Still, I had to work with what I had. I stretched my neck, wiggling to the side, and finally managed to touch the side of the Truthfinder’s spectacles with my cheek. I could activate the Lens as long as I was touching the frames.
“You are a monster,” Sing said, still talking to my mother.
“A monster?” Shasta asked. “Because I like order? I think you’ll agree with our way, once you see what we can do for the Free Kingdoms. Aren’t you Sing Sing Smedry the anthropologist? I hear that you’re fascinated by the Hushlands. Why speak such harsh words about Librarians if you’re so fascinated by our lands?”
Sing fell silent.
“Yes,” Shasta said. “Everything will be better when the Librarians rule.”
I froze. I could just barely see her through the side of the Lens by my head on the table. And those words she’d just spoken—they weren’t completely true. When she’d said them, to my eyes she’d released a patch of air that was muddied and gray. It was as if my mother wasn’t sure that she was telling the truth.
“Lady Fletcher,” one of the Librarian thugs said, approaching. “I have informed my superiors of our captives.”
Shasta frowned. “I … see.”
“You will of course deliver them to us,” the Librarian soldier said. “I believe that is Prince Rikers Dartmoor—he could prove to be a very valuable captive.”
“These are my captives, Captain,” Shasta said. “I’ll decide what to do with them.”
“Oh? This equipment and these scientists belong to the Scrivener’s Bones. All you were promised was the book. You said we could have anything else in the room we wanted. Well, these people are what we demand.”
Scrivener’s Bones, I thought. That explains all the wires. The Scrivener’s Bones were the Librarian sect who liked to mix Free Kingdoms technology and Hushlander technology. That was probably why there were wires leading from the brightsand containers. Rather than just opening the containers and bathing the glass in light, the Librarians used wires and switches.
That could be a big help. It meant there might be a way to use the machinery to activate the swap.
“We are very insistent,” the leader of the Librarian soldiers said. “You can have the book and the Lenses. We will take the captives.”
“Very well,” my mother snapped. “You can have them. But I want half of my payment back as compensation.”
I felt a stab inside my chest. So she would sell me. As if I were nothing.
“But Shasta,” the young Librarian Oculator said, stepping up to her. “You’ll give them up? Even the boy?”
“He means nothing to me.”
I froze.
It was a lie.
I could see it plain and clear through the corner of the Lens. When she spoke the words, black sludge fell from her lips.
“Shasta Smedry,” the soldier said, smiling. “The woman who would marry just to get a Talent, and who would spawn a child just to sell him to the highest bidder!”
“Why should I feel anything for the son of a Nalhallan? Take the boy. I don’t care.”
Another lie.
“Let’s just get on with this,” she finished. Her manner was so controlled, so calm. You’d never have known that she was lying through her teeth.
But … what did it mean? She couldn’t care for me. She was a terrible, vile person. Monsters like her didn’t have feelings.
She couldn’t care about me. I didn’t want her to. It was so much more simple to assume that she was heartless.
“What about Father?” I found myself whispering. “Do you hate him too?”
She turned toward me, meeting my eyes. She parted her lips to speak, and I thought I caught a trail of black smoke begin to slip out and pour toward the ground.
Then it stopped. “What’s he doing?” she snapped, pointing. “Fitzroy, I thought I told you to keep those Lenses secured!”
The Oculator jumped in shock, rushing over and grabbing the Truthfinder’s Lens and pocketing it. “Sorry,” he said. He took the other Lenses and placed them in another pocket of his coat.
I leaned back, feeling frustrated. What now?
I was the brave and brilliant Alcatraz Smedry. Books had been written about me. Rikers was smiling, as if this were all a big adventure. And I could guess why. He didn’t feel threatened. He had me to save him.
It was then that I understood what Grandpa Smedry had been trying to tell me. Fame itself wasn’t a bad thing. Praise wasn’t a bad thing. The danger was assuming that you really were what everyone imagined you to be.
I’d come into this presuming that my Talent could get us out. Well, now it couldn’t. I’d brought us into danger because I’d let my self-confidence make me overconfident.
And you all are to blame for this, in part. This is what your adoration does. You create for yourselves heroes using our names, but those fabrications are so incredible, so elevated that the real thing can never live up to them. You destroy us, consume us.
And I am what’s left over when you’re done.
Chapter
19
Oh, wasn’t that how you expected me to end that last chapter? Was it kind of a downer? Made you feel bad about yourself?
Well, good.
We’re getting near the end, and I’m tired of putting on a show for you. I’ve tried to prove that I’m arrogant and selfish, but I just don’t think you’re buying it. So, maybe if I make the book a depressing pile of slop, you’ll leave me alone.
“Alcatraz?” Bastille whispered.
I mean, why is it that you readers always assume that you’re never to blame for anything? You just sit there, comfortable on your couch while we suffer. You can enjoy our pain and our misery because you’re safe.
Well, this is real to me. It’s real. It still affects me. Ruins me.
“Alcatraz?” Bastille repeated.
I am not a god. I am not a hero. I can’t be what you want me to be. I can’t save people, or protect them, because I can’t even save myself!
I am a murderer. Do you understand? I KILLED HIM.
“Alcatraz!” Bastille hissed.
I looked up from my bonds. A good half hour had passed. We were still captive, and I’d tried dozens of times to summon my Talent. It was unresponsive. Like a sleeping beast that refused to awaken. I was powerless.
My mother chatted with the other Librarians, who had sent in teams to rifle through the books and determine if there was anything else of value inside the archives. From what I’d heard when I cared enough to pay attention, they were planning to swap the rooms back soon.
Sing had tried to crawl away at one point. He had earned himself a boot to the face—he was already beginning to get a black eye. Himalaya sniffled quietly, leaning against Folsom. Prince Rikers continued to sit happily, as if this were all a big exciting amusement park ride.
“We need to escape,” Bastille said. “We need to get out. The treaty will be ratified in a matter of minutes!”
“I’ve failed, Bastille,” I whispered. “I can’t get us out.”
“Alcatraz…” she said. She sounded so exhausted. I glanced at her and saw the haunted fatigue from before, but it seemed even worse.
“I can barely keep myself awake,” she whispered. “This hole inside … it seems to be chewing on my mind, sucking out everything I think and feel. I can’t do this without you. You’ve got to lead us. I love my brother, but he’s useless.”
“That’s the problem,” I said, leaning back. “I am too.”
The Librarians were approaching. I stiffened, but they didn’t come for me. Instead, they grabbed Himalaya.