Dif, Grandpa, and I wandered out into the middle of the open street a safe distance away from the barricade.
I let out a strangled sound.
Dif yipped in excitement and began running in circles. Following Himalaya’s orders, I reluctantly began jumping up and down and waving my arms.
Grandpa grunted, looking upward. Above, a group of Librarian jets crossed the sky, and I had little doubt that they’d spotted us.
From the barricade, Himalaya gave us a thumbs-up.
I’ll admit that I had a moment of doubt here. Perhaps it was my cowardly nature asserting itself. Or instead perhaps it was the thought of being blown up, which is a method of dying that’s on my list of ways to die that don’t sound very fun.*
For a second, I doubted Himalaya. What if she really was an evil Librarian? What if this was her way of dealing with us Smedrys once and for all?
The planes roared overhead, coming back around.
I let out a whimper.
Bombs dropped. And these weren’t your ordinary bombs either. Covered in spikes, painted a pure black, if I’d been looking closely instead of panicking I’d have seen that they had SMEDRYBUSTER 2300 stenciled on them. Himalaya had explained that she’d seen them—weapons designed specifically to deal with members of my family—hanging under the wings of ships above. They’d deliver a concentrated explosion at the point of impact, creating a column of lava that would rise a hundred feet in the air and burrow an equal amount down.
You see, by this point the Librarians had learned that there was no such thing as overkill when it came to dealing with my family. Much like how after discovering an infestation of kittens in your basement you might as well burn down your entire house, the Librarians consider it worth a little collateral damage* to kill a Smedry.
This was, of course, exactly what we wanted. Those bombs would open up a nice tunnel that would burrow into the Highbrary. There was only one problem—the little fact that we were between the bombs and the ground.
I yelped as the bombs whooshed toward us, and Himalaya’s Librarians cheered. Cousin Dif blew his nose. (I realize this isn’t really relevant, but you notice all kinds of new things in a chapter without proper dialogue.) I scrambled away, feet grinding on asphalt, wondering just how we were supposed to get out of this.
Ahead, Himalaya gestured to us urgently. Was that “Talents” she was mouthing?
She didn’t realize the Talents didn’t work.
That … was going to be a problem.
As we scrambled away, my grandfather whooped and whipped out the Windstormer’s Lenses he’d been using to control the wind up above. He grinned, then pointed the Lenses directly at the ground beneath us.
The Lenses let out a burst of wind. A really, really strong burst of wind—as he’d mentioned, I wasn’t the only one whose ability with Lenses was undergoing a strange enhancement. The wind roared, rushing and flipping us all away, scattered like leaves.
The bombs hit.
“Gak!” went Alcatraz.
“BOOOM!” went the bombs.
“Snore,” went Bastille.
“Whee!” went Grandpa.
“Groan,” went my mother.
“Caporch,”* went the ground.
“Moo,” goes the cow.
“Yaaaaaaa!” went Dif.
“Gak!” went Alcatraz again.
“Roar!” went the wind.
“Thunk,” went my head as I slammed into a building. I made a quite unique moaning sound as I collapsed to the ground.
A short time later, Draulin nudged me with the tip of her boot. “Hmmm?” she asked.
“Bleh,” I said, feeling nauseous. Grandpa’s blast of wind had thrown me to safety, but it hadn’t felt pleasant. I groaned as I stumbled to my feet.
In front of me, the street had been reduced to a large, smoldering hole. Burned sections of ground crackled softly. As I watched, Himalaya’s freedom fighters dug out from under the debris or appeared from behind bits of rubble, many looking dazed. They saw the open hole and let out a series of battle cries, then pulled out pamphlets in one hand and machine guns in the other before charging toward the pit.
My team, looking a little the worse for wear, gathered on the lip of the pit. Everyone looked alive, although with Draulin you can never tell for sure—at any moment, I figured she might turn out to be a log that’s really good at faking.
I gestured to the hole. “Mmm?”
“Mmm!” Dif said, chewing on a candy bar he’d found in the rubble.
Himalaya’s team set out ropes and began rappelling down into the hole. I leaned out, looking into the blackness. It was deep. I thought I saw little fires down below. The remnants of the explosion?
