We quickly threw the robes on over our other clothing.
“Hey,” one of the Librarians said to me, “you look familiar. Are you from section seven, Wardens of the Standard?” It was disturbing that she was a teenager not much older than me. I’d always envisioned all Librarians as super old. Like, in their thirties.
I kept working as the girl inspected me. My face might pose a problem, seeing as how I’d sort of appeared on every glass surface in the world.*
“I’ve got it,” the Librarian girl said. “We met at last year’s Christmas ball and infidel burning. Right?”
I looked at her, and she tapped her chin, then grew suddenly pale. “Oh,” she said, then apparently realized why we might be stealing her clothing. “Oh!”
Mother clocked her. Like, Shasta hit the girl upside the head, knocking her out cold. This finally made the other Librarians worry for their safety, and they scrambled away, hiding behind bookshelves.
“Mother!” I said.
Shasta shrugged. “Best to be safe. Let’s go.”
I couldn’t really complain—we were at war, after all—but that still didn’t seem appropriate. The Librarian girl was basically a civilian.
The robes I had put on didn’t fit—but that didn’t matter, since they didn’t fit the Librarians either. When we left the room, we were well disguised.*
Once again out in the main cavern, we ducked our heads and scuttled away, pretending to be Librarians who were frightened by the firefight. Himalaya’s group had pulled back into the one building and were fighting furiously, isolated and trapped. How would they escape? Would they become another casualty of Smedry recklessness?
Perhaps it was the way that Cousin Dif bounced forward—eager to be on with the infiltration—but I suddenly saw us as the others must. Always stumbling into things, causing a ruckus, then only escaping because our Talents kept us alive. No wonder Draulin griped so much.
We wound through the Highbrary’s main cavern, heads down. This place was extraordinarily elaborate, with stone pathways rising high in the air, forming bridges that wrapped around smaller archive buildings. Everything had a natural look to it, like the stone had just happened to grow that way, although the whole was far too impressive to have been the product of random chance. (Kind of like my ego.)
“So we have to find a high-level Librarian,” I hissed to my mother. I made sure to keep the hood down over my face to prevent anyone else from identifying me.
“It seems our best bet.”
“How will we recognize them?”
“It should be easy.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’m not.”
“I’m Dif!”
We both looked at him.
“Well I am,” Dif said, sullen, as we crossed an arching stone bridge, traveling deeper into the cavern. To my right that spindly tower of rock—the one I’d seen when climbing down from above—reached toward the ceiling. It gave me chills to look at it, and I turned away.
As we drew closer to the outer wall of the cavern, I could see the side tunnels Himalaya had mentioned: they were grand, wide things burrowed into the stone away from this main cavern. Librarians scuttled in and out like ants; many seemed to be carrying on with their normal work despite the battle.
I had an inkling that we needed to get out of the main cavern. Too many peons were doing normal work here. If we wanted to find Librarians like Blackburn or She Who Cannot Be Named, we’d want to look for more exclusive areas. Important people don’t like to be forced to associate with their inferiors.*
I turned us toward one of the tunnels. My mother huffed, as she’d just turned the other direction. “I should be in control here,” she told me. “You don’t know where you’re going.”
“Neither do you. You said you’ve never been in here before.”
“I know general Librarian architecture.”
“Then where should we look?”
“We won’t find any Dark Oculators or high-ranking Wardens of the Standard in here,” my mother said. “We’ll need to look someplace more isolated, more exclusive.”
“Like, say, down that tunnel I pointed us toward.”
My mother ground her teeth. “You,” she said, “are insufferable.”
“And after all the wonderful parenting you did too. Who would have thought?”
“That was uncalled for,” she said. “If we’re going to work together, we obviously need to establish some ground rules.”
“Remember that a GFCI is required for all receptacles in wet locations, as per National Electric Code,” Dif said, raising a finger.
“Not that type of ground rule,”* my mother snapped. She looked to me. “Rule One: You and I need to at least try to get along.”
“I can accept that,” I said.
“Good. Rule Two: I don’t do what you say.”
“Great,” I said. “I hereby instruct you to keep breathing.”
“You are so annoying.”
“Is that Rule Three?”
“It’s a law of the universe,” Mother said, throwing her hands into the air. “You can insult my parenting if you wish, but I did try to see that this didn’t happen!”
“And I’m so sorry to disappoint,”* I said.
“But,” my mother continued, “I don’t know what I expected, considering your father.”
“I doubt I inherited my most annoying attributes one hundred percent completely from him.”
“You certainly did, you little mongrel.”
“Mongrel? As in, a mixed breed of questionable parentage?”
My mother paused. “Huh. Yeah.”
“Rule Three,” I said. “It’s unwise to slander someone’s parentage if, in fact, you are their parent.”
“I can accept that,” my mother said. “Rule Four: Never mention this conversation, or my part in it, to anyone.”
“Rule Five,” Dif added. “Even if you think you can do it softly, never pass gas in a crowded room unless the music is really loud. Better to be safe.”
