Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

“That’s it, isn’t it? You were worried that I’d learn what it meant to be a Smedry. That’s why you always treated me like you did. You needed me to be insecure, so that I would trust you – and distrust my Talent.”
    Ms. Fletcher looked away. “Look, let’s just make a deal. Let me get you out, and we can forget about the past for now.”
    “And these others?” I asked, nodding toward Sing and Bastille. “If I go free, what happens to them?”
    “What do you care?” Ms. Fletcher asked, looking back at me.
    I folded my arms.
    “You have changed,” Ms. Fletcher said. “And not for the better, I’d say. Is this the same boy who burned down a kitchen yesterday? Since when did you start caring about the people around you?”
    The answer to that question was actually “About five minutes ago.” However, I didn’t intend to share that information with Ms. Fletcher.
    “Okay,” I said. “We’ll have an exchange. You want to know where the old man is? Well, I want to know some things too. Answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours.”
    “Fine,” Ms. Fletcher said, folding her arms.
    Businesslike as always , I thought. “How did you know about the Sands of Rashid?”
    Ms. Fletcher waved an indifferent hand. “Your parents promised them to you at your birth. It’s a custom – to pronounce an inheritance upon a newborn and deliver it on the child’s thirteenth birthday. Everyone knew that you were supposed to get those sands. Some of us are a little surprised that they actually made their way to you, but we were happy to see them nonetheless.”
    “Did you know my parents, then?”
    “Of course,” Ms. Fletcher said. “Actually, I studied under them. I thought they might be able to train me to be an Oculator.”
    I snorted. “That’s not something you can learn.”
    “Yes, well,” Ms. Fletcher said, looking a little flustered, “I was young.”
    “Did you kill them?” I asked, teeth gritted.
    Ms. Fletcher laughed a flat, lifeless laugh. “Of course not. Do I look like a killer?”
    “You send a man with a gun after me.”
    “That was a mistake,” Ms. Fletcher said. “Besides, your parents were Smedrys. They would be even harder to kill than you.”
    “And why do you want Grandpa Smedry?” I asked.
    “No, I think I’ve answered enough questions,” Ms. Fletcher said. “Now fulfill your end of the bargain. Where is the old man?”
    I smiled. “I forgot.”
    “But… our bargain!”
    “I lied, Ms. Fletcher,” I said. “I do that sometimes.”
    See, I promised you. Life-changing revelation or not, I never was all that good a person.
    Ms. Fletcher’s eyes opened wide, and she displayed more emotion that I’d ever seen from her as she began muttering at me under her breath.
    “Enough!” a new voice said. A dark-suited arm shoved Ms. Fletcher away, and Blackburn moved over to stand in front of the cell.
    “Tell me where the old fool is, boy,” Blackburn said quietly. He stared at me, his monocle glistening with a reddish color. Even without my Oculator’s Lenses, I swear that I could see a little black cloud rising from him.
    “If you don’t talk willingly,” Blackburn said, reaching up to take off his monocle, “I will make you.” He pulled another monocle from a vest pocket. It had green and black tints. “This is a Torturer’s Lens. By looking through it and focusing on a part of your body, I can make you feel intense agony. It makes the muscles begin to rip, and while it probably won’t kill you, you will soon start to wish that it would.”
    He reached up, putting the monocle in place. “I’ve seen men permanently paralyzed by these things, boy. I’ve seen them break their own bones as they thrash about on the ground, crying out with such pain that they’d have killed themselves to stop it. Does that sound like fun? Well, if not, you should start talking. Now! ”
    It’s funny what a little taste of leadership can do to someone. A shade of responsibility, a smidgen of self-understanding, and I was ready to stand up to a full-blooded Dark Oculator. I gritted my teeth, jutted out my chin defiantly, and stared him in the eye.
    So, of course, I got my heroic little self blasted with a beam of pure pain.
    This is supposed to be a book for all ages, so I won’t go into details about how it felt to get hit by a Torturer’s Lens. Just try and remember the worst wound you’ve ever felt. The most agonizing, most terrifying pain in your life. Remember it,