It had been bittersweet waking in this strange place- bitter, as those who had become so close to him were not here; sweet because the note on the device that had been on the night stand was ominous indeed. Observation and the threat of death if he tried to leave; he could not stay, there was important work to do and people who needed him- people he had come to depend upon.
Like the message had suggested he left the room in search of others; how tall this building must have been to have had so many stairs, so many floors. When he reached the last he took in the appearance of everything; like his room is was so completely different from anything he had seen, and to this point he had seen no other living soul in this place, yet the letter spoke of others. What others?
There were several places here that he could search, yet the one that drew his attention for now was the library, a natural meeting place in his day. It surely must have been the same here, for the library was were ideas were born and knowledge was shared. When he entered he found a place so similar and yet so different from what he expected: similar for the quantity of books, but different in every other aspect. Approaching one of the rows he drew his fingers across the bindings; they were quite different from what he expected, vividly colored and not all bound in leather.
Curious he rounded the end, only to pause as he spotted a frighteningly large cat laying beside a woman who seemed particularly unconcerned with its presence. “Madame,” Ichabod nearly whispered as he instinctively went for his pistol and stepped back, though he did not draw it. When checked it proved to no longer contain its shot, so what would be the point? Besides, was this expected, normal for these "others"? “The beast beside you," he said quietly, though it was more of a question than a statement.