Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

lifetime. I’ve seen people stumble, tumble, and misstep. I once saw my foster brother fall down the stairs (not my fault) and I also saw a local bully belly flop when his diving board broke beneath him (I plead the Fifth on that one).
    I have never, however, seen a trip quite so… well executed as the one Sing performed in the library lobby that day. The hefty Mokian quite convincingly stumbled on the welcome mat just inside the doors. He cried out, hopping on one foot – a teetering, lumbering mound with the kinetic energy of a collapsing building.
    People scattered. Children cried, clutching picture books about aardvarks in their terrified fingers. A Librarian raised her hand in warning.
    With a weird mixture of skillful grace and a mad lack of control, Sing fell over a comfortable reading chair and collided with a massive bookshelf. Those shelves – you may know – are usually bolted to the floor. That didn’t matter. When confronted with a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound Mokian missile, iron bends.
    And the bookshelf fell.
    Books flew in the air. Pages fluttered. Metal groaned.
    “Now’s our chance,” Grandpa Smedry said. He dashed forward, just one more body in the flurry of lobby activity.
    The rest of us followed, scooting past the horrified Librarians. Grandpa Smedry led us behind the children’s section, through the media section, and to a pair of shabby doors at the back marked EMPLOYEES ONLY .
    “Put your Oculator’s Lenses back on, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said, sliding on his reddish pair.
    I did so as well, and through those Lenses I could see a certain faint glow around the doors. Not a white or black glow, like I’d seen before. But instead… a bluish one. The power was focused on a square in the wall. On closer inspection, I could see that that section of the wall was inset with a small square of glass.
    “A Hushlander handprint scanner,” Grandpa Smedry said. “Kind of like Recognizer’s Glass. How quaint. All right lad, it’s your turn.”
    I gulped quietly, feeling nervous – both because of the Librarians so near and because everyone was counting on me. I reached out and pressed my hand against the door. There was a hum from the glass panel, but I ignored it. Instead I focused on myself.
    I’d always known, instinctively, about my power. I’d always had it, but I’d rarely tried to control it specifically. Now I focused on it, and I felt a tingle – like the shock that comes from touching a battery to your tongue – pulse out of my chest and down my arm.
    There was a crack from the door as the lock snapped. “Masterfully done, lad!” Grand Smedry said. “Masterfully done indeed.”
    I shrugged, feeling proud. “Doors have always been my specialty.”
    Quentin quickly pushed open the door and waved everyone through. Grandpa Smedry’s eyes twinkled as he passed me. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he whispered.
    I could hear Bastille grumbling something under her breath as she joined us in the hallway, Sing’s bag of guns slung over her shoulder. Quentin held the door open for a moment longer, and finally a puffing Sing rounded the bookshelves and joined us.
    “Sorry,” he said. “One of the female patrons insisted on wrapping my ankle for me.” Indeed, his sandal-shod right foot now bore a support bandage.
    Quentin closed the door, then checked the handle, twisting it a few times. “Coconuts, the pain don’t hurt,” he said, then paused. “Sorry,” he said, flushing. “Sometimes the gibberish comes out when I don’t want it to. Anyway, the lock is still broken – it will be suspicious next time someone comes through here.”
    “Can’t be helped,” Grandpa Smedry said, pulling out what appeared to be two small hourglasses. He gave them each a tap, and the sand started flowing. He handed one to me. The sand continued to flow at the same rate no matter which way I turned the device. Nifty, I thought. I’d always wanted a magical hourglass.
    Well, not really. But if I’d known that there were such things as magical hourglasses, I’d have wanted one. Who wouldn’t? I should note, however, that the Free Kingdomers would be offended by my calling the hourglass magical. They have very strange feelings on what counts as magical and what doesn’t. For instance, Oculatory powers and Smedry Talents are considered a form of magic to most Free Kingdomers, since they are things that can only be performed or used by a few select people. The hourglasses, like