Emily Short's "City of Secrets" transcript

PRESS ANY KEY TO BEGIN"Sir?  Sir, wake up."

You stir groggily.  You're not rested yet, but the daylight is showing in your carriage window.  You must have been more tired than you realized.

"Are we there?"  You wipe a hand across your face, trying to get your bearings.  You've already shown them your travel papers; there's no reason for them to be waking you again.

"There's been a breakdown, sir.  We're requesting that all passengers deboard so that we can make repairs.  It may take a day or two."

You open your mouth to protest about the extra expense, the delay.  With the smoothness of long experience, the conductor forestalls you.  "The company will of course provide you with food and a hotel room for the duration, and upgrade you to the next possible express.  We apologize for any inconvenience."

(An express?  Much faster than this rambling local.  Maybe this won't be such a disaster.)

"Thank you," you mutter.

She smiles, a swift automatic smile.  "We pride ourselves on our service."

City of Secrets
In loving memory of Sonett.

Story by Secret-Secret
Implementation Copyright 2003 by Emily Short
Release 3 / Serial number 030624 / Inform v6.21(G0.37) Library 6/10 / GWindows .5B (Public Beta)

City Train Station
Cleaner and more pleasant than the station back home.  No trash anywhere.  The ceiling is a sky-blue dome; daylight slants through the high windows.  It feels like spring.

The other passengers who were on your train stream around you, talking amongst themselves, heading north to the street.  They notice nothing unusual.  To you-- but perhaps it is because you come from a northern city, and this quality of light is strange to you.  Real enough to taste.

North are the doors to the street.

In the pale crowd, a single figure in black stands motionless.

>help
Help menu displayed.

>[Menu Selection]
PROMPT
The > sign is where the game says, "Okay, what do you want to do now?"  You may respond by typing an instruction -- usually an imperative verb, possibly followed by prepositions and objects.  So, for instance, LOOK, LOOK AT FISH, TAKE FISH.

>[Menu Selection]
BASIC COMMUNICATION
In order to communicate with the game, you will need to enter instructions beginning with imperative verbs -- as though you were giving orders to someone else to carry out.  For instance, >CLOSE THE DOOR or >LOOK UNDER THE RUG.

You may use articles ("the" and "a"), but you do not need to.  >CLOSE DOOR will also work for the game's purposes.

>[Menu Selection]
[ At any Pause in this demo, type 'Q' to quit or any other key to continue. ]

Interactive fiction is a cross between story and game.  It puts you in an environment or location, which it describes, usually with a title and description, like this:

Bedroom

The tiny bedroom of your tiny apartment, currently made to look even smaller than usual by the clutter that fills the room.  Drawers stand open and objects cover your bed, most prominently the trunk-sized suitcase now half-full.

On top of your dresser is a framed photograph of your mother when she was younger, and another very old one of your father, standing on a beach somewhere in the south.

Now, you will see a prompt which looks like this: >

This is your invitation to type something.  A very common thing is to examine items in your environment.  It is generally a good idea to look at everything that is mentioned as being in the room, so that you don't miss anything important.  For instance:

>[Menu Selection]
EXAMINE THE SUITCASE
It used to be your mother's, and hasn't been out of the closet since the two of you went to visit your grandmother in Smirnisc when you were five years old.  The lock seems still to be good, however, and the hinges still work.

At the moment it is about half full.

For brevity, you can generally leave out articles, and you can also abbreviate important commands (more about this later.)  Thus, EXAMINE may be abbreviated to X, like so:

>[Menu Selection]
X CLOTHES
At the bottom of the suitcase, still wrapped in tissue paper, are your brand new suit and shoes, ready for Peter's wedding.  Almost everything else in the case is eminently unsuitable for the trip: neatly folded piles of the uniform grey trousers and shirts which you wear for your work at the factory.  Remembering that you are going south, you've left out the heavier of your sweaters; but that leaves you with half the case unfilled and not much left to pack.

Naturally, there are also many other things you can do.  Common actions include taking and dropping objects, moving, turning, or pushing them; turning things on and off; putting one object on top of or inside another; etc.

>[Menu Selection]
TAKE PHOTOGRAPH
Which do you mean, the photograph of your mother or the photograph of your father?

Here you've requested the computer to do something, but it doesn't have enough information.  You can clarify in this situation just by adding another word that makes the distinction clear:

>[Menu Selection]
MOTHER
Taken.

>[Menu Selection]
X MOTHER
In the photograph, your mother is grinning fiercely at the camera during one of the rare bright days of summer.  Even in the fair light and at that age, however, signs of wear and hard work show, from the lines around her eyes to hardening of her hands.

>[Menu Selection]
PUT MOTHER IN SUITCASE
You put the photograph of your mother in the suitcase.

>[Menu Selection]
CLOSE SIUTCASE
You can't see any such thing.

If you confuse the computer by misspelling a word, you can fix it without retyping the whole command by using >OOPS followed by the correct form, like this:

>[Menu Selection]
OOPS SUITCASE
Closed.

>[Menu Selection]
TAKE IT
(the suitcase)
Taken.

As you see, the computer is also sometimes to make assumptions about what you mean when you use pronouns.

Now, you've taken an object, so you're carrying something.  When you want to find out what you're holding at the moment, you can type INVENTORY (or INV, or I):

>[Menu Selection]
I
You are carrying:
  a suitcase (which is closed)
  a parka (being worn)
  a pair of gloves (being worn)

>[Menu Selection]
TAKE OFF GLOVES
You take off the gloves.

>About
DROP GLOVES
Dropped.

Changes to the game environment like this are reflected when you look around:

>About
LOOK
Bedroom

The tiny bedroom of your tiny apartment, currently made to look even smaller than usual by the clutter that fills the room.  Drawers stand open.

On top of your dresser is a framed photograph of your father, standing on a beach somewhere in the south.

You can see a pair of gloves here.

Moving around is accomplished via compass directions (N, S, E, W, NE, etc.) and UP and DOWN (abbreviated U and D respectively).  When no doors are described in a room, IN or OUT will sometimes work instead.

>About
OUT
Front Room

The dingy carpet and grey walls make this room unappealing, though recently you've managed to spruce it up a little.  There are a couple of (mismatched but serviceable) armchairs now, and a southern-style brass lamp.  The viewscreen covers most of one wall, in place of the window that doesn't exist, and there is a desk shoved into one corner.

Doors lead south into your bedroom, west into the kitchen, and north to the outside.

On the coffee table are a letter from Peter, the remote control for your entertainment system, and your keys.

Unlike graphical adventure systems, the text parser is capable of interpreting fairly complicated commands involving multiple objects.

>About
TAKE ALL FROM TABLE
letter from Peter: Taken.
remote control: Taken.
keys: Taken.

>About
OPEN SUITCASE.  PUT ALL BUT KEYS IN SUITCASE.  CLOSE SUITCASE.
Opened.

suitcase: You can't put the suitcase inside itself.
letter from Peter: You put the letter from Peter into the suitcase.
remote control: You put the remote control into the suitcase.

Closed.

>About
WEST
Kitchen

The people who designed this little pit of an apartment apparently considered eating even less important than most other functions.  Accordingly, the 'kitchen' is fitted out only with a cupboard and a rehydrator.  The front room is visible through the doorway to the east.

Veiled grey light sifts in through the skylight in the ceiling, through a layer of snow.  You would resent the added expense on your heating bill for all the energy wasted by that opening if it weren't the only source of natural light in the place.

>About
OPEN CUPBOARD
Opening the cupboard reveals a box of crackers and a canister of industrial-strength cleanser.

>About
TAKE CRACKERS.  EAT CRACKERS.
Taken.

You crunch down a couple of crackers.  Not much good by themselves, on the whole.

At this point, you have done enough that you might not want to have to do it all over if something went wrong.  To make a saved file, just type >SAVE.  If you want to continue from that point again later, fetch it back with >RESTORE, and your game system will prompt you to select a save-file.

Or you could try living dangerously...

>About
EAT CLEANSER
(first taking the industrial-strength cleanser)
Taken.

You scarf down the cleanser.  Almost immediately the unfortunate effects begin to manifest themselves...

   *** YOU HAVE POISONED YOURSELF ***

Do you wish to RESTART, RESTORE, UNDO or QUIT? >About
UNDO

Previous turn undone.

In point of fact, there are almost no actions allowed in this game that will actually kill you, and few that will make the game unfinishable.  But you may still want to make saved copies of the game so that you can go back later.  Undo is also useful if you make a decision that you regret, and can be used at any time, even if you have not committed a fatal error.

>About
S
You can go only east from here.

If you ever try to go a direction that's not allowed, the game will tell you which ways you are allowed to go.

>About
E
Front Room

The dingy carpet and grey walls make this room unappealing, though recently you've managed to spruce it up a little.  There are a couple of (mismatched but serviceable) armchairs now, and a southern-style brass lamp.  The viewscreen covers most of one wall, in place of the window that doesn't exist, and there is a desk shoved into one corner.

Doors lead south into your bedroom, west into the kitchen, and north to the outside.

Note that at the moment, the game shows you the description of a room in full, even if you have already seen that description.  If you decide that you would rather keep things brief, you may type >BRIEF to get only short descriptions of the movable objects in a room when you return to one you have already seen.

>About
N
You can't very well leave without your traveling papers and ticket.

>About
X DESK
The desk is the only thing one could call an heirloom around here.  The external panels are wood, but the rolltop is fitted with an excellent lock and lined with fire-retardant material.  In the absence of a safe, this is where you keep your most important possessions.

>About
OPEN DESK
It appears to be locked.

>About
UNLOCK DESK WITH KEYS
You unlock the desk and roll open the rolltop, revealing your traveling papers and identicard, among a stack of other papers: paid bills, membership in the assembly union, correspondence from Peter from the few occasions he's resorted to letters rather than electronic mail.  And the train ticket that he sent you for this journey.

>About
TAKE ALL FROM DESK.
You take the papers from the desk.  Looks like you're about ready to go, then.

>About
N
You give one last glance around the apartment.  It will be a couple of weeks before you get back, at the soonest -- and the thought of your return depresses you instantly.  (Maybe you won't come back.)

Then you open the door and walk out in search of the world beyond Valodsci.

  *** The adventure begins. ***


[Now leaving demo mode.]

About

City Train Station
A central open space with a domed roof.  East and west stairs descend to the tracks; south is the ticket counter.

North are the doors to the street.

In the pale crowd, a single figure in black stands motionless.

>[Menu Selection]
BASIC COMMUNICATION
In order to communicate with the game, you will need to enter instructions beginning with imperative verbs -- as though you were giving orders to someone else to carry out.  For instance, >CLOSE THE DOOR or >LOOK UNDER THE RUG.

You may use articles ("the" and "a"), but you do not need to.  >CLOSE DOOR will also work for the game's purposes.

>About
About menu displayed.

>[Menu Selection]
This game is meant to be playable even by someone who has never encountered interactive fiction before, and be a gentle introduction to the genre.  It is not terribly difficult, nor is it possible to die until the very end.  One playthrough is estimated to take about three hours.

Even seasoned IF veterans should type HELP and at least read about interaction with NPCs and commands for remembering things, since many of these are new additions.

>[Menu Selection]
This is not really a game for children.  It is not pornographic, but there are assorted examples of what the euphemistically-inclined would call Adult Themes in a movie: some violence, foul language, disturbing imagery, sexual references, et al.

These are probably no more offensive than what you would find in a PG-13 movie in the US.  I am unfamiliar with the rating systems that may pertain in other countries, but if you are concerned about it, you should probably play it through before sharing it with someone of fragile sensibilities.

>[Menu Selection]
This game takes a lot more memory than most IF.  In order to run it successfully on an older machine, you may need to increase the memory allotment to the interpreter; if you are operating a Macintosh with some form of system 8, it may also be prudent to turn off virtual memory.  Failing to do so may result in some crashes of the interpreter as it runs out of memory and does not handle the situation gracefully.

>[Menu Selection]
This game has two ways of dealing with the conversation menu.  In AUTO mode, it will let you ASK ABOUT TOPIC and then automatically select the only available item under that topic, if there are no choices.  This is quicker, but may cause you to say things you didn't intend to say.  (UNDO is always useful, but you may not want to go that road.  If you prefer to have complete control at all times, MANUAL mode will refrain from making assumptions about your intent, and always show you a menu, even if it contains only one item.

Currently the game is set to Auto.


>[Menu Selection]
This game has two difficulty levels: Novice, which removes or simplifies several puzzles for the new IF player, and Standard, which leaves them in.  The game is currently set to Standard.

During the early part of the game, City of Secrets guesses your skill level and sets the difficulty accordingly, but if you'd like to set it yourself, you may type NOVICE or STANDARD to switch.

>[Menu Selection]
The underlying plot idea of this game was developed by Rob Lodes and Bruce Harlick. Rob is the front man of the band Secret-Secret (http://www.secret-secret.com/), and planned an album incorporating songs about the plot and a graphical text adventure.  To this end, he commissioned Emily Short to write the game.

Ultimately, real life intervened, and the plans for the album had to be postponed indefinitely.  However, he gave Emily Short permission to finish and distribute the game within the IF community.

>[Menu Selection]
In loving memory of Sonett.

>[Menu Selection]
To Sam, who is my truest critic, even at cost to us both;
To Storme, Vika, Adam, Sean, Iain, Stephen, Rob, John, Gunther, Neil K., Peter, Matthew, and all the other ifMUDders who listened to me rage through a long and very painful project;
To my parents, who put up with much, and my sister, who spent many hours helping construct the feelies for this game;
And most of all to Dan Shiovitz, who is my sanity.

>[Menu Selection]
Any complaints or suggestions on the playability of the game may be sent to Emily Short: emshort@mindspring.com.  The website, with information, may be found at http://emshort.home.mindspring.com/CSUpcoming2.htm.

>  about
About menu turned off.

>help
Help menu displayed.

>[Menu Selection]
From time to time you will meet other people and creatures. You will be unable to converse with the people in plain English; instead, a more constrained system of communication is used. There are three common ways to talk to characters:

Start a conversation.
>GREET MARKOLIS

Bring up a topic for conversation.
>TELL RINE ABOUT THE STRANGE MAN
>ASK MARVAINE ABOUT DORCAS

These can also be abbreviated to A and T, and the game will also keep track of which person you're talking to, if you've already started a conversation.  This allows briefer commands, like so:
>T UPRISING
>A DORCAS

If there is more than one thing you are allowed to ask Marvaine about Dorcas, the game will give you a menu of options in the window at the bottom of the screen.  Otherwise, it will carry out your instruction immediately.

Give or show them an object.
>SHOW HOLOVID DISC TO CHILD
>GIVE CANDY TO MAN

This game also recognizes the commands INSULT, APOLOGIZE, COMPLIMENT, KISS, HUG, ATTACK, IGNORE, SAY YES and SAY NO, ASK HOW and ASK WHY.  (The latter can be abbreviated to YES, NO, HOW, WHY.)  As in real life, these actions are not as frequently appropriate as simple speech.

[This is all you need to get started, but if you get frustrated, see also "Commands to Remind You of Things" and "Game Settings and Information" for further information on dealing with the conversation system.]
>[Menu Selection]
In addition to the verbs shared by most IF, this game includes some reminder verbs to help you keep track of what you've experienced.  These are:

MAP, which displays a graphical map of the City.  You must be using an interpreter that supports graphics in order to see this, however.

PERSONAE (or just WHO, if you prefer), which lists the characters you've met thus far.

PLACES, which lists every location you've visited.

OBJECTS, which tells you what items you've had in your possession during the course of the game, and where you left them.  (The little 'lost' annotation indicates that they are no longer where you left them, that they were destroyed, or that they are otherwise inaccessible now.)

SUMMARY, which is analogous to the SCORE command in other IF, and lists what events you've experienced.

THINK ABOUT, which allows you to review what you know about certain subjects that might be more familiar to your character than they are to you-the-player.  THINK ABOUT is also updated as you talk to people, so that important discoveries you make may be noted down there.

THINK (or just TH), which by itself, during conversation, suggests topics of conversation that might currently be fruitful. This amounts to a hint request in some cases; you may want to refrain from using it unless you're at a loss.

REVIEW, which lists all the topics you've brought up with the current character in the current conversation.

TOPICS, which reminds you of all the topics of conversation you have brought up with other characters so far.

>[Menu Selection]
GETTING UNSTUCK
Explore.  Examine every object mentioned in room descriptions, and everything in your inventory.  Examine yourself, too.  Look inside all closed containers.  Open all doors and go through them.  If anything is locked, that's probably a puzzle, and you should try to get it unlocked.

Try out all your senses.  If the game mentions an interesting texture, odor, or sound, try SMELLing, TOUCHing, LISTENing, etc.

Be thorough.  If you still can't figure out what to do, try opening windows, looking under beds, etc.  Sometimes objects are well-hidden.

Talk to Non-Player Characters.  Try chatting with everyone you meet, and ask them questions about things you're still working through in the game.

Reread.  Look back at things you've already seen; sometimes this will trigger an idea you hadn't thought of.  Try commands such as SUMMARY and PERSONAE to remind yourself of what has happened in the plot thus far, and give yourself ideas about what else to try.