I took a breath, then grabbed one of the ropes—a knotted one they’d placed for me—and began to climb down into the Highbrary.
Chapter
Marco
I feel the need to post a warning here.
I’ve played a lot of tricks on you, my dear reader, during the production of these five volumes of my autobiography. I’ve been deceptive, manipulative, and even malicious. This was all in the name of the greater good: proving to you (rather than simply telling you) the sort of person I am.
The end is here. This time I’m not being silly. This time I’m not lying. You won’t get to the end of this volume and find me saying, “Ha, just kidding!” This is indeed the end.
And I fail.
I know what’s going through your head right now. You’re expecting some kind of twist or redemption. You’re thinking, Oh, Alcatraz. You’ve fooled me too many times so far! I’m not falling for this one. I know you actually win in the end.*
I’ve worked hard to train you into this attitude. You see, I’ve understood from the beginning that the best way to trick you is to be honest. That’s the last thing you’d expect from me.
I want you to feel like I do, to know the hurt I know.
This is the only way.
I clung to the rope, climbing down into the pit. Falling a hundred feet into a smoking hole in the middle of Washington, DC, wasn’t currently on my list of unfun ways to die, but I quickly added it just in case. Along with being scalped, since it looks like I forgot that one somehow.
The farther I descended, the more distant the sky seemed. I felt like I was leaving one domain—the rational world—and entering another. A darker, deeper world. I was once again entering a library.
Himalaya and Folsom’s troops had outpaced me, and I could already hear gunfire below. Eventually I passed through a ring of melted glass and steel—the barrier Shasta had mentioned—and entered the Highbrary.
It was like a small city set inside an enormous cavern with a very tall ceiling. I dangled above it all, amazed. I vaguely remembered learning that DC had been built on a swamp or something, but obviously that was a Librarian lie, considering this majestic stone cavern. It was so wide I couldn’t make out the far edges, as they were too dark.
Light came from thousands of torches fluttering below, some being carried by Librarians—whom I made out as small figures beneath me. The cavern floor was clogged with buildings, most short but some stretching quite tall. The grim black buildings had an ancient feel to them and sat on different levels within the cavern, some on rocky outcroppings rising from the uneven cavern floor, others built in the m
iddle of troughs beneath their fellows.
Among the buildings, the cavern was crisscrossed with bleak stone walkways. Librarians traversed these wearing red-and-black robes, the type you’d find for sale at Ye Olde Evil Cultist Clothing Emporium and Knife Shoppe™.
Near the center of the cavern, a short distance from me, one tall tower rose above the rest of the buildings. It was like a natural rock peak, with a flat top and steps around the outside.
It was capped by what appeared to be a stack of old books.
I didn’t give that much heed, continuing my descent as Grandpa and Draulin climbed down on their own ropes. Below, Himalaya’s troops secured our landing site. Many of the Librarians nearby scattered, ducking into the cavern’s numerous small buildings. As I continued down, I got a look into one of those; it was lined with bookshelves.
Archives. That made sense. Though as I neared the ground I was able to peek into a few more, and strangely some didn’t hold books at all, but had shelves and shelves full of the oddest things. Stacks of coins, piles of wrappers, even rows of cereal boxes. The Librarians, it seemed, collected anything with writing on it. Maybe they were trying to re-create Alexandria.
I finally reached the bottom, my arms aching. Draulin landed next to me, not looking the least bit inconvenienced by the difficult climb. Stupid knights. Grandpa landed and wiped his brow, then reached up to help Cousin Dif, who was sweating profusely and looked a little the worse for wear from the climb down on the same rope as Grandpa.
We’d landed inside the area secured by Himalaya’s Librarian freedom fighters, who fired on Librarian soldiers. Several of the other good Librarians threw handfuls of pamphlets to distract the cultist-looking Librarians scrambling for cover within our perimeter.
I ran for Himalaya, passing a group of cultist Librarians huddled just inside one of the small archives. They seemed completely transfixed by a set of pamphlets.
“Should we be worried about them?” I asked.
“Nah,” Himalaya said. “I made one word different on each of the pamphlets—they’ll spend at least the next hour arguing how to properly index them.”