Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

and worried for the characters. The simple truth is that authors like making people squirm. If this weren’t the case, all novels would be filled completely with cute bunnies having birthday parties.
    So, now you know the reason why I – one of the most wealthy and famous people in the Free Kingdoms – would bother writing a book. This is the only way I can prove to all of you that I’m not the heroic savior that you think I am. If you don’t believe what I’m telling you, then ask yourself this: would any decent, kindhearted individual become a writer? Of course not.
    I know how this story ends. I know what really happened to my parents. I know the true secret of the Sands of Rashid. I know how I finally ended up suspended over a bubbling pit of acid magma, tied to a flaming altar, staring at my reflection in the twisted, cracked dagger of a Librarian executioner.
    But I am not a nice person. And so, I’m not going to reveal any of these things to you. Not yet, anyway.
    So there.
    “I can’t believe how stupid I am!” Bastille snapped.
    I blinked, slowly coming awake. I was lying on something hard.
    “I should have realized that Alcatraz would have an aura,” Bastille continued. “It was so obvious!”
    “He only just started using Oculator’s Lenses, Bastille,” Sing said. “You couldn’t have known he’d have an aura already.”
    She shook her head. “I was sloppy. I just… have trouble thinking of that idiot as an Oculator. He doesn’t seem to know anything.”
    I groaned and opened my eyes, discovering a bland stone ceiling above me. The something hard I was lying on turned out to be the ground. And no, it didn’t want to be friends with me.
    “What happened?” I asked, rubbing my forehead.
    “Shocker’s Lens. They cause a flash of light that knocks out anyone who’s looking at the Oculator.”
    I grunted, sitting. “I’ll have to get a set of those.”
    “They’re very difficult to use,” Bastille said. “I doubt you could manage it.”
    “Thanks for the confidence,” I grumbled. We were in a cell, apparently. It felt more like a dungeon than a prison. There was a pile of straw to one side, apparently to use for sleeping, and there didn’t appear to be any “facilities” besides a bucket by the wall.
    It was certainly not a place I wanted to spend any extended period time. Especially in mixed company.
    I stumbled to my feet. My jacket was gone, as were Sing’s bag of weapons and Bastille’s handbag. “Is there anyone out there?” I asked quietly. The cell had three stone walls, while the front was set with more modern-style cagelike bars.
    “One guard,” Bastille said. “Warrior.”
    I nodded, then took a deep breath and walked up to the front of the cell. I put one hand on the bars and activated my Talent.
    Or, at least, I tried to. Nothing happened.
    Bastille snorted. “It won’t work, Smedry. Those bars are made from Reinforcer’s Glass. Things like Smedry Talents and Oculator powers won’t affect them.”
    “Oh,” I said, lowering my hand.
    “What did you expect to do anyway?” she snapped. “Save us? What about the soldier out there? What about the Dark Oculator, who is in the room next door?”
    “I didn’t think – “
    “No. No, you Smedrys never think! You make all this talk about ‘seeing’ and ‘information,’ but you never do anything useful. You don’t plan, you just go . And you drag the rest of us along with you!”
    Shy spun and walked as far from me as she could, then sat down on the floor, not looking at me.
    I stood silent, a little stupefied.
    “Don’t mind her, Alcatraz,” Sing said quietly, joining me at the front of the cell. “She’s just a little angry with herself for letting us get caught.”
    “It wasn’t her fault,” I said. “It was mine.”
    It was mine. Not words I’d often said. I was a little surprised to hear them come out of my mouth.
    “Actually,” Sing said, “it’s really not any of our fault. You were right to suggest following Blackburn – he was probably our best chance of finding the sands. But, well, this is how things turned out.”
    Sing sighed, running his hand along one of the bars. I reached out and felt one too, noting now that Bastille had been right – the bar didn’t quite feel like iron. It was too smooth.
    “There were a few Smedrys who could have gotten through these bars, Reinforcer’s Glass or no,” Sing said. “Ah, to have a Talent like that…”
    “I think your