Behind the Binding

I swiveled the brass magnifying glass flat against the cloth cover so the lens wouldn't throw a glare in the dark. Stepping down off the stacked art books, I checked the shadowed gap between the final leather volume and a heavy cast-iron bookend. I gave the cold iron a solid shove with both hands. Deadweight, completely immovable. A stiff cardstock bookmark was sticking halfway out from the bottom edge; I worked it loose and wedged it across the front opening like a low blast door. Settled my back against the rough iron casting, boots out on the dark oak grain. Night post secured.