We both glared at him.
“I learned that one the hard way, I’ll tell you.”
“Rule Six,” I began.
“Wait, no,” Mother said. “You’re not going to let that stand as Rule Five, are you?”
“Do you think it’s false?”
“No. It’s just crude.”*
“Rule Six,” I continued. “I get to choose how to deal with my father. Not you.”
“I can’t accept that,” she said.
“You have to. It’s not negotiable. If you don’t agree, we’ll split up right here, Dif and I going one way, you going the other. I won’t lead you to him unless you’re willing to let me make the decision.”
“I’m his wife!”
“You’re his enemy.”
“So are you.”
“No,” I said as we rounded a corner between two small archive buildings. “I haven’t decided what I am yet. At the very least I want to talk to him before we do anything.”
“I can’t believe you—”
She cut off and we stopped in place. We’d been making our way toward the tunnel at the side of the chamber, but hadn’t noticed the large group of Librarian soldiers gathering here beside the chamber wall.
A tall Librarian woman in a black robe looked toward us. Her jet-black hair was woven within a silver hairnet, and a pair of light-red reading glasses dangled from a chain around her neck. Oculator’s Lenses.
This woman was at least a foot taller than even the soldiers. Pale skin. Black lipstick. Yeah, Mom was right. I recognized a high-ranking Librarian immediately upon seeing her—and worse, this one was apparently a Dark Oculator.
“Ah,” she said. “You three don’t look busy. Gather weapons. We have work to do.”
We gawked at her.
“Now!” she snapped, pointing toward a row of swords along the wall. Reluctantly we moved to obey. Fleeing now, in defiance of an order, would only bring t
his entire crew of fifty soldiers chasing after us.
“Rule Seven,” Cousin Dif muttered as we selected weapons. “From now on, you two spend a little less time arguing about who’s in charge and a little more time paying attention to where you’re shattering leading us!”
Chapter
13
You may have noticed my use of puns in the last chapter. I mean, I pointed them out pretty blatantly, so if you didn’t notice, it means you aren’t paying attention as you read. And in that case, you should AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Awake now? Good! Now, those of you who were sleepy, go reread that last chapter, because it was really clever and I don’t want you to miss any of it. The rest of you, let’s talk about puns.*
Puns are obviously the highest form of literary genius that an author can display. Shakespeare used puns, and we all know he invented every word in the English language. I mean, before that guy we were all speaking French or something. (Which was super inconvenient, since France doesn’t actually exist and neither does its language. So I imagine all interactions between people went something like what you saw in Chapter Alice. You may commence shuddering in horror at that idea.)
Yeah. So, here’s a tip for you. Use a lot of puns in your writing. That way, when someone complains that your book isn’t entertaining enough—or that it makes too many self-indulgent deviations into meaningless explanations of writing techniques—you can point out your use of brilliant puns to conclusively prove that they are an ignorant savage or something.
We lined up with the other Librarians, awkwardly carrying swords and shields, still wearing our robes as disguises. We weren’t the only minor Librarians the Dark Oculator had recruited; fully half the group lining up here wore awkward-fitting robes like ours and were the type of people who seemed better suited to unsplicing commas than cutting out enemy spleens.
I glanced at my mother, who—in the shuffling as the Librarians formed marching lines—had been pushed back two rows from me. She nervously tugged the hood of her robe down farther; I wasn’t the only recognizable one in our team. Dif did likewise on my right, but I wasn’t too worried about him.
Did I have a Lens that would get us out of this? I fished in the pocket of my robe, where I’d deposited my Lenses. Shaper’s Lens, Truthfinder’s Lens, Courier’s Lenses, basic Oculator’s Lenses, and the Shamefiller’s Lens. I wasn’t about to begin blowing people up with that last one—far too messy—and the others would be too slow to use in any realistic way. Using one would reveal me to the Dark Oculator.
That’s not all that could give me away, I realized uncomfortably, glancing again at the reading glasses hanging around the woman’s neck. If she put those on, I’d glow like a Christmas tree; another Oculator is easily spotted by one of our kind who is looking.
My every instinct screamed at me to get out of this line of troops and hide. At the same time she was exactly what I’d been searching for—a high-ranking Librarian with access to the more hidden parts of the Highbrary. What I really needed to do was find a way to disable the other fifty troops, capture this woman, then intimidate her into giving me her index.
Right. Piece of cake.*
The Dark Oculator, fortunately, didn’t put on her Lenses. Instead she led us all in a march around the outside perimeter of the main cavern. I glanced toward Dif, or where I thought Dif had been standing. Instead there was an awkward-looking young Librarian youth with pimples and braces. I did catch a glimpse of a dark Librarian robe swooshing as it ducked to the side of a building we passed.
Shattering Glass! How had he managed to escape so easily? Had that been his Talent? Might have been; I didn’t remember seeing him leave. I still needed to talk to him about that. If I could find out why his was working and the rest weren’t, I might be able to figure out what was going on.
