Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia

It was then that I understood what Grandpa Smedry had been trying to tell me. Fame itself wasn’t a bad thing. Praise wasn’t a bad thing. The danger was assuming that you really were what everyone imagined you to be.

I’d come into this presuming that my Talent could get us out. Well, now it couldn’t. I’d brought us into danger because I’d let my self-confidence make me overconfident.

And you all are to blame for this, in part. This is what your adoration does. You create for yourselves heroes using our names, but those fabrications are so incredible, so elevated that the real thing can never live up to them. You destroy us, consume us.

And I am what’s left over when you’re done.

Chapter 19

Oh, wasn’t that how you expected me to end that last chapter? Was it kind of a downer? Made you feel bad about yourself?

Well, good.

We’re getting near the end, and I’m tired of putting on a show for you. I’ve tried to prove that I’m arrogant and selfish, but I just don’t think you’re buying it. So, maybe if I make the book a depressing pile of slop, you’ll leave me alone.

“Alcatraz?” Bastille whispered.

I mean, why is it that you readers always assume that you’re never to blame for anything? You just sit there, comfortable on your couch while we suffer. You can enjoy our pain and our misery because you’re safe.

Well, this is real to me. It’s real. It still affects me. Ruins me.

“Alcatraz?” Bastille repeated.

I am not a god. I am not a hero. I can’t be what you want me to be. I can’t save people, or protect them, because I can’t even save myself!

I am a murderer. Do you understand? I KILLED HIM.

“Alcatraz!” Bastille hissed.

I looked up from my bonds. A good half hour had passed. We were still captive, and I’d tried dozens of times to summon my Talent. It was unresponsive. Like a sleeping beast that refused to awaken. I was powerless.

My mother chatted with the other Librarians, who had sent in teams to rifle through the books and determine if there was anything else of value inside the archives. From what I’d heard when I cared enough to pay attention, they were planning to swap the rooms back soon.

Sing had tried to crawl away at one point. He had earned himself a boot to the face—he was already beginning to get a black eye. Himalaya sniffled quietly, leaning against Folsom. Prince Rikers continued to sit happily, as if this were all a big exciting amusement park ride.

“We need to escape,” Bastille said. “We need to get out. The treaty will be ratified in a matter of minutes!”

“I’ve failed, Bastille,” I whispered. “I can’t get us out.”

“Alcatraz…” she said. She sounded so exhausted. I glanced at her and saw the haunted fatigue from before, but it seemed even worse.

“I can barely keep myself awake,” she whispered. “This hole inside … it seems to be chewing on my mind, sucking out everything I think and feel. I can’t do this without you. You’ve got to lead us. I love my brother, but he’s useless.”

“That’s the problem,” I said, leaning back. “I am too.”

The Librarians were approaching. I stiffened, but they didn’t come for me. Instead, they grabbed Himalaya.

She cried out, struggling.

“Let go of her!” Folsom bellowed. “What are you doing?”

He tried to jump after them, but his hands and legs were tied, and all he managed to do was lurch forward onto his face. The Librarian thugs smiled, shoving him to the side, where he caused the table next to us to topple over. It scattered our possessions—some keys, a couple of coin pouches, one book—to the floor.

The book was the volume of Alcatraz Smedry and the Mechanic’s Wrench that Folsom had been carrying earlier, and it fell open to the front page. My theme music began to play, and I tensed, hoping for Folsom to attack.

But of course he didn’t. He wore the Inhibitor’s Glass on his arm. The little melody continued to sound; it was supposed to be brave and triumphant, but now it seemed a cruel parody.

My theme music played while I failed.

“What are you doing to her?” Folsom repeated, struggling uselessly as a Librarian stood with his boot on Folsom’s back.

The young Oculator Fitzroy approached; he still wore my Disguiser’s Lenses, which gave him an illusory body that made him look handsome and strong. “We’ve had a request,” he said. “From She Who Cannot Be Named.”

“You’re in contact with her?” Sing demanded.

“Of course we are,” Fitzroy said. “We Librarian sects get along far better than you all would like to think. Now, Ms. Snorgan … Sorgavag … She Who Cannot Be Named was not pleased to discover that Shasta’s team had planned to steal the Royal Archives—definitely a library—on the very day of the treaty ratification. However, when she heard about a very special captive we’d obtained, she was a little more forgiving.”

“You shall never get away with this, foul monster!” Prince Rikers suddenly exclaimed. “You may hurt me, but you shall never wound me!”

We all stared at him.