Part 5 (1/2)

”Unfortunately,” Grandpa Smedry said.

”But she's a girl!” I said.

”Yes,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”and a very dangerous one, I might add. She was sent to protect me.”

”Sent?” I said. ”Who sent her, then?” And is she supposed to protect from Librarians, or from yourself? And is she supposed to protect from Librarians, or from yourself?

Bastille stalked right up to Grandpa Smedry, placed her hands on her hips, and glared at him. ”I'd stab you with something if I didn't know that you'd arrive too late to get hurt.”

”Bastille, my dear,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”How pleasant. Of course I didn't mean mean to leave you behind. You see, I was running late, and I needed to go ” to leave you behind. You see, I was running late, and I needed to go ”

Bastille held up a hand to silence Grandpa, then glared at me. ”Who is he?”

”My grandson,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”Alcatraz.”

”Another Smedry?” she asked. ”I have to try to protect Smedry?” she asked. ”I have to try to protect four four of you now?” of you now?”

”Bastille, dear,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”No need to get upset. He won't be much trouble. Will you Alcatraz?”

”Uh... no,” I said. That was, of course, an absolute lie. But would you have said anything different?

Bastille narrowed her eyes. ”Somehow I doubt that. What are you planning, old man?”

”Nothing to worry about,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”Just a little infiltration.”

”Of?” Bastille asked.

”The downtown library,” Grandpa Smedry said, then smiled innocently.

”What?” Bastille said. ”Honestly, can't I even leave you alone for half a day? Shattering Gla.s.s! What would make you want to infiltrate Bastille said. ”Honestly, can't I even leave you alone for half a day? Shattering Gla.s.s! What would make you want to infiltrate that that place?” place?”

”They have the Sands of Ras.h.i.+d,” Grandpa Smedry said.

”So? We've got plenty of sand.”

”These sands are very important,” Grandpa Smedry said. ”It's an Oculator sort of thing.”

Bastille's expression darkened a bit at that comment. She threw her hands into the air. ”Whatever,” she said. ”I a.s.sume we're late.”

”Very,” Grandpa Smedry said.

”Fine.” She stabbed a finger at me; I barely suppressed a tense jump. ”You, get in my car. You can fill me in on the mission. We'll meet you there, old man.”

”Lovely,” Grandpa Smedry said, looking relieved.

”I ” I began.

”Must I remind you, Alcatraz,” Grandpa Smedry said, ”that you shouldn't swear? Now, we're late! Get moving!”

I paused. ”Swear?” I said. However, my confusion gave Grandpa Smedry a perfect chance to escape, and I caught sight of the man's eyes twinkling as he jumped into his car, Quentin and Sing joining him.

”For an old man who arrives late to everything,” I noted, ”he certainly is spry.”

”Come on, Smedry!” Bastille growled, climbing back into her sleek car.

I sighed, then rounded the vehicle and pulled open the pa.s.senger side door. I tossed the handle to the side as it broke off, then climbed in. Bastille rapped her knuckles on the dashboard, and the car started. Then she reached for the gear s.h.i.+ft, throwing it into reverse.

”Uh, doesn't the car drive itself?” I asked.

”Sometimes,” Bastille said. ”It can do both it's a hybrid. We're trying to get closer to things that look like real Hushlander vehicles.”

With that, the car burst into motion.

Now, I had been very frightened on several different occasions in my life. The most frightening of these involved an elevator and a mime. Perhaps the second most frightening involved a caseworker and a gun.

Bastille's driving, however, quickly threatened to become number three.

”Aren't you supposed to be some sort of bodyguard?” I asked, furiously working to find a seat belt. There didn't appear to be one.

”Yeah,” Bastille said. ”So?”

”So, shouldn't you avoid killing me in a car wreck?” killing me in a car wreck?”

Bastille frowned, spinning the wheel and taking a corner at a ridiculous speed. ”I don't know what you're talking about.”

I sighed, settling into my seat, telling myself that the car probably had some sort of mystical device to protect its occupants. (I was wrong, of course. Both Oculator powers and silimatic technology have to do with gla.s.s, and I seriously doubt that an air bag made of or filled with gla.s.s would be all that effective. Amusing, perhaps, but not effective.) ”Hey,” I said. ”How old are you?”

”Thirteen,” Bastille replied.

”Should you be driving, then?” I asked.

”I don't see why not.”

”You're too young,” I said.

”Says who?”

”Says the law.”

I could see Bastille narrow her eyes, and her hands gripped the wheel even tighter. ”Maybe Librarian Librarian law,” she muttered. law,” she muttered.

This, I thought, I thought, is probably not a topic to pursue further. is probably not a topic to pursue further. ”So,” I said, trying something different. ”What is your Talent?” ”So,” I said, trying something different. ”What is your Talent?”

Bastille gritted her teeth, glaring out through the winds.h.i.+eld.

”Well?” I asked.

”You don't have to rub it in, Smedry.”

Great. ”You... don't have a Talent, then?” ”You... don't have a Talent, then?”