"Wait!" the Fool exclaims, then coughs again raggedly as the thick smoke irritates his lungs. He squeezes his eyes shut and coughs again; they can't stay here much longer, but--

"The case," he manages to say hoarsely once he's finished, "it's jammed into the latch. Let me try--"

Then he does something very peculiar indeed: he pulls the glove off of his bare hand and reaches it between the place where the book case is jammed against the door, and the door latch itself. The heat is almost intolerable, and the Fool's face doesn't disguise his pain, which makes it all the more bizarre when he places two fingers against the back of the case and strokes them across the wood grain.

Under his touch, the wood smooths, and seems to melt away from the latch in a way that has little to do with heat.

"There," he says raggedly, "let's try now--"