Case stepped forward and tried the ornate brass knob. There was a brass plate mounted on the door at eye level, so old that the lettering that had once been engraved there had been reduced to a spidery, unreadable code, the name of some long dead function or functionary, polished into oblivion. He wondered vaguely if Tessier-Ashpool had selected each piece of Straylight individually, or if they’d purchased it in bulk from some vast European equivalent of Metro Holografix. The door’s hinges creaked plaintively as he edged it open, Maelcum stepping past him with the Remington thrust forward from his hip.