Bastille looked at me, eyes narrowing. “Just like a Smedry. If you die, I’m never going to get promoted!”
“How comforting,” I said, then nodded at the library. “I’m seeing something else about the building. I think… some of the windows are glowing just a bit.”
“Which ones?”
“All of them, actually,” I said, cocking my head. “Even the black one. It’s… a little strange.”
“There’s a lot of Oculatory power in there. Strong Lenses, powerful sands, that sort of thing. They’re making the glass charge with power by association.”
I reached up, sliding the glasses down on my nose. I still couldn’t quite tell if I was seeing actual images, or if the light was just playing tricks on me. The changes were so subtle – even the stretching – that they didn’t even seem like changes at all. More like impressions.
I pushed the glasses back up, then glanced at Bastille. “You certainly seem to know a lot about this – especially for someone who says she’s no Oculator.”
Bastille folded her arms, looking away.
“So how do you know all of this?” I asked. “About the Dark Oculator and the library seeming empty?”
“Anyone would know those auras,” she snapped. “They’re simple, really. Honestly, Smedry. Even someone raised by Librarians should know that.”
“I wasn’t raised by Librarians,” I said. “I was raised by regular people – good people.”
“Oh?” Bastille said. “Then why did you work so hard to destroy their houses?”
“Look, aren’t knights supposed to be a little less… annoying?”
Bastille stood upright, sniffing angrily. Then she swung her purse straight at my head. I started but remained where I was. The handbag’s strap will break, I thought. It won’t be able to hit me.
And so, of course, it smashed right into my face. It was surprisingly heavy, as if Bastille had packed a brick or two inside, just in case she had to whack the odd Smedry in the head. I stepped backward – half from the impact, half from surprise – and stumbled, falling to the ground. My head banged against the streetlamp, and I immediately heard a crack up above.
The lamp’s bulb shattered on the ground beside me.
Oh, sure, I thought, rubbing my head. That breaks.
Bastille sniffed with satisfaction, as she looked down at me, but I caught a glimmer of surprise in her eyes – as if she too hadn’t expected to be able to hit me.
“Stop making so much noise,” she said. “People will notice.” Behind her, Grandpa Smedry’s little black car finally puttered up the street, coming to a stop beside us. I could see Sing smushed into the backseat, obscuring the entire back window.
Grandpa Smedry climbed perkily out of the car as I stood rubbing my jaw. “what happened?” he asked, glancing at the broken light, then at me, then at Bastille.
“Nothing,” I said.
Grandpa Smedry smiled, eyes twinkling, as if he knew exactly what had happened. “Well,” he said, “should we be off, then?”
I nodded, straightening my glasses. “Let’s go break in to the library.”
And once again, I considered just how strange my life had become during the last two hours.
Rutabaga.
Chapter 6
Kindly pretend that you own a mousetrap factory.
Now, I realize that some of this narrative still might feel a little far-fetched to you. For instance, you might wonder why the Librarians haven’t captured Grandpa Smedry and his little team of spies long before they attempted this particular infiltration. My friends do – as you have undoubtedly noticed – stand out, with their self-driving cars, odd disguises and near-lethal handbags.
This brings us back to your mousetrap factory. How is it doing? Are profits up? Ah, that’s very pleasant.
A mousetrap factory – as you well know, since you own one – creates mousetraps. These mousetraps are used to kill mice. However, you factory is in a very nice, clean part of town. That area itself has never had a problem with mice – your mousetraps are sold to people who live near fields, where mice are far more common.