Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

“let’s try one, then.”
    I nodded, then walked up to the first door. I listened at it for a moment, but either there was no sound on the other side of the wood was so thick that I couldn’t hear anything.
    “See any darkness around the door?” Bastille whispered.
    I shook my head.
    “The Dark Oculator probably isn’t in there, then,” Bastille said quietly.
    “It could open into anything,” Sing said.
    “Well, we’ll never find the sands if we keep to the hallways,” Bastille said.
    I glanced at the other doors. None of them seemed to glow any more than the others. Bastille was right – we had to start trying them, and any one was as good as the next. So, I took a breath and pushed against the door in front of me. I’d intended to move it open slightly, so we could peek in, but the door swung far more easily than I’d expected. It flew open, exposing the large room beyond, and I stumbled into the doorway.
    The room was filled with dinosaurs. Real, live, moving dinosaurs. One of them waved at me.
    I paused for a moment. “Oh,” I finally said, “is that all? I was worried that I might find something strange in here.”

Chapter 9
    I’d like you to realize two things at this point.
    First, I want you to know that when I uttered the words “Oh, is that all? I was worried I might find something strange in here,” I wasn’t being sarcastic in the least. Actually, I as being quite serious. (Nearly as serious, even, as the moment when I would plead for my life while tied to an altar of outdated encyclopedias.)
    You see, after all I’d seen that day, I was growing desensitized to strangeness. The realization that the world contained three new continents still had me in shock. Compared to that revelation, a room full of dinosaurs just couldn’t compete.
    “Why, hello, good chap!” cried a small green Peteridactyl. “You don’t look like a Librarian sort.”
    Talking rocks might have gotten a reaction out of me. A talking slice of cheese definitely would have. Talking dinosaurs… meh.
    The second thing I want you to realize is this: You were warned beforehand about the talking dinosaurs. (Kindly see page 67.) So no whining.
    I stepped into the room. It was some sort of storage chamber and was filled with battered cages. Many of those cages contained… well, dinosaurs. At least, that’s what they looked like to me.
    Of course, they were quite different from the dinosaurs I’d learned about in school. For one thing, they weren’t very big. (The largest one, an orange Tyrannosaurus Rex, was maybe five or six feet tall. The smallest looked to be only about three feet tall.) The vests, trousers , and British accents were unexpected as well.
    “I say,” said a Triceratops. “Do you think he’s a mute? Does anybody by chance know sign language?”
    “Which sign language do you mean?” asked the Pteridactle. “American primitive, New Elshamian, or Librarian standard?”
    “My hands aren’t articulated enough for sign language,” noted the Tyrannosaurus Rex. “That’s always been rather a bother for deaf members of my subspecies.
    “He can’t be mute!” another said. “Didn’t he say something when he opened the door?”
    Bastille poked her head into the room. “Dinosaurs,” she said, noticing the cages. “Useless. Let’s move on.”
    “I say!” said the Triceratops. “Charles, did you hear that?”
    “I did indeed!” replied the Pterydactle. “Quite rude, if I do say so myself.”
    I frowned. “Wait. Dinosaurs are British?
    “Of course not,” Bastille said, stepping into the room with a sigh. “They’re Melerandian.”
    “But they’re speaking English with a British accent,” I said.
    “No,” Bastille said, rolling her eyes. “They’re speaking Meleran – just like we are. Where do you think the British and the Americans got the language from?”
    “Uh… from Great Britain?”
    Sing chuckled, stepping into the room and quietly shutting the door. “You think a little island like that spawned a language used by most of the world?”
    I frowned again. “I say,” said Charles the Pterrodactlye. “Do you suppose you could let us free? It’s terribly uncomfortable in here.”
    “No,” Bastille said curtly. “We have to keep a low profile. If you escaped, you could give us away.” Then, under her breath, she muttered, “Come on. We don’t want to get involved.”
    “Why not?” I asked. “Maybe they could help us.”
    Bastille shook her head.