Days had passed since the Storyteller had shared her story with Dulcie, and it seemed that the innkeeper hadn't been able to shake the story that she had heard. Parts of it kept playing over again and again in her mind. The spring beneath the tavern, the love that was maybe not love at all, but most of all it was that hidden door that had Dulcie fascinated.
She was busy cleaning the tables in the tavern now, re-living the story in her mind as she hummed softly, giving the old worn wooden surface a good scrubbing. There was something cathartic about cleaning and Dulcie never minded doing it. The table was scrubbed and scrubbed until a sweat broke on the innkeepers brow. She straighted up to wipe the sweat away when she suddenly noticed a tapestry that had been hanging against the stairwall for as many years as she had been working there.
She frowned, considering the tapestry for a moment. She'd never bothered to take it off the wall. It was in one of those parts of the tavern that never seemed to get terribly dusty or dirty, but the old woman's words kept ringing in her mind. She glanced about the tavern, and assured herself that it was empty before she went over to the tapestry. Her hands traced over it's edges carefully before she finally lifted the tapestry from it's hooks and lowered it to the ground.
For many long moments Dulcie stared at the door in the wall. It was possible that if she hadn't been thinking about it she might have missed it's presence, the vertical edges of the door aligned perfectly with the panels of wood used in building the wal, but she certainly noticed the top of the door which had so easily been hidden by the tapestry.
In Myrken there was no such thing as a coincidence, and yet Dulcie pushed the door open anyhow.