Part 3 (1/2)

”Sing,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”We need to do a full library infiltration. Now. Now.”

”A library infiltration?” Sing said excitedly.

”Yes, yes,” Grandpa Smedry said hurriedly. ”Go get your cousin, and both of you get into your disguises. I need to gather my Lenses.”

Sing rushed back the way he had come. Grandpa Smedry walked over to the wall on the other side of the hearth. Not sure what else to do, I followed, watching as Grandpa Smedry knelt beside what appeared to be a large box made entirely of black gla.s.s. Grandpa Smedry put his hand on it, closed his eyes, and the front of the box suddenly shattered.

I jumped back, but Grandpa Smedry ignored the broken shards of black gla.s.s. He reached into the chest and pulled out a tray wrapped in red velvet. He set this on top of the box, unwrapping the cloth and revealing a small book and about a dozen pairs of spectacles, each with a slightly different tint of gla.s.s.

Grandpa Smedry pulled open the front of his tuxedo jacket, then began to slip the spectacles into little pouches sewn into the lining of the garment. They hung like the watches on the inside of an illegal street peddler's coat.

”Something very strange is going on, isn't it?” I finally asked.

”Yes, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said, still arranging the spectacles.

”We're really going to go sneak into a library?”

Grandpa Smedry nodded.

”Only, it's not really a library. But someplace more dangerous.”

”Oh, it's really a library,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”What you haven't realized before is that all all libraries are far more dangerous that you've always a.s.sumed.” libraries are far more dangerous that you've always a.s.sumed.”

”And we're going to break into this one,” I repeated. ”A place filled with people who want to kill me.”

”Most likely,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”But what else can we do? We either infiltrate, or we let them make those sands into Lenses.”

This isn't a joke, I began to realize. I began to realize. This man isn't actually crazy. Or, at least, the craziness includes much more than just him. This man isn't actually crazy. Or, at least, the craziness includes much more than just him. I stood there for a moment, feeling overwhelmed, thinking about what I had seen. I stood there for a moment, feeling overwhelmed, thinking about what I had seen.

”Well, all right, then,” I finally said.

Now, you Hushlanders may think that I took all of these strange experiences quite well. After all, it isn't every day that you get threatened with a gun, then discover a medieval dining room hiding inside the beverage cooler at a local gas station. However, maybe if you'd you'd grown up with the magical ability to break almost anything you touched, then you would have been just as quick to accept unusual circ.u.mstances. grown up with the magical ability to break almost anything you touched, then you would have been just as quick to accept unusual circ.u.mstances.

”Here, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said, standing and picking up the final pair of spectacles. They were reddish tinted, like the pair Grandpa Smedry was currently wearing. ”These are yours. I've been saving them for you.”

I paused. ”I don't need gla.s.ses.”

”You're an Oculator, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”You'll always always need gla.s.ses.” need gla.s.ses.”

”Can't I wear sungla.s.ses, like Sing?”

Grandpa Smedry chuckled. ”You don't need Warrior's Lenses, lad. You can access abilities far more potent. Here, take these. They're Oculator's Lenses.”

”What are Oculators?” I asked.

”We are, my boy. Put them on.”

I frowned, but took the gla.s.ses. I put them on, then glanced around. ”Nothing looks different,” I said, feeling disappointed. ”The room doesn't even look... redder.”

Of course not,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”The tints come from the sands they're made of and help us keep the Lenses straight. They're not intended to make things look different.”

”I just... thought the gla.s.ses would do something.”

”They do,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”They show you things that you need to see. It's just subtle, lad. Wear them for a while let your eyes get used to them.”

”All right....” I glanced over as Grandpa Smedry knelt to put the tray back inside the broken box. ”What's that book?”

Grandpa Smedry looked up ”Hmmm? This?” He picked up the small book, handing it to me. I opened to the first page. It was filled with scribbles, as if made by a child.

”The Forgotten Language,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”We've been trying to decipher it for centuries your father worked on that book for a while, before you were born. He thought its secrets might lead him to the Sands of Ras.h.i.+d.”

”This isn't a language,” I said. ”It's just a bunch of scribbles.”

”Well, any language you don't understand would just look like scribbles, lad!”

I flipped through the pages of the book. It was filled with completely random circles, zigzags, loop-dee-loops, and the like. There were no patterns. Some of the pages only had a couple marks on them; others were so black with ink that they looked like a child's rendition of a tornado.

”No,” I said. ”No, I don't think so. A language has to make patterns! There's nothing like that in here.”

”That's the big secret, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said, taking back the book. ”Why do you think n.o.body, despite centuries of trying, has managed to break the code? The Incarna people the ones who wrote in this language held vast secrets. Unfortunately, n.o.body can read their records, and the Incarna disappeared many centuries ago.”

I wrinkled my brow at the strange comments. Grandpa Smedry stood up, stepping away from the gla.s.s box. And, suddenly, the shattered front of the box melted and reformed its gla.s.sy surface.

I stepped back in shock. Then I reached up, suspiciously pulling off my gla.s.ses. Yet the box still sat pristine, as if it hadn't been broken in the first place.

”Restore Gla.s.s,” Grandpa Smedry said, nodding toward the box. ”Only an Oculator can break it. Once he moves too far away, however, it will re-form into its previous shape. Makes for wonderful safes. It's even stronger than Builder's Gla.s.s, if used right.”

I slipped my Lenses back on.

”Tell me, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said, laying a hand on my shoulder, ”why did you burn down your foster parents' kitchen?”

I started. That wasn't the question I'd been expecting. ”How did you know about that?”

”Why, I'm an Oculator, of course.”

I just frowned.

”So why?” he asked. ”Why burn it down?”

”It was an accident,” I replied.

”Was it?”

I looked away. Of course it was an accident, Of course it was an accident, I thought, feeling a bit of shame. I thought, feeling a bit of shame. Why would I do something like that on purpose? Why would I do something like that on purpose?

Grandpa Smedry was studying me. ”You have a Talent for breaking things,” he said. ”Or so you have said. Yet lighting fire to a set of drapes and ruining a kitchen with smoke doesn't seem like a use of that Talent. Particularly if you let the fire burn for a while before putting it out. That's not breaking. That seems more like destroying.”