Alcatraz Versus The Evil Librarians Part 8

"That's where his lair is," Grandpa Smedry corrected. "That aura glows so brightly because he spends so much time there. You might be able to notice the Dark Oculator's own aura if he's nearby, Alcatraz, but it won't give you much advance warning. Stay quiet and unseen, all right?"

I nodded slowly.

Grandpa Smedry stepped a little closer, speaking quietly. "If you do do run into him, lad, make certain you keep those Oculator's Lenses on. They can protect you from an enemy's Lenses, if you use them right." run into him, lad, make certain you keep those Oculator's Lenses on. They can protect you from an enemy's Lenses, if you use them right."

"How... how do I manage that?" I asked.

"It takes time to practice, lad," Grandpa Smedry said. "Time we don't have! But, well, it probably won't come to that. Just... try to stay away from any rooms that s.h.i.+ne black, okay?"

I nodded again.

"Well, then!" Grandpa Smedry said to the whole group. "The Librarians will have to spend ages cleaning up that mess in the lobby. Hopefully, they won't even notice the door until we're gone. One hour! Quickly, now. We're late!"

With that, Grandpa Smedry spun to the left and began walking down the empty white hallway. Quentin waved good-bye. "Rutabaga, fire over the inheritance!" he said, then rushed after the elderly Oculator.

Sing and Bastille turned to me. It... looks like I'm in charge, It... looks like I'm in charge, I thought with surprise. I thought with surprise.

This was a strange realization. Yes, yes, I know Grandpa Smedry had already said that I would have to lead my group. I shouldn't have been surprised to find myself in this situation. The truth is, however, that I was never the sort of person that people put in charge. Those kinds of duties generally go to the types of boys and girls who deliver apples, answer questions, and smile a lot. Leaders.h.i.+p duties do not not generally go to boys whose desks collapse, who are often accused of playing pranks by removing the doork.n.o.bs of school bathrooms, and who once unwittingly made a friend's pants fall down while he was writing on the chalkboard. generally go to boys whose desks collapse, who are often accused of playing pranks by removing the doork.n.o.bs of school bathrooms, and who once unwittingly made a friend's pants fall down while he was writing on the chalkboard.

I never did manage to get that stunt to work again.

"Um, I guess we go this way," I said, pointing down the hallway.

"You think?" Bastille asked flatly, handing Sing his gym bag of guns. She pulled a pair of sungla.s.ses Warrior's Lenses, as the others called them out of her jacket packet and slipped them on. Then she took off, walking down the hallway, handbag flipped around her shoulder.

If I ordered her to go back and follow Grandpa instead, I wonder if she'd go... I decided that she probably wouldn't. I decided that she probably wouldn't.

"Say, Alcatraz," Sing said as we followed Bastille. "What do you suppose this little wrap on my ankle means?"

I frowned, glancing down. "The bandage?"

"Oh," Sing said. "Is that that what it is? First aid, it is called, correct?" what it is? First aid, it is called, correct?"

"Yes," I said. "Why else would someone wrap your ankle like that?"

Sing glanced down, obviously trying to inspect the ankle bandage while still walking. "Oh, I don't know," he said, "I thought maybe it was some preliminary courts.h.i.+p ritual..." He trailed off, looking toward me hopefully.

"No," I said. "Not a chance."

"That's sad," Sing said. "She was pretty."

"Is that the sort of thing you should be thinking about?" I asked. "I mean, you're an anthropologist you study cultures. Are you allowed to interfere with the 'natives' you meet?"

"What?" Sing said. "Of course we can! Why, we're here here to interfere! We're trying to overthrow Librarian domination of the Hushlands, after all." to interfere! We're trying to overthrow Librarian domination of the Hushlands, after all."

"Why not just let people live their lives, and live yours?"

