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"We could hide in the back," Sing whispered. "Hope they get frustrated and leave. . . ."
"Sing, this is a whole group of Librarians," I said. "They'll all be able to do what Himalaya did. They'll sort through this room in minutes!"
Himalaya snorted quietly. "I doubt it,” she said. "I was one of the Wardens of the Standard – the best sorters in all the world. Most of those are just basic acolytes. They'll barely be able to alphabetize, let alone sort based on the Sticky Hamstring methodology."
"Either way," I whispered, "I doubt they're going to leave without this.” I glanced down at the volume I still carried, then looked across the central aisle to Bastille. She looked tense, poised. She was getting ready to fight – which tended to be her solution to a lot of things.
Great, I thought. This is not going to end well.
"If only my sister were here," Sing said. "She could make herself look like one of those thugs and slip away."
I froze. Sing's sister, Australia, would be back with the Mokian contingent trying to lobby the Council of Kings to make the right decision. She had the Talent to go to sleep, then wake up looking really ugly. That usually meant looking like someone else for a short time. We didn't have her but we did have the Disguiser's Lenses. I hurriedly pulled them out. They could get me out – but what about the others?
I looked across the corridor. Bastille met my eyes, then saw the Lenses in my hands. I could tell she recognized them. She met my eyes, then nodded.
Go, the look said. Take that book to safety. Don't worry about us.
If you've read through my series this far, then you know that at that age I considered myself too noble to abandon my friends. I was starting to change, however. My nibble of fame – one I still secretly longed to taste again – had begun to work inside me.
I put on the Lenses and focused, imagining the image of a Librarian thug. Himalaya gasped quietly as I changed, and Sing raised an eyebrow. I glanced at them.
"Be ready to run," I said. I looked at Bastille and held up one finger to indicate that she should wait. Then I pointed at the door. She seemed to get my meaning.
I took a deep breath, then stepped out. The center of the room was poorly lit, since we'd obscured a lot of the lamps with book walls. Those lamps were hung back in their places on the walls, even the one I'd tried to use to burn the place down.
I walked forward, holding my breath, expecting the Librarians to raise an alarm against me, but they were too busy searching. Nobody even turned. I walked right up to my mother. She glanced at me, the woman I'd always known as Ms. Fletcher the woman who had spent years berating me as a child.
“Well, what is it?" she snapped, and I realized I'd just been standing there, staring.
I held up the book, the one she was searching for. Her eyes opened wide with anticipation.
And so, I handed the book to her.
Is this a good place? Can I stop here now? Okay, finally. About time.
CHAPTER 18
I'd like to apologize. Way back in my first book of this series, near the end, I made fun of the fact that readers sometimes stay up way too late reading books. I know how it is. You get involved in a story and you don't want to stop. Then the author does very unfair things, like confront his mother face-to-face at the end of the chapter, forcing you to turn to the next page and read what happens next.
This sort of thing is terribly unfair, and I shouldn't be engaging in such activities. After all, there is one thing that every good book should have in it: That, of course, is a potty break.
Sure, we characters can go between chapters, but what about you? You have to wait until there's a portion of the book that is slow and boring. And since those don't exist in my books, I force you to wait until the story is done. That's just not fair. And so, get ready, here's your chance. It's time for the slow, boring part.
The furry panda is a noble creature, known for its excellent chess-playing skills. Pandas often play chess in exchange for lederhosen, which make up a large chunk of their preferred diet. They also make a fortune off their licensing deals, in which they shrink and stuff members of their clan and sell them as plush toys for young children. It is often theorized that one day all of these plush pandas will decide to rise up and rule the world. And that will be fun, because pandas rock.
Okay, done doing your business? Great. Now maybe we can finally get on with this story. (It's really annoying to have to wait for you like that, so you should thank me for my patience.)
My mother took the book from me and waved eagerly to the freckled Dark Oculator. "Fitzroy, get over here."
"Yes, yes, Shasta," he said a little too eagerly. He regarded her adoringly. "What is it?"