Take hints from the prose of the game.  Things that are described in great detail are probably more important than things that are given one-liners. Play with those objects.  If a machine is described as having component parts, look at the parts, and try manipulating them.   Likewise, notice the verbs that the game itself uses.  Try using those yourself.  Games often include special verbs -- the names of magic spells, or other special commands.  There's no harm in attempting something if the game mentions it.

Rephrase.  If you have something in mind that you want to do, but can't get the game to respond, try alternative wordings.  We try to account for everything you might think of typing, but sometimes things get left out.

Try variations.  Sometimes an action doesn't work, but does produce some kind of unusual result.  These are often indications that you're on the right track, even if you haven't figured out quite the right approach yet.  Pressing the red button alone may only cause a grinding noise from inside the wall, so perhaps pressing the blue and *then* the red will open the secret door.

Try to understand the game's internal logic.  Sometimes there is a system in play that does not operate in the normal world -- a kind of magic, for instance, or technology we don't have on modern-day earth.  If you've been introduced to such a system in the game, ask yourself how you might apply it to the situations that are still causing you problems.

Play with someone else.  Two heads are usually better than one.

If you're stuck somewhere that just makes no sense at all, it's possible that you're facing a bug.  If you think you are, you should email the author (politely) to report the problem and ask for a way around it.

>help
Help menu turned off.

>x man
In the press of the crowd it's difficult to keep track of individuals, if they're moving around at all.  The crowd is mostly dressed in light colors, carrying bags and cases, but moving with a languor wrong for a train station: as though they aren't actually going anywhere, don't expect to go anywhere, or don't fear being left behind.

>i
You are carrying Peter's letter, an express ticket, some travel papers, a wad of local money and a suitcase (which is closed). In addition, you are wearing a watch.

>read letter
The letter Peter sent you, insisting that you come to the wedding and enclosing the train tickets.  Several passages you've read so frequently that you have them in memory now: "...not as though you're doing anything exciting at the plant... remember when you wanted to come south?  This is your chance... I'd understand if your mother were alive, but you now have no excuse.  I admire what you did for her.  But it's time for you to get out now..."

At the bottom of the letter are instructions for how to reach Peter when you arrive.

The black-clad figure who has been watching you moves forward, puts a hand on your arm...

A pause.

"Do you know the time?" she asks.

>x watch
A little after five, it would appear.

>1
You glance down at your wrist.  "A little after five, by my watch."

"I wasn't asking what your watch says."  She taps the surface of it with one finger. "Don't rely on these numbers.  They'll betray you.  Like most things around here."

And she walks away, vanishing into the close crowd.

>recall peter
That's not a verb I recognize.  (For lists of standard and customized verbs you should know in order to play this game, type HELP and follow the menu prompts.)

>remember peter
Peter is-- well, he is the friend that stuck, of all the people you knew as a child or in school, perhaps because he didn't find your mother peculiar, or perhaps because he shared your appetite to be somewhere other than Valodsci or even Smirnisc.

The thing is, he was able to follow up on that desire.

>remember valodsci
Your home-- originally a mining town but now with a considerable amount of industry. Compared to Smirnisc it remains small.  Not so many people care to do battle with the harshness of the winters, or the cramped living spaces.

>remember smirnisc
The largest city of the North, the center of industry and government.

>remember mother
Your family are dead now.  Your father passed away years ago, your mother more recently, and you never had any siblings.  There are some cousins living in Smirnisc but you haven't kept in touch.

>x ticket
A freshly printed scrip with your name on it and the holographic insignia of Southern Light Rail.

>i
You are carrying Peter's letter, an express ticket, some travel papers, a wad of local money and a suitcase (which is closed). In addition, you are wearing a watch.

>x papers
A few folded pages, and then your Identicard, with its storage chip for personal information.  Your whole life (or at least, your whole life's dealings with bureaucracy) is represented here.

>x identicard
A few folded pages, and then your Identicard, with its storage chip for personal information.  Your whole life (or at least, your whole life's dealings with bureaucracy) is represented here.

>l

City Train Station
A spacious area but -- at least for you, at the moment -- leading nowhere of interest.  Despite its elegant appearance it lacks some of the usual accoutrements of a train station: there are no shops to buy food while you wait, and no board announcing arrival and departure times.  Information here is communicated by some methodology unknown to the mere tourist.

The domed roof is attractive, though, in its high celestial blue.

North are the doors to the street.

>x roof
Pale blue and cofferless, hovering over the square room on gilded supports.  Around the base, windows admit a pure and universal light.

>x window
The shape of half-moons, made of huge sheets of glass.

>n
The dazzle blinds you momentarily.

Then shapes resolve.  Carts of flower sellers, freshly painted buildings.  Arabesque rooflines under a cloudless sky.

Outside Train Station
Few vehicles move through the streets except trolleys, following the tracks that run north from this point, up the hill to the horizon.  For the most part this is a pedestrian walkway, the ground paved in squares of black and white stone.  And it is full of people.

East is the hotel where you have reservations.

To the south, heavy doors lead into the train station.

A lady with curly ash-blonde hair stops to say something to a middle-aged fellow.  They look in your direction and see you watching them; the woman turns away, giggling in apparent embarrassment.

>ask lady about me
The crowd doesn't seem eager to chat with you just now.

A guy wearing a soft hat strolls along.

>e
You make your way indoors, squeezing past the vendors who are trying to attract your attention.

Hotel Lobby
Nicely appointed, more so than anywhere you could afford to stay yourself. The room is mostly empty -- a broad open space with seating here and there -- but it is enlivened with cut flowers and a couple of paintings.  There is also the concierge desk.

An elevator in the corner goes up to the rooms.  You get a glimpse of three or four people packed into it with their suitcases, and then the view and the sound of their voices is cut off by the closing doors.

Behind the desk, a smartly uniformed concierge sits engrossed in his work.  He meets your eye and nods at you politely.

"Good evening, sir," says the concierge as you come in.  "You'll be one of the passengers aboard the delayed train, then?"

>1
"Yes, I am one of the passengers from the train."  Your voice sounds harsh and out of practice; you haven't spoken much in the last few days.

The concierge gestures to a bellhop, who comes up to get your suitcase.

"And we'll need your travel card and identification papers, please, to put in the hotel safe."  You wonder vaguely what would happen if you were to say no.

>no
"I'd rather not give them to you."

"It's policy, sir.  For your own protection."

"Oh, is security so poor here that I can't safely keep a few possessions in my room?"

He fixes you with a cold stare.  "This is what is done here.  If you're not happy with the arrangements the train company has made on your behalf, you're welcome to find other accommodations."

And spend probably half a month's salary in the process.  "Travel is all about going with what happens to you," is what Peter told you when you were hesitating about this trip in the first place.  "Just do what you have to do and it'll be fine."

>undo
Hotel Lobby
[Previous turn undone.]

>give papers to concierge
"Thank you, sir."  The concierge makes a show of putting your papers into a lock bag (the key of which he keeps in his pocket) before taking them away into the back room.

The bellhop returns, ready to show you to your room.

>2
"Hi," you say.

The bellhop acknowledges your greeting.

>1
"Let's go, then.  I'm exhausted."

The bellhop accompanies you to perform the highly necessary task of pressing the buttons in the elevator (cramped, but mirrored, so that you are treated to the image of yourself and him replicated over and over through infinite space).  He also opens the door to your room for you and turns down the sheet on the bed before disappearing discreetly.

Hotel Room
The room is spacious but cozy, with low chairs, a table, a bed on squat legs.  People here live closer to the ground than you're used to, but other than that, you have no complaints.  Doors lead west to the corridor and south into the bathroom.

And the view is spectacular.  The hill rises off to the north, and you can see across the tiled rooftops of shorter buildings, all the way up to the old center of the city: a wall crumbling with time, an ancient round fortress.

The door back out to the hallway is closed.

On the table is a tourist brochure.

>x brochure
A rather pretty brochure with a map and color pictures.  There is writing, too, but it just seems to swim around, thanks to your current state of fatigue.

>take it
You pick up the tourist brochure.

>s

Palatial Bathroom
For the first six years of your adult life, you lived in a studio that shared a bathroom with two single women and a family down the hall.  Either standards are different in the City, or they have given you the deluxe suite: the bathroom is almost as large as that original studio was, done up in polished marble tiles the color of sand, with all the usual fittings and then some in gleaming brass.

The room is also typically reserved by raving narcissists: over the sink, an enormous mirror reflects your every movement, stage-lit by brilliant lights that seem to have no off-switch.

On the counter are an assortment of toiletries.

>x toiletries
Various small items in paper wrappings.  Your brain stubbornly refuses to resolve them more clearly than that.  Maybe after you've had a reasonable amount of sleep.

>n

Hotel Room
The room is spacious but cozy, with low chairs, a table, a bed on squat legs.  People here live closer to the ground than you're used to, but other than that, you have no complaints.  Doors lead west to the corridor and south into the bathroom.

And the view is spectacular.  The hill rises off to the north, and you can see across the tiled rooftops of shorter buildings, all the way up to the old center of the city: a wall crumbling with time, an ancient round fortress.

The door back out to the hallway is closed.

>sleep
Sleep comes easily.

You're back at the plant where you work, and it's the middle of summer, but for some reason the ice hasn't melted.  Not that you can actually see that from inside, of course; you just know that it's all ice outside.

The assembly line is rumbling along, parts of something being assembled into other parts of things, and for some reason instead of just supervising the robotics you're actually doing the job of the robots, putting one piece on top of another.

>z
You don't, of course; you're doing anything BUT wait.

The parts roll steadily towards you, and with inexorable precision you pick them up and put them together and set them back down again.

>out
Your instructions to yourself go unheeded.

There's a grinding whir and the parts begin to move faster.  You hurry to keep up, though you are tired and it goes against the grain to do so.

>sleep
Your instructions to yourself go unheeded.

Keeping the pieces together is getting harder and harder.  It's only by sheer determination that you manage to keep going.  "I don't see what you find so difficult," says Peter from somewhere nearby.

He's not here, of course.

>i
You're not holding anything, other than (temporarily) pieces of electronics, which, however, you put together before returning them to the assembly line.

Someone tugs at your elbow.  "Go away," you hear yourself say.  "I'm very very busy."

>dream
Your instructions to yourself go unheeded.

The pieces come by faster.  You stare at them.  They look funny to you; you're not entirely sure any more how they fit together.  You fumble.  The belt rolls faster still.

>sing
Your instructions to yourself go unheeded.

"You can just stop, you know," says the voice.  You shake your head to clear it, but your whole body seems to be on fire.  Overheating the joints; your internal fan must have gone off.  Damn.

>wake
You can't.

"Stop," says the voice behind you.  "You're going to damage your electronics."

"But then the whole shipment will be ruined," you reply, putting together the little pieces, one two, one two, one -- oops -- one, two...

>fuck
Your instructions to yourself go unheeded.

"Your oil is catching fire," says the voice.  You glance down: it is indeed.  Bemused, you ignore the little flames that are leaving streaks of carbon on your chrome body.

>z
You don't, of course; you're doing anything BUT wait.

"Your determination is admirable," says the voice. "If only it weren't so damned stupid.  Resolve is only worth anything when you're carrying out a decision you made for yourself...  Come on, just give it up and STOP already."

>talk
What do you want to talk to?

>peter
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>talk to voice
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>z
You don't, of course; you're doing anything BUT wait.

There's a clicking noise somewhere deep inside your body, as your will surrenders to the physically inevitable.  You stop.  "There," says a satisfied voice behind you.  "I knew you could do it."

You turn around and find yourself staring into the dark eyes of a woman in a hooded cloak.  You shiver, suddenly cold...


You sit up suddenly.  Your hands are made of flesh and blood as usual; but what was that sound?  Someone was just here.  It was the door clicking shut, you think.

>x door
It's a solid door, without -- and this strikes you as odd -- any kind of hole in it to allow you to see the hallway outside.

>lock door
That doesn't seem to be something you can unlock.

>l

Hotel Room (on the bed)
From here you can mostly see the furniture and the doors to the outside and the bathroom.  Light streams in from the window, but the angle is wrong to look through it.

The door back out to the hallway is closed.

On the table are a white card, an insulated basket (which is closed), an express ticket, a wad of local money, Peter's letter and a tourist brochure.

>x card
"Here is the food you ordered.  Compliments of Southern Light Rail."  Funny.  Your memories of checking in may be vague, but you're certain you didn't order anything.

>x baskey
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>x basket
An insulating woven wicker container intended to keep the contents warm for an indefinite period.

>open it
When you remove the cover, the smell unfurls to meet you, sweet and spicy.  You swallow, inspecting the plate.  Some kind of sauced vegetable stew, grains, a heap of fluffy rice.  Dinner.  (Which reminds you, what time IS it?)

>x watch
You slept about twelve hours.  Travel is exhausting.

>eat dinner
(first taking the food)
(first getting up so that you can reach)

You pick up the food.

You take a bite, then another.  Not your usual fare, but it's delicious.  Soon you've finished the whole thing.

>take ticket, money, letter
express ticket: You pick up the express ticket.
wad of local money: You pick up the wad of local money.
Peter's letter: You pick up Peter's letter.

>read brochure
Provided by the hotel for your amusement and use.

Old City: Several blocks north of the train station, this area preserves the city's most impressive ancient architecture, including the famous round Fortress.  It also boasts a lively open-air market.  (Head uphill on May Street.)

Malta Square: The entertainment and nightlife center of the City, with music, drinks, and fine dining.  In the western quarter.

Sun Court: Administrative functions, the Illuminated headquarters, and one of the most magnificent areas in the City today.  East of May Street.

Fianaga Park: In the northwest area of the City, between Malta Square and the river.

(NB: it is suggested that tourists avoid the very northernmost part of town.  There are no attractions of note in this area, and some dangers.)

>take it
You pick up the tourist brochure.

Your mouth waters unaccountably.

>s

Palatial Bathroom
A huge room, by your standards, done up in polished marble tiles the color of sand, with all the usual fittings and then some in gleaming brass.

The room is also typically reserved by raving narcissists: over the sink, an enormous mirror reflects your every movement, stage-lit by brilliant lights that seem to have no off-switch.

In the middle of the polished marble expanse is a bathroom scale.

On the counter are eight complimentary toiletry items (a pair of curved scissors, a small shaving device, a canister of tooth paint, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of hand lotion, a tiny cake of soap and a half gallon of sunscreen).

Your stomach suddenly and dramatically rebels.  You are swept with a wave of nausea.

You come to yourself a moment later, staring into the toilet.  The dinner you ate has left you again.

You think about crawling back into bed and sleeping forever.  But there are things in the City that you'd like to see, and considering the way your life is going who knows if you will ever have a chance again.

>flush
(the scale)
You're not even holding the scale.

>flush toilet
The toilet flushes (using a minimum of water, you note with approval).

>drink water
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>x scale
Even this utilitarian object has been done up in the most overwrought way: it has a shiny brass-toned cover, the top surface of which has been engraved with winding vines and flowers.

>stand on scale
The scale squawks briefly when you step on it, and then announces your weight (plus a few extra ounces thanks to your inactivity on the train) in a chipper feminine voice.

>talk to scale
Talking to inanimate objects tends to be unproductive.

>remember weight
You can't think of anything relevant.

>remember factory
Ah, the factory.  Dull, grey, smelling of oil: close your eyes and it's all right there, at your fingertips.  And the fantasy seems more real than the reality that surrounds you.

>take all
curved scissors: You pick up the curved scissors.
small shaving device: You pick up the small shaving device.
canister of tooth paint: You pick up the canister of tooth paint.
tiny bottle of shampoo: You pick up the tiny bottle of shampoo.
tiny bottle of conditioner: You pick up the tiny bottle of conditioner.
tiny bottle of hand lotion: You pick up the little bottle, consider it thoughtfully, then have a vision of what your friends back at the plant would say if they saw you now.  Your cheeks flush and you put the bottle back.
tiny cake of soap: You pick up the tiny cake of soap.
half gallon of sunscreen: It's too large for you to want to lug around.

>wash hands with soap
You rinse your hands under the taps and shake them dry.

>put all in pockets
tiny cake of soap: You don't have spare pockets or plausible baggy places in which to keep things.
tiny bottle of conditioner: You don't have spare pockets or plausible baggy places in which to keep things.
tiny bottle of shampoo: You don't have spare pockets or plausible baggy places in which to keep things.
canister of tooth paint: You don't have spare pockets or plausible baggy places in which to keep things.
small shaving device: You don't have spare pockets or plausible baggy places in which to keep things.
curved scissors: You don't have spare pockets or plausible baggy places in which to keep things.
tourist brochure: You don't have spare pockets or plausible baggy places in which to keep things.
Peter's letter: You don't have spare pockets or plausible baggy places in which to keep things.
wad of local money: You don't have spare pockets or plausible baggy places in which to keep things.
express ticket: You don't have spare pockets or plausible baggy places in which to keep things.

>i
You are carrying six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure, Peter's letter, a wad of local money and an express ticket. In addition, you are wearing a watch.

>n
(first getting off the scale)

Hotel Room
Chairs, table, low bed, an exit west, a bathroom south.  All the pieces are where they were when you came in, pale wood and pale carpet.

The whole room is washed out by the light of the window, even brighter than it was earlier, hot shimmering sky over the rooftops, a blaze of sun around the great fortress. The streets bustle with people, color, sound, scents of distant food.

The door back out to the hallway is closed.

On the table are a white card and an insulated basket (which is empty).