Sing looked taken aback. "Alcatraz, the Hushlanders are enslaved! They're being kept in ignorance, living only with the most primitive technologies! Besides, we need to do something something to fight. Back at the Conclave of Kings, some people are starting to talk about surrendering to the Librarians completely!" He shook his head. "I'm glad for people like your grandfather, people willing to take the fight into Librarian lands. It shows that we won't just sit back and slowly have our kingdoms taken from us." to fight. Back at the Conclave of Kings, some people are starting to talk about surrendering to the Librarians completely!" He shook his head. "I'm glad for people like your grandfather, people willing to take the fight into Librarian lands. It shows that we won't just sit back and slowly have our kingdoms taken from us."

Up ahead, Bastille glared back at us. "Would you two like to chat a little more?" she snapped. "Perhaps sing a little tune? If there are any Librarians up ahead, we wouldn't want them to miss out on hearing us coming hearing us coming."

Sing looked at his feet sheepishly, and we fell silent though a part of me wanted to yell something like, "What did you say, Bastille?" as loudly as I could. You see, that is the sad, sorry, terrible thing about sarcasm.

It's really funny.

But I just walked quietly, thinking about what Sing had said particularly the part about the Librarians only letting Hushlanders have the most "primitive" of technologies. It seemed ridiculous to me that the Free Kingdomers considered things like guns and automobiles to be "primitive." They weren't primitive, they were... well, they were what I knew. Growing up in America, I'd come to a.s.sume that everything I had and did was the newest, best, and most advanced in the world.

It was very unsettling to be confronted by people who weren't impressed by how advanced my culture was. I wanted to huff and think that whatever they they had must not be all that good either. Except the problem was that I'd had must not be all that good either. Except the problem was that I'd seen seen that they had self-driving cars, gla.s.ses that could track a person's footprints, and armored knights. All were, in one way or another, superior to what I'd know. (Admit it, knights are just cool.) that they had self-driving cars, gla.s.ses that could track a person's footprints, and armored knights. All were, in one way or another, superior to what I'd know. (Admit it, knights are just cool.) I was coming to realize something very difficult. I was slowly accepting that the way I did things the way my people did things might not actually be the best way.

In other words, I was feeling humility.

I sincerely hope that you never have to feel this emotion. Like asparagus and fish, it's not really as good for you as everyone says it is. Selfishness, arrogance, and callousness got me much further than humility ever did.

Have I mentioned that I'm not really a very good person?

Our small group reached the end of the unmarked hallway, Bastille still in the lead. She paused, holding up a hand, peeking around the corner. Then she continued onward, her platform sandals making a slight noise as she stepped onto a carpeted floor. Sing and I followed. The room beyond was filled with books.

Really filled. filled.

Perhaps you've never experienced the full, suffocating majesty of a true library. You Hushlanders have probably visited your local libraries you've perused the parts that normal people are allowed to see. These places tend to have row upon row of neat bookshelves, arranged nicely. They are presented attractively for the same reason that kittens are cute so that they can draw you in, then pounce on you for the kill.

Seriously. Stay away from kittens.

Public libraries exist to entice. The Librarians want everyone to read their books whether those books are deep and poignant works about dead puppies or nonfiction books about made-up topics, like the Pilgrims, penicillin, and France. In fact, the only book they don't don't want you to read is the one you're holding right now. want you to read is the one you're holding right now.

Those aren't real libraries, however. Real libraries take little concern for enticement. You who have visited the bas.e.m.e.nts stacks of a university library's philosophy section know what I'm talking about. In such places, the shelves get squeezed closer and closer together, and they reach higher and higher. Piles of books appear randomly at the junctions and in corners waiting to be shelved, like the fourth-generation descendants of a copy of Summa Theologica and an edition of and an edition of Little Women. Little Women.

Dust settles on the books like a gray perversion of rain forest moss, giving the air a certain moldy, unwelcome scent faintly reminiscent of a baledragon's lair. At each corner, you expect to turn and see the withered, skeletal remains of some poor researcher who got lost in the stacks and never found his way out.

