I shivered. The fires consumed Kiliman, and I had to shield my eyes against the bright light.
And then, it was gone. I blinked, clearing the after-image from my eyes, and saw a new Curator – one with only half of a skull – hovering where Kiliman had stood. A group of discarded nuts, bolts, gears, and springs were scattered on the ground.
The half-skull Curator hovered over to the side of the room, carefully replacing the scroll that had been pulled free. I ignored it; there were more important things to worry about.
‘Bastille!’ I said, rushing over to her. There was blood on her lips, and she seemed so bruised and battered. I knelt beside her.
She groaned softly. I gulped.
‘Nice trick,’ she whispered. ‘With the trip wire.’
‘Thanks.’
She coughed, then spit up some blood.
By the first sands, I thought with a sudden stab of fear. No. This can’t be happening!
‘Bastille, I . . .’ I suddenly found tears in my eyes. ‘I wasn’t fast enough or smart enough. I’m sorry.’
‘What are you blathering about?’
I blinked. ‘Well, you look kind of bad, and . . .’
‘Shut up and help me to my feet,’ she said, stumbling to her knees.
I stared at her.
‘What?’ she said. ‘It’s not like I’m dying or anything. I just broke a few ribs and bit my tongue. Shattering Glass, Smedry, do you have to be so melodramatic all the time?’
With that, she stretched, grimaced, and stumbled over to pick up the fallen Crystin sword.
I got to my feet, feeling relieved and a little foolish. I went over and carefully untied the Translator’s Lenses from the trip wire, then slid them into their pocket, where they belonged. To the side, I could see Kaz peek into the room, apparently having returned from depositing Draulin and Australia somewhere safe. He smiled broadly when he saw me and Bastille, then rushed into the room.
‘Alcatraz, kid, I can’t believe you’re still alive!’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I thought for sure one of us was going to die. You know, if I ever write my memoirs, this section is going to seem really boring because nobody was narratively dynamic enough to get themselves killed.’
Bastille snorted, joining us, holding one of her arms close to her side. ‘That’s real inspiring, Smedry.’
‘You’re the one who stopped following the plan,’ I said.
‘What? Kiliman was faster than you. How exactly were you planning to keep him from chasing you down as you ran?’
‘I’m . . . not sure,’ I admitted.
Kaz just laughed. ‘What happened to Kiliman anyway?’
I pointed toward the Curator with half of a skull. ‘He’s doing a little bit of soul-searching,’ I said. ‘You could say that watching over these books is his soul responsibility now. He’ll probably enjoy the soul-itary lifestyle.’
‘Can I hit him?’ Bastille asked flatly.
I smiled, then noticed something on the ground. I picked it up – a single, yellow Lens.
‘What’s that?’
‘Tracker’s Lens,’ I said. ‘Kiliman’s. It had been in the pouch with Draulin’s Fleshstone.’
‘My mother,’ Bastille said. ‘How is she?’
‘I’m fine,’ Draulin’s voice said. We spun to find her standing beside a sheepish Australia in the doorway.
‘Fine’ was a stretch – Draulin still looked pale, like someone who had been sick for far too long. Yet, her step was steady as she walked into the room and joined us.
‘Lord Smedry,’ she said, going down on one knee. ‘I’ve failed you.’
‘Nonsense,’ I said.
‘The Librarian of the Scrivener’s Bones captured me,’ she said. ‘I was caught in a trap, tied up, and he was able to take me without any trouble. I have shamed my order.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘The rest of us got caught in Curator traps too. We were just lucky enough to wiggle out of them before Kiliman found us.’
Draulin still bowed her head. On the back of her neck, I caught sight of a sparkling crystal – her Fleshstone, replaced.
‘Get up and stop apologizing,’ I said. ‘I’m serious. You did well. You forced a confrontation with Kiliman, and we won that confrontation. So, consider yourself part of our victory.’
Draulin stood up, though she didn’t appear appeased. She fell into her traditional parade-rest stance, looking straight ahead. ‘As you wish, Lord Smedry.’
‘Mother,’ Bastille said.
Draulin looked down.
‘Here,’ Bastille said, holding up the Crystin blade.
I blinked in shock. For some reason, I’d been expecting Bastille to keep that.
Draulin hesitated for a moment, then took the sword.
‘Thank you,’ she said, then sheathed it on her back. ‘What are your plans now, Lord Smedry?’
‘I’m . . . not sure yet,’ I said.
‘Then I will set up a perimeter around this room.’ Draulin bowed to me, then walked over to the entrance and took up a guard position. Bastille moved toward the other entrance, but I grabbed her arm.
‘That woman should be begging for your forgiveness.’
‘Why?’ Bastille asked.
‘You’re in so much trouble because you lost your sword,’ I said. ‘Well, Draulin didn’t do much better now, did she?’
‘But she got hers back.’
‘So?’
