The Glass Tower of the Tome on Sigil Hill loomed ahead of Rune Midnight’s hovercraft. His pulse quickened – after dreaming of this moment for thirty-seven years, he was finally here at the very heart of the Navigator’s Kingdom, about to double park his floating spacecraft so he could run up the three-thousand-one-hundred-twenty-four-and-a-quarter stairs to reach the top of the tower and inspect the universally famed book of the month housed therein.
It was more than seven-eighths of the way through the lunar month, so the visiting populace should be at a minimum – just the way Rune Midnight had always envisioned this moment. After parking his hovercraft – it sputtered out right above a less sophisticated land rover – Rune Midnight stood tall for one last moment at the foot of the Glass Tower of the Tome on Sigil Hill. Then he dropped his shoulders into a hunch, pulled out a pair of sunglasses missing lenses to balance on his nose, affected a slight lilt to his step and proceeded with due gravity to tug on the door to the Tower. It didn’t open.
Rune Midnight tugged harder. Still nothing. He wrapped both hands around the bar on the door and pulled back with all his might. Both arms strained, muscles bulging, eyes oozing out of their sockets from the effort.
“It says to push.”
Startled, Rune Midnight released his death-grip on the door and swung about, bringing his fists to bear and assuming a ready-stance which all philosophers of Inverted Dreams had long since perfected: the fetal position.
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