—13—Stacks and Queues for Search

Frank shook the image of burnt bread from his mind and returned to the present situation—trapped in a small cell filled with parchment about to burst into flame. The fire was still small, burning the loose sheets at the edge of the piles. But once the large stacks fully caught fire, the heat would be unbearable.

Socks crawled to the door and leaned against it. “Is it locked?” he asked.

Frank swallowed half a dozen snarky answers and simply nodded. “Can you open it?” he asked. “It’s an old two-pin lock. It can’t have that many combinations.”

Socks shook his head. “There’s no time. I know a spell to weaken the metal, though. It will ruin the door, but . . . I think that’s okay given the circumstances and all.”

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