"Cloak-and-Dagger Department, on the top floor. Then we'll drop down
to the shops, and then up through Domestic Science and Business and
General Arts."

"And back here. We hope," Yetsko finished.

* * * * *

They took a service elevator to the top floor, emerging into a
stockroom piled with boxes and crates and cases of sound records and
cans of film and stacks of picture cards, and all the other
impedimenta of Illiterate education. Passing through it to the other
end, Prestonby unlocked a door, and they went down a short hall, to
where ten or fifteen boys and girls had just gotten off a helical
escalator and were queued up at a door at the other end. There were
two Literate guards in black leather, and a student-monitor, with his
white belt and rubber truncheon, outside the door.

Prestonby swore under his breath. He'd hoped they'd miss this, but
since they hadn't, there was nothing for it but to fall in at the tail
of the queue. One by one, the boys and girls went up, spoke briefly to
the guards and the student-monitor, and were passed through the door,
Each time, one of the guards had to open it with a key. Finally, it
was Prestonby's turn.

"B, D, F, H, J, L, N, P, R, T, V, X, Y," he recited to the guardians
of the door.

"A, C, E, G, I, K, M, O, Q, S, U, W, Y," the monitor replied solemnly.
"The inkwell is dry, and the book is dusty."