Alcatraz Versus The Evil Librarians Part 9

"Librarian apprentices," Sing whispered, peeking up beside me. "Doing their tasks. Somewhere in this room, the Master Librarians have placed one misfiled volume. The apprentices have to find it."

I eyed the nearly endless rows of tightly packed bookshelves. "That could take years!" I whispered.

Sing nodded. "Some go insane from the pressure. They're usually the ones who get promoted first."

I s.h.i.+vered as the group moved off. There were a couple of much larger figures following them, and these weren't dressed in robes. They were entirely white, and their bodies moved in a not-quite-natural manner. They lumbered as they stepped, arms held too far to the sides. They trailed behind the Librarian apprentices, moving with ponderous steps, some carrying stacks of books.

I squinted, looking closer. The whitish figures glowed slightly, giving off a dark haze. The apprentices and the white figures turned a corner, disappearing from view.

"What were those?" I whispered. "Those white things that were with them?"

"Alivened," Bastille said, s.h.i.+vering. She glanced at me, standing up. "When Sing trips, Smedry, always always duck." duck."

"You trip whenever there's danger?"

"Of course not," Sing said. "I only trip when there's danger and when tripping will be helpful. Or, at least, that's usually the way it works."

"Better that your Talent, Oculator," Bastille said with a snort. "Do you want to tell me how you managed to break break the carpet?" the carpet?"

I glanced down. The carpet lay unraveled around me, separated into individual strands of yarn.

"Come on," Bastille said. "We should keep moving."

I nodded, as did Sing, and we continued along the perimeter of the musty library chamber. We walked in silence; the sight of the apprentices had reminded us of the need for stealth. However, it quickly grew apparent to me that searching through that room wouldn't lead us to the Sands of Ras.h.i.+d. Despite the room's many alcoves (the thousands upon thousands of bookshelves made it feel like a cubicle-filled office for demonic bibliophiles) it didn't seem like the kind of place where one kept objects of great power. I figured that the sands would be in a locked room, or perhaps a laboratory. Not a vast storage chamber. I spotted a stairwell to the right, and I waved to the others. "We should go up to the second floor."

Bastille raised an eyebrow. "We haven't finished checking this room yet."

"We don't have time," I said, glancing at the hourgla.s.s Grandpa Smedry had given me. "This room is too big. Besides, it doesn't feel right."

"We're going to let the fate of the world rest on your feelings?" she asked flatly.

"He is is our Oculator, Bastille," Sing reminded her. "If he says we go up, then we go up. Besides, he's probably right the sands aren't likely to be here in the stacks. Somewhere in this building should be a Lens forge. our Oculator, Bastille," Sing reminded her. "If he says we go up, then we go up. Besides, he's probably right the sands aren't likely to be here in the stacks. Somewhere in this building should be a Lens forge. That's That's where they've probably got the sands." where they've probably got the sands."

Bastille sighed, the shrugged. "Whatever," she said, pus.h.i.+ng past me to lead the way toward the stairs.

I was a little bit surprised that they'd listened to me. I followed Bastille, and Sing took the rear. The stairwell was made of stone, and it reminded me distinctly of something one might find in a medieval castle. It wound in circles around itself and was encased entirely in a ma.s.sive stone pillar, lit by little frosted windows that let in marginal amounts of daylight.

After several minutes of climbing the steep steps, I was puffing. "Shouldn't we have reached the second floor by now?"

"s.p.a.ce distortion," Bastille said from in front of me. "You didn't honestly expect the Librarians to confine their entire base into a building as small as this one looks?"

"No," I said. "I saw the stretching aura outside. But, I mean, how far up can this stairwell go?"

"As far as it need to," Bastille said testily.

I sighed but continued to climb. By that logic, that stairwell could go on forever. I didn't however, want to contemplate that point. "For how 'advanced' you people always claim to be," I noted, "you'd think that the Librarians would have elevators in their buildings."

Bastille snorted. "Elevators? How primitive."

