Bastille snorted. “It’s a good thing you don’t claim short people are more humble.”
Kaz fell silent. “That’s reason two thirty-six,” he muttered quietly. “I just haven’t mentioned that one yet.”
Bastille shot me a glance through her sunglasses, and I could tell she was rolling her eyes. However, even though I didn’t believe Kaz about my mother, I thought his comments about how to treat people were valid.
Who we are—meaning, the person we become by doing things—which—incidentally—is actually a function of who we are—for example, I’ve become an Oculator—which is quite fun—by doing things that relate to Oculators—not who we can be—is more important—actually—than what we look like.
For instance, the fact that I use lots of dashes in my writing is part of what makes me me. I’d rather be known by this—since it’s cool—than by the fact that I have a big nose. Which I don’t. Why are you looking at me like that?
“Wait!” I said, holding out a hand.
Bastille froze.
“Tripwire,” I said, heart pounding. Her foot hovered a few scant inches from it.
She backed away, and Kaz squatted down. “Well done, kid. It’s a good thing you have those Lenses.”
“Yeah,” I said, taking them off and cleaning them. “I guess.” I still wished I had a weapon instead of another pair of Lenses that showed me random stuff. Wouldn’t a sword have been equally useful?
Of course, I might think that just because I really like swords. Give me the chance, and I’d probably cut my wedding cake with one.
I did have to admit, though, that I’d made pretty good use of the Discerner’s Lenses. Maybe I’d discounted them too quickly at first. I cleaned my Lenses, feeling an odd sensation from inside. It was slight, a little like indigestion, but less foody.
I shook my head and put the Discerner’s Lenses back on, then guided the other two over the tripwire. As I did, I noticed something interesting. “There’s a second tripwire a few feet ahead.”
“They’re getting more clever,” Bastille said. “They figured we’d see this one, but hoped we’d feel safe once we passed it—then go right on and trip the second.”
I nodded, glancing at the Curators floating behind. I noticed that the odd sensation was getting stronger. It was hard to explain. It wasn’t really a sick feeling. More like a slight itch on my emotions.
“We need to find Australia quickly, Kaz,” Bastille said. “Is it supposed to take this long?”
“Never can tell, with the Talent,” Kaz said. “Australia might not actually be lost. If that’s the case, it will take me a lot longer to find her than it took me to find you. Like I mentioned earlier, if I don’t know where to go, then my Talent can’t really take me there.”
Bastille didn’t seem pleased to hear this. “Maybe we should start looking for the old Smedry instead.”
“If I know my father, he’s not lost,” Kaz said, rubbing his chin. “He’ll be even more difficult to find.”
I was barely paying attention to them. The itch was still there. It wasn’t the same feeling that I got from the hunter that was chasing me, but it was similar.…
“So, do we keep going?” Bastille asked.
“I guess,” Kaz said.
“No,” I said suddenly, looking at them. “Kaz, turn off your Talent.”
Bastille looked at me, frowning. “What is it?”
“Someone’s using a Lens nearby.”
“The Scrivener’s Bone chasing us?”
I shook my head. “This is a regular Lens, not a twisted one like he uses. It means there is an Oculator close to us.” I paused, then pointed. “That way.”
Bastille shared a look with Kaz. “Let’s go check it out,” she said.
Chapter
13
I have to apologize for the introduction to that last chapter. It was far too apologetic. There’s been too much apologizing going on in this book. I’m sorry. I want to prove to you that I’m a liar, not a wimp.
The thing is, you never know who is going to be reading your books. I’ve tried to write this one for members of both the Hushlands and the Free Kingdoms, and that’s tough enough. However, even within the Hushlands the variety of people who could pick this book up is incredible.
You could be a young boy wanting to read an adventure story. You could be a young girl wanting to investigate the truth of the Librarian conspiracy. You might be a mother reading this book because you’ve heard that so many of your kids are reading it. Or you could be a serial killer who specializes in reading books, then seeking out the authors and murdering them in horrible ways.
(If you happen to fall into that last category, you should know that my name isn’t really Alcatraz Smedry, nor is it Brandon Sanderson. My name is in fact Garth Nix, and you can find me in Australia. Oh, and I insulted your mother once. What’re you going to do about it, huh?)
Anyway, it’s very difficult to relate this story to everyone who might be reading my book. So I’ve decided not to try. Instead, I’ll just say something that makes no sense to anyone: Flagwat the happy beansprout.
Confusion, after all, is the true universal language.
“The feeling is coming from that direction,” I said, pointing. Unfortunately, “that direction” happened to be straight through a wall full of books.
“So … one of the books is an Oculator?” Kaz asked.
I rolled my eyes.
He chuckled. “I understood what you meant. Stop acting like Bastille. Obviously we have to find a way around. There must be another hallway on the other side.”
I nodded, but … the Lens felt close. We’d walked down a few rows already, coming to this point, and I felt like it was right on the other side of the wall.
I took off my Discerner’s Lenses, putting on my Oculator’s Lenses instead. One of their main functions was to reveal Oculatory power, and they made the entire wall glow with a bright white light. I stumbled back, shocked by the powerful illumination.
“Glowing, eh?” Bastille asked, walking up to me.
I nodded.
“That’s strange,” she said. “It takes time for an area to charge with Oculatory power. The Lens you sensed must have been here for a while if it has started making things around it glow.”
“What are you implying?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. When you first spoke, I assumed we were close to Grandpa Smedry or Australia, since they’re the only other Oculators we know to be down here. Except for, well, your father, and he…”
I didn’t want to think about that. “It’s probably not Grandpa. He came down here only a little while before we did.”
“What, then?” Bastille asked.
I took off my Oculator’s Lenses, then put on my Discerner’s Lenses again. I walked carefully along the wall full of books, inspecting the brickwork.
I didn’t have to look far before I discovered that one section of the wall was much older than all of the others. “Something is back there,” I said. “I think there might be a secret passage or something.”
“How do we trigger it?” Bastille asked. “Pull one of the books?”
“I guess.”
One of the ever-present Curators floated closer. “Yes,” it said. “Pull one of the books. Take it.”
I paused, hand halfway up to the shelf. “I’m not going to take it; I’ll just shake it a bit.”
“Try it,” the Curator whispered. “Whether you pick up a book, or whether it falls off accidentally, it does not matter. Move even one of the books a few inches off its shelf, and your soul is ours.”
I lowered my hand. The Curator seemed too eager to scare me away from trying to move one of the books. It seems like they don’t want me to find out what is behind there.