Prologue
Mr. Grey peeked around the corner and surveyed the corridor. It stretched off into dim
infinity, dotted with floating globes of silvery light. Mr. Grey had been told that the globes were
swampfire, encased in a timeloop charm so they were inextinguishable. He’d never even heard of
swampfire, much less a timeloop charm, but then again, Mr. Grey had never been in a place quite
like the Hall of Mysteries. He shuddered.
“I don’t see anybody,” he whispered to the two figures behind him. “No gates or locks,
neither. Do you think maybe they’re using invisible barriers or something?”
“Nar,” a gravely voice answered. “We was told exactly where the beacons were placed,
wasn’t we? This section’s clean. Sentry’s all we have to worry about. If you don’ see him, then move
in.”
Mr. Grey shuffled his feet. “I know what we was told, but it don’t feel right, Bistle. I has a
sense about these things. Me mam always said so.”
“Don’t call me Bistle, yeh sodding half-wit,” said the gravely voice, which belonged to a
particularly grizzly goblin in black shirt and trousers. “I’m Mr. Saffron when we’re on the job. And
blast yehr sixth sense. Yeh’re just a great coward whenever yeh get in an unfamiliar place. The
sooner we get on, the sooner it’ll be over and we’ll be back to the shack to celebrate.”
The third figure, a tall, old man with a pointed, white goatee, stepped past Mr. Saffron and
walked casually down the corridor, scanning the doors. “See how Mr. Pink does it?” Mr. Saffron said, following closely and glancing around.
“Knows to trust his information, he does. No sentry, no problems. Right, Mr. Pink?”
Mr. Grey trailed behind Mr. Saffron, frowning massively and watching the mysterious doors.
There were hundreds--maybe thousands--of them along the endless corridor. None had names or
markings of any kind. In the lead, Mr. Pink could be heard counting softly under his breath.
“Why do I have to be Mr. Grey?” Mr. Grey said petulantly. “Nobody likes grey. It’s hardly
even a color at all.”
The goblin ignored him. After several minutes, Mr. Pink stopped walking. Mr. Saffron and
Mr. Grey halted behind him, looking around the corridor with furrowed brows.
“Can’t be the place, Mr. Pink,” the goblin said. “There’s no doors in this section at all. Are
yeh sure yeh counted aright?”
“I counted right,” Mr. Pink said. He glanced down at the floor, and then scuffed at a section
of the marble tile with his toe. There was a chip in the corner of one of the tiles. Mr. Pink grunted
and knelt down. He probed the broken corner with a finger. He nodded to himself, then hooked his
finger into the hole and gave a tug. A rectangular section of the tile floor popped upwards, pulled
open by Mr. Pink’s tugging finger. He heaved and the rectangular chunk of floor slid upwards like a
long, vertical drawer, rising with a grating rumble until it touched the ceiling. It shuddered into