You can't quite shake the peculiar feeling of presence from your dream, as though the woman from the train station were somewhere right nearby, watching you.

>s

Palatial Bathroom
A huge room, by your standards, done up in polished marble tiles the color of sand, with all the usual fittings and then some in gleaming brass.

The room is also typically reserved by raving narcissists: over the sink, an enormous mirror reflects your every movement, stage-lit by brilliant lights that seem to have no off-switch.

In the middle of the polished marble expanse is a bathroom scale.

On the counter are two complimentary toiletry items (a tiny bottle of hand lotion and a half gallon of sunscreen).

>wear sunscreen
You apply a little of the sunscreen to your face.  Probably a good protection -- your skin isn't used to this kind of thing.

>n

Hotel Room
Chairs, table, low bed, an exit west, a bathroom south.  All the pieces are where they were when you came in, pale wood and pale carpet.

The whole room is washed out by the light of the window, even brighter than it was earlier, hot shimmering sky over the rooftops, a blaze of sun around the great fortress. The streets bustle with people, color, sound, scents of distant food.

The door back out to the hallway is closed.

On the table are a white card and an insulated basket (which is empty).

>x window
A single north-facing window of the old-fashioned kind that opens. Beyond are the buildings along the street outside, and beyond them the impressive bulk of the ancient fortress.  It stands closed against drafts.

>open it
A pleasant breeze blows into the room, setting the curtains aflutter.

>close it
You close the window.

>x curtains
The medium-weight cloth matches the rest of the furniture in a sedate way.  Currently the curtains are pushed aside, allowing you to enjoy the view through the window.

>search curtains
You find nothing of interest.

>search room
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>x door
It's a solid door, without -- and this strikes you as odd -- any kind of hole in it to allow you to see the hallway outside.

Up near the ceiling, something flashes red for a moment.

>x ceiling
Just the ceiling, and a security camera.

>x camera
The flash of light appears to have come from a security camera.

>put card on camera
You need to be holding the white card before you can put it on top of something else.

>take card
You pick up the white card.

>put card over camera
Precise juxtapositions of objects are not tracked by the game system.

>put card on camera
Putting things on the security camera would achieve nothing.

>drop card
You set the white card beside you on the bed.

>break camera
You can't reach from here.

>stand on chair
You sink into a chair.  You have to stretch your legs out in front of you because it's too short to sit in upright, but the cushions are soft and welcoming and you ease back into them.  You could almost fall asleep like this.

>save
Save failed.

>sav
That's not a verb I recognize.

>save
Saved.

>sleep
You're awake and likely to stay that way.

>break camera
You can't reach from here.

>stand
You get off the chair.

Hotel Room
Chairs, table, low bed, an exit west, a bathroom south.  All the pieces are where they were when you came in, pale wood and pale carpet.

The whole room is washed out by the light of the window, even brighter than it was earlier, hot shimmering sky over the rooftops, a blaze of sun around the great fortress. The streets bustle with people, color, sound, scents of distant food.

The door back out to the hallway is closed.

On the table is an insulated basket (which is empty).

On the bed is a white card.

>close curtains
You pull the curtains closed, though there is still a dimly visible strip of light.

>x camera
A bright tiny eye just under the ceiling, silent and making no comment.

>i
You are carrying six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure, Peter's letter, a wad of local money and an express ticket. In addition, you are wearing a watch.

>throw shampoo at camera
Futile.

>throw scissors at camera
Futile.

>hit camera
You can't reach from here.

>out

Hotel Lobby
Your eye takes it in again quickly: seating, vases, paintings on the walls.  The street exit, west, is a pair of glass doors, and there are also windows, through which the sun bleeds into the coolness.  No one else is here, except for the concierge, but perhaps this is typical at midday.

Your room is back up the elevator.

Behind the desk, a smartly uniformed concierge sits frowning at the computer screen.  He meets your eye and nods at you politely.

>ask concierge about camera
You approach the concierge.  "Hey, I had something I wanted to ask you," you say.

"You have a security system here?"

"The very best.  There's a security guard on the premises as well."

>1
"Do you have security cameras in every room?"

"Not in the lavatories, sir," he says. "Malik thinks that that would be in poor taste."

>1
"I think I agree."

"Yes, sir."

>1
"So, what are you working on there?"

The concierge looks faintly irritated.  "Important hotel business," he says repressively.

>2
"Could I possibly borrow the computer and send a message?"

"Ah-- no, I'm afraid that is not allowed. If sir had brought a computer of his own... no?" He looks politely regretful. "Then there is nothing we can do for you. I'm sorry. But if anyone contacts the hotel with information for you, we will see that it gets passed on."

>1
"What kind of thing does the hotel have to do?"

He looks as though his patience is stretching into a thin strand. "We have, of course, our contract to maintain with Southern Light Rail, for instance."

>1
"Do you know when the next express train is scheduled to leave?"

There's a flicker in his eyes, quickly gone. "I'm afraid not, sir.  The Company will contact you, however, I'm sure."

>2
"And how will they do that, exactly?"

"Don't worry, sir.  The Company have a long-standing understanding with this hotel.  Their communication is always very good.  No one ever needs to stay here longer than one night.  Ever."  His eyes meet yours.  He's telling the truth, you sense, but it still leaves you uneasy.

>1
"You have experience with the Company?"

He tips his head back.  "Naturally, sir. Is there something particular you wanted to know, or is this general curiosity?"

You close your mouth.

>1
"Is Southern Light Rail based in the City?"

"Yes, that's right," says the concierge.  "The main office is in the train station itself."

>1
"Any place I should visit while in the City?"

"There's shopping along May Street, of course," says the concierge.  "Many fine products unique to this area.  Further up the hill, if you have an interest in historical topics, the Fortress is very popular, I believe, though often crowded with visitors.  All of Old City is in fact very beautiful.  Or if you are of a religious bent, you could try the temple at the Sun Court.  It's brand new."

>1
"What else can you tell me about the history of the City?"

"There's a lot to tell," says the concierge.  "Though what most people mean when they ask about that is about the Fortress and the Old City, which -- I have no memory for dates, I'm afraid, but I understand that the Fortress has been there for over a thousand years.  The rest of Old City grew around it long before anything else was built there."

>2
"What is there to see at the Fortress?"

"There is, first of all, the front gate," he says.  You have the impression that he does this speech every hour. "It is decorated with grand sculpture from the early period of the city.  There are frequently street performers in the area.  Besides that, the masonry of the walls itself is impressive, and once you are within, there is the tour of the central keep, which is cheaply priced at 6 lumini.  The money goes to the City Restoration Fund, as I understand."

>2
"What sort of shopping is there to do in the City?"

"Oh, a very wide range," says the concierge, launching into another of his speeches with the mechanical ease of a robot whose button has been pressed.  "Clothing, for men and women, ready-made and tailored; you'll find some of the shops right on this street.  There are hats --"

He breaks his stride as he realizes that you are not wearing a hat and do not have the appearance and demeanor of someone who ever would wear a hat.  "-- but perhaps sir would not be interested in them.  There are also, of course, books, musical recordings, fine food and antiques, magical items, spices..."

>1
"Do you like living in the City?"

He looks a little startled by the personal tenor of the question. "Of course," he says, but in a way that he's never even conceived of living elsewhere.

>2
"Nice place, this."

You detect something almost like softening on his part.  "Thank you, sir," he says.  "We do our best."

>1
"What kind of flowers are these?"

"I believe they're called Valoura's Breath," he replies absently.  "If you'd care for some there are probably bunches for sale on the carts outside."

>say thank you
(You can think of nothing to say.)

The concierge rifles through a stack of papers beside the computer.

>thank concierge
(You can think of nothing to say.)

The concierge stares intently at the screen.

>thank
(You can think of nothing to say.)

>kiss concierge
Manners may be relaxed and people may be more affectionate in the south than they are where you come from, but that gesture would still be overfamiliar.

>out
You step towards the door, only to be called back by the concierge.

"Was your dinner to your liking, sir?"

>3
"The food room service brought made me ill."

He frowns.  "There's nothing wrong with the kitchen, sir.  We have no complaints.  Everything is cooked in the most sterile of circumstances. We're certified by the highest safety standards.  Perhaps you've contracted a flu."

>1
"I didn't, in fact, order the food myself."

The concierge looks at you quizzically.  "That's quite impossible, sir."

"But I didn't order it," you repeat insistently.  "I went to my room, I went to sleep, and when I woke up there was a basket of food there."

"You must have ordered it before you went to sleep.  Perhaps you were so tired that you simply forgot."  He looks at you with such a bland expression that you could almost find yourself believing this reasonable explanation.  But it's not true.  That way lies madness.  You open your mouth again.

"See here, sir," he says, gesturing at his computer.  "Everything is in our system.  There aren't any mistakes."

>2
"There was a card that said Southern Light Rail had paid for it."

"Perhaps they took the liberty of putting in an order on your behalf, knowing how exhausted you were.  They pride themselves on their service," he says.

>1
"Know where there's a restaurant or something around here?"

"That would depend on what you want," the concierge says.  "If you just want to grab something to eat, there's a cafe up in Old City that's all right, and some places in Malta Square that probably serve food."

>2
"I'm looking for a memorable meal."

"In that case-- well, there was a place in Old Town that was considered the very best, but I think it may be closed at the moment.  I'm not sure what to suggest."

>out

Outside Train Station
The bottom of the hill, outside the train station, and less dazzling than when you first emerged.  To the east is your hotel; to the west, assorted offices in a brightly-tiled building, of which the most obvious is a public doctor's office or clinic of some kind.  Evidently you were too tired earlier to notice that feature.

Flower sellers crowd this end of the street, and trolley tracks circle here to climb the hill to the north.  At the center of the track circle is an imposing statue of some long-past queen.

You take stock.  You are awake, and your mouth tastes of socks.  The air is hot and heavy.  Every breath tastes strange.  The dominant feeling is one of incipient dread,  as though a treat longed for for years is about to disappoint you.  This, this is the City, you remind yourself, where the spice traders ran their ships, and sometimes lost them in the shallows, spilling bright and costly cargos and staining the river as orange as sunset.  This is where the Queens ruled; this is where industry was born; this is what Markolis Ambolin ran away from.

It still feels crushingly alien, and yet a little dull.  Shops.  There are shops at home.

Only the bright and perfect light meets your hopes. The sun is centered in heaven, marking the axis of all creation, as though to say, 'here, in this spot, things are real.'

To the south, heavy doors lead into the train station.

One of the green trolleys reaches the base of the hill, stopping to let out a few passengers before making a slow turn on the curved track.

>x statue
Larger than life, in a dull metal that has been tarnished and colored.  She is wearing an archaic gown, and for her eyes there is an inset of white stone, and irises of black painted in.

>remember markolis
He was the founder of Valodsci, and the spiritual representative, if you want to think of it that way, of all that the north stands for -- pragmatism, austerity, simple determination, and a turning away from the decadence and self-indulgence of the south.

>w

Doctor's Office
To call this a doctor's office is an error: it is no more than a single cozy room, currently without human attendants at all.  The clean whiteness of the wall is alleviated only by a large colorful poster.

The blood analysis machine stands against one wall, a friendly heart-shaped sign inviting you to touch it for your free diagnosis.

There's a more forbidding red button on the other wall.

>x poster
"Stay Healthy -- Check in Frequently!!" announces the poster.  Under this motto is drawn a cheery, healthy family -- all grinning widely with white teeth and wearing shirts with a red cross on the breast.

>touch sign
There's a brief sharp jab to your finger, followed by whirring. The machine beeps receptively.

The screen lights:

Congenital:     none
STD:            none
Diabetes:       negative
Cold/flu:       none detected/leukocyte count normal
Pregnancy:      N/A subject male

*** DRUGS DETECTED ***:
     Selene Oil

Recommended treatment: none.  Effects will wear off naturally in one to two days.

You stare at the machine.  Drugs?  From where?  Do they come in the air, here?

Whatever selene oil is.  The machine seems to think it's a triviality. Maybe it is, here -- maybe it's one of those things people ingest routinely for their own amusement.  Less than a day in the City and already you are part of its decadent pleasures, without even intending to; you can hear your mother's snort and the roll of her eyes. Figures.

>x red
(the red button)
The label reads, "Press ONLY when immediate attention is required.  Failure to comply will result in a LARGE FINE.  Use of state resources for illegitimate purposes is PUNISHABLE BY LAW."

...Maybe it's a false positive.  You've never used one of these systems before; maybe they don't work very well.  Maybe your body is confused by travel and out of balance.  Or maybe selene oil is something innocent, like an analgesic or-- you've heard stories about people needing motion-sickness preventatives on the train.  Maybe the company puts the stuff in its water, now.

>save
Saved.

>press it
You've no great desire to pay a LARGE FINE.

>e

Outside Train Station
The bottom of the hill, outside the train station, and less dazzling than when you first emerged.  To the east is your hotel; to the west, assorted offices in a brightly-tiled building, of which the most obvious is a public doctor's office or clinic of some kind.

Flower sellers crowd this end of the street, and trolley tracks circle here to climb the hill to the north.  At the center of the track circle is an imposing statue of some long-past queen.

To the south, heavy doors lead into the train station.

Nearby, a man in grey trousers seems to be acting as an impromptu tour guide.

"Good day, sir," says the man.  "Fine day, don't you think?  We're lucky to have such nice weather."

>1
"Yes, it's not bad."

"You look like you're new around here, am I right?"

"Just visiting town," you say.

"Ah, a northern man.  I'd know that accent a mile off.  Or a thousand miles off, hunh?"  He pokes you in the ribs.  "Come from somewhere around Smirnisc, I bet?  Right?"

>ask man about oil
(the tour guide about the selene oil)
You can think of nothing to say about that.

"And how are you enjoying your stay so far?" he asks, laying a hand on your elbow -- but briefly enough that it doesn't make you too uncomfortable.

A pedestrian wanders by.

>1
"It's very impressive."

"I bet it is!" he says, pleased.

You open your mouth, but he's off and running again.  "So you're new around here and there are a couple of things that might look a little strange to you; am I right?"  He points up at the facade of the structure nearest you.  "Take the decorations.  The old style of architecture isn't like what it was when the northern cities were built.  We didn't like boxes back then."

No, not at all; what they seem to have liked, back then and still now for that matter, was slope, curvature, unevenness: walls that leaned a little, domes and demi-domes and roofs with the cross-section of a rising loaf of bread, all surmounted with a fringe of living fire.

"Another thing you might not be familiar with," he goes on, scarcely stopping for breath, "is our history in Technology."

>3
"I was under the impression you imported most of your technological goods."

"Well, you're right.  But we invented it.  There was a time before Smirnisc and parts north got their hands on our designs when this was THE center of the technological universe.  Especially in the department of micro- and nano-technology.

"That's all in the past now, because while we still do research, we don't do major production any longer.  But it's something you have to bear in mind.  This is a city of contraries.  Technology AND magic.  Religion AND science."

A woman carrying some packages stops to say something to a healthy-looking guy.

>1
"So is all the architecture in the city like this?"

"No, of course not.  This is a traditional building style that you'll find here among the older regions of town, and also again in the most recent building.  Malik has begun to reinstate those old styles for his new projects.  In the outlying areas of town, however, you'll find some buildings that were built during or after the technological phase in this town which are very different."

A breeze stirs, then falls again.

>1
"More northern?"

"That's not quite what I'd say," he says.

"What would you say, then?"

"More ugly," he replies.  But then: "not that that doesn't come out to the same thing!"

>1
"Why do people here resent northerners?"

He pauses, obviously taken aback.  "What do you mean?"

"Take yourself, for example.  You were making jokes about my supposed origins right aw--"

"Oh, heavens, son, I was just joking!"  He punches you lightly in the upper arm.  "Have a sense of humor, man.  Or does that freeze off up there?"

He sees the look on your face and guffaws again.  "Don't be so sensitive."

The tour guide leans closer to you, apparently feeling that he has established a connection now.  "As a matter of fact, if you're interested, I could get you into a special tour... of an area of the Old City not many people are able to visit.  The Queen's Crypt."  With one hand he makes a curious gesture whose purpose is unclear. A cold chill works its way down your back, a sense of being pushed: as though someone is trying to make you do something that you don't at all want to do, or that you don't understand.

"No?"  He looks bewildered.  "But it will be-- great!  Very entertaining!"  Again that sense of tugging, and you remember something you overheard on the train: that con artists in the City use actual magic to achieve their ends.

"Absolutely not," you say.  "Get away from me, would you?"

He snarls at that, his eyes narrowing unpleasantly, and he makes a quick, hard gesture in the air, as though throwing something at you.  But go away he does.  Mercifully.

>remember malik
You can't think of anything relevant.

>n

South May Street
On the climbing curve of the street, among stately buildings painted in pale shades of gold and grey and pink, ornamented at the windows with metalwork and at the roofs with gargoyles and rain gutters; each floor taller than they customarily are at home, and the ground floors occupied by shops: ladies' clothing, spices, surveillance equipment, toys...  At the moment it appears that the clothing store and the toy store are the only ones open.

Narrow alleys lead away east and west.  The main street itself continues south to the train station, and north up to the old town.

>enter clothing store

Clothing Shop
You won't find anything for yourself in here: it's all ladies' evening wear, meant for a level of social event that you would never attend.  Gowns first, but accessories as well: gloves and hats and shoes and wraps, flawless wreaths of unfading flowers, veils of flickering holographic nets, stockings embroidered with fanciful scrollwork.

