doing things that relate to Oculators – not who we can be – is more important – actually – than what we look like.
For instance, the fact that I use lots of dashes in my writing is part of what makes me, me. I'd rather be known by this – since it's cool – than by the fact that I have a big nose. Which I don't. Why are you looking at me like that?
"Wait!" I said, holding out a hand.
Bastille froze.
"Trip wire," I said, heart pounding. Her foot hovered just a few inches from it.
She backed away, and Kaz squatted down. “Well done, kid. It's a good thing you have those Lenses."
"Yeah," I said, taking them off and cleaning them. I guess." I still wished I had a weapon instead of another pair of Lenses that showed me random stuff. Wouldn't a sword have been equally useful?
Of course, I might think that just because I really like swords. Give me the chance, and I'd probably cut my wedding cake with one.
I did have to admit, though, that I'd made pretty good use of the Discerner's Lenses. Maybe I'd discounted them too quickly at first. I cleaned my Lenses, feeling an odd sensation from inside. It was slight, a little like indigestion, but less foody.
I shook my head and put the Discerner's Lenses back on, then guided the other two over the trip wire. As I did, I noticed something interesting. "There's a second trip wire just a few feet ahead."
"They're getting more clever," Bastille said. "They figured we'd see this one, but hoped we'd feel safe once we passed it – then go right on and trip the second."
I nodded, glancing at the Curators floating behind. I noticed that the odd sensation was getting stronger. It was hard to explain. It wasn't really a sick feeling. More like a slight itch on my emotions.
"We need to find Australia quickly, Kaz,” Bastille said. "Is it supposed to take this long?"
"Never can tell, with the Talent," Kaz said. “Australia might not actually be lost. If that's the case, it will take me a lot longer to find her than it took me to find you. Like I mentioned earlier, if I don't know where to go, then my Talent can't really take me there."
Bastille didn't seem pleased to hear this. "Maybe we should start looking for the Old Smedry instead."
"If I know my father, he's not lost,” Kaz said, rubbing his chin. "He'll be even more difficult to find.”
I was barely paying attention to them. The itch was still there. It wasn't the same feeling that I got from the hunter that was chasing me, but it was similar. . . .
"So, do we just keep going?" Bastille asked.
"I guess so," Kaz said.
"No," I said suddenly, looking at them. "Kaz, turn off your Talent."
Bastille looked at me, frowning. "What is it?”
"Someone's using a Lens nearby."
"The Scrivener's Bone chasing us?"
I shook my head. "This is a regular Lens, not a twisted one like he uses. It means there is an Oculator close to us." I paused, then pointed. "That way."
Bastille shared a look with Kaz. "Let's go check it out,” she said.
CHAPTER 13
I have to apologize for the introduction to that last chapter. It was far too apologetic. There's been too much apologizing going on in th
is book. I'm sorry. I want to prove to you that I'm a liar, not a wimp.
The thing is, you never know who is going to be reading your books. I've tried to write this one for members of both the Hushlands and the Free Kingdoms, and that's tough enough. However, even within the Hushlands, the variety of people who could pick this book up is incredible.
You could be a young boy, wanting to read an adventure story. You could be a young girl, wanting to investigate the truth of the Librarian Conspiracy. You might be a mother, reading this book because you've heard that so many of your kids are reading it. Or you could be a serial killer who specializes in reading books, then seeking out the authors and murdering them in horrible ways.
(If you happen to fall into that last category, you should know that my name isn't really Alcatraz Smedry, nor is it Brandon Sanderson. My name is really Garth Nix, and you can find me in Australia. Oh, and I insulted your mother once. What're you going to do about it, huh?)
Anyway it's very difficult to relate this story to everyone who might be reading my book. So, I've decided not to try. Instead, I'll just say something that makes no sense to anyone: Flagwat the happy beansprout.
Confusion, after all, is the true universal language.
"The feeling is coming from that direction," I said, pointing. Unfortunately, "that direction" happened to be straight through a wall full of books.
"So . . . one of the books is an Oculator?" Kaz asked.
I rolled my eyes.
He chuckled. "I understood what you meant. Stop acting like Bastille. Obviously we have to find a way around. There must be another hallway on the other side."
I nodded, but . . . the Lens felt close. We'd walked down a few rows already, coming to this point, and I felt like it was just on the other side of the wall.
I took off my Discerner's Lenses, putting on my Oculator's Lenses instead. One of their main functions was to reveal Oculatory power, and they made the entire wall glow with a bright white light. I stumbled back, shocked by the powerful illumination.
