Hood, as always, guided by the hand of intuition walks the length of the stacks and while doing so gazes to the end of the aisle and notices a large iron bound chest sitting, almost waiting for him. He pauses upon seeing it, sensing his situation, and reflects that ever since he has entered the library it feels like he has been caught in a web of fate. Reflecting thus, he perceives that perhaps this web extends much further back and further forward than simply the library. The chest sits almost expectantly, patiently waiting, almost smiling, perhaps even taunting him. He slowly approaches, neither nervous, hesitant or expectant of anything, simply accepting, but at the same time assessing the feeling of the situation, weighing up each moment to see if he has any other option. The chest sits as a necessity and Hood knows it.

The envelope in Hood’s hand begins to twitch and flutter as he nears the chest and as he bends down upon his knees he sees that whatever is contained within this box is securely held - two wrought iron chains being wrapped about it and held in place by a large iron padlock.

Hood takes a deep breath and, as most do when about to perform an act, the outcome of which is dangerously unknowable, lets his eyes rise heavenward. Doing so he is halted momentarily in awe by the sight above him, a sight which has until this moment completely passed him by due to his attention being consumed by the chest. Before him a massive rose window is coming to life, as the light from the sun begins to creep through the glass in the northern end of the hall. The window depicts the Goddess Aspartemane in all her beauty and glory, her antlered head a masterful rendering of exquisite artisanship. The twelve adorning petals that circumscribe the central circle depict different stages of the mythic cycle of her life, from birth to the moment that she is shot by her sister the huntress Diometer. Although not a particularly religiously minded person, Hood, finding himself prostrate before an image of a Goddess, places his hands together and whispers a silent prayer.

THUMP!

Something within the chest thumps against its inside. Hood turns his head calmly to the matter in hand. He tucks the envelope, still fluttering back into his smock’s pocket and sets to work. Even though he is still very tired, his right hand still very sore, and he is at the limit of his energy, he digs deep within himself and begins to chant, twisting his fingers then pulling them apart sharply, causing the iron padlock to break and the chains to slowly slide with a rhythmic scrape from the chest. Hood leans forward and, flipping the central clasp, opens the chest up, to peer inside.

A deep sense of dread overtakes Hood as he reaches inside, recognising something that he should not be recognising. His hands go clammy, and he breaks out in a cold sweat. Disbelieving what is in front of him, but powerless not to draw it forth, it is, as he has already determined, a necessity and something that must be grappled with. But this? This is beyond cruel.

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Taking his burden, heavier than simply its physical mass, he slowly rises and walks with a sense of dread back between the stacks to the table where moments ago life, even though complex, was much simpler. He walks like a doomed man, staring into the infinite beyond, stooped and deeply troubled.

“Ye god’s I needed that!” says Madeleine gayly, skipping to a joyful halt in front of Hood, and placing a book onto the table before him, whilst carefully holding the locator page seperately:

The Crowlooms of the Arkenites

- beliefs and practice

“Seems strangely pertinent, all things considered.” she says lightly, before unfolding the paper and holding it to the book, which similarly to the previous, opens itself up and draws the page fluttering and vibrating to intermingle with an identical one already there. “You know I think I’ve almost forgotten what it is to have fun. I think you are right, there’s nothing like a treasure hunt!” she says, turning to Helmet as he approaches from behind, before realising that Hood is standing rather awkwardly. “Hood what’s wrong?”

Hood, slowly holds up a book in front of her.

Upon seeing what he holds, Madeleine’s mask contorts into a an expression of shock and horror, the joy that animated her so seeps from her limbs, as if seeing in front of her the sum total of all her fears, pain and disappointments combined into a single obdurately enduring object.

“What is this?” she slowly asks with despair, each word dripping with incredulity, as if Hood is playing some sort of infinitely cruel joke upon her.

Hood shakes his head, his face a mirror to that of Madeleine’s

“I don’t understand.” gasps Madeleine, beginning to tremble, “I thought we…” her voice trails off as she begins to panic, her breath changing to an almost pant, becoming shorter, and louder.

“I say, what’s going on?” asks Helmet, deeply concerned with the encounter and not understanding the implications of the book that Hood is holding. “Here, sit down, sit down.”

Madeleine’s hands begin scrambling to her throat as the panic sets in and begins to overwhelm her. “No, no, no!” she gasps, as Helmet pulls out a chair from a nearby desk and guides her into it. He kneels down by her side and tries to take her hands and calm her. Hood just stands, his posture one of defeat and soul searching introspection.

Helmet looks from one to the other not knowing what to do.

“Not even a copy,” rasps Hood, “Look!” he says holding the book up to the light, indicating a familiar tear across the black leather cover. In the glass coloured light, the golden lettering is highlighted:

The Book of Diabolicals

- of hegemony and servitude, a beginners guide to summoning

“It is the one we burnt!” he says, clearly in pain with the effort of speaking.