I glanced back at my mother, who was still in line. She watched that Dark Oculator, probably thinking—as I had—that this would be an excellent chance to get the information we needed. Assuming we didn’t also end up with a lot of “being killed” we didn’t need.
“I’m a terrible robe,” a voice whispered in my head. “I have spots of mustard all over my hem. Oh, why couldn’t I be cleaner?”
What in the cake? I fiddled in my pocket, looking for my Shamefiller’s Lens.
“We’re going to fight those people who broke in,” the boy next to me said.
I started. Had he been talking to me? But no, an older Librarian marching beside him replied. “I doubt it,” the man said. “I have a cousin who does archives on the soda cans near there, and he says that they’re keeping underlings away. Something about dangerous literalogical warfare being employed.”
I searched desperately in my pocket as my robe kept talking, sounding more and more ashamed. My fingers brushed one of my Lenses, and it had grown warm to the touch.
It had activated without my direct command. I wasn’t glowing yet—that was good—but the fact that the Lens was acting on its own seemed like a very, very bad precedent.
“I’ll bet we’ve been recruited to go do something about those ghosts,” said a woman behind us.
“The … ghosts?” asked the boy beside me. “That’s a rumor.”
“Nope,” the woman said, and she seemed to take delight in saying it. “Didn’t you hear? They’ve been sending initiates to the Library of Alexandria, forcing them to give up their souls for books, then towing them back here to interrogate them on what they learned.”
“That’s not it,” said the older Librarian man. “They’ve found a way to transport books from the Library of Alexandria here without making someone touch them. They use some kind of robot that the old spirits don’t know how to react to, so they can’t punish anyone for moving the volumes. Instead, they’ve come here to guard their tomes. That’s why people keep seeing them around.”
Great. Undead Librarians too? This infiltration was getting more and more fun by the moment. I latched on to my Shamefiller’s Lens, forcing it—with effort—to power down. As it grew cool to my touch, I let out a relieved breath. Having my robe suddenly explode with me still in it seemed like a very embarrassing way to die. I added it to my list.*
“I…” the young Librarian said, then gulped. “I still think the ghosts are rumors.”
“Think what you want, Kyle,” the woman said. “Doesn’t change the truth.” Someone nudged me in the back. “What about you? Have you seen them?”
“Uh…” I said. “Nope. Haven’t seen them.”
The youth looked at me, peering into my hood, which had slipped back a little. “Hey. You’re not from our sector.”
“The Oculator grabbed him and his team last-minute,” the older Librarian man said. “What are you guys? Card runners?”
“Yeah,” I said. “But I’m new.”
“Did we train together?” the youth asked. “You look familiar to me.…”
Oh, cake.
“Yeah, we did,” I said. “But I got moved out of training quickly.”
“I—”
“You back there!” the Oculator in front snapped. “Quiet!”
Never had I been so happy to be shushed by a Librarian. Fortunately, the youth seemed to lose interest in interrogating me—instead growing nervous as we approached a large side tunnel that, unlike the others, didn’t have people flowing in and out of it.
Our group stopped at the mouth of this tunnel: a deep passage of rock, lined at the sides with oil lamps in the shape of metal skulls with the fire coming out of their upturned mouths. They
stared at the ceiling, eye holes gaping, like doomed souls.*
Bestial roars echoed down that hallway. Terrible screeches, along with thumping and the sound of claws on rock. The Librarians around me huddled closer together and held out swords. Some real Librarian soldiers—beefy men in bow ties, suspenders, and plaid shirts that barely contained their muscles—stood just inside the tunnel. It didn’t look like they were going to have to fight whatever was in there; the Dark Oculator had intentionally gathered up expendable troops.
“All right, people,” the woman said to us. “We need you to do a little reconnaissance. Go in, figure out what is making that noise, and report back. Bring me its head and you’ll be richly rewarded.”
Another roar echoed in the hallway, a sound like a lion being eaten by a dragon during a heavy metal concert. Whatever else happened, I couldn’t let myself be sent in to fight that thing. I needed to talk to this Dark Oculator, get information out of her, and …
And I started as I realized she’d put on her Oculator’s Lenses to peer down the darkened corridor. She apparently didn’t see anything interesting through her Lenses, for she turned lazily back toward us to give another order.
She stopped mid-word as she saw me.
I pulled down the front of my hood to obscure my face, then ducked out of the line and strode toward the front of the group, dragging the big sword I’d been given as a weapon. My mother had moved up in the line to look down the corridor, and as I passed she hissed at me, “What are you doing?”
There was no time to explain. I stepped right up to the Dark Oculator. “I believe I am in the wrong place,” I said, speaking with a rasping voice. “I was upon another mission when you pulled me into your team. I came along out of curiosity, but I must now be away.”
“Who are you?” the woman snapped. “Too much power … What Lenses are you holding?” She reached for the front of my hood, to pull it back and reveal my face.
I slapped her hand away. “I come on the authority of the Scrivener himself, and have power beyond your imagining. That is all you need know.”
The Dark Talent Page 10