Folsom and Himalaya climbed into the carriage after me, and I pointed at Shasta’s disappearing vehicle. “Follow that carriage!” I said in a dramatic voice.
And so the driver did. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a city carriage before, but they travel at, like, two miles an hour—particularly during afternoon traffic. After my rather dramatic and heroic (if I do say so myself) proclamation, things took a decidedly slow turn as our driver guided the horses out onto the street, then clopped along behind Shasta’s vehicle. I felt more like I was out on a casual evening drive than part of a high-speed chase.
I sat down. “Not very exciting, is it?”
“I’ll admit I was expecting more,” Folsom said.
At that moment, we passed a street performer playing a lute on the side of the road. Himalaya reached for Folsom, but it was too late. My cousin stood up in a quick motion, then jumped onto the back of the carriage and began doing expert kung fu moves.
“Gak!” I said, diving for the floor as a karate chop narrowly missed my head. “Folsom, what are you doing?”
“It’s his Talent,” Himalaya said, scrambling down beside me. “He’s a bad dancer! The moment he hears music, he gets like this. It—”
We moved out of range of the street performer and Folsom froze mid-swing, his foot mere inches from my face. “Oh,” he said, “terribly sorry about that, Alcatraz. My Talent can be a bit difficult at times.”
“A bit difficult” is an understatement. I later heard that Folsom once wandered into a ballroom dance competition. He not only managed to trip every single person in the room, but he also ended up stuffing one of the judges into a tuba. If you’re wondering, yes, that’s why Himalaya had filled Folsom’s ears with cotton before letting him enter the party room. It’s also why Folsom had removed the theme music glass from his copy of Alcatraz Smedry and the Mechanic’s Wrench.
“Alcatraz!” Himalaya said, pointing as we seated ourselves again.
I spun, realizing that my mother’s carriage had stopped at an intersection, and our carriage was pulling up right beside hers. “Gak!” I said. “Driver, what are you doing?”
The driver turned, confused. “Following that carriage, like you said.”
“Well, don’t let them know that we’re following them!” I said. “Haven’t you ever seen any superspy movies?”
“What’s a movie?” the driver asked, followed by, “And … what’s a superspy?”
I didn’t have time to explain. I waved for Himalaya and Folsom to duck. However, there just wasn’t enough room—one of us would have to sit up. Would my mother recognize Folsom, a famous Smedry? What about Himalaya, a rebel Librarian? We were all conspicuous.
“Can’t you two do something to hide us?” Himalaya hissed. “You know, magic powers and all that.”
“I could beat up her horse, if we had music,” Folsom said thoughtfully.
Himalaya glanced at me, worried, and it wasn’t until that moment that I remembered that I was an Oculator.
Oculator. Lens-wielder. I had magic glasses, including the ones my grandfather had given me earlier. I cursed, pulling out the purple ones he’d called Disguiser’s Lenses. He’d told me to focus on the image of someone in my mind and I would appear to be that person. I slid the Lenses on and concentrated.
Himalaya yelped. “You look like an old man!”
“Lord Smedry?” Folsom asked, confused.
That wouldn’t do. Shasta would recognize Grandpa Smedry for sure. I sat up straight and thought of someone else. My sixth-grade teacher, Mr. Mann. I remembered at the last minute to picture him wearing a tunic as if he were from the Free Kingdoms. Then I looked over at my mother, sitting in the next carriage.
She glanced at me. My heart thumped in my chest. (Hearts tend to do that. Unless you’re a zombie. More on those later.)
My mother’s eyes passed over me without showing any signs of recognition. I breathed a sigh of relief as the carriages started again.
Using the Disguiser’s Lenses was more difficult than any others I’d used before. I got a jolt if my shape changed forms, and that happened whenever I let my mind wander. I had to remain focused to maintain the illusion.
As we continued, I felt embarrassed at taking so long to remember the Disguiser’s Lenses. Bastille often chastised me for forgetting that I was an Oculator, and she was right. I still wasn’t that used to my powers, as you will see later.
(You’ll notice that I often mention ideas I’m going to explain later in the book. Sometimes I do this because it makes nice foreshadowing. Other times I’m just trying to annoy you. I’ll let you decide which is which.)
“Do either of you recognize where we are?” I asked as the carriage “chase” continued.
“We’re approaching the king’s palace, I think,” Folsom said. “Look, you can see the tips of the towers.”
I followed his gesture and saw the white peaks of the palace. On the other side of the street, we passed an enormous rectangular building that read in big letters ROYAL ARCHIVES (NOT A LIBRARY!) on the front. We turned, then rolled past a line of castles on the back side of the street. My mother’s carriage turned as if to round the block again. Something seemed wrong.
“Driver, catch up to the carriage up there,” I said.
“Indecisive today, aren’t we?” the driver asked with a sigh. At the next intersection, we rolled up beside the carriage and I looked over at my mother.
Only she wasn’t there. The carriage held someone who looked a little like her, but wasn’t the same woman. “Shattering Glass!” I cursed.
“What?” Folsom asked, peeking up over the lip of the carriage.
“She gave us the slip,” I said.
“Are you sure that’s not her?” Folsom asked.
“Um, yeah. Trust me.” I might not have known she was my mother at the time, but “Ms. Fletcher” had watched over me for most of my childhood.
“Maybe she’s using Lenses, like you,” Himalaya said.
“She’s not an Oculator,” I replied. “I don’t know if she knew she was being followed, but she somehow got out of that carriage when we weren’t looking.”
The other two got up off the floor, sitting again. I eyed Himalaya. Had she somehow tipped off my mother that we were following?
“Shasta Smedry,” Himalaya said. “Is she a relative of yours, then?”
“Alcatraz’s mother,” Folsom said, nodding.
“Really?” Himalaya said. “Your mother is a recovering Librarian?”
“Not so much on the ‘recovering’ part,” I said. The carriage bearing the look-alike stopped and let her off at a restaurant. I ordered our driver to wait so we could watch, but I knew we wouldn’t learn anything new.
“She and his father broke up soon after he was born,” Folsom said. “Shasta went back to the Librarians.”
“Which order is she part of?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. She … doesn’t quite fit with the others. She’s something different.” My grandfather had once said that her motivations were confusing, even to other Librarians.
She had the Lenses of Rashid; if she found an Oculator to help her, she could read the Forgotten Language. That made her very, very dangerous. Why had she been at that party? Had she spoken with my father? Had she been trying to do something to the prince?
“Let’s get back to the castle,” I said. Perhaps Grandpa Smedry would be able to help.