‘So, she didn’t break it.’
‘Only because of us.’
‘No,’ Bastille said, ‘because of you, Alcatraz. Kiliman defeated me just like the Alivened in the downtown Library did. You had to save me both times.’
‘I . . .’
Bastille carefully removed my hand from her arm. ‘I appreciate it, Smedry. I really do. I’d be dead several times over if it wasn’t for you.’
With that, she walked away. Never before had a thank-you seemed so despondent to my ears.
Things aren’t going to get fixed that easily, I thought. Bastille still considers herself a failure.
We’re going to have to do something about that.
‘You going to destroy that, kid?’ Kaz asked.
I glanced down, realizing that I still had Kiliman’s Tracker’s Lens in my fingers.
‘It’s very Dark Oculary,’ Kaz said, rubbing his chin. ‘Blood-forged Lenses are bad business.’
‘We should destroy it, then,’ I said. ‘At least turn it over to someone who knows what to do with it. I . . .’
I trailed off. (Obviously.)
‘What?’ Kaz asked.
I didn’t answer. I’d caught something through the Tracker’s Lens. I held it up to my eye and was surprised to see footprints on the ground. There were lots of them, of course. Mine, Bastille’s, even Kiliman’s – though those were fading quickly, since I didn’t know him well. More important, however, I saw three sets of footprints that were very distinct. All led toward a small, inconspicuous door on the far side of the room.
One set of footprints was Grandpa Smedry’s. Another set of yellowish black ones belonged to my mother. The final set, a blazing red-white, was undoubtedly that of my father. All went through the doorway, but there were no sets leading back out.
‘Hey,’ I said, turning to the nearest Curator. ‘What’s through that door?’
‘That’s where we keep the possessions of those who have been turned into Curators,’ the creature said in a raspy voice. Indeed, I saw several Curators cleaning up the remnants of Kiliman’s transformation – the bits of metal and the clothing he had been wearing.
I lowered the Tracker’s Lens. ‘Come on,’ I said to the others. ‘We almost forgot the reason why we came here in the first place.’
‘And what was that reason again?’ Kaz asked.
I pointed at the door. ‘To find out what’s on the other side of that.’
20
Hangook Mal Malha GiMa Ship Shio.
Expectations. They are among the most important things in all of existence. (Which is amusing, because, being abstract concepts, you could argue that they don’t even ‘exist’ at all.)
Everything we do, everything we experience and everything we say is clouded by our expectations. We go to school or work in the mornings because we expect that it will be rewarding. (Or, at least, we expect that if we don’t, we’ll get in trouble.)
We build friendships based on expectations. We expect our friends to act in a certain way, and then we act as they expect us to. Indeed, the very fact that we get up in the mornings shows that we expect the sun to rise, the world to keep spinning, and our shoes to fit, just like they all did the day before.
People have real trouble when you upset their expectations. For instance, you likely didn’t expect me to begin this chapter writing in Korean. Though, after the bunny-bazooka story, one begins to wonder how you can possibly maintain any expectations about this book at all.
And that, my friends, is the point.
Half of you reading this book live in the Hushlands. I was a Hushlander myself, once, and I am not so naïve as to assume that you all believe my story is true. You probably read my first book, thought it was fun. You’re reading this one not because you believe its text, but because you expected another fun story.
Expectations. We rely on them. That’s why so many Hushlanders have trouble believing the Free Kingdoms and the Librarian conspiracy. You don’t expect to wake up and discover that everything you know about history, geography, and politics is wrong.
So, perhaps you can begin to see why I’ve included some of the things I have. Bunnies with bazookas, ships that get repaired (more on that later), faces made of numbers, editorials from short people about how we regard the world, and a lesson on shoes and fish. All of these examples try to prove that you need to have an open mind. Because not everything you believe is true, and not everything you expect to happen will.
Maybe this book will mean nothing to you. Maybe my tale of demonic Curators and magical Lenses will pass you by as pure silliness, to be read but then forgotten. Perhaps because this story deals with people who are far away – and, perhaps, not even real at all – you will assume it doesn’t relate to you.
I hope not. Because, you see, I have expectations too, and they whisper to me that you’ll understand.
We found a long hallway on the other side of the door. At the end of that hallway was another door, and on the other side of that door was a small chamber.
It had one occupant. He sat on a dusty crate, staring down at the ground in front of him. He was not locked in. He simply seemed to have been sitting there, thinking.
And crying.
‘Grandpa Smedry?’ I asked.
Leavenworth Smedry, Oculator Dramatus, friend of kings and potentates, looked up. It had only been a few days since I’d last seen him, but it felt like so much longer. He smiled at me, eyes sorrowful.
‘Alcatraz, lad,’ he said. ‘Huddling Hales, you did follow me!’
I rushed forward, grabbing him in an embrace. Kaz and Australia followed me in, Bastille and Draulin taking up positions by the door.