I would like to point out that it’s not very kind to find amusement in someone else’s pain. Doing so is a very bad habit—almost as bad as reading the second book in a series without having read the first.
However, it’s quite different when your female cousin goes to sleep, then wakes up looking like an old man with a bushy mustache. Then it’s okay to make fun of her. That happens to be one of the very few exclusions covered by the Law of Things That Are So Funny You Can’t Be Blamed for Laughing at Them, No Matter What.
(Other exceptions include getting bitten by a giant penguin, falling off a giant cheese sculpture carved to look like a nose, and getting named after a prison by your parents. I have a petition in the courts to revoke that third one.)
Kaz joined me in the laughter, and eventually even Australia was chuckling. That’s the way we Smedrys are. If you can’t laugh at your Talent, you tend to end up very grumpy.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” I asked Australia.
“Huh?” she asked, poking at her mustache with her finger.
“You woke me up.”
Australia started. “Oh! Right! Um, I think I found something interesting!”
I raised an eyebrow, and she stood, rushing over to the other side of the library’s hut. She pointed at the ground.
“See!” she said.
“Dirt?” I asked.
“No, no, the footprints!”
There were no footprints in the dirt—of course, Australia was wearing the Tracker’s Lenses. I reached up and tapped her Lenses.
“Oh, right!” she said, pulling off the Lenses and handing them to me.
In all fairness, you shouldn’t judge Australia too harshly. She’s not stupid. She simply gets distracted. By, you know, breathing.
I slipped on the Lenses. There, burning on the ground, was a set of fiery white footprints. I recognized them immediately—each person leaves distinctive prints.
These belonged to my grandfather, Leavenworth Smedry. Australia herself trailed a set of puffy pink prints. Kaz’s were the blue footprints, mixing with my own whitish ones, glowing in front of the hut where we’d inspected the day before. I could also see Bastille’s red ones crossing the area several times, and since I hadn’t known Draulin very long—and she wasn’t related to me—there were only a few of her gray ones, as they disappeared rather quickly.
“See?” Australia asked again, nodding rapidly. As she did so, her mustache began to fall free. “None of us gives off prints like those—though yours are close.”
Kaz had joined us. “They belong to your father,” I said to him.
He nodded. “Where do they lead?”
I began to walk, following the prints. Kaz and Australia followed as I made my way around the outside of the hut. Grandpa had inspected the place, just like we had. I peeked inside and noted that the prints led to one corner of the hut, then turned and walked down the stairs into the darkness.
“He went in,” I said.
Kaz sighed. “So they’re both down there.”
I nodded. “Although my father must have come this way too long ago for his prints to have remained. We should have thought of using the Tracker’s Lenses earlier! I feel like an idiot.”
Kaz shrugged. “We’ve found the prints. That’s what’s important.”
“So, I did something good, right?” Australia asked.
I glanced at her. Her head had begun to sprout her normal dark hair, and her face looked like some kind of hybrid between hers and Grandpa Smedry’s. While seeing her before had been amusing, now she was downright creepy.
“Um, yeah,” I said. “You did a great job. I can follow these prints, and we’ll find my grandfather. Then at least we’ll know where one of the two of them is.”
Australia nodded. Even between the times I’d glanced at her, she’d grown to look more like herself, though she seemed sad.
What? I thought. She just made a great discovery. Without her, we wouldn’t have …
Australia had made the discovery because she’d had the Tracker’s Lenses. Now I’d taken them back and was ready to charge off after Grandfather. I removed the Tracker’s Lenses. “Why don’t you keep these, Australia?”
“Really?” she said, perking up.
“Sure,” I said. “You can lead us to Grandpa Smedry as well as I can.”
She smiled eagerly, taking them back. “Thank you so much!” She rushed outside, following the prints back the way they had come, apparently to see if Grandpa Smedry had visited any other places.
Kaz regarded me. “I may have misjudged you, kid.”
I shrugged. “She hasn’t had much luck being an Oculator. I figured I shouldn’t take away the only pair of Lenses that she’s been able to use effectively.”
Kaz smiled, nodding in approval. “You’ve got a good heart. A Smedry heart. Of course, not as good as a short person’s heart, but that’s to be expected.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Reason number one hundred twenty-seven. Short people have smaller bodies, but regular-sized hearts. That gives us a larger ratio of heart to flesh—making us far more compassionate than big people.” He winked, then sauntered out of the room.
I shook my head, moving to follow, then stopped. I glanced at the corner, where the footprints had led, then walked over and fished around in the dirt.
There, covered by some leaves and placed in a little hollow in the ground, was a small velvet pouch. I pulled it open and to my surprise found a pair of Lenses inside, along with a note.
Alcatraz! it read.
I was too late to stop your father from going down into the library. I fear the worst! He’s always been the curious type and might be foolish enough to exchange his soul for information. I’m only a few days behind him, but the Library of Alexandria is a terrible maze of passages and corridors. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to find him and stop him before he does anything foolish.
I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you in the airport. This seemed more important. Besides, I have the feeling you can handle things on your own.
If you’re reading this, then you didn’t go to Nalhalla like you should have. Ha! I knew you wouldn’t. You’re a Smedry! I’ve left you a pair of Discerner’s Lenses, which should be of use to you. They’ll let you tell how old something is just by looking at it.
Try not to break anything too valuable if you come down below. The Curators can be a rather unpleasant bunch. Comes from being dead, I suppose. Don’t let them trick you into taking one of their books.
Love,
P.S. If that crazy son of mine Kazan is there, smack him on the head for me.
I lowered the note, then pulled out the Lenses. I quickly put them on, then glanced about the hut. They put a glow about anything I focused on—a kind of whitish shine like you might get from sunlight reflecting off something very pale. Except the shine was different for different objects. Most of the boards in the hut were downright dull, while the velvet pouch in my hand was rather bright.
Age, I thought. They tell me how old something is—the boards were created and put there long ago. The pouch was made recently.
I frowned to myself. Why couldn’t he have left me another pair of Firebringer’s Lenses? True, I’d broken the first pair—but that sort of thing tended to happen a lot around me.
The thing is, Grandpa Smedry tended to place little value on offensive Lenses. He thought information was a far better weapon.