Thoughtfully scattered about all of the book-corridors were small study tables, provided with candles and paper, so those seekers of knowledge could rest and anotate their findings.

The candles, bizarrely, were all lit.

Mr. Rabbit just whispered to himself, almost like a mantra:

“just majik stuff just majik stuff”

The papers, despite largely deteriorated, seemed to be all filled with notes, left by long gone students. They were written in a language unknown to Max (or perhaps their caligraphy was just too bad).

“on the… biological composition of… no bones… the rest is all ripped.”

“We must be at the Biology section.”

“oh really?”

From the nearest shelf, Max picked a book at random.

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