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We quickly threw the robes on over our other clothing.
“Hey,” one of the Librarians said to me, “you look familiar. Are you from section seven, Wardens of the Standard?” It was disturbing that she was a teenager not much older than me. I’d always envisioned all Librarians as super old. Like, in their thirties.
I kept working as the girl inspected me. My face might pose a problem, seeing as how I’d sort of appeared on every glass surface in the world.*
“I’ve got it,” the Librarian girl said. “We met at last year’s Christmas ball and infidel burning. Right?”
I looked at her, and she tapped her chin, then grew suddenly pale. “Oh,” she said, then apparently realized why we might be stealing her clothing. “Oh!”
Mother clocked her. Like, Shasta hit the girl upside the head, knocking her out cold. This finally made the other Librarians worry for their safety, and they scrambled away, hiding behind bookshelves.
“Mother!” I said.
Shasta shrugged. “Best to be safe. Let’s go.”
I couldn’t really complain—we were at war, after all—but that still didn’t seem appropriate. The Librarian girl was basically a civilian.
The robes I had put on didn’t fit—but that didn’t matter, since they didn’t fit the Librarians either. When we left the room, we were well disguised.*
Once again out in the main cavern, we ducked our heads and scuttled away, pretending to be Librarians who were frightened by the firefight. Himalaya’s group had pulled back into the one building and were fighting furiously, isolated and trapped. How would they escape? Would they become another casualty of Smedry recklessness?
Perhaps it was the way that Cousin Dif bounced forward—eager to be on with the infiltration—but I suddenly saw us as the others must. Always stumbling into things, causing a ruckus, then only escaping because our Talents kept us alive. No wonder Draulin griped so much.
We wound through the Highbrary’s main cavern, heads down. This place was extraordinarily elaborate, with stone pathways rising high in the air, forming bridges that wrapped around smaller archive buildings. Everything had a natural look to it, like the stone had just happened to grow that way, although the whole was far too impressive to have been the product of random chance. (Kind of like my ego.)
“So we have to find a high-level Librarian,” I hissed to my mother. I made sure to keep the hood down over my face to prevent anyone else from identifying me.
“It seems our best bet.”
“How will we recognize them?”
“It should be easy.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’m not.”
“I’m Dif!”
We both looked at him.
“Well I am,” Dif said, sullen, as we crossed an arching stone bridge, traveling deeper into the cavern. To my right that spindly tower of rock—the one I’d seen when climbing down from above—reached toward the ceiling. It gave me chills to look at it, and I turned away.
As we drew closer to the outer wall of the cavern, I could see the side tunnels Himalaya had mentioned: they were grand, wide things burrowed into the stone away from this main cavern. Librarians scuttled in and out like ants; many seemed to be carrying on with their normal work despite the battle.
I had an inkling that we needed to get out of the main cavern. Too many peons were doing normal work here. If we wanted to find Librarians like Blackburn or She Who Cannot Be Named, we’d want to look for more exclusive areas. Important people don’t like to be forced to associate with their inferiors.*
I turned us toward one of the tunnels. My mother huffed, as she’d just turned the other direction. “I should be in control here,” she told me. “You don’t know where you’re going.”
“Neither do you. You said you’ve never been in here before.”
“I know general Librarian architecture.”
“Then where should we look?”
“We won’t find any Dark Oculators or high-ranking Wardens of the Standard in here,” my mother said. “We’ll need to look someplace more isolated, more exclusive.”
“Like, say, down that tunnel I pointed us toward.”
My mother ground her teeth. “You,” she said, “are insufferable.”
“And after all the wonderful parenting you did too. Who would have thought?”
“That was uncalled for,” she said. “If we’re going to work together, we obviously need to establish some ground rules.”
“Remember that a GFCI is required for all receptacles in wet locations, as per National Electric Code,” Dif said, raising a finger.
“Not that type of ground rule,”* my mother snapped. She looked to me. “Rule One: You and I need to at least try to get along.”
“I can accept that,” I said.
“Good. Rule Two: I don’t do what you say.”
“Great,” I said. “I hereby instruct you to keep breathing.”
“You are so annoying.”
“Is that Rule Three?”
“It’s a law of the universe,” Mother said, throwing her hands into the air. “You can insult my parenting if you wish, but I did try to see that this didn’t happen!”
“And I’m so sorry to disappoint,”* I said.
“But,” my mother continued, “I don’t know what I expected, considering your father.”
“I doubt I inherited my most annoying attributes one hundred percent completely from him.”
“You certainly did, you little mongrel.”
“Mongrel? As in, a mixed breed of questionable parentage?”
My mother paused. “Huh. Yeah.”
“Rule Three,” I said. “It’s unwise to slander someone’s parentage if, in fact, you are their parent.”
“I can accept that,” my mother said. “Rule Four: Never mention this conversation, or my part in it, to anyone.”
“Rule Five,” Dif added. “Even if you think you can do it softly, never pass gas in a crowded room unless the music is really loud. Better to be safe.”
We both glared at him.
“I learned that one the hard way, I’ll tell you.”
“Rule Six,” I began.
“Wait, no,” Mother said. “You’re not going to let that stand as Rule Five, are you?”
“Do you think it’s false?”
“No. It’s just crude.”*
“Rule Six,” I continued. “I get to choose how to deal with my father. Not you.”
“I can’t accept that,” she said.
“You have to. It’s not negotiable. If you don’t agree, we’ll split up right here, Dif and I going one way, you going the other. I won’t lead you to him unless you’re willing to let me make the decision.”
“I’m his wife!”
“You’re his enemy.”