And even those those kinds of libraries are by pale apprentices to the enormous cavern of books that I entered that day. We walked quietly, pa.s.sing shelves packed so tightly together that only an anorexic racing jockey could have squeezed between them. The bookshelves were easily fifteen feet high, and enormous plaques on the ends proclaimed, in very small letters, the t.i.tles each one contained. Long wooden poles with pincerlike hooks leaned against some shelves, and I got the impression that they were used for reaching between the shelves to pull out books. kinds of libraries are by pale apprentices to the enormous cavern of books that I entered that day. We walked quietly, pa.s.sing shelves packed so tightly together that only an anorexic racing jockey could have squeezed between them. The bookshelves were easily fifteen feet high, and enormous plaques on the ends proclaimed, in very small letters, the t.i.tles each one contained. Long wooden poles with pincerlike hooks leaned against some shelves, and I got the impression that they were used for reaching between the shelves to pull out books.

No, I thought, it would take a ridiculous amount of practice to learn to do something like that. I must be wrong. it would take a ridiculous amount of practice to learn to do something like that. I must be wrong.

You may have guessed that I wasn't actually wrong. You see, Librarian apprentices have plenty of time to practice things that are ridiculous. They really only have three duties: First, to learn the incredibly and needlessly complicated filing system used to catalog books in the back library stacks. Second, to practice with the book-hooks. Third, to plot ways to torture an innocent populace.

That third one is the most fun. Kind of like gym cla.s.s for the murderously insane.

Sing, Bastille, and I crept along the rows, careful to keep an eye out for Librarian apprentices. This was undoubtedly the most dangerous thing I'd ever done in my short life. Fortunately, we were able to get to the eastern edge of the room without incident.

"We should move along the wall," Bastille said quietly, "so Alcatraz can look down each row of books. That way, he might see powerful sources of Oculation."

Sing nodded. "But we should move quickly. We need to find the sands and get out fast, before the Librarians realize they've been infiltrated."

They looked at me expectantly. "Uh, that sounds good," I finally said.

"You've got this leaders.h.i.+p thing down, Smedry," Bastille said flatly. "Very inspiring. Come on, then. Let's keep moving."

"Bastille and Sing began to walk along the wall. I however, didn't follow. I had just noticed something hanging on the wall above us: a very large painting that appeared to be an ornate, detailed map of the world.

And it looked nothing like the one I was used to.

Chapter 8

At this point, you're probably expecting to read something like, "I suddenly realized that everything I thought thought I had known was untrue." I had known was untrue."

Though I'll likely use that exact phrase, I should warn you that it is actually misleading. Everything I knew was not not untrue. In fact, many of the things I'd learned about the world were quite true. untrue. In fact, many of the things I'd learned about the world were quite true.

For instance, I knew that the sun came up every day. That was not untrue. (Though, admittedly, that sun shone on a geography I didn't understand.) I knew that my homeland was named the United States of America. That was not untrue. (Though the U.S.A. was not actually run by senators, presidents, and judges but instead by a cult of evil Librarians.) I knew that sharks were annoying. This also was not untrue. (There's actually nothing witty to add here. Sharks are are annoying. Particularly the carnivorous kind.) annoying. Particularly the carnivorous kind.) You have been warned.

I stared up at the enormous wall map and suddenly realized something. Everything I thought I'd known about the world was untrue. "This can't be real..." I whispered stepping back.

I'm afraid it is, Alcatraz," Sing said, laying a hand on my shoulder. "That's the world the entire world, both the Hushlands and the Free Kingdoms. This is the thing that the Librarians don't want you to know about."

I stared. "But it's so... big."

