***
Anson went to the door and peered out into a corridor so brightly lit that it caused his eyes to squint. The corridor’s ceiling had a row of regularly spaced rectangular objects, kind of like narrow windows in the ceiling, each of which was made of a translucent material that imparted bright light. The illumination from these ceiling lights obviously did not derive from candles, oil lamps or any burning medium, but Anson did detect an unusual humming sound emanating from each rectangle.
There were several additional doors up and down the corridor, one of which was open. Interestingly, each of these doors had a small window installed above his eye level. It struck him as peculiar to place a window in a door, but there was probably a reasonable explanation for it.
Anson stepped all the way into the corridor but found it hard to let go of the metal knob on the door, in case he might need a quick retreat from some unexpected encounter. After a long minute with no threat, he gingerly let go of the knob and started to walk slowly down the corridor. Stopping to look back, he saw a narrow black plate fixed to the top of the door he just exited. On this plate was an unfamiliar phrase in white letters: JANITOR’S STOREROOM. This confirmed his guess that the room was indeed a storage place probably for alchemic supplies, but he wondered whether Janitor was a man or woman’s name and what new alchemy he could learn from him or her.
Anson continued walking in tiptoe fashion when his gaze fell to the floor. From one end of the corridor to the other, the entire floor was made of narrow slats of wood with a highly polished finish that brightly reflected the illumination from the ceiling lights. Stepping on a slat that creaked noticeably, Anson froze and grimaced over the possibility of detection. This caused him to notice a small red box on the wall to his left. Suspended from the box on a necklace-type chain was a tiny hammer. A piece of clear glass covered most of the small metal box, but it was not a tiny window because nothing was visible behind it except a metal hook. Embossed on the top of the box in raised letters were several words:
IN CASE OF FIRE
BREAK GLASS
AND PULL ALARM
He certainly did not want to raise an alarm, so he took a few quick steps farther down the hallway and found himself by the open door. He looked in and was astonished.
The door was an entrance to a small room. Directly opposite the door was a very large window, half of which was oddly below ground level. The only rooms below ground he knew of were dungeon cells. Between the door where Anson stood and the window, a type of table with drawers was located flush to the wall. The rest of the room was dominated by shelves upon shelves of books, possibly hundreds of books, most of which seemed unusually small. There might be more books in this room than in the entire kingdom of Antrim. Maybe this is a king’s private library. So many books! Surely, it would be widely known if Antrim’s King had such a magnificent collection. His mouth agape, he concluded that this must be some other unknown place, perhaps not even in Antrim at all. With that realization, he set his hand on the doorframe to steady himself. His fingers touched a black plate fixed to the wall, just to the right of the doorway. This plate was smaller than the one seen atop the storeroom door, but it had similar white lettering that spelled out what appeared to be a name:NEVIN REASONER.
Anson stood weak-kneed in the open doorway. This must be the sanctum of someone very learned, possibly even a High Mage. From down the corridor to his right he heard approaching footsteps echoing off the wooden floor and walls. Coming toward him was the tallest human he had ever seen!
As this man approached, Anson was relieved to see that he was unarmed and his manner was not threatening. Anson trembled as the man spoke with a resonant, authoritative voice. “I’m Nevin Reasoner. Can I help you?”
Not only was this man imposing in size, maybe two feet taller than any man in Antrim, but he was the very one for whom this chamber was named! This must be the High Mage himself. Anson did not know what to say and began to reel. His head throbbed and his body still ached miserably from his ordeal, forcing him to lean against the wall to support himself. He struggled to speak, “I. . .I have been. . .delivered here. Am I still in Antrim?”
Alliance for Antrim Page 7
