Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

We build friendships based on expectations. We expect our friends to act in a certain way, and then we act as they expect us to. Indeed, the very fact that we get up in the mornings shows that we expect the sun to rise, the world to keep spinning, and our shoes to fit, like they all did the day before.

People have real trouble when you upset their expectations. For instance, you likely didn’t expect me to begin this chapter writing in Korean. Though, after the bunny-bazooka story, one begins to wonder how you can possibly maintain any expectations about this book at all.

And that, my friends, is the point.

Half of you reading this book live in the Hushlands. I was a Hushlander myself, once, and I am not so naive as to assume that you all believe my story is true. You probably read my first book and thought it was fun. You’re reading this one not because you believe its text, but because you expected another fun story.

Expectations. We rely on them. That’s why so many Hushlanders have trouble believing in the Free Kingdoms and the Librarian conspiracy. You don’t expect to wake up and discover that everything you know about history, geography, and politics is wrong.

So perhaps you can begin to see why I’ve included some of the things I have. Bunnies with bazookas, ships that get repaired (more on that later), faces made of numbers, editorials from short people about how we regard the world, and a lesson on shoes and fish. All of these examples try to prove that you need to have an open mind. Because not everything you believe is true, and not everything you expect to happen will.

Maybe this book will mean nothing to you. Maybe my tale of demonic Curators and magical Lenses will pass you by as pure silliness, to be read but then forgotten. Perhaps because this story deals with people who are far away—and perhaps not even real at all—you will assume it doesn’t relate to you.

I hope not. Because, you see, I have expectations too, and they whisper to me that you’ll understand.

We found a long hallway on the other side of the door. At the end of that hallway was another door, and on the other side of that door was a small chamber.

It had one occupant. He sat on a dusty crate, staring down at the ground in front of him. He was not locked in. He simply seemed to have been sitting there, thinking.

And crying.

“Grandpa Smedry?” I asked.

Leavenworth Smedry, Oculator Dramatus, friend of kings and potentates, looked up. It had only been a few days since I’d last seen him, but it felt like so much longer. He smiled at me, eyes sorrowful.

“Alcatraz, lad,” he said. “Huddling Hales, you did follow me!”

I rushed forward, grabbing him in an embrace. Kaz and Australia followed me in, Bastille and Draulin taking up positions by the door.

“Hey, Pop,” Kaz said, raising a hand.

“Kazan!” Grandpa Smedry said. “Well, well. Been corrupting your nephew, I assume?”

Kaz shrugged. “Somebody needs to.”

Grandpa Smedry smiled, but there was something … sorrowful about even that expression. He wasn’t his usual lively self. Even the little tufts of hair behind his ears seemed less perky.

“Grandpa, what is it?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said, one hand on my shoulder. “I … really should have been done grieving by now. I mean, your father has been gone for thirteen years! I still kept hope, all that time. I thought for sure we’d find him here. I arrived too late, it seems.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Oh, I didn’t show you, did I?” He handed something out to me. A note. “I found this in the room. Your mother had already been here, it seems, and collected Attica’s belongings. Clever one, that Shasta. Always a step ahead of me, even without my Talent interfering. She was in and out of the library before we even arrived. Yet she left this behind. I wonder why.”

I looked down, reading the note.