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And
there
was
light
,
of
course
,
in
the
Library
.
The
Library
was
the
greatest
assemblage
of
magical
texts
anywhere
in
the
multiverse
.
Thousands
of
volumes
of
occult
lore
weighted
its
shelves
.
It
was
said
that
,
since
vast
amounts
of
magic
can
seriously
distort
the
mundane
world
,
the
Library
did
not
obey
the
normal
rules
of
space
and
time
.
It
was
said
that
it
went
on
forever
.
It
was
said
that
you
could
wander
for
days
among
the
distant
shelves
,
that
there
were
lost
tribes
of
research
students
somewhere
in
there
,
that
strange
things
lurked
in
forgotten
alcoves
and
were
preyed
on
by
other
things
that
were
even
stranger
.
Wise
students
in
search
of
more
distant
volumes
took
care
to
leave
chalk
marks
on
the
shelves
as
they
roamed
deeper
into
the
fusty
darkness
,
and
told
friends
to
come
looking
for
them
if
they
weren
’
t
back
by
supper
.
And
,
because
magic
can
only
loosely
be
bound
,
the
Library
books
themselves
were
more
than
mere
pulped
wood
and
paper
.
Raw
magic
crackled
from
their
spines
,
earthing
itself
harmlessly
in
the
copper
rails
nailed
to
every
shelf
for
that
very
purpose
.
Faint
traceries
of
blue
fire
crawled
across
the
bookcases
and
there
was
a
sound
,
a
papery
whispering
,
such
as
might
come
from
a
colony
of
roosting
starlings
.
In
the
silence
of
the
night
the
books
talked
to
one
another
.
There
was
also
the
sound
of
someone
snoring
.
The
light
from
the
shelves
didn
’
t
so
much
illuminate
as
highlight
the
darkness
,
but
by
its
violet
flicker
a
watcher
might
just
have
identified
an
ancient
and
battered
desk
right
under
the
central
dome
.
The
snoring
was
coming
from
underneath
it
,
where
a
piece
of
tattered
blanket
barely
covered
what
looked
like
a
heap
of
sandbags
but
was
in
fact
an
adult
male
orangutan
.
It
was
the
Librarian
.
