Alice discovered the library entirely by accident, which is how most important libraries prefer to be discovered.
She was sitting at the kitchen table in Ballykillduff, listening to Mrs Doyle explain why the kettle had recently become philosophical, when a biscuit crumb slipped from Alice’s fingers and vanished through a narrow crack between the floorboards.
Alice leaned down to peer into the gap.
“Hello?” she said, because in Ballykillduff it was always wise to assume something might answer.
Something did.
“Please return all crumbs within fourteen days,” said a very small voice.
Alice blinked.
“Who said that?”
“I did,” replied the voice politely. “Assistant Librarian, Third Class.”
A tiny cockroach climbed through the crack in the floor and stood beside Alice’s shoe. He carried a speck of dust under one arm as if it were a book.
“You dropped this,” he said, pushing the crumb toward her.
“I think you may keep it,” Alice said.
The cockroach bowed.
“Much appreciated. Donations are the backbone of the archive.”
The cockroach introduced himself as Archivist Clatterthorpe.
“Would you care to see the collection?” he asked.
Alice, who had fallen down wells, through mirrors, and once into a teapot of unusual depth, saw no reason to refuse.
“Very much,” she said.
He led her to the crack in the floorboard.
“Please reduce yourself to library-appropriate proportions.”
Alice did not know how to do this, but the floorboard kindly adjusted its distance from her until she was exactly the right size.
Together, they descended.
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The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 