Inric stands in a vaulted hall, its ceiling high above him and its walls covered with bookshelves. But the neglect of years has told, and the bookshelves carry few books. "My friends," Inric says, "too many of you are missing." He pauses to pass one hand over the spines of the books on the nearest shelf. "I fear... that could be dangerous." His musing is interrupted by a loud noise from behind.