"Maybe . . . maybe I could look at the treaty?" Himalaya said. "If I read it over, perhaps I would see something that you Nalhallans haven't. Some trick the Librarians are pulling that we could show to the monarchs?"
"Excellent!" Grandpa Smedry said. "Folsom?"
"I'll take her to the palace," he said. "There's a public copy there we can read."
"Lord Smedry," Sing said, "I think that you should speak to the kings again."
"I've tried that, Sing!"
"Yes," the Mokian said, "but maybe you could address them formally in session. Maybe . . . I don't know maybe that will embarrass them in front of the crowds."
Grandpa Smedry frowned. "Well, yes. I'd rather do a daring infiltration, though! "
"There . . . aren't many places to infiltrate,” Sing said. "The entire city is friendly toward us."
"Except that Librarian embassy," Grandpa Smedry said, eyes twinkling.
We sat for a moment, then glanced at Bastille. She was supposed to be the voice of reason, telling us to avoid doing things that were . . . well, stupid.
She just stared forward, though, stunned from what had been done to her.
"Blast," Grandpa Smedry said. "Somebody tell me that infiltrating the embassy is a terrible idea!"
"It's a terrible idea," I said. "I don't know why, though."
"Because there's not likely to be anything of use there!” Grandpa Smedry said. "They're too clever for that. If anything, they have a secret base somewhere in the city. That’s where we'd need to infiltrate, but we don't have time to find it! Somebody tell me that I should just go speak to the kings again."
"Uh," Sing said, "didn't I just do that?”
"I need to hear it again, Sing.” Grandpa Smedry said. "I'm old and stubborn!"
"Then, really, you should speak to the kings."
"Spoilsport," Grandpa Smedry muttered under his breath.
I sat back, thinking. Grandpa Smedry was right – there probably was a secret Librarian lair in the city. My bet was that we'd find it somewhere near where my mother vanished when I was trailing her.
"What are the Royal Archives?" I asked.
"They're not a library," Folsom said quickly.
"Yes, the sign said that," I replied. "But if they aren't a library, what are they?" (I mean, telling me what something isn't really wasn't all that useful. I could put out a blorgadet and hang a sign on it that said "Most certainly not a hippopotamus" and it wouldn't help. I'd also be lying, since “blorgadet" is actually Mokian for hippopotamus.)
Grandpa Smedry turned toward me. "The Royal Archives –“
"Not a library,” Sing added.
" – are a repository for the kingdom's most important texts and scrolls."
"That, uh, sounds an awful lot like a library," I said.
"But it's not," Folsom said. "Didn't you hear?"
"Right . . ." I said. "Well, a repository for books –“
"Which is in no way a library,” Grandpa Smedry said.
" – sounds like exactly the sort of place the Librarians would be interested in." I frowned in thought. "Are there books in the Forgotten Language in there?"
"I'd guess some," Grandpa Smedry said. "Never been in there myself."
"You haven't?" I asked, shocked.
"Too much like a library," Grandpa Smedry said. "Even if it isn't one."
You Hushlanders may be confused by statements like this. After all, Grandpa Smedry, Sing, and Folsom have all been presented as very literate fellows. They're academics – quite knowledgeable about what they do. How, then, have they avoided libraries and reading?
The answer is that they haven't avoided reading. They love books. However, to them, books are a little like teenage boys: Whenever they start congregating, they make trouble.
"The Royal Archives," I said, then quickly added, “and I know it's not a library. Whatever it is, that's where my mother was going. I'm sure of it. She has the Translator's Lenses; she's trying to find something in there. Something important."
"Alcatraz, the place is very well guarded,” Grandpa Smedry said. “I doubt even Shasta would be able to sneak in unseen.”
"I still think we should visit," I said. "We can look and see if there's anything suspicious going on."
"All right," Grandpa Smedry said. "You take Bastille and Sing and go. I'll compose a stirring speech to give at the final proceedings this evening! Maybe if I'm lucky, someone will try to assassinate me during the speech. That would make it at least ten times more dramatic!"
"Grandpa,” I said.
"Yes?"
"You're crazy.”
"Thank you! All right, let's get moving! We have an entire continent to save!"
CHAPTER 13
People tend to believe what other people tell them. This is particularly true if the people who are telling the people the thing that they're telling them are people who have a college degree in the thing about which they are telling people. (Telling, isn't it?)
College degrees are very important. Without college degrees, we wouldn't know who was an expert and who wasn't. And if we didn't know who was an expert, we wouldn't know whose opinion was the most important to listen to.
Or at least that's what the experts want us to believe. Those who have listened to Socrates know that they're supposed to ask questions. Questions like "If all people are equal, then why is my opinion worth less than that of the expert?" or "If I like reading this book, then why should I let someone else tell me that I shouldn't like reading it?"
That isn't to say that I don't like critics. My cousin is one, and – as you have seen – he's a very nice fellow. All I'm saying is that you should question what others tell you, even if they have a college degree. There are a lot of people who might try to stop you from reading this book. They'll come up to you and say things like "Why are you reading that trash?" or "You should be doing your homework," or "Help me, I'm on fire!"
Don't let them distract you. It's of vital importance that you keep reading. This book is very, very important. After all, it's about me.
"The Royal Archives," I said, looking up at the vast building in front of me.
"Not a library," Sing added.
"Thanks, Sing," I said dryly. "I'd almost forgotten."
"Glad to help!" he said as we walked up the steps. Bastille followed; she was still barely responsive. She'd come to us because she'd been kicked out of Crystallia. Getting cut off from the knights' magic rock also required a period of exile from their giant glass mushroom.
(Those of you in the Hushlands, I dare you to work that last sentence into a conversation. "By the way, Sally, did you know that getting cut off from the knights' magic rock also requires a period of exile from their giant glass mushroom?")
A dragon crawled along the sides of the castles above me, growling quietly to itself. The Royal Archives (not a library) looked a lot like a building out of Greek history, with its magnificent white pillars and marble steps. The only difference was that it had castlelike towers. In Nalhalla, everything has castle towers. Even the outhouses. (You know, in case someone tries to seize the throne.)
"It's been a long time since I've been here," Sing said, happily waddling beside me. It was good to spend time with the pleasant anthropologist again.
"You've been here before?" I asked.
Sing nodded. "During my undergraduate days, I had to do research on ancient weapons. This place has books you can't find anywhere else. I'm actually a little sad to be back."
"This place is that bad?" I asked as we entered the cavernous main room of the Royal Archives. I didn't see any books – it looked mostly empty.
"This place?" Sing asked. "Oh, I didn't mean the Royal Archives, which is not a library. I was talking about Nalhalla. I didn't get to do as much research in the Hushlands as I wanted! I was deeply engaged in a study on Hushlander transportation when your grandfather got me and we started our infiltration."
"It's really not that interesting there," I said.
r /> "You just say that because you are accustomed to it!" Sing said. "Each day, something new and exciting happened! Right before we left, I finally managed to meet a real cabdriver! I had him drive me around the block, and while I was disappointed that we didn't get into a car wreck, I'm sure after a few more days I could have experienced one."
"Those are kind of dangerous, Sing."
"Oh, I was ready for danger,” he said. "I made sure to wear safety goggles!"
I sighed, but made no other comment. Trying to curb Sing's love of the Hushlands was like . . . well, like kicking a puppy. A six-foot-eight, three-hundred-fifty-pound Hawaiian puppy. Who liked to carry guns.
"This place doesn't look all that impressive," I said, glancing about at the majestic pillars and enormous hallways. "Where are the books?"