Part 17 (1/2)

I looked back at Bastille. ”They give up a bit of their own humanity? What does that mean?”

”They let the gla.s.s drain them of things,” Bastille explained.

”Things? That's specific.”

From the side, I could see Bastille narrow her eyes behind her sungla.s.ses, staring at the little creature with suspicion. ”Human things, Alcatraz. Things like the capacity to love, protect others, and have mercy. Each time an Oculator creates an Alivened, he makes himself a little less human. Or, at least, he makes himself a little less like the kind of human the rest of us would want to a.s.sociate with.”

Sing nodded. ”Most Dark Oculators think the transformation is an advantage.” He reached down with his free hand, still keeping his gun leveled at the small Alivened. He held up a ripped bit of paper.

”You'd think that by giving up part of his humanity,” the anthropologist said, ”the Dark Oculator would create a creature that possessed good emotions. But that's not the way it works. The process twists the emotions, creating a creature that has just enough humanity to live, but not enough of it to really function.”

I accepted the sc.r.a.p of paper. I could read the text it appeared to be prose. The t.i.tle line at the top right corner read The pa.s.sionate fire of Fiery Pa.s.sion. The pa.s.sionate fire of Fiery Pa.s.sion.

”You can make an Alivened out of virtually anything,” Sing said. ”But substances that soak up emotion tend to work the best. That's why a lot of Dark Oculators prefer bad romance novels, since the object used determines the Alivened's temperament.

”Romance novels make an Alivened very violent,” Bastille said. ”But rather dense in the intelligence department.”

”Go figure,” I said, dropping the sc.r.a.p of paper. They give up their own humanity.... They give up their own humanity.... And this was the monster that had my grandfather held captive. ”Come on,” I said, standing. ”We've wasted too much time already.” And this was the monster that had my grandfather held captive. ”Come on,” I said, standing. ”We've wasted too much time already.”

”And this thing?” Sing asked.

I paused. The Alivened looked up at me, its paper face somehow managing to convey a look of confusion.

I... broke it somehow, I thought. I thought. I thought I'd killed it but that's not the way my Talent works. I thought I'd killed it but that's not the way my Talent works. I don't destroy, not when the Talent is in full form. I just break and transform. ”Leave it,” I said. I don't destroy, not when the Talent is in full form. I just break and transform. ”Leave it,” I said.

Sing looked up in surprise.

”We don't want any more gunshots,” I said. ”Come on.”

Sing shrugged, rising. Bastille moved down the hallway, checking the intersection. I quickly swapped my Oculator's Lenses for my Tracker's Lenses fortunately, my grandfather's footprints were still glowing.

I didn't think I knew him that well, I thought. I thought.

I met Bastille at the intersection, pointing to the right branch. ”Grandpa Smedry went that way.”

”The same way the Librarians went,” she said. ”After they discovered us.”

I nodded, glancing in the other direction. I pointed. ”I see Ms. Fletcher's footprints that way.”

”She turned away from the others?”

”No,” I said. ”She didn't go with Grandpa Smedry from the dungeons. Those footprints I can see now are the original ones we followed the ones that led us to the place where we got captured. I told you we were close to where we started.”

Bastille frowned. ”How well do you know this Ms. Fletcher?”

I shrugged.

”It's been hours,” Bastille said. ”I'm surprised her footprints are still flowing.”

I nodded. As I did, I noticed something else odd.

(If you haven't noticed, this is the chapter for noticing weird things. A opposed to the other chapters, in which only normal things were ever noticed. There is a story I could tell about that, but as it involves eggbeaters, it not appropriate for young people.) The normalcy-challenged thing that I had noticed was actually not all that odd, all things considered. It was a lantern holder the ornate bracket that I'd ripped free when I'd thrown the lantern at the Alivened.

