It was a lie.
I could see it plain and clear through the corner of the Lens. When she spoke the words, black sludge fell from her lips.
"Shasta Smedry," the soldier said, smiling. "The woman who would marry just to get a Talent, and who would spawn a child just to sell him to the highest bidder!"
"Why should I feel anything for the son of a Nalhallan? Take the boy. I don't care.”
Another lie.
"Let's just get on with this,” she finished. Her manner was so controlled, so calm. You'd never have known that she was lying through her teeth.
But . . . what did it mean? She couldn't care for me. She was a terrible, vile person. Monsters like her didn't have feelings.
She couldn't care about me. I didn't want her to. It was so much more simple to assume that she was heartless.
"What about Father?" I found myself whispering. "Do you hate him too?"
She turned toward me, meeting my eyes. She parted her lips to speak, and I thought I caught a trail of black smoke begin to slip out and pour toward the ground.
Then it stopped. "What's he doing?" she snapped, pointing. "Fitzroy, I thought I told you to keep those Lenses secured!"
The Oculator jumped in shock, rushing over and grabbing the Truthfinder's Lens and pocketing it. "Sorry," he said. He took the other Lenses and placed them in another pocket of his coat.
I leaned back, feeling frustrated. What now?
I was the brave and brilliant Alcatraz Smedry. Books had been written about me. Rikers was smiling, as if this were all a big adventure. And I could guess why. He didn't feel threatened. He had me to save him.
It was then that I understood what Grandpa Smedry had been trying to tell me. Fame itself wasn't a bad thing. Praise wasn't a bad thing. The danger was assuming that you really were what everyone imagined you to be.
I'd come into this all presuming that my Talent could get us out. Well, now it couldn't. I'd brought us into danger because I'd let my self-confidence make me overconfident.
And you all are to blame for this, in part. This is what your adoration does. You create for yourselves heroes using our names, but those fabrications are so incredible, so elevated that the real thing can never live up to them. You destroy us, consume us.
And I am what's left over when you're done.
CHAPTER 19
Oh, wasn’t that how you expected me to end that last chapter? Was it kind of a downer? Made you feel bad about yourself?
Well, good.
We're getting near the end, and I'm tired of putting on a show for you. I've tried to prove that I'm arrogant and selfish, but I just don't think you're buying it. So, maybe if I make the book a depressing pile of slop, you'll leave me alone.
"Alcatraz?" Bastille whispered.
I mean, why is it that you readers always assume that you're never to blame for anything? You just sit there, comfortable on your couch while we suffer. You can enjoy our pain and our misery because you're safe.
Well, this is real to me. It's real. It still affects me. Ruins me.
"Alcatraz?" Bastille repeated.
I am not a god. I am not a hero. I can't be what you want me to be. I can't save people, or protect them, because I can't even save myself!
I am a murderer. Do you understand? I KILLED HIM.
"Alcatraz!" Bastille hissed.
I looked up from my bonds. A good half hour had passed. We were still captive, and I'd tried dozens of times to summon my Talent. It was unresponsive. Like a sleeping beast that refused to awaken. I was powerless.
My mother chatted with the other Librarians, who had sent in teams to rifle through the books and determine if there was anything else of value inside the archives. From what I'd heard when I cared enough to pay attention, they were planning on swapping the rooms back soon.
Sing had tried to crawl away at one point. He had earned himself a boot to the face – he was already beginning to get a black eye. Himalaya sniffled quietly, leaning against Folsom. Prince Rikers continued to sit happily, as if this were all a big exciting amusement-park ride.
"We need to escape," Bastille said. "We need to get out. The treaty will be ratified in a matter of minutes!"
"I've failed, Bastille,” I whispered. "I can't get us out."
“Alcatraz . . ." she said. She sounded so exhausted. I glanced at her and saw the haunted fatigue from before, but it seemed even worse.
"I can barely keep myself awake," she whispered. “This hole inside . . . it seems to be chewing on my mind, sucking out everything I think and feel. I can't do this without you. You've got to lead us. I love my brother but he’s useless.”
"That's the problem," I said, leaning back. "I am too.”
The Librarians were approaching. I stiffened, but they didn't come for me. Instead, they grabbed Himalaya.
She cried out, struggling.
"Let go of her!" Folsom bellowed. "What are you doing?”
He tried to jump after them, but his hands and legs were tied, and all he managed to do was lurch forward onto his face. The Librarian thugs smiled, shoving him to the side, where he caused the table beside us to topple over. It scattered our possessions – some keys, a couple of coin pouches, one book – to the floor.
The book was the volume of Alcatraz Smedry and the Mechanic's Wrench that Folsom had been carrying earlier and it fell open to the front page. My theme music began to play, and I tensed, hoping for Folsom to attack.
But, of course, he didn't. He wore the Inhibitor’s Glass on his arm. The little melody continued to sound; it was supposed to be brave and triumphant, but now it seemed a cruel parody.
My theme music played while I failed.
"What are you doing to her?" Folsom repeated, struggling uselessly as a Librarian stood with his boot on Folsom's back.
The young Oculator Fitzroy approached; he still wore my Disguiser's Lenses, which gave him an illusionary body that made him look handsome and strong. "We've had a request," he said. "From She Who Cannot Be Named."
"You're in contact with her?" Sing demanded.
"Of course we are," Fitzroy said. "We Librarian sects get along far better than you all would like to think. Now, Ms. Snorgan . . . Sorgavag . . . She Who Cannot Be Named was not pleased to discover that Shasta's team had planned to steal the Royal Archives – definitely a library – on the very day of the treaty ratification. However, when she heard about a very special captive we'd
obtained, she was a little more forgiving."
"You shall never get away with this, foul monster!" Prince Rikers suddenly exclaimed. "You may hurt me, but you shall never wound me!"
We all stared at him.
"How was that?" he asked me. "I think it was a good line. Maybe I should do it over. You know, get more baritone into it. When the villain talks about me, I should respond, right?"
"I wasn't talking about you," Fitzroy said, shaking Himalaya. "I'm talking about She Who Cannot Be Named’s former assistant. I think it's time to show you all what happens when someone betrays the Librarians."
I had sudden flashbacks to being tortured by Blackburn. The Dark Oculators seemed to delight in pain and suffering.
It didn't seem that Fitzroy was even going to bother with the torture part. The thugs held Himalaya back, and Fitzroy produced a knife. He held it to her neck. Sing began to cry out, requiring several guards to hold him down. Folsom was bellowing in rage. Librarian scientists just continued monitoring their equipment in the background.
This is what it came down to. Me, too weak to help. I was nothing without my Talent or my Lenses.
"Alcatraz,” Bastille whispered. Somehow I heard her over all the other noise. "I believe in you.”
It was virtually the same thing others had been telling me since I'd arrived in Nalhalla. But those things had all been lies. They hadn't known me.
But Bastille did. And she believed in me.
From her, that meant something.
I turned with desperation, looking at Himalaya, who was held captive, weeping. Fitzroy seemed to be enjoying the pain he was causing the rest of us by holding that knife to her throat. I knew, at that moment, that he really intended to kill her. He would murder her in front of the man who loved her.