The library was gone, and I was standing at the foot of a stone ladder that led to a doorway carved to resemble the sun. I started to climb. At each rung, I could feel myself being assessed and scanned to ensure I had the correct key. The circle around my neck was warm and pulsed in response to the probing, silent questioning. At the top of the ladder, the doors were recessed; I stood in front, wondering what to do.
The doors were smooth and blank, and there was a line down the middle that indicated two doors. I put a hand on each, in case I could just push them open. That did nothing, so I tried pushing them up, down, down, up. Nothing happened. I examined the doors more carefully, in case I’d missed a keyhole or a code pad, anything that would provide a hint how to open them.
This was
