Alcatraz versus the Scrivener's Bones (27 page)

"This is not ours," the
Curator said, throwing the paper
at my feet.

As the others stood aroun
d me, confused, I snatched up
the paper and read it.
It
wasn't what I'd been expecting.

It’s so simple,
the paper read.

The Curators are, like most things in this world, bound by laws. They are strange laws, but they are strong laws.

The trick is to not own your own
soul
when you sign the contract. So, I bequeath my soul to my son, Alcatraz Smedry. I sign it away to him. He is its true owner.

I looked up.

"What is it, lad?" Grandpa Smedry asked.

"What would you do, Gran
dpa?" I asked. “If you were going to give up your soul not for a specific book, but because you wanted access to the Library’s entire contents.
What book would you ask for?"

Grandpa Smedry shrugged. “Vague Volskies, lad, I don’t
know!
If you'r
e just giving up your soul so that you can
read the other books in the Library, it wouldn't matter
which book you picked as the first, would it?"

“
Actually, it would
,”
I whispered.
"The Library contains
all the knowledge humans have ever known."

"So?" Bastille asked.

"So, it contains the solutions to every problem.
I know
what
I'd
ask for."
I looked straight at the
C
urators.
"I'd ask
for the book that explained how to get my soul back after
I'd given it to the Curators!"

There was a moment of stunned silence. The
C
urators
suddenly began floating away from us.

"
C
urators!" I yelled. "This note bequeaths the soul of
Attica
S
medry to me!
You have taken it unlawfully, and I
demand it back!"

The creatures froze, then they began to scream in a
howling, despairing cry.

O
ne of them suddenly spun and threw back its hood,
the fires in its eyes puf
fing out, replaced by human eye
balls.
The skull bulged, growing the flesh of a hawk-faced,
noble-looking man.

He tossed aside his robe, wearing a tuxedo underneath.
“
Aha!" he said.
"I
knew
you'd figure it out, son!"
The man
turned, pointing at the hovering
C
urators.
"Thank you
kindly for the time you let me spend rummaging through
your books, you old spooks!
I beat you.
I told you I would!"

"Oh, dear," Grandpa Smedry said, smiling.
“
We'll
never shut him up now.
He's gone and come back from
the dead."

"It's him, then?" I asked. "My . . . father?"

"Indeed," Grandpa Smedry said.
"Attica
Smedry, in
the flesh. Ha! I should have known. If ever
there were a
man to lose his soul and then find it again,
it would be
Attica!"

"Father, Kaz!" Attica said
, walking over, putting an arm around each one.
"We have work to do!
The Free King
doms
are in deep danger!
Did you retrieve my possessions?"

"Actually," I said. "Your wife did that."

Attica froze, looking
back at me. Even though he’d addressed me earlier
, it seem
ed that now he was seeing me
for the first time.
“
Ah
,”
he said.
"She has my
Translator’s
Lenses, then?"

"We assume
so, son," Grandpa Smedry said.

Well then, that means we have eve
n
more
work to
do!" And with that, my f
ather strode down the hallway, walking
as if he expected everyone to hop quickly and
follow.

I stood, staring after him. Bastille and Kaz paused,
look
ing at me.

"Not what you were expecting?" Bastille asked.

I shrugged. Thi
s was the first time I'd met my
father,
and he had barely glanced at me.

"He's just distracted, I'm sure," Bastille said.
“
A little
addled from having spent so long as a ghost."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm sure that's it."

Kaz slapped me on the shoulder. "Don't get down, Al.
This is a time for rejoicing!"

I smiled, his enthusiasm contagious.
"I suppose you're
right."
W
e began to walk, my step growing a bit more
springy.
Kaz was right.
T
r
ue, everything wasn't perfect, but
we had managed to save my father. Coming down into the
Library had proven to be the best choice, in the end.

I might have been a bit inexperienced, but I'd made the
right decision.
I found myself feeling rather good as we
walked.

"Thanks, Kaz," I said.

"For what?"

"For the encouragement."

He shrugged.
"
W
e short people are like that. Remember
what I said about being more compassionate."

I laughed. "Perhaps.
I do have to say, though - I've
thought of at least one reason why it's better to be a tall
person."

Kaz raised an eyebrow.

"Lightbulbs," I said.
"If everyone were short like you,
Kaz, then who'd change them?"

He laughed. "You're forgetting Reason number sixty-three, kid!"

"Which is?"

"If everyone were short, we could build lower ceili
n
gs!
Think of how much we'd save on building costs!"

I laughed, shaking my
head as we caught up
to th
e oth
ers and made our way out of the Library.

was not m
y
p
lace to sa
y
so.

"Bastille!" I screamed, holding her bloody body in my
arms. "Why?"

She didn't respond.
She just stared i
n
to th
e
air, eyes
glazed
over, her spirit already gone.
I shivered, pulling her
close
, but the body was growing cold.

"You can't die
, you can't!" I said. “Please.”

It was no use.
Bastille was dead.
Re
ally
d
ead
.
Deader
than a battery left all night with the high b
eam
on
.
So
dead, she was twice as dead as anyone I'd
ever seen dead.
She was
that
dead.

“
This is all my fault
,”
I said. "I shouldn't h
a
ve brought
you in to fight Kiliman!"

I felt at her pulse, just in case.
There w
a
s
nothin
g'

Because,
you know, she was dead.

"Oh
, cruel world," I said, sobbing.

I put a mirror up to her face to see if she was
breathing.
Of course, there was no mist on the mirror. Se
ein
g as how
Bastille
was totally and completely dead.

"You were so young
,”
I said.
"Too young to be taken
from us.
W
hy did it have to happen to
y
ou, of all people,
when you are so young?
Too young to die
,
I mean
.
"

I pricked her finger to make sure she wasn't just faking,
but she
didn't even flinch.
I pinched her, then slapped her
face.
Nothing worked.

How many times do I have to explain that she was dead?
I looked down at her body, her face turning blue from
death, and I wept some more.

S
he was so dead that I didn't even realize
that this sec
tion is in the book for two reasons.
First, so that I could
have Bastille die somewhere, just like I promised.
(
S
ee, I
wasn't lying about this! Ha!)

The second reason is, of course, so that if anyone skips
forward to the end to read the last page
–
one
of the most
putrid and unholy things any reader can do
–
they
will be
shocked and annoyed to read that Bastille is dead.

The rest of you can ignore these pages.
(Did I mention
that Bastille is dead?)

The end.