‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I don’t know anything.’
‘Ah. Well, then, lad, you should rest. Rest indeed . . .’
When I next awoke, I had a stream of visitors. Aluki, Aydee, Kaz, then countless Mokians wishing to show their appreciation for me saving their city.
I tried to explain that I’d destroyed their city, but they weren’t listening. The Librarians had retreated; Mokia was safe. What was left of it, at least.
I kept waiting to see if Bastille, the king, or the queen would come to see me. None of them did, though someone did bring me a cheese sandwich and insist that I eat it, thereby fulfilling the holy prophecy of the Author’s Foreword, as was spoken by Alcatraz Smedry.
Finally, I asked the question I’d been dreading and got the answer I’d feared. Those who’d been knocked unconscious during the war were still in comas. The Librarians had fled, taking the antidote with them.
Mokian scientists were confident they could find a cure, given enough time. But in the end, I had failed Bastille after all. And Mokia too – more than half of their population were still unconscious.
I didn’t say this to the Mokians. Instead, I nodded and accepted thanks. I couldn’t really explain how I felt. I wasn’t the same person anymore. Too much had happened. Too much had changed.
I was finally free of the Talent, and that terrified me. Where was it? What had I done?
When I remembered that I’d lost my Translator’s Lenses, that only made me feel sicker.
My final visitor of the day was a very unexpected one. She sauntered in, accompanied by my grandfather and two guards. Shasta Smedry, my mother. She still wore her Librarian business suit and skirt. Her blond hair was down, and they’d taken her glasses as a precaution.
My mother could have been a pretty woman if she’d wanted to be. That had never seemed to matter to her.
‘Lad,’ Grandpa said, ‘she insisted that we bring her to you. I’m not sure if it was a good idea.’
‘It’s all right,’ I said, focusing on Shasta. ‘You should be gone. The Librarians who kidnapped me went back and freed all of you.’
‘Yes, they did,’ she said. ‘And I waited behind to get captured again.’
I frowned.
‘I think your father is going to come here,’ Shasta said, eyeing her guards with a raised eyebrow. ‘The catacombs of the Mokian Royal University are said to have walls that are inscribed with the Forgotten Tongue. I thought Attica would try to get to them before the city fell. Alcatraz the First was said to have spent much time in this area, and so there’s a high probability that the writings were his.’
‘Well, that’s not an issue any longer,’ Grandpa Smedry said. ‘The Mokian university is no more. The entire thing was swallowed up in the earthquake, crushed flat, the catacombs pulverized.’
‘Is that so?’ Shasta said flatly.
‘Indeed,’ Grandpa said, meeting her stare. There didn’t seem to be much affection between them. Of course, they were in-laws, so what did you expect?
‘Where will he go next?’ I asked.
Shasta turned to me. She drew her lips into a line.
‘I’ll go with you,’ I found myself saying.
‘What!’ Grandpa said, ‘Trembling Taylers, Lad! What are you talking about?’
‘We need to find my father,’ I said firmly. ‘I think he’s going to try something stoopid. Something very, very stoopid.’
‘But—’
‘You,’ I said to Shasta, ‘me, and my grandfather. Just the three of us, and anyone else you approve. You have my word.’
She seemed amused at that. ‘Very well. There are rumors of an enclave of Forgotten Language texts in the heart of Librarian power. I suspect we’ll find your father there. The place is carefully guarded, however, and even one such as I will have difficulty sneaking in.’
‘Lad, I don’t know about this,’ Grandpa said. ‘The heart of Librarian power?’ I asked, ignoring him. ‘Where is that?’
‘They call it the Library of Congress,’ Shasta said. ‘But it’s really something far grander. The Highbrary, a bunker the size of a city, hidden underneath Washington D.C., in the United States, deep within the Hushlands.’
That got my grandfather’s attention. ‘The Highbrary?’ he asked. He got an almost dreamy look in his eyes. ‘My, my,’ he said. ‘I’ve always wanted to infiltrate that place. . . .’
