Behind the broken louvered cupboard doors hung two dusted smoking jackets arrested and convicted atop a cacophony of empty wine bottles both corked and uncorked. The entire still photo eerily framed in hand carved oak and enslaved in a cobwebbed security blanket of sticky strands gave no indication of either who had last worn either jacket or benefited from one of the clarinets. Scattered around the floor of the unearthed windowless room was a deck of over sized playing cards and several books fallen from their perches from various decaying wooden shelves. Curiously, a cracked porcelain vase of dead flowers had been set under a large oaken table in the center of the room and hinted that at one time, there had been life in this room. The library of hidden paper and wine, entombed in a door less vault and sealed away from reading eyes and thirsty minds was eventually discovered to be part of a large estate. A letter recently found in the archives of the Cortez family explained that for its protection, the library had been removed, outlawed from sight and sequestered to silence, to prevent the Huns at the door from pilfering it. The letter explained that Huns did indeed lay bare the throats of the estate masters and the entire estate as well, but touched neither volume nor ounce of wine. The bricklayers themselves it was later discovered had made remarks when sealing the room that if the library were found, it surely would have been ash by the fall of first light and the wine merely piss in the wind as the moving horde made their way to the next pilferage. The smoking jackets hung neither amused, nor concerned at the new owners arrival, but would all agree, had missed the smell of smoke.