A young sales assistant hovers nearby.

The sales assistant nods at you as you enter.  "Welcome.  Let me know if there's anything I can help you with."

>1
"Do you take credit?"

"Take credit for what?"

>2
"Who is this on the money?"

"Thomas Malik," remarks the sales assistant, "and if you do not know him, you will soon."

>1
"How much is this money worth?"

The sales assistant looks over the wad of cash, then back at you.  "Some bottled water, perhaps," is the repressive response.  Then, more apologetically: "Prices have gone steep here lately."

>1
"Who is Thomas Malik?"

"He's a great man," comments the sales assistant.  "He realizes all the things that are required for the job of running the City."

>1
"What happens to people who oppose Malik?"

"Nothing."

"All right, I was just closing up," says the sales assistant. "You'll have to step back out.  I'm sorry."

So you head out the door.

It's still broad daylight outside.  You turn your head back to comment on this, but it's too late.  The door closes firmly and locks behind you.

Outside, your erstwhile guide is talking to the pair of older women who were in your compartment on the train. "So are you interested?" he asks.

The blonde puts her hand on the crook of his elbow.  "We'd love to."

They stroll away up the street to the north, the blonde's friend a pace or two behind.

Several shoppers wander past you, discussing gloves.

>sw
The toy shop is closed up now.

>se
The spice shop is closed up now.

>ne
The clothing shop is closed up now.

Someone nods to you in passing.

>n

North May Street
Here along the crest of the hill, the modern buildings of the new City mingle with the historical buildings of the old town: square, glassine boxes built side by side with the ornate yellow houses, so that everything is reflected again and again in their mirror-like surfaces, and the gleam of light is cast from so many sides at once that it is almost hard to see.  There are a few stores: to the southwest, a jewelry shop, which appears to be closed down for the moment, and to the southeast, in one of the older buildings, an antiquarian bookstore.

A wall of baked brick, half-plastered but crumbling, stretches across the street to the north, with a single arched gate.  A narrow path leads off along this wall to the west.

Someone jostles heavily against you from the side.  You turn to say something, and realize that he's lifted your money and your ticket.  He runs, and you follow-- if you don't go after him you'll be stuck here indefinitely-- and so you do, careening down the slope of May Street and nearly hitting several pedestrians in the process, with the thief dodging more adroitly and finally turning down several side alleys...


Narrow Industrial Alley
A bare alley, paved in broken asphalt with painted lines on it.  Some time ago these must have served a purpose, but now they have mostly worn away.  The sides of the buildings are windowless -- no one would want a view of this particular area anyway.

At the end of the alley is a grey force barrier, apparently permanent, that walls off whatever lies beyond.  On the walls of the building is a forbidding sign that says, "RESTRICTED AREA."  Which isn't very helpful, really.

The thief runs ahead of you to the end of the alley, then hits the grey force-barrier at the end of it and turns to face you.  And now what do you do?

>1
"I think you have something of mine."

He grimaces at you. "Yeah?" he says. "You want them back?"

>1
"Please.  I need that stuff in order to get home."

"'Oh, please, don't rob me, rob someone else!'" he mimics, in a high voice. "You're so pathetic."

Time drags by.  He takes something out of his pocket: a switchblade, you realize, as the blade flashes into view. Knives may be low-tech, but it's surprising how unpleasant one looks, in this situation, when you've got only your bare hands to rely on.

The thief smiles, as though reading your mind, and takes a step towards you. Sorry, Mother, you find yourself thinking stupidly. You warned me, and I didn't listen.

>1
"You don't want to kill me."

"Correction: I don't care if I kill you, but if you're going to make an issue of it I am happy to oblige." His face crinkles with something approaching amusement. "What, you think you're the first?"

Your skin begins to crawl, and a stupid, childish singsong plays in your head: You're in trouble now, you're in trouble...

Painful silence.  He strikes out with his left hand and grabs you by the throat -- not the move you were expecting, but it does quite well enough. You struggle, trying to get your air back, but you're trying to avoid the knife as well, and it doesn't entirely work out.

The world goes black...

Black.

>i
You have no volition, and barely any perception.  Already dead, or merely dying? you wonder, and then the wisp of thought is gone again.

>wake
Abstractly, you think: pity it was all so short.

You float in disjointed memory of the girl who lived next door when you were ten...  of the thin trickle of water that runs out from under thawing ice...  of the peak of Valod robed in snow, the first thing you remember, and the last you will forget.


Rescue.  You come to yourself under some kind of respirator. Not dead after all.

There's a perfunctory interview with a doctor; some forms to fill out for the local law enforcement.  You go through it all still in a bit of a daze, having difficulty concentrating on the papers they put in front of you, and the forms, in triplicate, that have to be filled out and fed through the computer.  The police are reasonably kind about it, but it takes a long time, all the same.

Finally everything seems finished, and you're about to leave, but they tell you that there's one more person you need to see.

And you're ushered into a well-appointed office in the back of the building.

The man behind the desk rises to meet you: his is the face you saw on the local currency. He smiles affably.

"I'm Thomas Malik," he says, shaking your hand.  "Please, have a seat. I hear you've been disturbed during your visit here.  I'm so sorry."

>3
"The governor? Do you speak with everyone who is robbed in this city?"  you ask.  "I had the impression-- that is, this wasn't a very important crime.  I wouldn't have expected you to take an interest in a situation like this."

"I'd like to.  Crime in the City is a matter I take very seriously.  But I confess that I don't have time."  He regards you thoughtfully for a minute.  "You are of particular interest to me."

His eyes don't leave your face, but he says nothing more: he is waiting for you to ask why.

>ask why
"Why is that?"

"Because when your case came up, we ran your identity check and the computer matched you with someone already on our security recordings."  He types something on his desk keyboard and the monitor on the wall plays an image, of yourself emerging from the train staircase, looking around, being intercepted by the woman in black.  The detail is poor, but it's obvious that you had a conversation.  He stills the frame.

"She touched you."

Yes.  She did.  You feel a sudden prickle, thinking of her hand on your arm.

>ask about woman
You contemplate your options.

>1
"What does it mean that she touched me?"

"It means that she could easily have put some kind of tag on you, marking you as a tourist who could be easily lost and probably carrying valuables.  Later on that would've led the thug straight to you.  She is probably experienced marking people new to the City.  These people are professionals."

>1
"That is a considerable length to go to for a handful of notes," you remark, shifting uncomfortably. The room feels colder than when you came in. "I was only carrying what the train company gave me.  I didn't have any other local money, and I can't imagine that that was worth very much."

He looks at you shrewdly.  "Yes...  But she might have had other purposes for you, personally.  You escaped.  Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't?"

A thousand scenarios flash through your mind, each ridiculous: black-market organ theft; nano-technological cloning and body-rebuilding; hypnosis, brain washing, mind control...

>1
"I got sick from some food served here earlier.  I wonder whether she was responsible."

There's a pause.  "I wouldn't be at all surprised," he says slowly.  "Not that the food would have been poisoned, but it's easy enough to make someone ill with a chemical transmitted through the skin."

>ask about people
You can think of nothing to say about that.

"I hope you don't get the wrong idea.  We do our best to make our guests comfortable, but we're not a decadent people.  We respect the rule of law.  We work hard.  We are self-disciplined.  If there are -- factions -- that does not represent the population overall."

He sighs.  "Nonetheless, there is a group, and quite a powerful one, whose purpose I don't even entirely understand, associated with the Gnostics.  They work outside and against the laws.  They want to destroy what we're building here.  Someone is turning whole segments of the population into dangerous, lunatic criminals.  It's a darkness that takes over their minds.  And this woman -- her name is Evaine, if that helps -- she is at the center of it."

Evaine.  So now you know.

>2
"Why would they want me for their schemes?  I'm an outsider!"

"I don't think that would matter to them."  He looks sad.  "I don't know what to tell you, because I understand it so little myself.  But there are people to whom life is not precious, to whom sanity matters nothing; and they would use and sacrifice other humans casually."

>1
"So you brought me here to warn me?" you ask.  "Are you going to put me into protective custody of some kind, or escort me out of the City, or something?"  That idea suddenly seems appealing: a quick trip to the train station, a new ticket... you can explore the rest of the City later, if it ever seems worth coming back.

"Ah, not exactly," he answers, putting his fingers to his lips.  A moment passes.  "We brought you here to ask a favor.  My suspicion is that whatever purpose Evaine had for you before, it still holds.  Someone is still looking for you.  And now there's a chance for us, too: watch you, and we may be able to find her."

>1
"Would you also put a tag on me?" you ask.  If this goes on you'll be lit up like an android, broadcasting on every frequency there is, causing static when you walk past holovid units.

"With your permission."  He looks rueful.  "I realize it's a great deal to ask.  We'll of course remove it again as soon as you're not in any danger, when this is over."

>1
"What are you asking me to do?"

"Nothing extraordinary.  But as an outsider, you're in a special position.  You can ask people on the street about her and get answers; I can't, and neither can my men.  I imagine that even if you don't find her, her people will eventually find you, if she does indeed have plans for you.  But all the same-- do what you can to find her."

>save
Saved.

>2
"Sorry, I'm passing through town," you say firmly. "I don't want to get involved."

"Are you sure we can't dissuade you?  This is a matter of critical importance to the City."  He presses his fingers to his lips thoughtfully.  "And then," he adds, "the rewards for cooperation could be considerable.  Just let me know what kind of compensation you'd like and I'd see what I could arrange."

>1
"I have a wedding to make," you explain.  "In Westallia.  I'm supposed to be the best man, and I've only got another day or two to get there."

His gaze rests on you thoughtfully.  "And how are you going to get there with no money and no ticket?" he asks.

"I don't know, I'll think--"

"This needn't take very long," he says.  "And then we'd see that you got wherever you might be going, in comfort and style.  Please."

>1
"No, I absolutely can't help you."

He sighs, looking suddenly older, as though the facade has fallen away and you are allowed to see how the cares of the city weigh on him.  There's a look of barely reined impatience and frustration in his eyes.  You feel like a selfish child, suddenly, for refusing to do this thing, which is so important to him and could be so trivial to you.

But he does not try to coerce you.  "Very well.  Enjoy the remainder of your stay."

And so you find yourself being ushered out to the street again.

East Alley
Even to call it an alley is perhaps an exaggeration.  There is so little space that you could reach either side with your outstretched arms. Overhead the buildings slope together until they almost touch; in places bridges join them. But even in this narrowness there are no unpleasant smells.  The breeze sweeps through, and the light falls clean and illumining from straight above.

The alley itself continues east and west. A bottle-green door opens into the building to your north.

Which leads you to the question: So now what?  You've turned down your most obvious (only?) chance at a ticket out of here again; you have no money, and presumably once your train has left without you, Southern Light Rail will stop paying the hotel bill.  Which puts you exactly nowhere.

You need a drink.

Or a job.

>undo
Malik's Office
[Previous turn undone.]

>2
"I'll do what I can."

He lets out a breath of obvious relief.  "You're doing us a great service," he says.  "I promise it won't be forgotten."

He wipes his hand over his face, becomes suddenly businesslike.  "If you'll hold out your hand?"

You put your hand out, and he takes a small syringe from his desk and injects something under the skin of your wrist.  When the procedure is done there is only a small bluish lump there.

"Biotech," he says.  "In a week or so, your body chemistry will break it down.  It's not a permanent surveillance, and no removal surgery is required.  State of the art.  But look."

He taps a few keys on his computer and brings up a map of the city, with his office marked with a blinking white dot.  "If you become stressed, your pulse and adrenalin will set off the alarm and we'll come looking for you."

>1
"So what do I do now?"

"If you step right outside here and wait a moment, my chief of enforcement can give you a few pointers on where to start looking."  He ushers you out through the door.  "And thank you again for doing this.  We are greatly in your debt, and I promise, when this is over, we will see to anything you need.  A new ticket, money, whatever you lost..."

The door clicks shut behind you.


Waiting Room
A white-washed room lit by two high windows in the south wall, and a floor of green tiles.  There are chairs along the wall, though they have a stiff, unused look, as though people are rarely called upon to wait here.  A stylized print of the Fortress hangs on the wall.

On the end table is a poetry magazine.

>x magazine
"small craft warnings," says the title; and then beneath this in smaller letters, "poems and photography of the City."

>read it
a letter she writes
to a love long gone
emotions well up
as she listens to their song

tears fall on the paper
she looks up at the sky
a whisper remembered
gracefully, she wipes her eye

breathing so softly
she comes to the end
with a kiss to remember
she forgets what could have been

A hefty man in uniform steps into the room.  "Oh, good," he says.  "You're here."

He leans against the wall.  "Now look," he says, "I'm supposed to tell you where to go looking for Evaine even though I haven't been able to find her for years, so this should be a brief conversation.  Apparently it is extremely urgent, the orders came from the top, and I for one have not had any lunch yet.  So if you don't mind too much, we'll adjourn this discussion to a little sweet shop down the street, and I'll show you the best citrus cream you've ever had.  Or whatever else suits you.  Sound good?"

He holds open the door for you to go out.

>1
"That sounds good," you say, wondering what a citrus cream might be.

"Excellent."  He claps you on the back with one large hand; you flinch slightly, because he is stronger than he apparently realizes, and also because you're not a big fan of being touched by strangers.  It seems to happen a lot down here.

>1
"So you work in here?"

"These are headquarters of a sort," he says.  "Malik's government runs most of its operations out of this area -- the building complex is bigger than it looks."

The Enforcement Chief points towards the south to indicate you should go that way.

>s

East Alley
Even to call it an alley is perhaps an exaggeration.  There is so little space that you could reach either side with your outstretched arms. Overhead the buildings slope together until they almost touch; in places bridges join them. But even in this narrowness there are no unpleasant smells.  The breeze sweeps through, and the light falls clean and illumining from straight above.

The alley itself continues east and west. A bottle-green door opens into the building to your north.

The Enforcement Chief walks alongside you.

"This area is the best part of town, no question about it," he says as you go.  "You have a map, right?  We need to go that way --" he points east down the alley you're standing in -- "which will take us through the Sun Court.  It's pretty impressive if you haven't seen it."

The Enforcement Chief points towards the east to indicate you should go that way.

>1
"So what exactly is it you do?"

"I run the press around here," he says.  You look at him quizzically and he adds, "The Press Gang.  Keeps a little order in the place, you know?  Reduces vagabondage and theft.  Maintains civic discipline and pride."

>e

Sun Court
The alley opens out into a wide space. You have a confused impression of the ground tiled in brilliant colors; buildings rising impressively in every direction; and immediately across from you the largest and most impressive of all, a huge facade whose surface is covered with statues.

The Enforcement Chief walks alongside you.

"You may have noticed that there are people around here who are not entirely well.  It is part of my job to gather them up and take them someplace safer before they become a menace."

>1
"Where do the crazy people all come from?"

"I don't know," he says.  "Some kind of disease, is the rumor."

>e
You'd better stay with the Enforcement Chief.

"To get back to what we were talking about before," remarks the Enforcement Chief.

"Well," he says, "here you can see it for yourself."  He gestures.  "The Temple was Malik's own project.  He oversaw the razing of the old palace, hired the architect, worked over the whole design...  He picked the sculptors for the facade himself.  The place I'm taking you is just north down this street here."

"We will need to head north now," remarks the Enforcement Chief.

>undo
Sun Court
[Previous turn undone.]

>x temple
Built in an old style, but unworn, unchipped, unpolluted.

"To get back to what we were talking about before," the Enforcement Chief says.

"Well," he says, "here you can see it for yourself."  He gestures.  "The Temple was Malik's own project.  He oversaw the razing of the old palace, hired the architect, worked over the whole design...  He picked the sculptors for the facade himself.  The place I'm taking you is just north down this street here."

The Enforcement Chief gestures north with a nod.

>n

Feyn Street North
A residential street, but the houses are enormous, relics of a time when land shortage was no concern and there were armies of servants.  Set well back from the curb, gracious and stately, each has its own lawn and gardens, its balconies, its onion-domed turrets and intricate facade-painting.

At the north end of the street, set in a small rotunda, is a sweets shop.

The Enforcement Chief walks alongside you.

"This is the place, right here," he says, pointing out the sweet shop that stands at the northern end of the street.  "To die for."

"It's north now," the Enforcement Chief remarks.

>1
"Nice area.  Who lives here?"

"Various people," he says, waving a hand.  "A lot of the members of the government live on this street, or on the other side south of the Sun Court."

The Enforcement Chief gestures north with a nod.

>n

Sweets Shop
As dainty inside as though it were itself a confection: pale flowers, curtains of pleated chiffon, tiny tables that float above the floor on intricate wires (hovertechnology there: no such metal lace could support much weight).

The Enforcement Chief pulls out a seat and positions himself on it; he can't quite pull it up to the table, given his girth.

Behind the counter, a chrome robot moves to and fro, arranging the sweets in neat rows.

"Here, let me order."  He orders up from the robot two plates, one of them of toroidal sweets which he keeps for himself, the other a curious pyramidal sweet which he sets down on the table in front of the empty chair.  "Have a seat."

The chrome robot bleeps.

>sit
You slide into one of the chairs.  It is a little too small to be entirely comfortable; you feel perched, as though you might slide off one way or the other at any moment.

