When you reach the street, look for the first passageway to your left. It’s a dark, untidy thing with towering walls and leaking pipes and easy to miss. So keep your peepers open.
Travel down the twisting cobbled streets and be brave, my love. Do not be afraid of the chattering crows lining their parliaments above you. You have nothing to fear from them, I promise. Remember, you’re seeking the shop with cracked green paint on its window ledges and a name no one can remember.
If you lose your bearings, a one-eyed tabby cat will lead your way, but don’t try and pet him; he’ll hiss and scratch if you make to stroke the matted fur on his back. Let him trot ahead of you and he will guide you to the peeling entrance of the shop.
As quietly as you can, push open the cracked wooden door and allow your eyes to grow wide in the darkness.
I’ve drawn you a map; a route through the maze of ancient books stacked high before you. Be sure to tread lightly as the shop owner does not look upon visitors kindly. He prowls the labyrinth, a white-haired Minotaur with a gas-lamp arm, guarding his treasures from the outside world. Be still if you see an orange glow creep around a corner in the distance.
Be safe, my love.
Follow my route through the corridors of peeling spines for a day and a night until you come to a clearing. You’ll know it when you see it; a pulped glade of once-proud oak and pine. Walk to the middle of the clearance, to the light from the stained glass window above, to the space where particles of punctuation float lazily in the air. You’ll find it there, my love.