Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

on with a surprised expression. Even Bastille looked up from her mourning. Cracks in the stone twisted across the floor, spiderwebbing all the way to the back of the cell.
    They keep saying that my Talent is powerful, I thought. How much could I really break, if I set my mind to it? Eagerly, I reached up, grabbing a bar and trying to pull it free from its now-rubbled mountings.
    It remained firm. It didn’t even budge a bit.
    “Did you really think that would work?” an amused voice asked.
    I looked up at the dungeon guard, who had walked over to watch me. He wore the clothing one might have expected of a Librarian – an unfashionable knit vest pulled tight over a buttoned pink shirt, matched by a slightly darker pink bow tie. His glasses even had a bit of tape on them.
    Only one thing about him deviated from what I would have expected: He was huge. He was as tall as Sing, and easily twice as muscular. It was like a bodybuilder supersoldier had beaten up an unfortunate nerd and – for some inconceivable reason – stolen his clothing.
    The guard punched a fist into his palm, smiling. He wore a sword tied at his waist, and his glasses – the taped ones – were dark, like the ones that Sing and Bastille wore. Once again, I was struck by the unfairness of letting the warriors wear sunglasses, while I was stuck with slightly pink ones.
    That is one complaint, by the way, I still haven’t gotten over.
    “The stones are just there for show,” the Librarian said. “The entire cage is made from Reinforcer’s Glass – it’s a box, with the bars at the front. Breaking the stones won’t do any good. You think we aren’t familiar with Smedry tricks?”
    He’s too far away to touch, I thought with frustration. But… what was it Grandpa Smedry said when I destroyed that gunman’s weapon?
    The man had threatened me. And my Talent had worked proactively, instinctively.
    At a distance.
    I reached down, picking up a few pieces of wood from the broken bucket. The beefy Librarian snorted and turned to walk back to his post. I, however, tossed a piece of wood through the bars, hitting him in the back of the head.
    The guard turned, frowning. I bounced another piece of wood off his forehead.
    “Hey!” the Librarian snapped.
    I threw harder, this time causing the Librarian to flinch as the bit of wood came close to his eyes.
    “Alcatraz?” Sing asked nervously. “Are you certain this is wise?” Bastille, however, stood up. She walked toward the front of the cell.
    I threw again.
    “Stop that!” the Librarian said, stepping forward, raising his fists.
    I threw a fifth piece of wood, hitting him in the chest.
    “All right,” the Librarian said, reaching downs to unsheathe his sword. “What do you think of this?” He stuck the sword forward, apparently intending to force me back with it.
    Bastille, however, moved more quickly. I watched with shock as she grabbed the blade of the sword, somehow managing to keep from cutting herself as she yanked it forward. This threw the Librarian off balance, and he stumbled toward the cell, still holding on to his weapon.
    Bastille snapped forward, reaching between the bars and grabbing the Librarian guard by the hair. Then she yanked the man’s head down and forward, slamming it against the glass bars.
    The sword clanged to the ground. The guard’s unconscious body followed a second later. Bastille knelt down, grabbing the guard’s arm and pulling him up against the cell bars. Then she began fishing around in his pockets. “All right, Smedry,” she admitted, “that was well done.”
    “Uh, no problem,” I said. “You… took him down pretty smoothly.”
    Bastille shrugged, pulling something out of the man’s pocket – a glass sphere. “He’s just a Librarian thug.”
    “No match for a trained Knight of Crystallia,” Sing agreed. “Yes, that was indeed quite clever, Alcatraz. How did you know he’d lose his temper and pull out the sword?”
    “Actually,” I said, “I was trying to get him to throw something at me.”
    Bastille frowned. “What good would that do?”
    “I figured it would engage my Talent if he tried to hurt me.”
    Sing rubbed his chin. “That would probably have broken the thing he threw at you. But… how was that going to get us out of the cell?”
    I paused. “I hadn’t exactly gotten that far yet.”
    Bastille placed the glass sphere against the lock. It clicked; the door swung open.
    “Either way,” she said, “we’re out.”