Chamber's College

Just when he felt utterly at a loss, Tox suddenly remembered something, something that got his mental gears turning again. Hadn't there been something about underground passages in the college, ones that even the students could use, and others which they were forbidden to? Perhaps somewhere down in the foundational stone of the Faculty House the girl with the gas lamp had accessed one of these very subterranean passages. Even a secret passage, hidden from the untrained eye, wasn't completely out of the question.

But what about this peculiar note: 'it is loose, feed my bird?' What's loose? The bird? Whose bird? The girl with the lamp's?

Tox could only guess. No, that's not right; somehow this all fit together, that was his feeling. He simply had to be more like Sherlock Holmes in handling these facts and clues in order to continue the game. Yes, the game was afoot now, though he had know idea what it was about.

He just needed...what? A friend. An accomplice, like the good Dr. Watson, someone to help him sort through all that was going on with a very grounded and practical logic. But he was alone. No, he didn't really need an accomplice; he only wanted one, like anyone might wish for good company.

There's no time for that now. Focus. The note. It was written hurriedly, and with what appears to be charcoal. A worn scrap of paper, as if cut from a notebook. Tox remembered his childhood camping trips, inscribing rocks with the charcoal from the burnt ends of a stick. Why opt for burnt stick when writing utensils abounded around this place? Unless...

"Aha!" Tox proclaimed, shaking the note in his hand. Of course! It was just like a proper mystery. The charcoal was giving away the obvious: the fireplace! In the library of the faculty house. As for the words themselves, they were like any riddle. It was too early to grasp what they were about now, ergo they would make sense later.

There were now two options. Try and find the girl via some secret passage, or follow the new lead back to the library.
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