And indeed it was. The Americas were there, represented accurately. The other continents Asia, Australia, Africa, and the rest were there as well. They were collectively labeled INNER LIBRARIA INNER LIBRARIA on the map, but I recognized them easily enough. The difference, then, was the on the map, but I recognized them easily enough. The difference, then, was the new new continents. There were three of them, pressed into the oceans between the familiar continents. Two of the new continents were smaller, perhaps the size of Australia. One, however, was very large. It sat directly in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, right between America and j.a.pan. continents. There were three of them, pressed into the oceans between the familiar continents. Two of the new continents were smaller, perhaps the size of Australia. One, however, was very large. It sat directly in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, right between America and j.a.pan.

It's impossible," I said. "We would have noticed a landma.s.s like that sitting in the middle of the ocean."

"You think think you would have noticed," Sing said. "But the truth is that the Librarians control the information in your country. How often have you personally been out sailing in the middle of what you call the Pacific Ocean?" you would have noticed," Sing said. "But the truth is that the Librarians control the information in your country. How often have you personally been out sailing in the middle of what you call the Pacific Ocean?"

I paused. "But... just because I I haven't been there doesn't mean anything. The ocean is like kangaroos and grandfathers I believe that other people have seen it. s.h.i.+p captains, airplane pilots, satellite images..." haven't been there doesn't mean anything. The ocean is like kangaroos and grandfathers I believe that other people have seen it. s.h.i.+p captains, airplane pilots, satellite images..."

"Satellites controlled by the Librarians," Bastille said, regarding the map through her sungla.s.ses. "Your pilots fly guided by instruments and maps that the Librarians provide. And not many people sail boats in your culture particularly not into the deep ocean. Those who do are bribed, threatened, brainwashed, or most often carefully misled."

Sing nodded. "Those other continents make sense, if you think about it. I mean, a planet that is seventy percent water? What would be the point of so much wasted s.p.a.ce? I'd never never have thought people would buy that lie, had I not studied Hushlander cultures." have thought people would buy that lie, had I not studied Hushlander cultures."

"People go along with what they're told," Bastille said. "Even intelligent people believe what they read and hear, a.s.suming they're given no reason to question."

I shook my head. "A hidden gas station I can believe, but this this? This isn't some little cover-up or misdirection. There are three new continents three new continents on that map!" on that map!"

"Not new," Sing said. "The cultures of the Free Kingdoms are quite well established. Indeed, they're far more advanced that Hushlander cultures."

Bastille nodded. "The Librarians conquered the backward sections of the world first. They're easier to control."

"But..." I said. "What about Columbus? What about history?"

"Lies," Sing said quietly. "Fabrications, many of them the rest are distortions. I mean, haven't you always wondered why your people supposedly developed guns after after more technology-advanced weapons, like swords?" more technology-advanced weapons, like swords?"

"No! Swords aren't aren't more advanced than guns!" more advanced than guns!"

Sing and Bastille shared a glance.

"That's what they they want you to believe, Alcatraz," Sing said. "That way, the Librarians can keep the powerful technology for themselves. Don't you think it's strange that n.o.body in your culture carries swords anymore?" want you to believe, Alcatraz," Sing said. "That way, the Librarians can keep the powerful technology for themselves. Don't you think it's strange that n.o.body in your culture carries swords anymore?"

"NO!" I said, holding up my hands. "Sing, most people don't need to carry swords or even guns!"

"You've been beaten down," Bastille said quietly. "You're docile. Controlled."

"We're happy!" I said.

"Yes," Sing said. "You're quiet, happy, and completely ignorant just like you're supposed to be. Don't you have a phrase 'Ignorance is bliss'?"

"The Librarians came up with that one," Bastille said.

I shook my head. "No," I said. "This is too much. I was willing to overlook the self-driving cars. The magic gla.s.ses... well, they could be some kind of trick. Sneaking into a library, that sounded like fun. But this... this is ridiculous. I can't accept it."

And likely, you Hushlanders are thinking the very same thing. You are saying to yourself, "The story just lost me. It degenerated into pure silliness. And since only silly people enjoy silliness, I'm going to go read a book about a boy whose dog gets killed by his mother. Twice."