"Read this," she said, handing him the book and the Translator's Lenses.
The young man grabbed the book and the Lenses; it disgusted me how eager he was to please my mother. I inched away, raising my hand toward the nearby wall. "Hum, yes . . ." Fitzroy said. "Shasta, this is it! The very book we wanted!"
"Excellent," my mother said, reaching for the book.
At that moment, I touched the glass wall and released a powerful blast of breaking power into it. Now, I knew I couldn't break the glass – I was counting on that. In previous circumstances, I'd been able to use things like walls, tables, even smoke trails as a conduit. Like a wire carried electricity, an object could carry my breaking power within it, shattering something on the other end.
It was a risk, but I wasn't going to leave my allies alone in a room full of Librarians. Particularly not when one of those allies was the official Alcatraz Smedry novelist. I had my legacy to think about.
Fortunately, it worked. The breaking power moved through the wall like ripples on a lake. The lamps on the walls shattered.
And everything plunged into darkness.
I leaped forward and snatched the book, which was being passed between Shasta and Fitzroy. Voices called out in shock and surprise, and I distinctly heard my mother curse. I rushed for the doorway, bursting out into the lit hallway beyond and quickly taking off my Disguiser’s lenses.
There was a sudden crash from inside the room. Then a face appeared from the darkness. It was a Librarian thug. I cringed, preparing for a fight, but the man suddenly grimaced in pain and fell to the ground. Bastille jumped over him as he groaned and grabbed his leg; her brother, the prince, ran along behind her.
I ushered Rikers through the door, relieved that Bastille had understood my hand gestures. (Though I used the universal signal for "Wait here for a sec, then run for the door," that signal also happens to be the universal hand sign for "I need a milk shake; I think I’ll find one in that direction.")
"Where's Folsom –“ I began, but the critic soon appeared, carrying Rikers's novel in his hand, prepared to open the cover and start dancing at a moment’s notice. He puffed, coming through the door as Bastille knocked aside another thug who was clever enough to make for the light. Only a few seconds had passed, but I began to worry. Where were Sing and Himalaya?
"I give this escape a three and a half out of seven and six-eighths, Alcatraz,” Folsom said nervously. "Clever in concept, but rather nerve-wracking in execution."
"Noted," I said tensely, glancing about. Where were those soldiers of ours? They were supposed to be out in the stairwell here, but it was empty. In fact, something seemed odd about the stairwell.
"Guys?" Rikers said. "I think –“
"There!" Bastille said, pointing as Sing and Himalaya appeared from the shadows of the room. The two rushed through the door, and I slammed it closed, using my breaking power to jam the lock. "What was that crash?" I asked.
"I tripped into a couple rows of bo
oks," Sing said, "throwing them down on the Librarians to keep them distracted."
"Smart," I said. "Let's get out of here."
We began to rush up the stairwell, the wooden steps creaking beneath our feet. "That was risky, Smedry," Bastille said.
"You expected less of me?"
"Of course not," she snapped. "But why hand the book over to the Librarian?"
"I got it back," I said, holding it up. "Plus, now we know for sure that this is the volume they wanted."
Bastille cocked her head. "Huh. You are clever sometimes."
I smiled. Unfortunately, the truth is, none of us was being very clever at that moment. None of us but Rikers, of course – and we'd chosen to ignore him. That's usually a safe move.
Except, of course, when you're rushing up the wrong stairwell. It finally dawned on me, and I froze in place, causing the others to stumble to a halt.
"What is it, Alcatraz?" Sing asked.
"The stairs," I said. "They're wooden."
“So?"
"They were stone before."
"That's what I've been trying to say!" Prince Rikers exclaimed. "I wonder how they turned the steps to a different material."
I suddenly felt a sense of horror. The door was just above us. I walked up nervously and pushed on it.
It opened into a medieval-looking castle chamber completely different from the one that had held our soldiers.
This room had red carpeting, library stacks in the distance, and was filled with a good two hundred Librarian soldiers.
