I rushed forward with another stack of books. Himalaya snatched them without looking at me, then threw them into piles like a dealer dealing cards.
Impressive! I thought.
“All right, I have to say it,” Himalaya said as she worked. Soldiers clinked in their armor, rushing back and forth, delivering stacks of unorganized books to her feet, then taking away the neatly organized ones she placed behind her.
“What is wrong with you Free Kingdomers?” she demanded, ranting as if to nobody in particular. “I mean, I left the Hushlands because I disagreed with the way the Librarians were keeping information from the people.
“But why is it bad to organize? Why do you have to treat books like this? What’s wrong with having a little order? You Free Kingdomers claim to like things loose and free, but if there are never any rules, there is chaos. Organization is important.”
I set down my stack of books, then rushed back.
“Who knows what treasures you could have lost here?” she snapped, arms flying. “Mold can destroy books. Mice can chew them to bits. They need to be cared for, treasured. Somebody needs to keep track of what you have so that you can appreciate your own collection!”
Folsom stepped up beside me, his brow dripping with sweat. He watched Himalaya with adoring eyes, smiling broadly.
“Why did I have to give up who I was?” the Librarian ranted. “Why can’t I be me, but also be on your side? I don’t want to stifle information, but I do want to organize it! I don’t want to rule the world, but I do want to bring it order! I don’t want everything to be the same, but I do want to understand!”
She stopped for a moment. “I am a good Librarian!” she declared in a triumphant voice, grabbing a huge stack of unorganized books. She shook them once, like one might a pepper shaker, and somehow the books all aligned in order by subject, size, and author.
“Wow,” Folsom breathed.
“You really do love her,” I said.
Folsom blushed, looking at me. “Is it that obvious?”
It hadn’t been to me. But I smiled anyway.
“These last six months have been amazing,” he said, getting that dreamy, disgusting tone to his voice that lovesick people often use. “I started out just watching to see if she was a spy, but after I determined that she was safe … well, I wanted to keep spending time with her. So I offered to coach her on Nalhallan customs.”
“Have you told her?” I asked, soldiers bustling around me, carrying stacks of books.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Folsom said. “I mean, look at her. She’s amazing! I’m just a regular guy.”
“A regular guy?” I asked. “Folsom, you’re a Smedry. You’re nobility!”
“Yeah,” he said, looking down. “But I mean, that’s just a name. I’m a boring person when you get down to it. Who thinks a critic is interesting?”
I resisted pointing out that Librarians weren’t exactly known for being the most exciting people either.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t know a lot about things like this, but it seems to me that if you love her, you should say so. I—”
At that moment, Prince Rikers walked up. “Hey, look!” he said, proffering a book. “They have one of my novels in here! Preserved for all of posterity. The music even still works. See!”
He opened the cover.
And so, of course, Folsom punched me in the face.
Chapter
16
Now, I would like to make it clear that violence is rarely the best solution to problems.
For instance, the next time you get attacked by a group of angry ninjas, one solution would be to kick the lead ninja, steal his katana, and proceed to slay the rest of the group in an awesome display of authorial fury. While this might be fulfilling—and a little bit fun—it would also be rather messy, and would earn you the ire of an entire ninja clan. They’d send assassins after you for the rest of your life. (Having to fight off a ninja in the middle of a date can be quite embarrassing.)
So instead of fighting, you could bribe the ninjas with soy sauce, and then send them to attack your siblings instead. That way you can get rid of some unwanted soy sauce. See how easy it is to avoid violence?
Now, there are some occasions when violence is appropriate. Usually those are occasions when you want to beat the tar out of somebody. Unfortunately, “somebody” at this moment happened to be me. Folsom’s punch was completely unexpected, and it hit me full in the face.
Right then I realized something quite interesting: That was the first time I’d ever been punched. It was a special moment for me. I’d say it was a little like being kicked, only with more knuckles and a hint of lemon.
Maybe the lemon part was just my brain short-circuiting as I was tossed backward onto the chamber’s glass floor. The blow left me dazed, and by the time I finally shook myself out of it, the scene in front of me was one of total chaos.
The soldiers were trying to subdue Folsom. They didn’t want to hurt him, as he was a nobleman; they were forced to try to grab him and hold him down. It wasn’t working very well. Folsom fought with a strange mixture of terrified lack of control and calculated precision. He was like a puppet with its strings being pulled by a kung fu master. Or maybe vice versa. A trite melody played in the background—my theme music, apparently.
Folsom moved among the soldiers in a blur of awkward (yet somehow well-placed) kicks, punches, and head-butts. He’d already knocked down a good ten soldiers, and the other ten weren’t doing much better.
“It’s so exciting!” the prince said. “I hope somebody is taking notes! Why didn’t I bring any of my scribes? I should send for some!” Rikers stood a short distance from the center of the fight.
Please punch him, I thought, standing up on shaky knees. Just a little bit.
But it wasn’t to be—Folsom was focused on the soldiers. Himalaya was calling for the soldiers to try to get their hands over Folsom’s ears. Where was Bastille? She should have come running at the sounds of the fight.
“The Alcatraz Smedry Theme” continued to play its peppy little melody, coming from somewhere near the prince. “Prince Rikers!” I yelled. “The book! Where is it? We have to close it!”
“Oh, what?” He turned. “Um, I think I dropped it when the fight started.”
He was standing near a pile of unsorted books. I cursed, scrambling toward the pile. If we could stop the music, Folsom would stop dancing.
At that moment the battle shifted in my direction. Folsom—his eyes wild and wide with worry—spun through a group of soldiers, throwing four of them into the air.
I stood facing him. I didn’t think he’d do me any serious harm. I mean, Smedry Talents are unpredictable, but they rarely hurt people too badly.
Except … hadn’t I used my own Talent to break some arms and cause monsters to topple to their deaths?
Crud, I thought. Folsom raised his fist and prepared to punch directly at my face.
And my Talent engaged.
One of the odd things about Smedry Talents, mine in particular, is how they sometimes operate proactively. Mine breaks weapons at a distance if someone tries to kill me.
In this case, something dark and wild seemed to rip from me. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it snapping toward Folsom. His eyes opened wide and he tripped, his graceful martial-arts power failing him for a brief moment. It was as if he’d suddenly lost his Talent.