smil ing, as if he hadn't just smacked me in the face. "It seems that they think you are reckless!"
"That's a problem?"
"Velcroed Verns, of course not! I was quite proud to hear that. Recklessness and boldness, great Smedry traits. Thing is, they said some other things about you – things they'd only admit after I pushed them on it."
"What things?"
"That you're self-centered. That you think you're better than regular people, and that all you talk about is yourself. Now, this didn't sound like the Alcatraz I knew. Not at all. So I came back here to investigate – and what did I find? A pile of Attica's sycophants lounging about my castle, just like the old days."
"My father's sycophants?" I asked, glancing at the room a little down the hallway. "But they're fans of mine! Not my father's."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, they've read my books. They talk about them all the time."
"Alcatraz, lad ,” Grandpa Smedry said. "Have you read those books?"
“ Well, no."
"Then how the blazes do you know what's in them?"
“ Well, I . . ." This was frustrating. Didn't I deserve to finally have someone looking up to me, respecting me? Praising me?
"This is my fault," Grandpa Smedry said with a sigh.
"Should have prepared you better for the kinds of people you'd find here. But, well, I thought you'd use the Truthfinder's Lens.
The Truthfinder’s Lens. I'd almost forgotten about it – it could tell me when people were lying. I pulled it free from my pocket, then glanced at Grandpa Smedry. He nodded back down the hallway, so hesitantly I stood u p and took off my Oculator's Lenses, walking down the hallway to the room.
I looked in, holding the Truthfinder's Lens in front of my eye.
"Alcatraz!" Rodrayo said. "We've missed you!" As he spoke, he seemed to spit mouthfuls of black beetles from his mouth. They squirmed and writhed, and I jumped backward, removing the Lens. The beetles vanished when I did so. I hesitantly replaced the Lens.
"Alcatraz?" Rodrayo asked. "What's wrong? Come in, we want to hear more about your adventures."
More beetles. I could only assume that meant he was lying.
"Hey," said Jasson, "yeah. Those stories are fun!"
Lying.
"There's the greatest man in the city!" another said, pointing at me.
Lying.
I stumbled away from the room, then fled back down the hallway. Grandp a Smedry waited for me, still sitting on the floor. "So," I said, sitting down next to him. "It's all lies. Nobody really looks up to me."
"Lad, lad," Grandpa Smedry said, laying a hand on my shoulder. "They don't know you. They only know the sto ries and the legends! Even that lot in there, useless though they tend to be, have their good points. But everyone is going to assume that because they've heard so much about you, they know you."
They were wise words. Prophetic, in a way. Ever since I left the Hushlands, I've felt like every person who looked at me saw someone different, and I wasn't any of them. My reputation only grew more daunting after the events at the Library of Congress and the Spire of the World.
"It's not easy to be famous," Grandpa Smedry said. "We all deal with it differently. Your father gluts himself on his fame, then flees from it. I tried for years to teach him to keep his ego in check, but I fear I have failed."
"I thought . . ." I said, looking down. "I thought if he heard people talking about how wonderful I was, he might actually look at me once in a while."
Grandpa Smedry fell silent. “ Ah, lad ,” he finally said. "Your father is . . . well, he is what he is. We just have to do our best to love him. But I worry that the fame will do to you what it's done to him. That's why I was so excited that you found that Tr uthfinder's Lens."
"I thought it was for me to use on the Librarians."
"Ha!" Grandpa Smedry said. “ Well, it could be of some use against them – but a clever Librarian agent will know not to say any direct lies, lest they get caught in them."
"Oh," I said, putting the T r uthfinder's Lens
"That's a problem?"
"Velcroed Verns, of course not! I was quite proud to hear that. Recklessness and boldness, great Smedry traits. Thing is, they said some other things about you – things they'd only admit after I pushed them on it."
"What things?"
"That you're self-centered. That you think you're better than regular people, and that all you talk about is yourself. Now, this didn't sound like the Alcatraz I knew. Not at all. So I came back here to investigate – and what did I find? A pile of Attica's sycophants lounging about my castle, just like the old days."
"My father's sycophants?" I asked, glancing at the room a little down the hallway. "But they're fans of mine! Not my father's."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, they've read my books. They talk about them all the time."
"Alcatraz, lad ,” Grandpa Smedry said. "Have you read those books?"
“ Well, no."
"Then how the blazes do you know what's in them?"
“ Well, I . . ." This was frustrating. Didn't I deserve to finally have someone looking up to me, respecting me? Praising me?
"This is my fault," Grandpa Smedry said with a sigh.
"Should have prepared you better for the kinds of people you'd find here. But, well, I thought you'd use the Truthfinder's Lens.
The Truthfinder’s Lens. I'd almost forgotten about it – it could tell me when people were lying. I pulled it free from my pocket, then glanced at Grandpa Smedry. He nodded back down the hallway, so hesitantly I stood u p and took off my Oculator's Lenses, walking down the hallway to the room.
I looked in, holding the Truthfinder's Lens in front of my eye.
"Alcatraz!" Rodrayo said. "We've missed you!" As he spoke, he seemed to spit mouthfuls of black beetles from his mouth. They squirmed and writhed, and I jumped backward, removing the Lens. The beetles vanished when I did so. I hesitantly replaced the Lens.
"Alcatraz?" Rodrayo asked. "What's wrong? Come in, we want to hear more about your adventures."
More beetles. I could only assume that meant he was lying.
"Hey," said Jasson, "yeah. Those stories are fun!"
Lying.
"There's the greatest man in the city!" another said, pointing at me.
Lying.
I stumbled away from the room, then fled back down the hallway. Grandp a Smedry waited for me, still sitting on the floor. "So," I said, sitting down next to him. "It's all lies. Nobody really looks up to me."
"Lad, lad," Grandpa Smedry said, laying a hand on my shoulder. "They don't know you. They only know the sto ries and the legends! Even that lot in there, useless though they tend to be, have their good points. But everyone is going to assume that because they've heard so much about you, they know you."
They were wise words. Prophetic, in a way. Ever since I left the Hushlands, I've felt like every person who looked at me saw someone different, and I wasn't any of them. My reputation only grew more daunting after the events at the Library of Congress and the Spire of the World.
"It's not easy to be famous," Grandpa Smedry said. "We all deal with it differently. Your father gluts himself on his fame, then flees from it. I tried for years to teach him to keep his ego in check, but I fear I have failed."
"I thought . . ." I said, looking down. "I thought if he heard people talking about how wonderful I was, he might actually look at me once in a while."
Grandpa Smedry fell silent. “ Ah, lad ,” he finally said. "Your father is . . . well, he is what he is. We just have to do our best to love him. But I worry that the fame will do to you what it's done to him. That's why I was so excited that you found that Tr uthfinder's Lens."
"I thought it was for me to use on the Librarians."
"Ha!" Grandpa Smedry said. “ Well, it could be of some use against them – but a clever Librarian agent will know not to say any direct lies, lest they get caught in them."
"Oh," I said, putting the T r uthfinder's Lens
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