"Well, they're better than stairs."

"Of course they aren't," Bastille said. "It took society centuries centuries to develop from the elevator to the flight of stairs." to develop from the elevator to the flight of stairs."

I frowned. "That doesn't make any sense. Stairs are far less advanced that elevators."

She glanced over her shoulder, looking at me over the top of her sungla.s.ses. I was annoyed to note that she didn't seem the least bit winded.

"Don't be silly," she said. "Why would elevators be more more advanced than stairs? Obviously, stairs take more effort to climb, are harder to construct, and are far more healthy to use. Therefore, they took longer to develop. Don't you realize how stupid you sound when you claim otherwise?" advanced than stairs? Obviously, stairs take more effort to climb, are harder to construct, and are far more healthy to use. Therefore, they took longer to develop. Don't you realize how stupid you sound when you claim otherwise?"

"No," I said, annoyed. "The opposite opposite is stupid to me. And does everything you say have to sound like an insult?" is stupid to me. And does everything you say have to sound like an insult?"

"Only when I intend to be insulting," she said, turning and resuming her climb.

I sighed, looking back at Sing, who just shrugged and smiled, still carrying his gym bag of guns. We kept moving.

Stairs are more advanced than elevators? I thought. I thought. Ridiculous. Ridiculous.

Caves. Caves, shadows, and cheesecake.

We eventually reached the top of the stairwell, and it opened out into a long hallway constructed of stone blocks. Along this hallway was a line of large, thick, wooden doors set into stone archways.

"This is more like it," I said. "I'll bet the sands are behind one of these doors."

"Well," Bastille said, "let's try one, then."

I nodded, then walked up to the first door. I listened at it for a moment, but either there was no sound on the other side of the wood was so thick that I couldn't hear anything.

"See any darkness around the door?" Bastille whispered.

I shook my head.

"The Dark Oculator probably isn't in there, then," Bastille said quietly.

"It could open into anything," Sing said.

"Well, we'll never find the sands if we keep to the hallways," Bastille said.

I glanced at the other doors. None of them seemed to glow any more than the others. Bastille was right we had to start trying them, and any one was as good as the next. So, I took a breath and pushed against the door in front of me. I'd intended to move it open slightly, so we could peek in, but the door swung far more easily than I'd expected. It flew open, exposing the large room beyond, and I stumbled into the doorway.

The room was filled with dinosaurs. Real, live, moving dinosaurs. One of them waved at me.

I paused for a moment. "Oh," I finally said, "is that all? I was worried that I might find something strange in here."

Chapter 9

I'd like you to realize two things at this point.

First, I want you to know that when I uttered the words "Oh, is that all? I was worried I might find something strange in here," I wasn't being sarcastic in the least. Actually, I as being quite serious. (Nearly as serious, even, as the moment when I would plead for my life while tied to an altar of outdated encyclopedias.) You see, after all I'd seen that day, I was growing desensitized to strangeness. The realization that the world contained three new continents still had me in shock. Compared to that revelation, a room full of dinosaurs just couldn't compete.

"Why, h.e.l.lo, good chap!" cried a small green Peteridactyl. "You don't look like a Librarian sort."

Talking rocks might have gotten a reaction out of me. A talking slice of cheese definitely would have. Talking dinosaurs... meh.

The second thing I want you to realize is this: You were warned beforehand about the talking dinosaurs. (Kindly see page 67.) So no whining.

I stepped into the room. It was some sort of storage chamber and was filled with battered cages. Many of those cages contained... well, dinosaurs. At least, that's what they looked like to me.

Of course, they were quite different from the dinosaurs I'd learned about in school. For one thing, they weren't very big. (The largest one, an orange Tyrannosaurus Rex, was maybe five or six feet tall. The smallest looked to be only about three feet tall.) The vests, trousers , and British accents were unexpected as well.

"I say," said a Triceratops. "Do you think he's a mute? Does anybody by chance know sign language?"