That’s my grandfather for you. He might have lost his Talent, but he was still a Smedry.
‘The Highbrary will contain the formulas for all Librarian weapon antidotes,’ Shasta said, almost teasingly. ‘If you want to cure your friends, it is the place to go.’
Grandpa looked even more eager, but he held himself back. ‘The lad and I will discuss it, Shasta. If we agree to this little endeavor, then you’ll be coming as a prisoner, carefully watched over. That’s the only way I’d agree to it.’
Shasta smiled again, glancing at me. ‘Very well,’ she said, then waved to her guards – as if they were attendants – and had them lead her from the room.
My grandfather looked shaken. He sat down on the stool beside my bed again. ‘That woman . . .’
‘We need to go with her,’ I said. ‘My father can’t be allowed to try to give everyone Smedry Talents. Grandpa, I think that the Talents might be what destroyed the Incarna! I think—’
‘Yes,’ Grandpa said. ‘Yes, you’re probably right.’
‘What? You know already?’
‘I’ve guessed it, lad,’ Grandpa said. ‘And feared it, after you told me what you found in the tomb of Alcatraz the First.’
‘Do you think my father can really do it?’ I asked. ‘If it were anyone else,’ Grandpa said, ‘I’d say no. But your father . . . well, he’s a special man, capable of extraordinary things. Yes, I think he might just be able to do it, if he wants to.’
‘He’s got the only remaining pair of Translator’s Lenses,’ I said. ‘Mine were destroyed.’
‘Ah. I wondered why we didn’t find them on you.’
‘He’s going to the Highbrary. You know what we have to do, Grandfather.’
He looked at me, then nodded. ‘Yes. But let’s at least sleep on it a day and then decide.’
I nodded back to him, and he stood, withdrawing, leaving me to listen to the sounds of the Mokian drums outside. They’d celebrate all day, as per their tradition.
And then, on the morrow, they’d mourn for those who were dead. Celebrations first, sorrows second.
I didn’t have time for either one. Mokia had been a diversion, a distraction, both for myself and my mother. My father, Attica Smedry, had a huge head start, and what he was planning could destroy us all.
The Dark Talent was free, and the entire Smedry clan had lost their powers. An enormous fleet of Librarian soldiers was returning to the Hushlands with tales of what the Talents could do.
I think this is a good place to end, don’t you?
AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD
Now you know the truth of why I’m lauded as a hero.
Sure, the things I did in previous volumes of my autobiography helped my reputation. But this was the event that everyone still talks about, the liberation of Mokia, the single-handed defeat of dozens of Librarian armies scattered throughout the Free Kingdoms.
My reputation was secure. I’d go down in history as one of the most influential people to ever live, and I’d be remembered as one of the greatest Mokian kings of all time. (If one of the shortest to rule – I was able to give up the throne to Princess Kamali the next day, when she came back to take over for me.) Sure, Bastille was in trouble – but you know that everything turns out all right with her in the end. After all, I’ve mentioned several times that she’s often standing here in our house, reading over my shoulder as I write these things. All in all, I saved the day, defeated the Librarian armies, and permanently turned the tide of the war.
The funny thing is, in doing all these marvelous things, I’d changed into a completely different pers
on. Your hero is no longer with us. The very act of heroism changed him. I’d walked into Mokia as one person, and I walked out of it as a vastly different one. That’s nothing surprising; all people change.
Some changes happen slowly, like a rock being weathered away by the rain. Others happen quickly, suddenly. An earthquake shakes a city. A heart stops beating. A discovery is made, and a lightbulb turns on for the first time.
The Librarians . . . they try to keep us from changing. They want everything to remain the same inside the Hushlands. You remember when I talked about how they make all cars and planes look the same? Well, they do that with everything.
In this case, it’s not because they’re oppressive. It’s because they’re afraid. Change frightens them. It’s unknown, uncertain, like Smedrys and magic. They want everyone to assume that things can’t change.