There was nothing all that unusual about this lantern bracket, except for the already-noted fact that it was shaped like a cantaloupe. For all I knew, cantaloupe-shaped library lanterns were quite normal. Yet the sight of this one sparked a memory in my head. Cantaloupe, fluttering paper makes a duck. Cantaloupe, fluttering paper makes a duck.

I glanced back at the hallway behind me, with its broken wall, more more broken floor, and piles of paper that shuffled in the draft. broken floor, and piles of paper that shuffled in the draft.

It's probably nothing, I thought. I thought.

You, of course, know better that that.

Chapter 16

If you are anything like me clever, fond of goat cheese, and devilishly handsome then you have undoubtedly read many books. And, while reading those books, you likely have thought that you are smarter than the characters in those books.

You're just imagining things.

Now, I've already spoken about foreshadowing (a meddling literary convention of which Heisenberg would uncertainly be proud). However, there are other reasons why you only think think that you're smarter than the characters in this book. First off, you are likely sitting somewhere safe as you read the story. Whether it be a cla.s.sroom, your bedroom, your aquarium, or even a library (but we won't get into that right now...), you have no need to worry about Alivened monsters, armed soldiers, or straw-fearing Gaks. Therefore, you can examine the events with a calm, unbiased eye. In such a state of mind, it is easy to find faults. that you're smarter than the characters in this book. First off, you are likely sitting somewhere safe as you read the story. Whether it be a cla.s.sroom, your bedroom, your aquarium, or even a library (but we won't get into that right now...), you have no need to worry about Alivened monsters, armed soldiers, or straw-fearing Gaks. Therefore, you can examine the events with a calm, unbiased eye. In such a state of mind, it is easy to find faults.

Secondly, you have the convenience of holding this story in book form. It is a complete narrative, which you can look through at your leisure. You can go back and reread sections (which, because of the marvelous writing the book contains, you have undoubtedly done). You could even scan to the end and read the last page. Know that by doing so, however, you would violate every holy and honorable story-telling principle known to man, thereby throwing the universe into chaos and causing grief to untold millions.

Your choice.

Either way, since you can reread anytime you want, you could go back and find out exactly exactly where I first heard cantaloupes mentioned. With such an advantage, it is very easy to find and point out things that my friends and I originally missed. where I first heard cantaloupes mentioned. With such an advantage, it is very easy to find and point out things that my friends and I originally missed.

The third reason you think you are smarter that the characters is because you have me to explain things to you. Obviously, you don't fully appreciate this advantage. Suffice it to say that without me, you would be far more confused about this story that you are. In fact, without me, you'd probably be very very confused as you tried to read this book. confused as you tried to read this book.

After all, it would be filled with blank pages.

Two soldiers stood in the hallway, chatting with each other, obviously guarding the door that sat between them. Sing, Bastille, and I crouched around a corner just a short distance away, unnoticed. We'd followed Grandpa Smedry's footprints all the way here. His prints went through the door and that, therefore, was the way we needed to go.

I nodded to Bastille, and she slipped quietly around the corner, moving with such grace that she resembled an ice-skater on the smooth stone floor. The guards looked over as she approached, but she was so quick that they didn't have time to cry out. Bastille elbowed one in the teeth, then caught his companion in a grip around the neck, choking him and keeping him quiet. The first guard stumbled, holding his mouth, and Bastille kicked him in the chest.

The first guard fell to the ground, hitting his head and going unconscious. She dropped the second guard a moment later, after he'd pa.s.sed out from being choked. She hadn't even needed the dagger.

”You really are are good at this,” I whispered as I approached. good at this,” I whispered as I approached.

Bastille shrugged modestly as I moved up to the door. Sing followed me, looking over his shoulder down the hallway, anxious.

I knew it wouldn't be long before the entire library was on alert. We didn't have much time. I didn't care about the Sands of Ras.h.i.+d. I just wanted to get my grandfather back.

”His footprints go under the door,” I whispered.

”I know,” Bastille whispered as she peeked through a crack in the door. ”He's still in there.”

”What?” I said, kneeling beside her.