His attention is drawn over to the robot for a moment.  "That's my ideal of perfect government right there," he remarks to you confidentially.  "Clean, shining, efficient, always happy, never a thing out of place or in the least bit wrong..."

The chrome robot whistles.

>1
"How do you know the robot is happy?"

"Well.  It beeps, you know?  It sounds happy."

"Yes, but it was programmed to do that."

He looks at you sharply, and you have the sense of something in his mind having woken from a sort of slumber.  A few seconds pass uncomfortably as he looks you over, up and down.  "Be careful," he says.  But he doesn't say why.

The chrome robot beeps.

>ask chief about malik
"What do you think of Thomas Malik?" you ask.  "I'd like to know what I'm dealing with."

"Well," he says, looking past your head.  "I tell you what: I wouldn't work for an idiot.  And work as hard as I work for Malik -- not unless he had me really convinced.  He knows what he's doing.  He knows better than almost anyone I've met before."

Outside, a happy-looking young woman looks wistfully at a plate of petit-fours.

The robot mepes.

>2
"That's a lot of praise."

"The world is full of smart people, kid," he says.  "It doesn't have nearly as many people in it who truly know what they are trying to accomplish.  Most of the time, most people, they're flailing along-- and maybe doing the best they can, but because there's no focused will behind it, it will never add up to a serious accomplishment."

The robot bloops, causing a tabletop machine to extrude mint-colored paste resembling suns.

>3
"What happens to people who oppose Malik?"

He laughs.  "You mean, do I track them down and punish them?  Do you imagine I have time to concern myself with that sort of thing, when there is Evaine to worry about, and her people, and the lunatics who wander the City, and the criminal element that hasn't been rooted out yet?"

The chrome robot catches the sunlight as it arranges sweets in the display case.

>1
"What's Malik like to work with, in terms of personality and working style and so on?"

He leans back in his chair.  It squeaks.  "He's a great man," the Enforcement Chief replies.  "What would you expect?"

The chrome robot beeps as it arranges sweets in the display case.

>1
"Yes, but is he demanding, or kind, or does he get cranky..."

"Let me explain something to you," he replies.  "You're from the north, so you're used to, I assume, some sort of job in the private sector? A factory or some such thing?"

"That's right."

"And so where you come from, questions of... what I suppose one would call 'management style'... come up more.  Here..."

He waves his hand, takes a bite of sweet, sprays powdered sugar across the surface of the table.  "Here what we do and what we are aren't so divorced.  And it doesn't matter quite as much what someone's personality is like, when so much more depends on his honesty, his vision, the side he comes in on."

The robot beeps.

>1
"I think how you do things does matter, though."

"Well.  Perhaps."  He takes a swipe at the table, smearing the powder there into a long blur.  "Whether it is successful or not, for instance."

"Or whether it is done honorably."

"That too."

>ask about evaine
You contemplate your options.

>1
"What can you tell me about Evaine?"

He looks at you blandly.  "I thought Malik explained," he says.

"Yes, but what I'm wondering is how this woman, who is only one person, is managing to cause so much trouble."

For a moment you're afraid you've offended him, but then he sighs and leans back in his chair.  "This is the thing people never understand," he says.  "It's not just her; it's that she's become a symbol, and everyone who has any kind of grudge against Malik, joins with her and decides he's on her side."

The chrome robot bloops; indicators on its casing light as it as it performs some calculation.

>1
"And if you got rid of Evaine, there wouldn't be someone else?" you ask. "It seems that sometimes these popular heroes make themselves."

He makes a face. "We think-- well, Malik thinks, at least -- that she has some unique... qualifications for inspiring the kind of popular following that she's received. If she were removed, it might take a while for a similar kind of hero to emerge. At least, that's what we're hoping."

Two small children run up to the shop window, discuss and point at the contents for a moment, and then run off again.

The robot catches the sunlight.  One of the lesser machines begins to extrude mint-colored sugar decorations resembling stylized birds.

>2
"And you're not worried that I'll fall under her dread sway?"

He turns towards you and squints.

"Joke," you explain, though you're not actually sure it is. There's another moment or two of pointed silence.

The robot gleams; indicators on its casing light as it as it performs some calculation.

>1
"Have you ever met Evaine?"

"No."

Outside, a woman carrying some packages looks wistfully at a plate of frosted cakes.

>ask about robot
You can think of nothing more to say about that.

"Well, anyhow," the Enforcement Chief says.

"Well," he says heavily, biting into one of the toroids on his side.  It appears to have a gooey white filling.  "I can tell you generally where she probably is, which is to say, somewhere in the north quarter of the City.  The problem from your point of view is that that's not the best part of town.  And you wouldn't find her anyway, just by going up there and knocking on doors, or whatever.  We've already tried that."

He smiles, and you get the impression that he has been working on the problem a long time with minimal success.

>undo
Sweets Shop
[Previous turn undone.]

>eat
(the pyramidal sweet)
(first taking the pyramidal sweet)
You take the sweet, which weighs more than you would expect.  Your fingers leave dull spots on the gloss of its shell.

You bite cautiously into the side of the pyramid. After a moment's resistance the shell gives way and a wonderful flavor of citrus bursts through, creamy and slightly warm.

"Anyway," says the Enforcement Chief.

"Well," he says heavily, biting into one of the toroids on his side.  It appears to have a gooey white filling.  "I can tell you generally where she probably is, which is to say, somewhere in the north quarter of the City.  The problem from your point of view is that that's not the best part of town.  And you wouldn't find her anyway, just by going up there and knocking on doors, or whatever.  We've already tried that."

He smiles, and you get the impression that he has been working on the problem a long time with minimal success.

The chrome robot catches the sunlight as it goes about its business.

>say "delicious"
What do you want to say to?

>chief
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

"The thing that you can do that we can't is talk to people.  The ones who have the most to gain from the disruption of someone like Evaine are the ones who aren't doing well otherwise: vagrants, people on the street...

"Shopkeepers will probably be more closed-mouthed with you than street folk because they have more to lose, but you can try asking them as well, if you like.  Just ask around if anyone has seen her or knows where she could be reached.  Be patient, and don't worry if people react as though you don't belong here.  The fact that you are obviously a foreigner is your greatest asset."

The chrome robot mepes.

>undo
Sweets Shop
[Previous turn undone.]

>1
"What then?"

"The thing that you can do that we can't is talk to people.  The ones who have the most to gain from the disruption of someone like Evaine are the ones who aren't doing well otherwise: vagrants, people on the street...

"Shopkeepers will probably be more closed-mouthed with you than street folk because they have more to lose, but you can try asking them as well, if you like.  Just ask around if anyone has seen her or knows where she could be reached.  Be patient, and don't worry if people react as though you don't belong here.  The fact that you are obviously a foreigner is your greatest asset."

The robot mepes as it goes about its business.

>1
"Why is it so important that I be a foreigner?"

"You know."  He gestures with his dessert. "You have no connection with the establishment, you don't look like you know Malik, you'll have had no time to be contacted by, well, us."

He licks the powdered sugar off his thumb and looks at you with a wry smile.  "I know what you're thinking, it's a strange situation, but you'll be on the road again soon enough, back to wherever you're going, so just look at this as, I don't know, a strange little interlude with the potential to make you a very, very rich man."

The radio at his hip makes a peremptory insistent beeping. He swears under his breath, looking at it.  "Sorry.  Duty summons me," he says to you.  He picks up one of the cakes for the road, then apparently thinks better of it and takes the whole plate, trailing white crumbs.

He stops at the door.  "Sorry, kid," he says again, seeing that you're just sitting there watching him dumbfounded. "It's really rude for me to leave you like this, but it's an emergency.  Another emergency.  We get nothing but emergencies around here. Good luck, you'll do fine."

The door slams shut after him.


The robot beeps as it arranges sweets in the display case.

>eat
(the pyramidal sweet)
You take another bite of the confection.  This is what civilized living is about.

The chrome robot whirs.

>g
(the pyramidal sweet)
You polish off the sweet and look regretfully at the plate.

Outside, a slender woman with short hair looks as though she would like to purchase some frosted cakes.

The robot briskly removes your plate in the course of its duties.

>i
You are carrying six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure and Peter's letter. In addition, you are wearing a watch.  There is also a blue lump in your wrist.

The chrome robot bleeps.

>out
You get off the chair.

Sweets Shop
As dainty inside as though it were itself a confection: pale flowers, curtains of pleated chiffon, tiny tables that float above the floor on intricate wires (hovertechnology there: no such metal lace could support much weight).

Behind the counter, a chrome robot moves to and fro, arranging the sweets in neat rows.

>talk to robot
You don't know the codewords required to communicate with the robot.

A healthy-looking guy buys two dozen marzipan flowers in a small bag.

The robot whirs as it arranges sweets in the display case.

>out

Feyn Street North
A residential street, but the houses are enormous, relics of a time when land shortage was no concern and there were armies of servants.  Set well back from the curb, gracious and stately, each has its own lawn and gardens, its balconies, its onion-domed turrets and intricate facade-painting.

At the north end of the street, set in a small rotunda, is a sweets shop.

>s

Sun Court
The courtyard is paved in stone, and inlaid at the center with a wheeling gold sun.  Streets lead out north and south, and a narrow alley west.

On every side the buildings rear back, all metalwork and awnings at the lower levels, sheer plaster above.  The most magnificent, however, is the white stone temple at the east side of the court, many stories high and faced with columns and statues.

An old man stands nearby, holding a lamp on the end of a pole.

>talk to old man
You say hello to the man with lights.

>1
"What are you doing with that lamp?"

"Hoping that light will call to light, my son," he says.  "Things draw to their equals."  His eyes shift; he follows something out of your sight -- the flight of distant birds, or a gnat hovering before his face.

Then he goes on.  "If I could contain the light, I could find the night again."

>2
"How long is a day in these parts?  When is it going to be night?"

"It is often night but never dark," remarks the man with lights.  "And if you're wise, you'll refrain from mentioning it to anyone else."

>1
"Why contain the light?"

"Aren't you listening?"  He sighs heavily.  "This is--" he gestures.  "Unrelenting.  An eye that watches everything, a sun that shines on everything.  There are no secrets and there is no mercy."

>ask man about temple
You can think of nothing to say about that.

>ask man about sun
Which do you mean, the sky or the large building?

>building
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

The man pounds his lamp-stick against the pavement two or three times.  "Time to go," he says. "Oil's getting low."

He half-nods in your direction and takes off, using the lamp like an improvised staff.

>e

Entryway to the Sanctuary of the Lamp
The room is small and quiet; it reminds you of the entryways in the north, but those are built to keep the snow out of the buildings, and this one, you sense, is built to keep out noise and rush.  The walls are an egg-like white.

An odd machine, perfectly white and streamlined and vaguely resembling a mushroom, sprouts next to the front door.

>x machine
It has a slender, white, organic-looking stalk, and then a bulbous top, inset in which is a touch display panel.

>x panel
It reads, "Please Touch Here For A Meditation To Consider."

>touch panel
For a moment, the display lights up, with the following inspirational message:

The Sun sees All

>g
For a moment, the display lights up, with the following inspirational message:

Integrity comes from supervision.

>g
For a moment, the display lights up, with the following inspirational message:

The Sun sees All

>e
Your first impression is of an even greater brilliance than there is outside; it takes a little blinking to adjust to the sight.

Sanctuary of the Lamp
A long rectangular hall flanked by columns, much larger than any building back home, even the factory; an area like this would be too expensive to heat.  And what is surprising is not merely the breadth, but the height; it makes you nervous, as though you could fall upward into that ceiling.

The stones underfoot are already worn with use, though the building itself seems paradoxically new.

Stained glass turns the entering light topaz, and everything is suffused the rich color of oil fire.

A man in a white robe stands at the far end of the room, reading from a book.

The attendant licks the ends of his fingers for greater ease with the book.

>x book
It is a large book without a visible title.  You can't get a good view of the pages from here.

>e
The only obvious exit is west to the Sun Court.

>enter
The only obvious exit is west to the Sun Court.

The attendant sniffs faintly.

>talk to man
You get the attention of the attendant.

>1
"What is it that you're reading?"

"It is a book of significances, to enliven the mind to the meanings of the world around us.  All things contain germs of meanings, even chance occurrences that may appear accidental."

>2
"Who are you?"

"Oidan, of the Illuminated Ones," he says, with grave dignity.

>1
"Who are the Illuminated Ones?"

"A group of seekers, who desire to find the light and share it with others," observes the attendant.  He holds out his hand.  "It is our belief that the whole world could come to be what our temple represents: a beacon of light, without shadow or doubt, without secrets or defilement."

>2
"What are the practices of the group?"

"At the beginning it is simple.  Obedience to those of higher offices.  Meditation on power and enlightenment.  Later comes identification with the society as a whole, the loss of that foolish division between one's own good and the common cause...  After that it is not possible to prescribe the practices.  They are what the occasion demands."

>1
"How do you become one of the Illuminated Ones?"

"It is open to anyone," he says.  "Though to begin the path one must be willing to start at the bottom.  To progress to knowledge one moves first through humility.  This is not for the sake of the order as a whole so much as it is for the individual.  Whoever does not begin at the right place shall never find what he seeks."

>1
"Could I become one of the Illuminated Ones?"

"It would be unusual," he says, "for us to admit a northerner, and a stranger.  But not impossible, if your intentions were in the right place, and you believed as we do.  There would be some tests.  It would not be easy.  But you might find it satisfying."

>1
"Malik has me doing a job, looking for Evaine."

"Ah!  That's excellent.  If you succeed -- even if you don't succeed, I should say, though I hope you will -- you will have proved your loyalty and worthiness, just the way a postulant does in the early stages of joining our order. There is no better kind of belonging than belonging among us, let me tell you this; the richest and most powerful men of the City -- not only Malik but many other people of civic or economic importance -- all are part of the Order of Illuminated Ones."

>1
"But what use would that be to me back in Valodsci?"

"Are you going back?" he asks.

You look away, at the yellow light suffusing everything, at the columns shadowed and colored.

>1
"That is where I live."

"Almost everything in this life is subject to change," he says.  "Where you live, what you do, who your friends are-- everything.  If you are unhappy, choose a new course, and then act."

>1
"What sorts of tests are involved in joining the Order?"

He smiles vaguely.  "There's no way to tell you in advance; even if it were not forbidden, some of the tests are unknown until we come to them.  In general, it is a question of your endurance and dedication, and your faith in those who are higher in the hierarchy.  Not tests of any particular skill, if that is what you're thinking."

>1
"I'm passing through town on the way to my friend's wedding.  Train got stuck here."

"Then you are fortunate," he says. "It is rare that the world takes a hand in our affairs and directs them, but when it happens, it is worth paying attention.  Perhaps you are here for a reason."

>1
"You think I was fated to come help Malik find Evaine?" you ask, a bit incredulously.

"It is possible," he agrees.  "But it is also possible that you were brought here in order to learn something, for yourself."

>1
"Is there a significance to your outfit?"

"The white and the green," he says, "are colors associated with our order, and in particular with the two virtues: white is for honesty without deception, and the green is for cooperation.

"The birds in the brocade represent cooperation again, since birds recognize their kin and flock as a group.

"As for the height of the hat, it indicates aspiration, and shows my rank in the order.  And the green tassel indicates that I currently am the one whose duty it is to stand here in the Temple, speak with postulants, and continue the vigil of reading the book."

>1
"Do the tassels come in any other colors?"

"Several," he replies, apparently willing to delve into the mystical import of every aspect of his outfit.  "White is fitting for private meditation and thought, and indicates that the postulant should not be disturbed at his devotions.  There is also sapphire, but that is for persons more worthy than myself."

>ask about evaine
You contemplate your options.

>1
"What can you tell me about Evaine?"

"She's an old thorn in Malik's side," he replies, with a faint sigh. "She's extremely powerful, and she has a certain number of important friends -- but she rejects everything we have worked for.  Malik was very hurt by her betrayal of him, her decision to become a criminal and a renegade.  He doesn't speak much about it, but I believe he had hoped that she would help him."

>1
"Have you ever met Evaine?"

"No, I haven't.  I've heard about her from people who have, of course."

>1
"Do you know where I could find Evaine?"

"I know that they have been looking for her in the North District for a long time," he replies. "I imagine that that is in fact where she is, and if I knew where exactly, I would have told Malik already. But she probably has some protection, some disguise."

>1
"What sort of disguise would Evaine have?"

His expression softens into a smile. "Part of the nature of the disguise is that we don't know what it looks like. But your best chance, boy, will be to find someone who knows her. That is my advice. Convince them to take you to her, and then... what happens will happen."

>1
"You mean that anyone I meet on the street might be Evaine in disguise?"

"...Perhaps," he says, looking a bit uncertain. "I meant more that I think she has hidden her home, or her refuge -- one sometimes hears mention of what her people call Sanctuary, but Malik's guards have not been able to locate it."

>ask about malik
You contemplate your options.

>1
"What do you think of Thomas Malik?" you ask.  "I'd like to know what I'm dealing with."

"The most enlightened of us all, the head of the order."  He tilts his head to one side.  "You must be new here, or surely you would know this."  There's a feeling of doubt that creeps into you when he makes this remark.

>1
"What happens to people who oppose Malik?"

"For a private citizen who complains?  Nothing happens.  Malik, like anyone, has his share of detractors.  In every society there will be some who dislike whomever stands in a position of power.