Before you embark upon your voyage into caninicide, I'd like to offer a single argument for your consideration: Plato.

Plato was a funny little Greek man who lived a long time ago. He is probably best known for two things: First, for writing stories about his friends, and second for philosophically proving that somewhere in the eternities there exists a perfect slice of cheesecake. (Read the Parmenides Parmenides it's in there.) At this moment, however, the reader should be less interested in cheesecake and more interested in caves. it's in there.) At this moment, however, the reader should be less interested in cheesecake and more interested in caves.

One cave, to be specific. Plato tells a story about a group of prisoners who lived in a very special cave. The prisoners were tied up heads held so they could only face one direction and all they could see was the wall in front of them. A fire behind them threw shadows up on this wall and these shadows were the only things the prisoners ever knew. To them, the shadows were were their world. As far as they knew, there was nothing else. their world. As far as they knew, there was nothing else.

However, one of these prisoners was eventually released and saw that the world was much more than just shadows. At first, he found this new world very, very strange. Once he learned of it, however, he returned and tried to tell his friends about it. They, however, didn't trust him and didn't want to listen to him. They didn't want to believe in this new world, because it didn't make sense to them.

You Hushlanders are like these people. You have, through no fault of your own, lived your entire life believing in the shadows the Librarians have shown you. The things I reveal in this narrative will seem like nonsense to you. There is no getting around this. No matter how logical my arguments are, they will seem illogical to you. Your mind struggling to find ways to hold on to your Librarian lies will think of all kinds of ridiculous concerns. You will ask questions such as, "But what about tidal patterns?" Or, "But how can you explain the lack of increased fuel costs created by airplanes flying around these hidden landma.s.ses?"

Since nothing I can say would be able to pierce your delusions, let the fact that I make no no arguments stand as ultimate proof that I am right. As Plato once said that his friend Socrates once said, "I know that I'm right because I'm the only person humble enough to admit that I'm not." arguments stand as ultimate proof that I am right. As Plato once said that his friend Socrates once said, "I know that I'm right because I'm the only person humble enough to admit that I'm not."

Or something like that.

I stood for a long moment, staring up at that map. Part of me most of me resisted what I was seeing. And yet, the things I had experienced bounced around in my head, reminding me that many things like gas station coolers and young men who set fires to kitchens were not always as simple as they appeared.

"I'll deal with this later," I finally said, turning away from the map. "Let's keep moving."

"Finally," Bastille said. "You Hushlanders. Honestly, sometimes it seems like it would take a hammer to the face to get you to wake up and see the truth."

"Now, Bastille," Sing said as we walked by a long, low filing cabinet. "That really isn't fair. I think young Lord Smedry is doing quite well, all things considered. It isn't every day that "Gak!"

Sing said this last part as he suddenly and without apparent reason, tripped and fell to the ground. I frowned, looking down, but Bastille burst into motion. She hopped dexterously over Sing, then grabbed me by the arm and threw me to the ground behind the filing cabinet. She ducked down beside me.

"Why " I began, rubbing my arm in annoyance. Bastille, however, clapped a hand over my mouth, shooting me a very hostile, very persuasive silencing look.

I fell quiet. Then I heard something. Voices approaching. Bastille removed her hand, the carefully peeked out over the filing cabinet. I moved to do likewise, and Bastille shot me another glance I could see the glare even through her sungla.s.ses. This time, however, I refused to be cowed.

If she can look, so can I, I thought stubbornly. I didn't spend thirteen years being a troublemaker so I can get pushed around by a girl my age. Even if she is a pretty good shot with that handbag of hers. I didn't spend thirteen years being a troublemaker so I can get pushed around by a girl my age. Even if she is a pretty good shot with that handbag of hers.

I peeked over the cabinet. In the distance, moving between two lines of enormous bookshelves, I could see a group of figures. Most looked like they were wearing dark robes.