‘Hey,’ Bastille said, sitting down. ‘What’s reflecting?’
‘Huh?’
‘Free Kingdoms phrase,’ Bastille said. ‘It just means “What are you thinking about?”’
I shrugged.
‘It’s your parents, isn’t it?’ Bastille asked. ‘You always get the same look in your eyes when you think about them.’
I shrugged again.
‘You’re wondering what the point was in rescuing your father, since he didn’t end up spending any time with you.’
I shrugged, my stomach rumbling again.
Bastille hesitated. ‘I’m not sure I understood that one. My shrug-ese is kind of rusty.’
‘I don’t know, Bastille,’ I said, still looking at the city. ‘It’s just that . . . well, I’ve lost them both again. For a few moments, we were all there, in the same city. And now I’m alone again.’
‘You’re not alone,’ she said, sitting down on the rock next to me.
‘Even when I was with my father, I wasn’t with him,’ I said. ‘He practically ignored me. Every time I tried to talk to him, he acted like I was a bother. He kept sending me off to enjoy myself, offering to give me money, as if the only thing he had to do as a father was provide for me.
‘And now, they’re both gone. And I don’t know what any of it was about. They were in love once. When we were captured a few months ago, I watched my mother talk about me to the other Librarians. She said she didn’t care about me, but the Truthfinder’s Lens said that she was lying.’
‘Huh,’ Bastille said. ‘Well, that’s good, right? It means she cares.’
‘It’s not good,’ I said. ‘It’s confusing. It would be so much easier if I could just believe that she hates me. Why did they break up? Why did they think a Librarian and a Smedry could marry in the first place? And what made them change their minds? Whose fault was it? They were together until I was born . . .’
‘Alcatraz,’ Bastille said. ‘It’s not your fault.’
I didn’t respond.
‘Alcatraz . . .’
‘I know it’s not,’ I said, mostly to get her to stop prodding me. Bastille fell silent, though I could tell she didn’t believe me. She shouldn’t have.
I continued staring out into the night. What is it you’re really after, Mother? I thought. What is in that book you stole? And why did you lie to the other Librarians about me?
I’m sorry. Did that last part make you a little depressed? Someone needs to say something funny. How about this: By the end of this book, you’ll see me realize that everything I thought I knew about my life was a lie, and I’ll be left even more alone than before.
Oh? That wasn’t very funny, you say? That’s because you didn’t hear the joke. I hid it in the sentence, but you have to read it backward to get it.
Did you get it? You might have to read it out loud to sound it out right, if you want to see the joke. Give it a try. Sound out every word.
How was that? What? Oh, that wasn’t supposed to make you laugh – it was supposed to make everyone around you laugh at how silly you sounded. Did it work? (If you’ll look above, I said, ‘Someone needs to say something funny,’ but I didn’t say it would be me . . .)
‘So,’ Bastille said. ‘Do you want to know about those Lenses your grandfather gave you?’
‘Sure,’ I said, glad for the change in topic. I pulled out the pair of Bestower’s Lenses, with their purple-and-green tint. When I wore my Primary Oculator’s Lenses, the ones in my hand glowed with a strong aura; they were very powerful.
‘These are supposed to be tough to use,’ Bastille said, taking the Bestower’s Lenses and inspecting them. ‘Essentially, they let you give something of yourself to someone else.’
‘Something?’ I asked. ‘What something?’
She shrugged. ‘It depends. Like I said, they’re hard to use, and nobody seems to understand them perfectly. You put them on, you look at someone and focus on them, then you send them something. Some of your strength, something you’re feeling, something you can do that they can’t. There are reports of some strange events tied to this kind of Lens. An Oculator who had hives from a troll allergy once took a set of these and gave the hives to his political opponent when she was giving a speech.’
‘Huh,’ I said, taking the Lenses back, looking them over.