"For a member of the Order of Illuminated Ones, consequences are a bit different.  But that is as it must be, to preserve the hierarchy."

>1
"Do you know where I could find Malik? I need to talk to him again."

"I don't know where he is right now.  If he's not at the offices, then perhaps he's resting.  He'll probably be available again later, and I'm sure that if you're wired in, he'll have his people keeping an eye on you.  You should be fine."

>1
"You don't have a way to contact him directly?"

"No."  He tilts his head back and looks at you.  "Very few people do.  He's in his office so much of the time that if he needs to be elsewhere, it's a sign he should not be interrupted."

>1
"But someone must be able to find him in emergencies," you say.  "And his bodyguard? I assume he has one?"

He draws himself up a bit.

"Listen," he says.  "If Malik arranged things without giving you a way to contact him, then it must have been because he didn't think it would be a good idea for you to have one.  Probably being seen strolling in and out of the press gang headquarters constantly would compromise your usefulness to him.  If you want to serve him well, follow his instructions and don't try to second-guess them."

>ask about sun
"Can you tell me how to get tothe Sun Court?  I've been there once but I seem to have gotten turned around and I'm not sure of the way back," you explain.

"Try walking out the door.  The temple is built in it."

>1
"What can you tell me about the history of the City?"

The attendant says a bit about the Old City, more or less what you already heard, and then adds, "After that, I don't know exactly what happened... several hundred years passed, the Technological Revolution occurred, and there was a huge expansion that spread things out across the river as well."

>1
"What do you know about the technocracy?" you ask.

"The ruins are all across the river in a forbidden area, or in the industrial complexes south and west of the train station.  It's all quite dangerous, so Malik discourages exploration.  He says it was an unhealthy time in City history."

>1
"What was this technological revolution?"

The attendant looks at you in some surprise.  "You must know; this was the founding of your own northern cities, the beginning of the colonization of the northern territories.  Here it was the beginning of the technocracy, when the major industries took over and essentially became the government."

>1
"People here are not very pleasant to northerners."

"You have to understand," he says.  "A lot of the people who have become a dangerous element in this society are those who came in from outside and then sided with Evaine.  There's a perfectly good reason why, hearing your accent, the average citizen would be at least a little wary.  Try not to take it personally."

>remember history
History was never your strongest topic in school: certain things appealed to you because of their drama, but on the whole you didn't pay enough attention.

So far you've gathered...

  (from the concierge) that you can buy books, spices, toys, clothing, and so on here

>1
"What possible danger could I be?"

"You could easily be a thief, or a predator; people who come here and associate themselves with her usually cannot get legitimate jobs, and therefore become an even greater menace to society simply trying to earn the means to live."

>1
"If Evaine is luring foreigners in, why don't they return where they came from?"

"As far as that goes, I can only guess that it is because of the glamor that she casts on people.  Once you come into her orbit, you begin to believe that everything she says is true; she can be very convincing, I understand.  Illusions and lies have a way of bending people's minds."

>aks about daylight
That's not a verb I recognize.

>ask about night
You can think of nothing to say about that.

>out

Entryway to the Sanctuary of the Lamp
The room is small and quiet; it reminds you of the entryways in the north, but those are built to keep the snow out of the buildings, and this one, you sense, is built to keep out noise and rush.  The walls are an egg-like white.

An odd machine, perfectly white and streamlined and vaguely resembling a mushroom, sprouts next to the front door.

This is ridiculous, for you to be doing cloak-and-dagger work for a government you'd barely heard of before today.  You feel like a fool. Barely know what you're doing...

But.  If you do what's expected of you, you'll find her again.  Her with the dark eyes and the low voice.

>e

Sanctuary of the Lamp
A long rectangular hall flanked by columns.  There is room on the broad floor for many hundreds or perhaps thousands of people to stand.  The stones underfoot are already worn with use, though the building itself seems paradoxically new.

Stained glass turns the entering light topaz, and everything is suffused the rich color of oil fire.

A man in a white robe stands at the far end of the room, reading from a book.

The attendant sniffs.

>undo
Entryway to the Sanctuary of the Lamp
[Previous turn undone.]

>w

Sun Court
The courtyard is paved in stone, and inlaid at the center with a wheeling gold sun.  Streets lead out north and south, and a narrow alley west.

On every side the buildings rear back, all metalwork and awnings at the lower levels, sheer plaster above.  The most magnificent, however, is the white stone temple at the east side of the court, many stories high and faced with columns and statues.

>n

Feyn Street North
A residential street, but the houses are enormous, relics of a time when land shortage was no concern and there were armies of servants.  Set well back from the curb, gracious and stately, each has its own lawn and gardens, its balconies, its onion-domed turrets and intricate facade-painting.

At the north end of the street, set in a small rotunda, is a sweets shop.

>s

Sun Court
The courtyard is paved in stone, and inlaid at the center with a wheeling gold sun.  Streets lead out north and south, and a narrow alley west.

On every side the buildings rear back, all metalwork and awnings at the lower levels, sheer plaster above.  The most magnificent, however, is the white stone temple at the east side of the court, many stories high and faced with columns and statues.

>s
You wander down the street to the south for some distance, several blocks at least; it is quiet, except for a few well-dressed people out walking, and there is not much to see other than opulent houses with neatly-kept lawns.  There are no shops, and no one who seems eager to speak with you.

Eventually you give up and turn back to the Sun Court.

>w

East Alley
Overhead the buildings slope together until they almost touch; in places bridges join them. But even in this narrowness there are no unpleasant smells.  The breeze sweeps through, and the light falls clean and illumining from straight above.

The alley itself continues east and west. A bottle-green door opens into the building to your north.

>n
You can't, since the green door is in the way.

>x door
Just a green door, round at the top, with the symbol of a lamp on it in shiny bronze.

>open it
It seems to be locked.

>knock
(on the green door)
No one answers.

>map



>w

South May Street
After the Sun Court, the buildings here look less impressive; the effect of their coloration and elaborate decor is marred by the signs ('DRESS SHOP -- SALE!!' 'SPICE STORE').  But everyone is comfortable and happy, and they are going about their business shopping as usual.

Narrow alleys lead away between the buildings east and west; the main street itself north and south.

A shimmering grey barrier blocks passage to the west.

Nearby stand a young couple looking into a shop window.

>w
The grey barrier blocks your movements.

An attractive lady wearing gloves stops to check her appearance in a shop window.

>se

Spice Shop
There's nothing like this at home, where everything comes premeasured in silver packets. Here is spice in bulk, more cinnamon in a single drawer than you could eat in a lifetime. Vanilla beans gathered and tied.  Saffron, in threads.  Dried things you don't recognize, in glass bulbs, ready for grinding.  Blue bottles stoppered to hold the pungency of essences.  A sparkling basin of ordinary salt.

Behind the counter, polishing the enormous grinding machines, is a young man with slick black hair.

The man packs several small bags of ground spice into a mailing box, seals it, and puts it away out of sight.

>nw

South May Street
After the Sun Court, the buildings here look less impressive; the effect of their coloration and elaborate decor is marred by the signs ('DRESS SHOP -- SALE!!' 'SPICE STORE').  But everyone is comfortable and happy, and they are going about their business shopping as usual.

Narrow alleys lead away between the buildings east and west; the main street itself north and south.

A shimmering grey barrier blocks passage to the west.

Nearby stand a young couple looking into a shop window.

An elderly gentleman walks past you, sipping water from a bottle.

>sw
The toy shop is closed up now.

>undo
South May Street
[Previous turn undone.]

>talk to gentleman
Public oratory is not your strength.

Three men saunter past you in a group, discussing an article that recently appeared in The Engkratis Star.

>n

North May Street
Here along the crest of the hill, the modern buildings of the new City mingle with the historical buildings of the old town: square, glassine boxes built side by side with the ornate yellow houses, so that everything is reflected again and again in their mirror-like surfaces, and the gleam of light is cast from so many sides at once that it is almost hard to see.  There are a few stores: to the southwest, a jewelry shop, which appears to be closed down for the moment, and to the southeast, in one of the older buildings, an antiquarian bookstore.

A shimmering grey barrier blocks passage to the west.

A wall of baked brick, half-plastered but crumbling, stretches across the street to the north, with a single arched gate.  A narrow path leads off along this wall to the west.

>se

Antiquarian Bookstore
A labyrinth of towering shelves, hopeless of organization.  Everything under the sun is here, on the shelves or leaning against them or piled around in precarious stacks; and a thick layer of dust has accumulated everywhere.

Towards the back of the shop, half-visible behind the towers of velvet-bound editions, sits an enormously fat man in a voluminous black robe.

>x books
You stroll aimlessly along the shelves, picking your way around the stacks of books on the floor.  You gaze without particular interest over a selection that includes How to Reprogram Your Child's Holographic Toy, Professional Basketweaving, and Dental Hygiene For the Less Astute Reader.

The bookstore owner coughs faintly.

>talk to owner
You go up to the bookstore owner.

>1
"What sorts of books have you got here?"

"All sorts of books," he replies.  (When he speaks in that rumbly voice it sounds like thunder outside.)  "If you know what you're looking for, I can perhaps give you some pointers."

>ask about history
You contemplate your options.

>2
"Have you got any books about City history?"

"Of course. Assuming you want something fairly general--"  He scans the shelves from where he sits and then points one out to you, which you take.

>1
"What else can you tell me about the history of the City?"

"Well, you know.  The Old City was the core of things, and then there was expansion around that, and then for a while technology was booming and the City was very secular and anti-magic.  Then that industry crashed again, which is why there are all the abandoned buildings and slums across the river.  They're slowly being cleaned up now, but it was a mess."

>1
"Could you give me directions to the Fortress?"

"It's up the hill," he says, looking at you blandly.  "I'm surprised.  Usually you people turn up with guide books."

>1
"What is there to see at the Fortress?"

"There's a central tower with a whole lot of stairs," he says. "If you like that sort of thing, which I quite obviously do not." He makes a gesture that takes in his considerable girth.

>1
"Do you enjoy living in the City?"

"It's no worse than living anywhere else," he says, around his pipe.  "And until mankind discovers a place to live where there are no stupid people, I'm willing to stay right here."

>ask about magic
You can think of nothing to say about that.

>ask about evaine
You contemplate your options.

>2
"Say," you begin casually. "I met a strange woman in the train station when I got here. She was wearing a dark cloak, and she grabbed my wrist and asked me what time it was."

"Yes?" he shouts, puffing on his pipe. "So you saw Evaine. Congratulations to you." He gives you a grumpy look. "Half the travelers through the City see her sooner or later."

>1
"What is she, some kind of local spook?"

"No, she's a madwoman and a menace to public sanity," he roars. "Did you know--" and he gestures towards you with the mouthpiece of his pipe -- "did you know that they actually make a comic book about her? Utter trash, of course."

>2
"Who is she?"

He looks at you thoughtfully, and takes a deep breath, as though inhaling his thoughts along with the pipe smoke.  "She's a magician," he says, finally. "Malik hates her.  She gets in his way."

He takes another drag on the pipe and frowns into the middle distance.  "I used to make a sort of hobby out of watching what they said about her in the news.  She's the one the media loves to hate, you know.  But I think soon they will finally kill her."  He looks back at you.  "And good riddance, too, maybe, if she's done half the things they say.  Won't be half so much color left here without her, though."

>1
"So Malik allows people to publish a comic book about Evaine?"

"No, but it gets published anyway." He glares at you under his eyebrows.

>2
"Do you have any copies of this comic book about Evaine?"

"Do I look like the sort of person who indulges in such trash?" he demands. He puffs on his pipe.

>1
"Have you ever met Evaine?"

"She came in here once, actually.  She was looking for some books... I didn't realize who it was until after she'd left.  She seemed perfectly... normal.  At the time."

>1
"How did you find out who it had been?"

"Some of the Press Gang visited a little while later and asked if I'd seen a woman of that description."

"But you knew about her by reputation before that?"

"Of course.  Everyone knows who she is."

>undo
Antiquarian Bookstore
[Previous turn undone.]

>2
"What book was Evaine looking for?"

He looks distant for a moment.  "Something quite arcane," he says. "She wanted to know something about very strong magic power sources, I think.  The kind of thing that's so rare that what we know about it is half mythology."

He looks bemused.  "For some reason when the Press Gang came to me about her visit they didn't ask anything about her reading preferences."

>2
"Have you got any more books about magic? Besides what you sold Evaine."

He looks up at you fuzzily from between his wire-rimmed glasses.  "I used to," he says, looking around in vague confusion.  "There are a few on the shelves, of course, but those are all no good..."

He pauses, thinking.  "There was one on, erm, theory that was quite good.  But I am afraid I must have sold it.  The only other copy I know of was in the University Library, back when... well."  He shrugs sadly.

>2
"What can you tell me about magic?"

"I believe it's commonly defined as any method used by a person to affect the physical world, or the minds of others, without recourse to physical means and in defiance of physical laws."

>1
"But how can that happen?"

"I admit," he says, "that I would be happier with an explanation of physical laws that takes into account all the phenomena that are commonly understood as magical.  But this is a bit of science philosophy, and probably not what you were looking to find out."

>1
"Did Evaine explain why she was looking for it?"

"She told me it was an academic interest."  He snorts.  "She didn't look like the sort of woman who entertains academic interests.  She looked like a practitioner."

>2
"Can you tell me anything about the applications of magic?"

He cocks his head to the side.  "One of the primarily skills of a researcher is knowing where to look for a piece of information.  Why are you asking me when there is a world-famous magic store a block up the street?"

>2
"Just collecting opinions, I guess."

"Opinions?" he repeats, in a half-roar.  "I'll tell you my opinion of magic: I don't like it much.  I also don't like fluffy animals.  Do you feel any more enlightened than before?"

"Ah.  Not really."

"Exactly." He looks at you shrewdly.  "Whatever it is you're trying to find out, you're not going to learn it by conducting a damned approval poll.  All you'll get that way is agendas and lies."

>1
"You sound like you dislike practitioners."

A look comes across his face that almost resembles embarrassment. "I used to go to Scheherazade's shows, back when she was doing them in public. They were... informative.  I like history."  He pauses, glances up at you.  "She tended to be very accurate."

A moment.  "But she didn't really do anything there that you couldn't equally do with a holograph video if you wanted to. That kind of magic is harmless, the little illusions... I don't think there's anything wrong with that. It's when it starts bending people's wills that I have a problem with it."

>1
"You think Evaine's doing anything like that? Bending wills?"

"I know she is."

"What do you mean?" you ask, stepping closer to him.

"She wanted information on big power sources.  That kind of thing changes people. And then you look around at what's going on in the City now, all the people who are not well in the mind-- she's got to be behind that."

>2
"Who's Scheherazade?"

"I've heard of her, that's all," says the bookseller.

>i
You are carrying A Short History of the City, six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure and Peter's letter. In addition, you are wearing a watch.  There is also a blue lump in your wrist.

The bookseller picks up a small volume and settles back in his seat to read it.

>read book
The text is divided into the following chapters:

Foundation
First Dynasty
The Rise of Cults
Purge and Backlash
Second Dynasty
Replanning
Technological Revolution
Collapse

The bookstore owner seems to consider your conversation concluded, at least for the time being.

>save
Restored.

>purloin pass
That's not a verb I recognize.

>i
You are carrying A Short History of the City, six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure and Peter's letter. In addition, you are wearing a watch.  There is also a blue lump in your wrist.

>read book
With its commanding position on the River Vuine, the City's central hill provided an ideal location for a fortress and toll castle by which the local nobility could control and charge on traffic both by river and overland.  Surrounding olive and citrus groves provided an additional incentive to settlement and a source of trade.  The wealth of the ruling family (which would later give rise to the first line of Queens) became so great that they were able to invite to the area a wide variety of artists and artisans, establishing buildings and a standard of living in emulation of court fashions.

The bookstore owner puffs on his pipe.

>x book
The history is a large floppy paperback that gives the impression of being a popular guide many decades old.

>out
(First restoring your selections to the shelves.)


North May Street
Here along the crest of the hill, the modern buildings of the new City mingle with the historical buildings of the old town: square, glassine boxes built side by side with the ornate yellow houses, so that everything is reflected again and again in their mirror-like surfaces, and the gleam of light is cast from so many sides at once that it is almost hard to see.  There are a few stores: to the southwest, a jewelry shop, which appears to be closed down for the moment, and to the southeast, in one of the older buildings, an antiquarian bookstore.

A shimmering grey barrier blocks passage to the west.

A wall of baked brick, half-plastered but crumbling, stretches across the street to the north, with a single arched gate.  A narrow path leads off along this wall to the west.

A couple of men walk rapidly past, talking about some kind of disturbance today on Auriran Street.

"Left quite a mess," says one to the other.

And then: "Hush! Anyone could hear you..."

>sw
It looks as though the jewelry shop is closed, currently.

Somebody hurries by.

>n

Varro Street
Up here the streets are narrow and twisty, built in an age when horses and carts were the sole mode of transportation; the buildings are slim but tall and built close, with crooked doorframes and windows warped by time.  The road winds away northwest.

An arch crosses the southern extent of the street, opening onto May Street and heading down toward the train station.

Northeast, in a building that claims to have been constructed over 650 years ago is the oldest magic shop in Old Town.

