Skylark Read Online Free PDF Page B

parted in a soundless roar, teeth glistening. With a jolt I realized it was no sculpture at all, but the remains of an actual creature, skinned and stuffed. Horrified and fascinated, I bent my head to the inscription on the plaque at its feet.
    “ Ursus arctos horribilis ,” I read. Horribilis , indeed, I thought, taking a step back from the glare of its glassy, dead eyes.
    My steps echoed as I made my way along. Overhead, longextinct birds hung motionless from wires, wings outstretched in a parody of flight. There were flying creatures ranging from tiny things I could barely see to one mighty creature with a wingspan larger than I was tall. All along the sides of the gallery, examples of creatures gone extinct during the wars stared back at me, haunted and blank.
    There were mechanimals in the gallery as well, clockwork simulacrums of the creatures themselves, dormant without magic to power them. Canis lupus familiaris , I read at one such exhibit.
    A glass case toward the end of the gallery caught my eye. I headed over to peer down at its contents—and started back. Inside was a pixie, as real and clear as the one I had annihilated.
    My heart pounded against my ribcage, but the pixie was dormant. It couldn’t see me—or else it would be halfway to the Administrator by now, to inform her that a harvestee was not where she was supposed to be. I swallowed and forced myself to look closer. Its squat, copper body was supported on six spindly legs, delicate mesh wings outstretched and poised as if ready to fly. No eyes, only the bulging multifaceted sensors attuned to the Resource, and long delicate antennae for reception of orders.
    The plaque beneath the case said it was a prototype, from back when pixies were just amusements for the rich, before the Institute altered them to suit its purposes. It looked just the same, though, as cold and calculating. I backed away from the case, skin crawling.
    The next room opened up into a cavernous, dark space broken up by long tables and rows of shelves, and I squinted as my eyes adjusted. Something moved in a pool of light cast by a lamp and I realized with a jolt that there was a person at one of the tables—I darted to the side, ducking behind one of the shelves.
    Willing my pounding heart to slow, I peeked around the shelf. At the other end of the room, an ancient architect with a neatly trimmed beard and wild eyebrows sat hunched over a desk piled high with books.
    My heart leapt. I’d read the few books in the classroom countless times—never had I realized so many books even still existed. The entire room was full of them, thick with the smell of leather and dust. Even the shelf I was hiding behind was lined with them. An entire world of knowledge locked in here, far exceeding anything I could have imagined. Beyond the architect’s desk was row upon row of shelves stacked with papers and boxes. The records.
    The architect hadn’t moved since I first noticed him, and for a wild moment I considered inching around him in the gloom to get at the papers. Before I could move, though, a flare of magic jolted through my brain and a dim musical chime pierced the musty silence.
    “All code-red clearance personnel to Administrator’s office, please,” said a pleasant, tinny voice. From my vantage point behind my shelf, I saw the architect’s head lift and then, with a dusty sigh, he rose and made his way toward me. I withdrew behind the bookcase and held my breath until I heard the door open and close.
    Now or never. I wove through the bookshelves, aiming for the records at the far end. It would take days just to skim it all, and if “code red” had anything to do with me, I might not have more than a few minutes.
    With any luck it’d be alphabetical, and my brother would be filed under our last name. I stood scanning the folders, searching for anything I could recognize. The entire top of the shelf was lined with boxes, and after a few seconds my eyes flicked up to them—and