Chapter III — The Institute of Anomalous Studies

Instructions

           Ꮯꮋꭺꮲꭲꭼꭱ III                    ―――――――   Miss Winston and the grimoire someone had bound her soul to were kept in one of the lockdown boxes in the fifteenth room in the uncomfortably-slanted Corridor Twenty-Three off Hall Two, the one to King Gradlon's right. It was too long a walk away from the entrance hall at the best of times, through the dark, frigid outer phalanges of the London headquarters. The central heating had simply flicked off one day late last autumn, and no one had been able to get it back on since.   Aurelia tried to pull her jacket around herself, then realized she wasn't wearing one. She had left it at her desk, on the second floor down.   Yet another reason to go anywhere but the Book-Containment Chamber.   She reasoned to herself that she wouldn't be helpful even if she /were/ to go back. She worked in Immortality Research, not Paranormal Safety or Study of Malicious Magic, or even Phantasmal Research.   She should go back and request that a contingent from the MMRD (Malicious-Magic Research Division, its name until 1956) come to aid London. They'd have to be called in from Surrey...   Aurelia reassured herself that Director Louisa would have done that and proceeded down the hall, mind spinning away to other possibilities.   By the time she reached the fifteenth room, Aurelia was so wrapped up in her own head that she walked right past it. She didn't notice as the tiled walls around her got darker and slimier; she barely registered it as the hallway branched and she automatically chose the one to the left. She only realized anything was wrong when her left foot landed on an elegantly-carved mahogany stairstep and the sound echoed as if in a cavern.   There was a horrible feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.   She looked up and was greeted with the underside of a spiral staircase.   A chill shot down her spine.   The Panopticon. How had she come to the Panopticon?   Oh. Corridor Twenty-Three didn't fork.   She turned and fled, thanking God, Gradlon, and the Heavenly Gears that she could still see a light.   She didn't stop running. Not when she reached the real Corridor Twenty-Three. Not when the tiles regained their usual dusty white squareness. Not when she bolted into the Chamber of Book Containment, going so fast that she had to grab onto the doorframe and fling herself through it in order to turn. (She didn't stop to wonder why the door was open. She just thanked God.)   She only stopped when she very nearly slammed into a glass box on a pedestal. The box contained a manuscript copy of the Galdrabók, on loan from Reykjavik. She stared at it at length as she caught her breath. It seemed fairly inert; she wondered how many people it had eaten.   Once she thought she had calmed down enough (her heartrate was now only around 130, by a rough Director's estimate) she more wandered than walked away from the Galdrabók and sank down into a plush armchair. She got a faint sensation, as if there were ginger muffins baking somewhere and the smell of them was running fingers down her spine, and she knew it had been Temoin in this chair last.   Aurelia, surrendering control, shut her eyes and let her head fall back into the cushioned headrest, acquiescing as gravity rolled it to the right.   Curious, she reengaged with the world of sight after around thirty seconds. Her gaze was met with a sign, which read:—   "DUE TO A SERIES OF INFRACTIONS, Index LIB-aya-6a ("Lavinnicon") HAS BEEN MOVED TO LEVEL SIX."   Aurelia moved on to the fine print. If there was anything her years filing paperwork had taught her, it was that minor or intentionally-hidden details could save one's life and job.   "Request AND RECEIVE approval IN WRITING from a LONDON Director, preferably Temoin, to access. NO FORGERIES."   Despite herself, Aurelia smirked. Nothing had gone right today except this. She was a Director; she could grant herself permission. Of course, it was a terrible idea. Were she approving someone else's request, or even her own, she would have done significantly more research into their background and the current status of Miss Winston. If these "infractions" were coercion, she would never have granted it at all. Too much of a safety risk, even though with Miss Winston the risk was mainly to whoever was interacting with her.   But Aurelia had a curse to defuse, and her duties to the Institute and the unknowing public outweighed those to her own safety. She reached for her left coat pocket, realized once more that she wasn't wearing the thing, and muttered some very unladylike words.              ***