But they can. I did. Alcatraz the hero was no more. If he ever was a hero in the first place. You’ve seen that most of what I accomplished happened by accident, luck, and a few random ideas that turned out to work. But even if you thought that sort of thing made him a hero, you need to realize that the person you worship is gone.
These four books are the parts everyone knows about. But the last volume, that’s the part nobody understands. Nobody thinks to ask, ‘What happened to him after he saved us from the Librarians?’
I’ll show you. Finally, you’ll see. It will be amazing, eye-opening, awful, awesome, stoopiderific, stoopidalicious, stoopiderlifluous, stoopidanated, and crapaflapnasti all at the same time. It involves an altar. Yes, that really did happen. I didn’t just make it up. That altar scene is one of the most important events in my life. It happens in the next book, I promise, no lies this time.
Maybe someday I’ll actually write that book.
‘I will not read the last page of novels first,’ I said, and then punched myself in the face.
‘I promise, I’ll never again read the last page of novels first,’ I said, then smacked myself on the head with a book.
‘I really, really, really regret reading the last page of this novel first!’ I said, then let my sibling cousin, or best friend (take your pick) give me a wedgie.
(This page is, of course, here for those of you who skip to the end of the book and read it first. Naughty, naughty! Fortunately, you’re acting out the book like you’re supposed to, right? Well, let that be a lesson to you.)
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
For help with these books, I proclaim the following people honorary Bazooka Bunnies:
The Indefinable Peter Ahlstrom, for whom the book is dedicated. He’s believed in me longer than anyone else on the list. Without his help, my books would be a lot worse.
Emily Sanderson, who (despite my various lunacies) still loves me, puts up with me, and even married me.
Karen Ahlstrom, who gives great advice, and who also puts up with Peter reading her my books for date night.
Janci Olds, who tells me what I need to hear about my writing. Bastille may be based on her just a tad, but don’t tell her, because she might end up chasing me around with a sword.
Kristina Kugler, who taught her two-year-old daughter to put her fingers up to her mouth and wiggle them when someone asks, ‘What does Cthulu say?’ (Does she need a better reason than that for an acknowledgment? Well, okay, she read the book too and gave lots of great feedback.)
Joshua Bilmes, who fights for these books. He’s our own personal Knight of Crystallia.
Jen Rees, who provides a sharp red pencil to fight off the goblins of bad writing.
Thank you all!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
‘Brandon Sanderson’ is the pen name of Alcatraz Smedry. His Hushlander editor forced him to use a pseudonym, since these memoirs are being published as fiction.
Alcatraz actually knows a person named Brandon Sanderson. That man, however, is a fantasy writer, and is therefore prone to useless bouts of delusion in literary form. Alcatraz has it on good authority that Brandon Sanderson is actually illiterate and dictates his thick, overly long fantasy tomes to his potted plant, Count Duku.
It is widely assumed that Brandon went mad several years ago, but few people can tell because his writing is so strange anyway. He spends his time going to science fiction movies, eating popcorn and goat cheese (separately), and trying to warn people about the dangers of the Great Kitten Conspiracy.
He’s had his library card revoked on seventeen different occasions.
ALSO BY BRANDON SANDERSON FROM GOLLANCZ:
MISTBORN
The Final Empire
The Well of Ascension
The Hero of Ages
The Alloy of Law
THE STORMLIGHT ARCHIVE
The Way of Kings Part One
The Way of Kings Part Two
Elantris
Warbreaker
Copyright
A Gollancz eBook
This edition copyright © Dragonsteel Entertainment, LLC 2012
Alcatraz versus the Evil Librarians copyright © Brandon Sanderson 2007
Alcatraz versus the Scrivener’s Bones copyright © Brandon Sanderson 2008
Alcatraz versus the Knights of Crystallia copyright © Brandon Sanderson 2009
Alcatraz versus the Shattered Lens copyright © Brandon Sanderson 2010
All rights reserved
The right of Brandon Sanderson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 2012 by
Gollancz
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House
5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane
London, WC2H 9EA
An Hachette UK Company
This eBook first published in 2012 by Gollancz.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 0 575 13135 4
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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