Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

hold it in your head.
    Then imagine if a shark swam by and bit you in half while you were distracted. That’s a little what it felt like. Only, add in swallowing a few grenades and suffering through a night at the opera too. (And don’t try and tell me I didn’t warn you about the sharks.)
    The pain let up. I lay on the floor of the cell, though I didn’t remember falling. Sing was at my side, and even Bastille was moving over to me, her face concerned. My agony faded slowly, and I looked up, seeing Blackburn as a dark shadow standing before the cell.
    There was a small twist of pleasure on his lips. “Now, boy, tell me what I want to know.”
    And I would have. This is your hero, Free Kingdomers. I broke that easily – I hadn’t ever known pain; I was no soldier. I was just a kid trapped by forces he had no hope of understanding. I would have told Blackburn anything he wanted to know.
    However, I didn’t have a chance to spit it out. At that moment, you see, Grandpa Smedry poked his head into the dungeon hallway, smiling happily.
    “Why, hello, Blackburn,” he said. Then he waved to me, holding up a pair of hands that were manacled together. He wasn’t wearing his Oculator’s Lenses, and a pair of beefy-looking men in dark robes and black sunglasses stood behind him, holding his arms.
    “It appears that I’ve been captured,” Grandpa Smedry said, manacle chains clinking. “I hope I’m not too late!”

Chapter 13
    We have now spent two complete chapters trapped in the dungeon. We’re about to embark on our third chapter in there, assuming I ever finish with this introduction.
    Three chapters, on the other hand, is a very long time. It is a longer time than I spent in my foster home. It is a longer time that I spent visiting the gas station. It’s a longer time than I spent in childhood, which was covered in only about two sentences.
    Why so long in prison? At that moment, I was struggling with the same question. Few things are more maddening that forced inactivity, and I had been forced into inactivity for two entire chapters. True, I’d made some good, deep, personal revelations – however, the time for those had passed. I would almost rather have been tied to an altar and sacrificed, as opposed to being forced to sit around and wait while my grandfather was towed off to be tortured.
    For, you see, that was what happened in between chapters – a space of time so short that it’s practically nonexistent. During that void of nothingness, Blackburn laughed evilly a couple of times, then pulled Grandpa Smedry off to the “Interrogation Room.” Apparently, the Dark Oculator was overjoyed at the prospect of having a fully trained Smedry to torture.
    But then again, who wouldn’t be?
    “Come back here!” Bastille screamed, pounding the latrine bucket repeatedly against the bars. I was now even more glad that I hadn’t ended up needing to use it.
    “Come back and fight me!” she yelled, slamming the bucket against the bars in one final overhand strike, venting her fury by smashing the wooden container into a dozen different pieces. She stood, puffing for a second, holding a broken handle.
    “Well,” Sing whispered, “at least she’s getting back some of her good humor.”
    Right, I thought. By then, my agony had faded almost to nothingness. (I later learned that I’d only been subjected to the Torturer’s Lens for a period of three seconds. It takes at least five to do permanent damage.)
    I empathized with Bastille – I even felt some of her same rage, even if I didn’t express it by destroying innocent bucketry. The longer I sat, the more ashamed I felt at how quickly I’d broken. Yet remembering those three seconds of pain made me shudder.
    And even worse than the memory was the knowledge that my grandfather – a man I barely knew, but one for whom I already felt a sincere affection – had been captured. At that very moment, the old man was probably being subjected to the Torturer’s Lens. And his torture would last far longer than three seconds.
    Bastille reached down, picking up a few bucket shards and tossing them in annoyance at the wall outside the cell.
    “That isn’t helping, Bastille,” I said.
    “Oh?” she snapped. “And what about sitting on the ground, looking stupid? How much good is that doing?”
    I blinked, flushing.
    “Bastille, lass,” Sing said quietly. “That was harsh, even for you.”
    Bastille puffed quietly for a few more moments, the turned away.