Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

“Oh, you don’t?” Kaz said, amused. “Well then, let’s try something. Why don’t you tell me about your grandfather; pretend I don’t know anything about him, and you want to describe him to me.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Grandpa Smedry is a brilliant Oculator who is a little bit zany, but who is one of the Free Kingdoms’ most important figures. He has the Talent to arrive late to things.”

“Great,” Kaz said. “Now tell me about Bastille.”

I eyed her, and she shot me a threatening glance. “Uh, Bastille is a Crystin. I think that’s about all I can say without her throwing something at me.”

“Good enough. Australia?”

I shrugged. “She seems a bit scatterbrained, but is a good person. She’s an Oculator and has a Smedry Talent.”

“Okay,” Kaz said. “Now talk about me.”

“Well, you’re a short person who—”

“Stop,” Kaz said.

I did so, shooting him a questioning glance.

“Why is it,” Kaz said, “that with the others, the first thing you described about them was their job or their personality? Yet with me, the first thing you mentioned was my height?”

“I … uh…”

Kaz laughed. “I’m not trying to trap you, kid. But maybe you see why I get so annoyed sometimes. The trouble with being different is that people start defining you by what you are instead of by who you are.”

I fell silent.

“Your mother is a Librarian,” Kaz said. “Because of that, we tend to think of her as a Librarian first and a person second. Our knowledge of her as a Librarian clouds everything else.”

“She’s not a good person, Kaz,” I said. “She offered to sell me to a Dark Oculator.”

“Did she?” Kaz asked. “What exactly did she say?”

I thought back to the time when Bastille, Sing, and I had been hiding in the library, listening to Ms. Fletcher speak with Blackburn. “Actually,” I said, “she didn’t say anything. It was the Dark Oculator who said something like, ‘You’d sell the boy too, wouldn’t you? You impress me.’ And she just shrugged or nodded or something.”

“So,” Kaz said, “she didn’t offer to sell you out.”

“She didn’t contradict Blackburn.”

Kaz shook his head. “Shasta has her own agenda, kid. I don’t think any of us can presume to understand exactly what she’s up to. Your father saw something in her. I still think he’s a fool for marrying her, but for a Librarian, she wasn’t too bad.”

I wasn’t convinced. My bias against Librarians wasn’t the only thing making me distrust Shasta. She had consistently berated me as a child, saying I was worthless. (I now know she had been trying to get me to stop using my Talent, for fear it would expose me to those who were searching for the Sands.) Either way, she’d been my mother all that time, and she hadn’t ever given me even a hint of confirmation.

Though … she had stayed with me, always watching over me.

I pushed that thought aside. She didn’t deserve credit for that—she’d only been hoping for the chance to grab the Sands of Rashid. The very day they arrived, she showed up and swiped them.

“… don’t know, Kaz,” Bastille was saying. “I think that the main reason people think of your height first is because of that ridiculous list of yours.”

“My list is not ridiculous,” Kaz said with a huff. “It’s very scientific.”

“Oh?” Bastille asked. “Didn’t you claim that ‘short people are better because it takes them longer to walk places, therefore they get more exercise’?”

“That one has been clinically proven,” Kaz said, pointing at her.

“It does seem a bit of a stretch,” I said, smiling.

“You forget reason number one,” he said. “‘Don’t argue with the short person. He’s always right.’”

Bastille snorted. “It’s a good thing you don’t claim short people are more humble.”

Kaz fell silent. “That’s reason two thirty-six,” he muttered quietly. “I just haven’t mentioned that one yet.”

Bastille shot me a glance through her sunglasses, and I could tell she was rolling her eyes. However, even though I didn’t believe Kaz about my mother, I thought his comments about how to treat people were valid.

Who we are—meaning, the person we become by doing things—which—incidentally—is actually a function of who we are—for example, I’ve become an Oculator—which is quite fun—by doing things that relate to Oculators—not who we can be—is more important—actually—than what we look like.

For instance, the fact that I use lots of dashes in my writing is part of what makes me me. I’d rather be known by this—since it’s cool—than by the fact that I have a big nose. Which I don’t. Why are you looking at me like that?

“Wait!” I said, holding out a hand.

Bastille froze.

“Tripwire,” I said, heart pounding. Her foot hovered a few scant inches from it.

She backed away, and Kaz squatted down. “Well done, kid. It’s a good thing you have those Lenses.”

“Yeah,” I said, taking them off and cleaning them. “I guess.” I still wished I had a weapon instead of another pair of Lenses that showed me random stuff. Wouldn’t a sword have been equally useful?

Of course, I might think that just because I really like swords. Give me the chance, and I’d probably cut my wedding cake with one.