The music room.
The door was one of those, age-blackened, cobwebbed and hadn't been there yesterday.
"Well, look at it this way, we'll never find out otherwise."
Freda's palps make a series of quick gestures, but she scuttles toward the door as the Ace opens it.
A single, dingy window high in the opposite wall casts a dim light over one wall stacked floor-to ceiling with shelves, each bulging with thin books.
Two of the remaining walls are covered in guitars, violins, mandolins and a host of other stringed, brass and woodwind instruments.
A narrow strip of bare floor leads between stacks of drums, amps, keyboards and other less identifiable objects.
"I think we'd better find a druid."