"I'm starting to think that Oculatory Lenses and regular technological glass might just be the same thing.”
"That's impossible," she said. “If that were so, then you could power Oculator's Lenses with brightsand.”
"You can't?"
She shook her head.
"Maybe it's not concentrated enough," I said. "You can power the Lenses with Smedry blood, if you forge them using it."
"Ick," she noted. "It's true. But ick anyway."
“Ah, here we are!" Rikers said suddenly, standing up as the pig slowed.
I shot Bastille a look. She shrugged; we'd discuss this more later. We stood and joined Rikers, looking out the window (or, well, the wall) at the approaching gardens. My sense of urgency returned. We needed to grab Himalaya and get back to the Royal, nonlibrary Archives.
Rikers pulled a lever, and the back of the pig unfolded, forming steps. Bastille and I rushed out, Sing hustling along behind. The Royal Gardens were a large, open field of grass dotted occasionally by beds of flowers. I scanned the green, trying to locate my cousin. Of course, Bastille found him first.
"There," she said, pointing. Squinting, I could see that Folsom and Himalaya were sitting on a blanket, enjoying what appeared to be a picnic.
"Wait here!" I called to Sing and Rikers as Bastille and I crossed the springy grass, passing families enjoying the afternoon and kids playing.
"What in the world are those two doing?" I asked, looking at Folsom and Himalaya.
"Uh, I think that's called a picnic, Smedry," Bastille said flatly.
"I know, but why would Folsom take an enemy spy on a picnic? Perhaps he's trying to get her to relax so he can mine her for information."
Bastille regarded the two of them, who sat on the blanket enjoying their meal. "So, wait," she said as we rushed forward. "They're always together?"
"Yeah," I said. "He's been watching her like a hawk. He's always looking at her."
"You'd say he's been spending a lot of time with her?"
"A suspicious amount of time."
"Hanging out at restaurants?"
"Ice cream parlors," I said. "He claims to be showing her around so that she'd get used to Nalhallan customs."
“And you think he's doing this because he suspects her of being a spy," Bastille said, voice almost amused.
"Well, why else would he –“
I froze, stopping on the grass. Just ahead, Himalaya laid her hand on Folsom's shoulder, laughing at something he'd said. He regarded her, seeming transfixed by her face. He seemed to be enjoying himself, as if . . .
"Oh,” I said.
“Boys are such idiots,'' Bastille said under her breath, moving on.
“How was l supposed to know they were in love!'' I snapped, rushing up to her.
"Idiot,” she repeated.
"Look, she could still be a spy. Why, maybe she's seducing Folsom to get at his secrets!"
"Seductions don't look so cutesy,” Bastille said as we approached their blanket. “Anyway, there's a simple method to find out. Pull out that Truthfinder's Lens.”
Hey, that's a good idea, I thought. I fumbled, pulling out the Lens and looking through it toward the Librarian.
Bastille marched right up to the blanket. “You're Himalaya?" she asked.
"Why, yes," the Librarian said. As I looked through the Lens, her breath seemed to glow like a white cloud. I assumed that meant she was telling the truth.
“Are you a Librarian spy?" Bastille asked. (She's like that, blunter than a rock and twice as ornery.)
"What?" Himalaya said. "No, of course not!"
Her breath was white.
I turned to Bastille. "Grandpa Smedry warned that Librarians were good at saying half-truths, which might get them around my Truthfinder's Lens."
“Are you saying half-truths?" Bastille said. "Are you trying to fool that Lens, trick us, seduce this man, or do anything like that?"
"No, no, no," Himalaya said, blushing.
Bastille looked at me.
"Her breath is white," I said. "If she's lying, she's doing a really great job of it."
"Good enough for me," Bastille said, pointing. "You two, get in the pig. We're on a tight schedule."
They jumped to their feet, not even asking questions.
When Bastille gets that tone in her voice, you do what she says. For the first time, I realized where Bastille's ability to order people about might have come from. She was a princess – she'd probably spent her entire childhood giving commands.
By the First Sands, I thought. She's a princess.
“All right,” Bastille said. “We’ve got your Librarian, Smedry. Let’s hope she can actually help.”
We headed back to the pig, and I eyed the setting sun. Not much time left. This next part was going to have to go quickly. (I suggest you take a deep breath.)
CHAPTER 15
Humans are funny things. From what I’ve seen, the more we agree with someone, the more we like listening to them. I've come up with a theory. I call it the macaroni and cheese philosophy of discourse.
I love macaroni and cheese. It's amazing. If they serve food in heaven, I'm certain mac and cheese graces each and every table. If someone wants to sit and talk to me about how good mac and cheese is, I'll talk to them for hours. However, if they want to talk about fish sticks, I generally stuff them in a cannon and launch them in the general direction of Norway.
That's the wrong reaction. I know what mac and cheese tastes like. Wouldn't it be more useful for me to talk to someone who likes something else? Maybe understanding what other people like about fish sticks could help me understand how they think.
A lot of the world doesn't think this way. In fact, a lot of people think that if they like mac and cheese rather than fish sticks, the best thing to do is ban fish sticks.
That would be a tragedy. If we let people do things like this, eventually we'd end up with only one thing to eat. And it probably wouldn't be mac and cheese or fish sticks. It'd probably be something that none of us likes to eat.
You want to be a better person? Go listen to someone you disagree with. Don't argue with them, just listen. It's remarkable what interesting things people will say if you take the time to not be a jerk.
We dashed from the giant glass pig like deployed soldiers, then stormed up the steps to the Royal Archives. (Go ahead, say it with me. I know you want to.)
Not a library.
Bastille in her Warrior's Lenses was the fastest, of course, but Folsom and Himalaya kept up. Sing was in the rear, right beside...
"Prince Rikers?" I said, freezing in place. I'd assumed that the prince would remain with his vehicle.
"Yes, what?" the prince said, stopping beside me, turning and looking back.
"Why are you here?" I said.
"I finally have a chance to see the famous Alcatraz Smedry in action! I'm not going to miss it."
"Your Highness," I said, "this might be dangerous."
"You really think so?" he asked excitedly.
"What's going on?" Bastille said, rushing back down the steps. "I thought we were in a hurry."
"He wants to come," I said, gesturing.
She shrugged. "We can't really stop him – he's the crown prince. That kind of means he can do what he wants."
"But what if he gets killed?" I asked.
"Then they'll have to pick a new crown prince," Bastille snapped. “Are we going or not?"
I sighed, glancing at the red-haired prince. He was smiling in self-satisfaction.
"Great,” I muttered, but continued up the stairs. The prince rushed beside me. "By the way'' I said. "Why a pig?"
"Why," he said, surprised, "I heard that in the Hushlands, it is common for tough guys to ride hogs."
I groaned. "Prince Rikers, 'hog' is another word for a motorcycle."
"Motorcycles look like pigs?" he asked. "I never knew that!"