Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

The pouch ripped free, and Bastille pulled the whole lot—wire, boot, and pouch—back into her hands, like some strange fisherman without enough money to afford a pole. She grinned at me, then pulled open the pouch, triumphantly revealing the Fleshstone inside, stuck to the boot.

She tossed it all to me. I caught the boot, then turned off its glass. The pouch fell into my hand. Inside it, I found the Fleshstone—which I tossed to Bastille—and something else. A Lens.

I pulled it out eagerly. It wasn’t, however, my Translator’s Lenses. It was the Tracker’s Lens that Kiliman had been using to follow us.

We’ll have to worry about the Translator’s Lenses later, I thought. No time right now.

Kiliman bellowed, finally getting one hand inside the boot, then pulling it free by making as if he were taking a step with the hand. The Grappler’s Glass let go, and Kiliman tossed the boot aside.

I gulped. He wasn’t supposed to have figured that out so quickly.

“Nice trick,” he said, swinging the sword at me again. I scrambled away, dashing toward the exit. I glanced over my shoulder to see Kiliman raising his Frostbringer’s Lens, getting ready to fire it square into my back.

“Hey, Kiliman!” a voice suddenly yelled. “I’m free and I’m making a face at you!”

Kiliman spun with shock to find Kaz, standing free from his bonds and smiling broadly. A Curator hovered next to him—but this Curator had grown legs and was starting to look more and more like Australia as her Talent wore off. We’d sent her in first, looking like one of the ghosts, to untie the captives.

Kiliman had another moment of dumbfounded shock, which Bastille took advantage of by tossing her mother’s Fleshstone to Kaz. The short man caught it, then grabbed one of Draulin’s ropes—she was still tied up—while Australia grabbed the other one. Together they towed the knight behind them, running away.

Kiliman screamed in rage. It was a terrible, half-metallic sound. He spun his Frostbringer’s Lens around. The glass was already glowing, and a beam of bluish light shot out.

But Kaz and the other two were gone, lost by Kaz’s Talent into the depths of the library.

“Smedry!” Kiliman said, turning back toward me as I reached the doorway. “I will hunt you. Even if you escape me today, I will follow. You will never be free of me!”

I paused. Bastille should have already run for freedom. Yet she still stood in the center of the room, from where she’d tossed the Fleshstone to Kaz.

She was staring at Kiliman. Slowly, he became aware of her presence, and he turned.

Run, Bastille! I thought.

She did. Directly at Kiliman.

“No!” I yelled.

Later, when I had time to think about it, I would realize why Bastille did what she did. She knew that Kiliman wasn’t lying. He intended to chase us, and he was an expert hunter. He’d probably find us again before we even got out of the library.

There was only one way to be rid of him. And that was to face him. Now.

I wasn’t aware of this reasoning at the time. I just thought she was being stupid. Yet I did something even more stupid.

I charged back into the room.

Chapter 19

Life is not fair.

If you are the discriminating reader that I think you are (you picked up this book, after all), then you should have figured this out. There are very few aspects about life that are in any way fair.

It isn’t fair that some people are rich and others are poor. It isn’t fair that I’m rambling like this instead of continuing the climax of the story. It isn’t fair that I’m so outrageously handsome, while most people are simply ordinary. It isn’t fair that diphthong gets to be such an awesome-sounding word, yet has to mean something relatively unawesome.

No, life is not fair. It is, however, funny.

The only thing you can do is laugh at it. Some days you have to sit in your boring chair sipping warm cocoa. Other days you get to blast your way out of a pit in the ground, and then run off to fight a half-metal monster who is holding your friend’s mother captive. Other days you need to dress like a green hamster and dance around in circles while people throw pomegranates at you.

Don’t ask.

There are two lessons I think should be learned from this book. The second one I’ll blather on about in the next chapter, but the first—and perhaps more interesting—one is this: Please remember to laugh. It’s good for you. (Plus, while you’re laughing, it’s easier for me to hit you with the pomegranate.)

Laugh when good things happen. Laugh when bad things happen. Laugh when life is so plain boring that you can’t find anything amusing about it beyond the fact that it’s so utterly unamusing.

Laugh when books come to a close, even if the endings aren’t happy.

This isn’t part of the plan, I thought desperately as I dashed back into the room. What’s the point of having a plan if people don’t follow it?