>ne

Magic Shop, Lower Floor
Not at all the romantic curiosity shop you were expecting, but large, clean, and businesslike.  The back wall is covered in shelves of books and computer programs that will step you through the basics of magic use. Bins contain an assortment of objects, from beads carved out of human bone to scraps of fire-colored velvet.

In one corner a staircase leads up, a sign indicating that customers are welcome to explore.

The store is currently being presided over by a tall woman with a red scarf tied around her head.

The magic seller picks up some misplaced bits of cloth.

>
I beg your pardon?

>u

Magic Shop, Upper Floor
This is more what you had envisioned for a magic shop.  A low room up under the roof, lit through a single eye-like window.  Sundry anonymous objects are stacked, shelved, and piled on the walls and floor, and there is a quiet, long-undisturbed feeling, like an unopened tomb.

A case of crystals of stands against the wall, and a golden ball hangs from the ceiling.

>x crystals
Crystals of several varieties and colors.  Some are cubical and mounted on brackets; some hexagonal and affixed in rings or made into charms for necklaces.

Most are small, no wider than your little finger and not half as long, but there are some in the lowest shelf of more significant size.  Each of these is accompanied by a second, smaller crystal.  "Sold as a Set," says the sign beside these.

>x ball
There is nothing in its round surface but a reflection of yourself and your surroundings, distorted according to the rules of spherical geometry.

A small tag is attached.

>x tag
"Antique Gazing Ball.  GENUINE Relic of Engkratis!!"  And it names a price which your mind refuses to translate.

>d

Magic Shop, Lower Floor
Not at all the romantic curiosity shop you were expecting, but large, clean, and businesslike.  The back wall is covered in shelves of books and computer programs that will step you through the basics of magic use. Bins contain an assortment of objects, from beads carved out of human bone to scraps of fire-colored velvet.

In one corner a staircase leads up, a sign indicating that customers are welcome to explore.

The store is currently being presided over by a tall woman with a red scarf tied around her head.

>x book
Many of the books are no more than collections of nonsense rhymes to speak in the process of spell-casting.  The usefulness of this is not clear.

A gentleman in business clothes wanders into the store and surveys the merchandise.

>x programs
Impossible to tell what they do until you take one home and try it out.

A pretty woman in business clothes comes up to the counter and asks if the magic seller carries a copy of Magic.

"Sorry, no," she says.  "Try the bookstore down the hill on May Street."

>x bins
Some of the buckets aren't even opened, but are sealed for later.  (Or does anyone buy an entire bucket of skull beads?  It's a boggling thought.)

The magic seller picks up some misplaced bits of cloth and returns them to the appropriate bin.

>search bin
You find nothing of interest.

The magic seller picks up some misplaced bits of cloth and returns them to the appropriate bin.

>talk to woma
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>talk to woman
You say hello to the magic seller.

She pauses for a moment.

>1
"How did you get into magic, anyway?"

She considers whether this is a rude question or merely a curious one.  "I have been a student of the art for many years," she says eventually.  "Though I'm not on the side of either Gnostics or the Illuminated Ones; I learned about magic in another city, so I don't share the allegiances that are common here.  And this is convenient in my line of work."

>1
"What allegiances would interfere in your work?"

"Hardly anyone in this City is neutral," she says.  "Everyone of any power is on one side or the other: working with Malik, or working against him.  And if I chose to care about the preferences of the people who come into my store, I'd do myself out of half of my business."

>1
"And Malik doesn't mind your selling to outlaws?" you ask. "It seems like he would monitor a place like this.  It's what I would do, in his position."

"Not everyone who disagrees with Malik is violent, or an outlaw.  There are people who live quite ordinary lives, whom you wouldn't be able to identify without signs, who have kept their association with the Gnostics quiet and not allowed it to interfere too deeply in their ordinary life."

>1
"But don't those people use their powers against--?"

"How do you define using powers against someone?  To attack, certainly; but what about using your powers to tell stories against him, or to heal those whom he has hurt, or to lift curses laid by his followers?"

You're silent.

"You see, in my eyes those are good actions, regardless of the 'side' that the person healed is on."

>1
"So you moved here?"

"Yes, I did.  I was born about three hours south of here-- you wouldn't know the name of the town I come from.  It's not very large.  But it was a long time ago that I left.  I still miss it sometimes."

>1
"You could go back home someday."

"No, I couldn't."   She looks resigned.

"For a visit, maybe, even if you couldn't afford to live there?"

"Can't leave the City again," she replies.  "It's-- well, discouraged these days, at the very least."

>1
"Why did you pick the City to come to?"

"Because everywhere else looks here; the City looks to itself.  When you read histories of other places, they mention the rest of the world. But the history of the City is about the City.  And what happens here spreads outward like ripples in a pool: cults, enlightenment, the technological revolution.  This is the navel of the world."

>1
"Why did you come here in the first place?"

"There were no jobs at home."  She looks suddenly much younger, as though staring back at something you can't quite see.  "And I was hoping to find a more advanced magic teacher here, though I never... well."

>1
"Magic may be used for healing?"

"Of course; that is one of its most respected purposes.  But anything magic can do, it can also undo, and along with healing there is cursing, crippling, disease..."

>1
"If cursing is so easy, I'm surprised there aren't more sick people around."

"It's not so simple-- it takes power... and then there is the law.  If anyone can prove that you have set a curse against him, then you get tried for attempted murder."

"That's harsh."

"No, it is reasonable.  A magical attack can be just as bad as hitting a man over the head with a hammer, only it's harder to find the hammer afterward."

>ask woman about magic
"What is all this for?"

Her eyebrows go up at the comprehensive question, and she looks around.  "Ingredients for spells," she says a bit dryly.

"Yes, but what do they do?"

There's a long silence.  "They do what you want them to do," she says.  "That is what magic is."

>ask woman about evaine
You contemplate your options.

>1
"What can you tell me about Evaine?"

"Perhaps the most powerful magic-user this City contains, in her native state -- though I think Malik has better tools at his disposal.  She is the leader of the Gnostics."

>1
"Do you know where I could find Evaine?"

"Oh, I don't make guesses about that," she says.  "She is wherever she is and I don't know or want to know."  Her eyes appraise you, and then drop, and then she says, "You might have more luck if you ask the bartender at the Scheherazade."

>ask woman about scheherazade
"Who's Scheherazade?"

"Only the strongest magician in this City, short of Evaine and Malik," the magic seller replies.  "She does illusions -- very strong illusions, when she chooses."

>ask her about gnostics
(the magic seller about the Gnostics)
"Who are the Gnostics?"

"A very powerful and very old sect," she says, "much older than the Illuminated Ones. After the Technological Revolution crashed they became very strong for a time."

>ask her about illuminated ones
(the magic seller about)
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

She pauses for a moment.

>ask her about temple
(the magic seller about the temple)
You can think of nothing to say about that.

She goes back to what she was doing, apparently feeling that the conversation is over.

>out

Varro Street
Up here the streets are narrow and twisty, built in an age when horses and carts were the sole mode of transportation; the buildings are slim but tall and built close, with crooked doorframes and windows warped by time.  The road winds away northwest.

An arch crosses the southern extent of the street, opening onto May Street and heading down toward the train station.

Northeast, in a building that claims to have been constructed over 650 years ago is the oldest magic shop in Old Town.

>s

North May Street
Here along the crest of the hill, the modern buildings of the new City mingle with the historical buildings of the old town: square, glassine boxes built side by side with the ornate yellow houses, so that everything is reflected again and again in their mirror-like surfaces, and the gleam of light is cast from so many sides at once that it is almost hard to see.  There are a few stores: to the southwest, a jewelry shop, which appears to be closed down for the moment, and to the southeast, in one of the older buildings, an antiquarian bookstore.

A shimmering grey barrier blocks passage to the west.

A wall of baked brick, half-plastered but crumbling, stretches across the street to the north, with a single arched gate.  A narrow path leads off along this wall to the west.

>s

South May Street
After the Sun Court, the buildings here look less impressive; the effect of their coloration and elaborate decor is marred by the signs ('DRESS SHOP -- SALE!!' 'SPICE STORE').  But everyone is comfortable and happy, and they are going about their business shopping as usual.

Narrow alleys lead away between the buildings east and west; the main street itself north and south.

A shimmering grey barrier blocks passage to the west.

Nearby stand a young couple looking into a shop window.

>s

Outside Train Station
The bottom of the hill, outside the train station, and less dazzling than when you first emerged.  To the east is your hotel; to the west, assorted offices in a brightly-tiled building, of which the most obvious is a public doctor's office or clinic of some kind.

Flower sellers crowd this end of the street, and trolley tracks circle here to climb the hill to the north.  At the center of the track circle is an imposing statue of some long-past queen.

To the south, heavy doors lead into the train station.

One of the green trolleys reaches the base of the hill and does a slow turn before beginning to make its way up again.

>e

Hotel Lobby
Your eye takes it in again quickly: seating, vases, paintings on the walls.  The street exit, west, is a pair of glass doors, and there are also windows, through which the sun bleeds into the coolness.  No one else is here, except for the concierge, but perhaps this is typical at midday.

Your room is back up the elevator.

Behind the desk, a smartly uniformed concierge sits engrossed in his work.  He ignores your presence.

>save
Saved.

>ask man about barrier
(the concierge about the boundaries)
You approach the concierge.  He glances up from his work with obvious reluctance.

"There seems to be some kind of police barrier preventing me from going west much. The whole Malta Square area is inaccessible. Do you know anything about that?"

"Hmm, let me check." He turns to his computer and taps a few things on the keyboard. "It looks as though-- yes, sir, I'm afraid that area is off-limits to the general public at the moment."

There's a pause, and he frowns at the screen in surprise. "Although-- it appears that you're on record as-- do you have a sapphire clearance?"

>show wrist to man
You contemplate your options.

>1
"I don't know about sapphire clearances, but I am doing some work for Malik, trying to contact Evaine for him." You extend your wrist so that he can see the tiny blue mark there.

His confusion clears. "Ah, I see. Well, it looks as though I'm to issue you an override pass. Wait here a moment, and I'll give you something to let you clear the boundary."

He vanishes into the back room, where you can hear (but not understand) his voice and the deeper one that belongs, you assume, to an unseen guard. After a few exchanges, the door opens again, and the concierge emerges, holding something in his hand.

"You'll just need to be carrying this," he says. "It's not dangerous and it doesn't look like much of anything to the enemy, but you're advised not to let it fall into their hands. And if you do, you must notify the city authority so that it can be deactivated. Understand?"

>1
"Yes."

"It's not very difficult." He hands you something the size and shape of a playing card. You turn it over in your hands: it has an abstract decoration on the back, and on the front, a picture of a prominent holovid star, Petra Valourim. She's dressed in a silk suit with a high collar, but her eyes are touched with dark paint, and her expression is smoky.

The concierge clears his throat. "I know it's a bit ridiculous, sir, but they're a popular collectible item. The, ah, functional part of the card is in a microfilament layer in the middle. Virtually indetectable, even if you were to cut the thing to bits." He smiles.

>1
"Malik put this tracking bug in my wrist."

"So you're doing reconnaissance work for him?"

"Looking for Evaine, yes."

The concierge looks surprised.  "He has enough men of his own; I've never heard of him asking a foreigner to intervene in such a matter..."

>ask man about petra
(the concierge about the Petra pass)
You can think of nothing to say about that.

>ask man about petra volourim
(the concierge about)
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

>u

Hotel Room
Chairs, table, low bed, an exit west, a bathroom south.  All the pieces are where they were when you came in, pale wood and pale carpet.

The curtains keep out some of the light from outside, but a little still leaks in, enough to let you know that it is searing bright daylight out there.

The basket from earlier has been taken away by housekeeping in your absence, and the bed remade; the place looks much as it did when you first arrived.

The door back out to the hallway is closed.

>search can
In the trash can is an invitation card.

>get card
(the Petra pass)
You already have that.

>get invitation
You pick up the invitation card.

>d
You walk back down the hallway, seeing no one, only a door that closes just before you pass; you catch the elevator, which slides open instantly as though it has been waiting at your floor.

Hotel Lobby
Your eye takes it in again quickly: seating, vases, paintings on the walls.  The street exit, west, is a pair of glass doors, and there are also windows, through which the sun bleeds into the coolness.  No one else is here, except for the concierge, but perhaps this is typical at midday.

Your room is back up the elevator.

Behind the desk, a smartly uniformed concierge sits typing rapidly.  He meets your eye and nods at you politely.

"No, don't delete the--"  The concierge swears under his breath at the computer. When he notices you looking his direction he falls silent.

>ask man about invitation
(the concierge about the invitation card)
You approach the concierge.

"Do you know anything about this?"

"I'm glad to say not, sir."  The concierge draws himself up.  "The Old Vic has not been functioning for some years.  Anything that might be happening there would certainly be in the nature of an illicit party, if you take my meaning."

>1
"A party with drugs, you mean?"

"No; if it is drugs you want, magic-actives, in regulated quantities, are available in Malta Square," he replies.  "The City does not have an addiction problem of the scale of your problems in the north, where there is nothing else to do."

>3
"So people consider all northerners to be criminals?"

"No; they're just... cautious.  You would be cautious too, surely, if you were at home and you saw someone who obviously didn't belong, who seemed possibly affiliated with the criminal element."

"That's prejudice," you say.  "Even if you wrap it in clean cloth."

"It is the way people protect themselves," he replies.  "We have a right to do that much."

>1
"Then if you don't mind my asking, what did you mean?"

"I meant an illegal gathering of the kind that the Gnostics sometimes draw together for the purpose of overthrowing the government or perhaps assassinating Malik.  One reads about the attempts on his life sometimes in the news."

>1
"But they never succeed?"

"The press gangs are very efficient."

>undo
Hotel Lobby
[Previous turn undone.]

>2
"What do the Gnostics believe?"

"They don't care about the well-being of the City as a whole, but only about their individual ends.  They are selfish and secretive..."

>1
"But they never succeed?"

"The press gangs are very efficient."

>1
"Who are the press gangs?"

"Police, of a sort.  They gather those people who have become too tainted by the darkness and take them away.  Otherwise they would be a menace to us..."

>1
"What do you think of them?"

"They exist for our protection," the concierge remarks.  "Sometimes they might get a little out of hand, but on the whole they're doing a difficult and valuable job, and if you're going to bring order to a place that was as chaotic as we were a few years ago, you risk making someone unhappy."

>w

Outside Train Station
The bottom of the hill, outside the train station, and less dazzling than when you first emerged.  To the east is your hotel; to the west, assorted offices in a brightly-tiled building, of which the most obvious is a public doctor's office or clinic of some kind.

Flower sellers crowd this end of the street, and trolley tracks circle here to climb the hill to the north.  At the center of the track circle is an imposing statue of some long-past queen.

To the south, heavy doors lead into the train station.

>save
Saved.

>i
You are carrying an invitation card, a Petra pass, six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure and Peter's letter. In addition, you are wearing a watch.  There is also a blue lump in your wrist.

A lady with curly light hair saunters along, arm in arm with a man wearing a soft hat.

>x petra
It has an abstract decoration on the back, and on the front, a picture of a prominent holovid star, Petra Valourim.  She's dressed in a silk suit with a high collar, but her eyes are touched with dark paint, and her expression is smoky.  You can't see any microfilament layer, but that, presumably, is part of the point.

>x lump
Barely distinguishable from a vein.

>n

South May Street
After the Sun Court, the buildings here look less impressive; the effect of their coloration and elaborate decor is marred by the signs ('DRESS SHOP -- SALE!!' 'SPICE STORE').  But everyone is comfortable and happy, and they are going about their business shopping as usual.

Narrow alleys lead away between the buildings east and west; the main street itself north and south.

A shimmering grey barrier blocks passage to the west.

Nearby stand a young couple looking into a shop window.

There's a sound of far-off music.

>w
There's a vague feeling of resistance, but then it goes away, allowing you to pass.

West Alley
Narrow at the eastern end, but gradually widening to something like a street in its own, overlooked from the north and south by balconies.

To the south is the only doorway in this alley, to an art gallery displaying works in mixed media: oil and holography, water-color and illusion.  It seems to be locked up, however.

>knock
What do you want to knock on?

>door
You knock smartly on the red door.

A moment later, a tinny electronic voice requests that you come again another time.

>w

Malta Square, North End
The sort of area that ought to be empty during the day, packed at night.  Curiously, everything is open and the signs are on.  Neon blinks impotently in the daylight, inviting you to cabarets and comedy shows and drinks.

The street leads away to the north, and an alley opens east between buildings.  There's an arcade parlor to the west; and, of course, the entire area continues some distance to the south.

Your wrist itches unpleasantly.

>map



>x wrist
Barely distinguishable from a vein.

>w

Game Arcade
This, at least, is no different than the game arcades at home -- players hunched in front of their holographic consoles or wearing virtual-reality goggles. There is noise from the machines, and people talking and yelling over the noise. The nearest game beeps colorfully.

Near the door a garish little machine says: "TEST YOUR MAGICAL RESOLVE -- TOUCH TO ACTIVATE"

Someone passing by bumps your elbow.

>touch machine
The machine makes a beeping noise, and there's a feeling of struggle, as though someone were trying to convince you of something that you didn't want to comply with.  Frustrated, you resist, but only for a moment.

With an annoying electronic cackle, the machine lights up as far as "Easy Pickings."  You've got quite a few levels to go before it would consider you much of a threat, though.

