Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

“It’s over, Smedry,” she said. “We’re beaten. Kaz has probably already arrived at the center of the library and given up those Lenses. Chances are, Kiliman will just take him captive and let my mother die.”

“Maybe we can still find a way out. And go help.”

Bastille didn’t seem to be listening. She simply sat down, arms folded across her knees, staring at the wall. “They really are right about me,” she whispered. “I never deserved to be a knight.”

“What?” I asked, squatting down beside her. “Bastille, that’s nonsense.”

“I’ve only done two real operations. This one and the infiltration back in your hometown. Both times I ended up trapped, unable to do anything. I’m useless.”

“We all got trapped,” I said. “Your mother didn’t fare much better.”

She ignored this, still shaking her head. “Useless. You had to save me from those ropes, and then you had to save me again when we were covered in tar. That’s not even counting the time you saved me from falling out the side of Dragonaut.”

“You saved me too,” I said. “Remember the coins? If it wasn’t for you, I’d be floating around with burning eyes, offering illicit books to people as if I were a drug dealer looking for a new victim.”

(Hey, kids? Want a taste of Dickens? It’s awesome, man. Come on. First chapters of Hard Times are free. I know you’ll be back for A Tale of Two Cities later.)

“That was different,” Bastille said.

“No it wasn’t. Look, you saved my life—not only that, but without you, I wouldn’t know what half these Lenses are supposed to do.”

She looked up at me, brow furrowed. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Encouraging people. Like you did with Australia, like you’ve done with all of us this entire trip. What is it about you, Smedry? You don’t want to make any decisions, but you take it upon yourself to encourage us all anyway?”

I fell silent. How had that happened? This conversation had been about her, and suddenly she’d thrown it back in my face. (I’ve found that throwing things in people’s faces—words, conversations, knives—is one of Bastille’s specialties.)

I looked toward the light flickering faintly in the room above. It seemed haunting and inviting, and as I watched it, I realized something about myself. While I hated being trapped because I worried about what might happen to Kaz and Draulin, there was a larger cause of my frustration.

I wanted to be helping. I didn’t want to be left out. I wanted to be in charge. Leaving things to others was tough for me.

“I do want to be a leader, Bastille,” I whispered.

She rustled, turning to look at me.

“I think all people, in their hearts, want to be heroes,” I continued. “But the ones who want it most are the outcasts. The girls and boys who sit in the backs of rooms, always laughed at because they’re different, because they stand out, because … they break things.”

I wondered if Kaz understood that there were more ways than one to be abnormal. Everyone was strange in some way—everyone had weaknesses that could be mocked. I did know how he felt. I’d felt it too.

I didn’t want to go back.

“Yes, I want to be a hero,” I said. “Yes, I want to be the leader. I used to sit and dream of being the one who people looked to. Of being the one who could fix things rather than break them.”

“Well, you have it,” she said. “You’re the heir to the Smedry line. You’re in charge.”

“I know. And that terrifies me.”

She regarded me. She’d taken off her Warrior’s Lenses, and I could see the light from above reflecting in her solemn eyes.

I sat down, shaking my head. “I don’t know what to do, Bastille. Being the kid who’s always in trouble didn’t exactly prepare me for this. How do I decide whether or not to trade my most powerful weapon to save someone’s life? I feel like … like I’m drowning. Like I’m swimming in water over my head and can’t ever reach the top.

“I guess that’s why I keep saying I don’t want to lead. Because I know if people pay too much attention to me, they’ll realize that I’m doing a terrible job.” I grimaced. “Just like I am now. You and me captured, your mother dying, Kaz walking into danger, and Australia—who knows where she is.”

I fell silent, feeling even more foolish now that I’d explained it. But oddly, Bastille didn’t laugh at me.

“I don’t think you’re doing a terrible job, Alcatraz,” she said. “Being in charge is hard. If everything goes well, then nobody pays attention. Yet if something goes wrong, you’re always to blame. I think you’ve done fine. You only need to be a little bit more sure of yourself.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. What do you know about it, anyway?”

“I…”

I glanced at her, the tone in her voice making me curious. Some things about Bastille had never added up, in my estimation. She seemed to know too much. True, she’d said that she’d wanted to be an Oculator, but that didn’t give me enough of an explanation. There was more.

“You do know about it,” I said.

Now it was her turn to shrug. “A little bit.”

I cocked my head.