"Which sign language do you mean?" asked the Pteridactle. "American primitive, New Elshamian, or Librarian standard?"

"My hands aren't articulated enough for sign language," noted the Tyrannosaurus Rex. "That's always been rather a bother for deaf members of my subspecies.

"He can't be mute!" another said. "Didn't he say something when he opened the door?"

Bastille poked her head into the room. "Dinosaurs," she said, noticing the cages. "Useless. Let's move on."

"I say!" said the Triceratops. "Charles, did you hear that?"

"I did indeed!" replied the Pterydactle. "Quite rude, if I do say so myself."

I frowned. "Wait. Dinosaurs are British?

"Of course not," Bastille said, stepping into the room with a sigh. "They're Melerandian."

"But they're speaking English with a British accent," I said.

"No," Bastille said, rolling her eyes. "They're speaking Meleran Meleran just like we are. Where do you think the British and the Americans got the language from?" just like we are. Where do you think the British and the Americans got the language from?"

"Uh... from Great Britain?"

Sing chuckled, stepping into the room and quietly shutting the door. "You think a little island like that sp.a.w.ned a language used by most of the world?"

I frowned again. "I say," said Charles the Pterrodactlye. "Do you suppose you could let us free? It's terribly terribly uncomfortable in here." uncomfortable in here."

"No," Bastille said curtly. "We have to keep a low profile. If you escaped, you could give us away." Then, under her breath, she muttered, "Come on. We don't want to get involved."

"Why not?" I asked. "Maybe they could help us."

Bastille shook her head. "Dinosaurs are never never useful." useful."

"She certainly is a rude one, isn't she?" asked the Triceratops.

"Tell me about it," I replied, ignoring the dark look Bastille shot me. "Why are you dinosaurs here anyway?"

"Oh, we're to be executed, I'm afraid," Charles said.

The other dinosaurs nodded.

"What did you do?" I asked. "Eat somebody important?"

Charles gasped. "No, no. That's a Librarian myth, good sir. We don't eat people. Not only would that be barbaric of us, but I'm sure you would taste terrible! Why all we did was come to your continent for a visit!"

"Stupid creatures," Bastille said, leaning against the door. "Why would you visit the Hushlands? You know that the Librarians have built you up as mythological monsters."

"Actually," Sing noted, "I believe the Librarians claim that dinosaurs are extinct."

"Yes, yes," Charles said. "Quite true. That's why they're going to execute us! Something about enlarging our bones, then putting them inside of rock formations, so that they can be dug out by human archaeologists."

"Terribly undignified!" the T. Rex said.

"Why did you even come here?" Sing asked. "The Hushlands aren't the type of place one comes on vacation."

The dinosaurs exchanged ashamed glances.

"We... wanted to write a paper," Charles admitted. "About life in the Hushlands."

"Oh, for the love of..." I said. "Is everybody everybody from your continent a professor?" from your continent a professor?"

"We're not professors," the T. Rex huffed.

"We're field researchers," Charles said. "Completely different."

"We wanted to study primitives in their own environment," the Triceratops said. Then he squinted, looking up at Sing. "I say, don't I recognize you?"

Sing smiled modestly. "Sing Smedry."

"Why, it is is you!" the Triceratops said. "I absolutely you!" the Triceratops said. "I absolutely loved loved your paper on Hushlander bartering techniques. Do they really trade little books in exchange for goods?" your paper on Hushlander bartering techniques. Do they really trade little books in exchange for goods?"

"They call the books 'dollar bills,'" Sing said. They're each only one page long and yes, they do use them as currency. What else would you expect from a society constructed by Librarians?"

"Can we go?" Bastille asked, looking tersely at me.

"What about freeing us?" the Triceratops asked. "It would be terribly kind of you. We'll be quiet. We know how to sneak."

"We're quite good at blending in," Charles agreed.

"Oh?" Bastille asked, raising an eyebrow. "And how long did you last on this continent before being captured?"