Before coming to this place, this thrice-accursed place, Blacksticks Carcer had believed himself accustomed to the dark. Night-dark was enough for him to see by, alley-dark was nothing and he had even proved himself as having the upper hand time and again in almost pitch black. But this place was something else. Sunlight had been left behind so long ago that Carcer was beginning to doubt that it had ever existed. For a long while now, as Snuff led him at a steady pace through the multifarious tunnels, he had been wondering how, and why, even magic-users and the like would make their home here. Did they have some kind of night-vision spell, or naturally infra-red eyes? Or did they all just know through some strange telepathy exactly where to walk?
Whatever the case, the thief had none of these advantages, and it was a fact that he cursed as he tripped and nearly fell for the fourth time in what he could only assume was about an hour. Though without leash, the dobermann that accompanied him patiently waited for him to right himself before nuzzling his hand and setting off again at the same pace, his owner following him by sound alone. Damn the dark.
Naturally, the ageing felon and his hound would not be traversing the now four times-accursed place were there not promise of some great treasure at the end of the tunnel. As it was, he had been commisioned to steal a certain tome from the little-known but extensive library that lay on one of the lowest basement floors of the castle, supposedly situated beneath the castle's original foundations. (Though how that could be, Blacksticks had no idea. He had little head for architecture anyhow, aside from in the area of back entrances.) He wouldn't have accepted the offer, and substantial cash sum, had the request not come with directions as to how to enter the library without having to go through the tedious business of killing guards or digging tunnels. In fact, he cared little for the money involved, but the prospect of entering such a well-guarded trove of information with ease and helping himself to whatever books the kingdom thought worth hiding so well had him salivating. Well, coughing hard. And the man who had hired him hadn't said that he couldn't take a peak at the tome he was repossessing, either. Blacksticks liked books. Rare knowledge was often as valuable as the most precious of gems, and solitary ownership of it gave him the same sense of satisfaction he normally only assosciated with material possession.
Thinking on what interesting things he might be learning in an hour or so propelled Carcer forwards at speed, and drew his mind from the various bumps and scrapes that continously assailed him. Alerted by a whimper from Snuff, he arrived at yet another junction, the twenty-third, by his count. Quickly heading left, Snuff took the lead once more. Then, after more walking and a few more falls as puncuation, he arrived at a wall. A dead end.
Finally.
The burglar moved reverently forwards and placed a palm on the wall, as the dog sat and waited patiently. Damp stone, moss, and little else.
Then it came to him. Warmth seeped through the wall, despite the cold and clammy exterior. The touch reminded him of a drowning man, with the heat of life fading as the cold took over. But this heat didn't fade. It pulsed, the wall gradually growing hot and cold at intervals. Bizarre, but this was what he had searched for. On the other side of this wall lay the library. And whatever caused this heat.
After kneeling to deliver a biscuit to the waiting mouth of his dog, Blacksticks Carcer stood and basked in the warmth of partial success. Then, after a muffled second drying the flint, he lit a cigarette. It had been a long walk, after all.
