But for tonight, these mundane things in the main stores were not that which were of interest to her. At the far side of the room from the entranceway into the warehouse, past the manager's desk, and down one of the tight passages which wound between crates and barrels, a section of the room was blocked off with thick bars of iron. A small, swinging gate at the base was the entrance singular, and a Star sat idly in front. And that Star, a young-looking Second -- or perhaps even First -- Hatcheteer, had sitting under their shoulder a long staff, the butt of the shaft braced against the floor, and the tip fitted with a heavy, iron-caged magic lantern, dangling from a short chain. Behind the colt, and behind that barred fence, lay the true objective of this early-morning activity: