Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

“Shattering Glass!” she said, then took off in a dash out of the room.

Kaz and I stood, dumbfounded.

“What do we do?” Kaz asked.

“Follow her!” I said, slipping out of the room—careful not to tip over the bookcase outside. Kaz followed, grabbing Bastille’s pack and pulling out a pair of Warrior’s Lenses. As I charged down the hallway after Bastille, he managed to keep up by virtue of the enhancements the Lenses granted.

I quickly began to realize why characters in books tend to lose their gold before the end of the story. That stuff was heavy. Reluctantly, I tossed most of the gold to the side, keeping only a couple of bars in my pocket.

Even without the gold, however, neither of us was fast enough to follow a Crystin.

“Bastille!” I yelled, watching her disappear into the distance.

There was no response. Soon, Kaz and I reached an intersection and paused, puffing. We’d moved into yet another part of the library. Here, instead of rows of scrolls or bookcases, we were in a section that looked like a dungeon. There were lots of intermixing hallways and small rooms, lamps flickering softly on the walls.

To make things more confusing, some of the doorways—even some of the hallways—had bars set across them, blocking the way forward. My suspicion is that this part of the library was intended to be a maze—another means of frustrating people.

Bastille suddenly rushed back toward us, running out of a side corridor.

“Bastille?” I asked.

She cursed and passed us, going down another of the side hallways. I glanced at Kaz, who shrugged. So we took off after her again.

As we ran, I noticed something. A feeling. I froze, causing Kaz to pull up short beside me.

“What?” he asked.

“He’s near,” I said.

“Who?”

“The hunter. The one chasing us.”

“National Union of Teachers!” Kaz swore. “You’re sure?”

I nodded. Ahead, I could hear Bastille yelling. We moved, passing a set of bars on our right. Through them I could see another hallway. It would be very easy to get lost in this section of the library.

But we were already lost. So it didn’t really seem to matter. Bastille came running back, and this time I managed to grab her arm as she ran by. She jerked to a halt, brow sweating, looking wild-eyed.

“Bastille!” I said. “What is going on?”

“My mother,” Bastille said. “She’s near, and she’s in pain. I can’t get to her because every one of these shattering passages is a dead end!”

Draulin? I thought. Here? I opened my mouth to ask how Bastille could possibly know that, and then I felt something. That dark, oppressive force. The twisted, unnatural feeling given off by a Lens that had been forged with Oculator blood. It was near. Very near.

I looked down a side hallway. Lamps flickered along its walls, and at the very end I saw a massive iron grate covering the way forward.

Beyond the grate stood a shadowed figure, one arm unnaturally long, the face misshapen.

And it held Draulin’s Crystin sword in its hands.

Chapter 15

It’s my fault.

I’ll admit the truth; I did it. You’ve undoubtedly noticed it by now, if you’ve been reading closely. I apologize. Of all the dirty tricks I’ve used, this is undeniably the nastiest of them all. I realize it might have ruined the book for you up until now, but I couldn’t help myself.

You see, doing something like this consistently, over fourteen chapters, was quite challenging. And I’m always up for a challenge. When you noticed it, you probably realized how clever I was, even as you blushed. I know this is supposed to be a book for kids, and I thought it was well enough hidden that it wouldn’t be discovered. I guess I was too obvious.

I’d have taken it out, but it’s just so clever. Most people won’t be able to find it, even though it’s there in every chapter, on every page. The most brilliant literary joke I’ve ever made.

My apologies.

I stood, facing down the silhouetted creature, still holding on to Bastille’s arm. I slowly came to understand something.

I had been wrong to run from the creature—that had caused my group to get split up. Now the hunter could take us one at a time, grabbing us from the catacombs as we ran about in confusion.

We couldn’t continue to run. It was time to confront it. I gulped, beginning to sweat. This is one of the reasons why I’m no hero—because even though I walked down that corridor toward the creature, I pulled Bastille along with me. I figured two targets were better than one.

As we moved forward, Kaz trailing behind, Bastille lost a bit of her frenzied look. She pulled her dagger from its sheath, the crystalline blade sparkling in the flickering lamplight.

At the end of the corridor was a small room, split in half by the large iron grate. The Scrivener’s Bone was on the other side of the bars. He smiled as I approached—one side of his face curling up, lips leering. The other side of his face mimicked the motion, though it was made of bits of metal that twisted and clicked, like a clock mechanism that had been compressed tenfold until all of the gears and pins were smushed together.