You can hear squawks and beeps.

>g
The machine makes a beeping noise, and there's a feeling of struggle, as though someone were trying to convince you of something that you didn't want to comply with.  Frustrated, you resist, but only for a moment.

With an annoying electronic cackle, the machine lights up as far as "Easy Pickings."  You've got quite a few levels to go before it would consider you much of a threat, though.

Someone pushes by behind you, jostling you where you stand.

>search machine
You find nothing of interest.

The air is full of tinny music.

>x machine
A simple device, with a touchpad and a series of lights that indicate levels ranging from "Weak-Minded" to "Dangerous as Hell."

You overhear the noise of a truck being driven too quickly up a steep grade.

>x players
They all seem to be fairly thoroughly involved in the games they are playing.  In a few cases there are couples or groups of friends where some are watching others play, but for the most part it's all individuals tied up with their machines.

Someone passing by bumps your elbow.

>w
You can go only out or east.

You hear a screamed discussion of who is going to buy the next round of tokens.

>e

Malta Square, North End
The sort of area that ought to be empty during the day, packed at night.  Curiously, everything is open and the signs are on.  Neon blinks impotently in the daylight, inviting you to cabarets and comedy shows and drinks.

The street leads away to the north, and an alley opens east between buildings.  There's an arcade parlor to the west; and, of course, the entire area continues some distance to the south.

>s

Malta Square, South End
The sort of area that ought to be empty during the day, packed at night.  Curiously, everything is open and the signs are on.  Neon blinks impotently in the daylight, inviting you to cabarets and comedy shows and drinks.  The entire area continues some distance to the north.

To the southeast is a crumbling facade labeled "Old Vic", evidently a theater.

The northeast corner is dominated by a music hall several stories tall.  An advertising poster on the front door says "Secret Secret LIVE TONIGHT!"

>x poster
Just a woman's averted face on a black background.

>ne
You try the door, but it seems to be locked.  "The management regret," says a faint electronic voice, "that tonight's show has had to be postponed.  Please come again."

>se

Inside the Old Vic
From the vast old interior all chairs have been removed, leaving a broad bowl-shaped floor cracked and uneven underfoot; fixtures of light on the walls; and the stage east, curtained by scarlet brocade.  The musty smell of age is everywhere.

Leaning against one of the walls are some boards from old sets, painted with various scenery.

A young woman in tattered clothes sits in front of the stage, humming something to herself.

>x boards
The boards are painted with different settings, and they seem to belong to two different sets.  One is of some sort of antique ruin, probably from something set in Engkratis or some other ancient city.

The other is of a sort of courtyard, as far as you can tell, with an arcade supported by columns in the shape of women.  It looks odd, but not like anywhere you've been.

>x woman
Strikingly beautiful and terribly wrong.  Her skin is the white of new milk, as though she has never been touched at all by the southern sun; her hair is an ungroomed tangle of flame, her eyes a wide and lunatic green.

>talk to woman
You say hello to the tattered young woman.

>1
"Hello," you say.

"Do you know that not all the clouds are water?"

>say yes
(You can think of nothing to say.)

>say no
(You can think of nothing to say.)

>no
(You can think of nothing to say.)

>ask woman about time
"Do you know what time it is?"

"Rue for you, and rue for me.  There's trouble brewing and you'd do best to look to it."

>1
"Do you know what time it is?"

"Rue for you, and rue for me.  There's trouble brewing and you'd do best to look to it."

There's a prickling feeling in your wrist that runs all the way up to the palm of your hand, for a moment, and then goes away again.

>undo
Inside the Old Vic
[Previous turn undone.]

>ask woman about malik
You contemplate your options.

>2
"What do you think of Malik?" you ask the tattered young woman.

"It's the end of the world," she remarks in a singsong voice.  "The end, the end..."

There's a prickling feeling in your wrist that runs all the way up to the palm of your hand, for a moment, and then goes away again.

>ask woman about evaine
You contemplate your options.

>1
"What can you tell me about Evaine?"

"They've all gone to stare at the sun, you know," she says matter-of-factly. "Staring and staring until they fall in."

>2
"Do you know where I could find Evaine?"

"Come closer to me," she sings, "on your hands and knees / alone when your will's gone..."

>kiss woman
Manners may be relaxed and people may be more affectionate in the south than they are where you come from, but that gesture would still be overfamiliar.

>ask woman about magic
"What can you tell me about magic?"

Tuned to an inner voice, she murmurs softly: "My lovely cherry orchard..."

>ask woman about city
You contemplate your options.

>1
"What can you tell me about the history of the City?"

"Fie on you," she says.  "I am a princess and SHALL be addressed as one."

>2
"Do you like living in the City?"

"It's the end of the world," she remarks in a singsong voice.  "The end, the end..."

>x woman
Strikingly beautiful and terribly wrong.  Her skin is the white of new milk, as though she has never been touched at all by the southern sun; her hair is an ungroomed tangle of flame, her eyes a wide and lunatic green.

>nw

Malta Square, South End
The sort of area that ought to be empty during the day, packed at night.  Curiously, everything is open and the signs are on.  Neon blinks impotently in the daylight, inviting you to cabarets and comedy shows and drinks.  The entire area continues some distance to the north.

To the southeast is a crumbling facade labeled "Old Vic", evidently a theater.

The northeast corner is dominated by a music hall several stories tall.  An advertising poster on the front door says "Secret Secret LIVE TONIGHT!"

>undo
Inside the Old Vic
[Previous turn undone.]

>e
The young woman dances around to get in your way.  "I don't think you have an invitation," she says.  "Can't go backstage and meet the actors without one."

>show invitation to woman
She looks at it, then shakes her head.  "You could've got that anywhere," she says.  "Could've..." But she smiles at you encouragingly.

>think
You can think of things to say about time, City itself, Malik, Evaine, magic,  though possibly there are other options.

>l

Inside the Old Vic
From the vast old interior all chairs have been removed, leaving a broad bowl-shaped floor cracked and uneven underfoot; fixtures of light on the walls; and the stage east, curtained by scarlet brocade.  The musty smell of age is everywhere.

Leaning against one of the walls are some boards from old sets, painted with various scenery.

A young woman in tattered clothes sits in front of the stage, humming something to herself.

>search boards
There are pieces of two sets, that of an antique city of some sort and the other of a courtyard.

>search city
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>search sets
There are pieces of two sets, that of an antique city of some sort and the other of a courtyard.

>get boards
They're far too heavy and unwieldy to lug around.

>1
"What can you tell me about the history of the City?"

"Rue for you, and rue for me.  There's trouble brewing and you'd do best to look to it."

>2
"Do you like living in the City?"

"Do you know that not all the clouds are water?"

>x floor
(the stuff)
Made of rubbery plastic, with the holes plugged up where the seating would have been attached.

>search floor
(the stuff)
You'll have to go inside to do that.

>in
The young woman nods at you.  "Go on in," she says.  "The word is under the fire."

On Stage in the Old Vic
The stage area has been used to store old scenery devices, perhaps because they have overrun their keep backstage. People have walked around here fairly recently, from the footprints that crisscross the floor in different shapes and sizes.

There's a glass rod in a sort of three-footed stand.  From a distance the rod itself would be nearly impossible to see, but a fierce miniature tornado whirls around it, carrying bits of dust.

Nearby a portable rain cloud drizzles determinedly.

Flames lick along the floor, consuming nothing.

>x flame
From moment to moment, highly convincing: it spreads, sends up curls of darker smoke, casts dancing shadows on the walls, varies in color and brightness.

It is only if you watch it steadily that something about it begins to look wrong; a repetitive quality, a failure to get anywhere, the fact that nothing gets burnt away.

>look under flame
The flames conceal anything that might be on the floor.

>search fire
There is nothing on the fire.

>search flame
There is nothing on the fire.

>x cloud
A dainty, refined cloud, which hovers fifteen feet up and dispenses a steady drizzle.  The rainwater runs convincingly over the objects beneath it (without quite washing them clean of their dust), then gathers in puddles that never increase in size, centered on a black cube about the size of your palm.

Not much of a prop for your bigtime melodramas where you want lightning and thunder, but a nice touch for a rainy day in a musical.

>take cloud
Your hand slips through nothingness.

>x cube
Nondescript.

>take all
You see nothing around worth taking.

>x rod
Little larger than a dust-devil, but concentrated and intense, the tornado whips around the core of glass.  As for the rod itself, it is slender and nearly invisible, but the top of it widens slightly, as though to support a small object.

>take rod
You pick up the tornado.

>l

On Stage in the Old Vic
The stage area has been used to store old scenery devices, perhaps because they have overrun their keep backstage. People have walked around here fairly recently, from the footprints that crisscross the floor in different shapes and sizes.

Nearby a portable rain cloud drizzles determinedly.

Flames lick along the floor, consuming nothing.

>x floor
(the footprints)
It looks like someone climbed up from below and then milled around on the stage -- performing?  talking?  holding a private meeting?

>search floor
(the footprints)
You find nothing of interest.

>think
You ponder aimlessly.

>think about floor
You can't think of anything relevant.

>take flame
There's nothing to grasp.

>kick flame
It seems a shame to destroy such a fine piece of stage technology, even if you knew how.

>point rod at flame
That's not a verb I recognize.

>put rod on flame
You set the glass rod on the fire, where it whips the flames up into a spiral of fire.  They dance and scream and flicker, casting red-tinged shadows.

>x floor
(the footprints)
It looks like someone climbed up from below and then milled around on the stage -- performing?  talking?  holding a private meeting?

>x flame
From moment to moment, highly convincing: it spreads, sends up curls of darker smoke, casts dancing shadows on the walls, varies in color and brightness.

It is only if you watch it steadily that something about it begins to look wrong; a repetitive quality, a failure to get anywhere, the fact that nothing gets burnt away.

>look under flame
The flames conceal anything that might be on the floor.

>take rod
You pick up the tornado.

>put rod on cloud
Putting things on the rain cloud would achieve nothing.

>blow on cloud
(first taking the rain cloud)
Your hand slips through nothingness.

>l

On Stage in the Old Vic
The stage area has been used to store old scenery devices, perhaps because they have overrun their keep backstage. People have walked around here fairly recently, from the footprints that crisscross the floor in different shapes and sizes.

Nearby a portable rain cloud drizzles determinedly.

Flames lick along the floor, consuming nothing.

>i
You are carrying a tornado, an invitation card, a Petra pass, six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure and Peter's letter. In addition, you are wearing a watch.  There is also a blue lump in your wrist.

>put rod in cloud
That can't contain things.

>put rod on cloud
Putting things on the rain cloud would achieve nothing.

>put rod on fire
You set the glass rod on the fire, where it whips the flames up into a spiral of fire.  They dance and scream and flicker, casting red-tinged shadows.

>undo
On Stage in the Old Vic
[Previous turn undone.]

>x cloud
A dainty, refined cloud, which hovers fifteen feet up and dispenses a steady drizzle.  The rainwater runs convincingly over the objects beneath it (without quite washing them clean of their dust), then gathers in puddles that never increase in size, centered on a black cube about the size of your palm.

Not much of a prop for your bigtime melodramas where you want lightning and thunder, but a nice touch for a rainy day in a musical.

>x cube
Nondescript.

>get cube
As the cube moves, so does the rain cloud.

>put cube in fire
You set the cube in the flames, watching curiously to see what will happen: a burning rain puddle would be entertaining.  But the illusions respond nicely to each other's presence.  First there's a hissing as the water falls and sizzles; then gradually a dying of the flames; then a falling off entirely.

You can't help but imagine the artistry that must have gone into this; someone, sometime, must have devoted great care to the making of the set, and here it lies abandoned...

On the floor, someone has written in the dust with a fingertip: "Passwd: She who defeated the Technocracy."

>out
(Leaving behind the portable tornado.)
You discard the tornado.

Inside the Old Vic
From the vast old interior all chairs have been removed, leaving a broad bowl-shaped floor cracked and uneven underfoot; fixtures of light on the walls; and the stage east, curtained by scarlet brocade.  The musty smell of age is everywhere.

Leaning against one of the walls are some boards from old sets, painted with various scenery.

A young woman in tattered clothes sits in front of the stage, humming something to herself.

>nw

Malta Square, South End
The sort of area that ought to be empty during the day, packed at night.  Curiously, everything is open and the signs are on.  Neon blinks impotently in the daylight, inviting you to cabarets and comedy shows and drinks.  The entire area continues some distance to the north.

To the southeast is a crumbling facade labeled "Old Vic", evidently a theater.

The northeast corner is dominated by a music hall several stories tall.  An advertising poster on the front door says "Secret Secret LIVE TONIGHT!"

>n

Malta Square, North End
The sort of area that ought to be empty during the day, packed at night.  Curiously, everything is open and the signs are on.  Neon blinks impotently in the daylight, inviting you to cabarets and comedy shows and drinks.

The street leads away to the north, and an alley opens east between buildings.  There's an arcade parlor to the west; and, of course, the entire area continues some distance to the south.

>e

West Alley
Narrow at the eastern end, but gradually widening to something like a street in its own, overlooked from the north and south by balconies.

To the south is the only doorway in this alley, to an art gallery displaying works in mixed media: oil and holography, water-color and illusion.  It seems to be locked up, however.

>e

South May Street
After the Sun Court, the buildings here look less impressive; the effect of their coloration and elaborate decor is marred by the signs ('DRESS SHOP -- SALE!!' 'SPICE STORE').  But everyone is comfortable and happy, and they are going about their business shopping as usual.

Narrow alleys lead away between the buildings east and west; the main street itself north and south.

A shimmering grey barrier blocks passage to the west.

Nearby stand a young couple looking into a shop window.

Someone walks past.

>n

North May Street
Here along the crest of the hill, the modern buildings of the new City mingle with the historical buildings of the old town: square, glassine boxes built side by side with the ornate yellow houses, so that everything is reflected again and again in their mirror-like surfaces, and the gleam of light is cast from so many sides at once that it is almost hard to see.  There are a few stores: to the southwest, a jewelry shop, which appears to be closed down for the moment, and to the southeast, in one of the older buildings, an antiquarian bookstore.

A shimmering grey barrier blocks passage to the west.

A wall of baked brick, half-plastered but crumbling, stretches across the street to the north, with a single arched gate.  A narrow path leads off along this wall to the west.

A woman in pastel clothing wanders by, arm in arm with a man with a beard.

>se

Antiquarian Bookstore (in the hobbies section)
A labyrinth of towering shelves, hopeless of organization.  Everything under the sun is here, on the shelves or leaning against them or piled around in precarious stacks; and a thick layer of dust has accumulated everywhere.  You would currently appear to be in the (rather loosely organized) hobbies section.

Towards the back of the shop, half-visible behind the towers of velvet-bound editions, sits an enormously fat man in a voluminous black robe.

You can also see A Short History of the City here.

>read history
(first taking A Short History of the City)

You pick up A Short History of the City.

With the rise of magical strength in the noble family, the City -- now grown into a center of fashion and trade -- became politically powerful as well.  On the death of the ruling lord, his sister, to prevent ambitious neighbors from attempting to annex both town and surrounding province, declared herself Queen.

This bold maneuver, supported both by her own considerable magical abilities and by the cooperation of the loyal citizenry, succeeded in establishing a dynasty of queens who ruled from the central fortress for over twenty generations.

>g
During the later years of the First Dynasty, the royal house permitted and even at times encouraged the development of various religious groups, of which some had their sources outside the City and some were locally established.  The Gnostics entered the City during the First Dynasty, at approximately the same time they are recorded in Engkratis and Velourim; where they originated is unclear.

Several of the Queens were themselves privately Gnostic, though they kept their beliefs silent and imposed no system on the populace at large.  Other groups also took foundation at this period, though many of the more esoteric of them, including the Engkratian cult of Mys and the aboriginal group The Daughters of Sol, have subsequently died into near-complete obscurity.

>g
Eventually competition between the cults began to lead to civil strife, and the last Queen of the First Dynasty, in an attempt to stifle the increasing unrest, declared it illegal to belong to or align oneself with any of them.  This suppression lasted for two bloody years of accusations, informants turning in their neighbors as 'cult members' in order to have them executed and receive a portion of their property in reward.

Several of the more powerful cults organized themselves in response, and temporarily allying themselves against the oppressive regime, overthrew the Fortress and hanged the Queen herself from the walls of the Keep.  The royal gems, used until that point to strengthen the magical abilities of the dynasty, were cut and the pieces, now powerless, distributed into various private treasuries.

>g
Out of the anarchy a second dynasty at length arose, descended from a side branch of the old house, but on less autocratic terms.  The religious fervor of the purge years did not last for long; within a few generations, general interest turned towards science and the so-called rationalist movement, in accordance with the general spirit of that age.

The Queens of the Second Dynasty were noted patrons of art and science, eschewing the use of powerful magic that had made their predecessors so unpopular.  Cultic beliefs and magical practices were treated as private matters, and there was little regulation of individual magic use except that the distribution of power sources was restricted and curses were punishable by court law under the same rules that applied to physical assault.

>g
During this same period, the City was replanned, and much of the central core (outside the area of the fortress) was redesigned.  It was at this time that the first stately houses were built along what are now Feyn Street and May Street, and the Royal Court, in symbol of its new enlightenment, was moved to a palace on the Sun Court, away from the Fortress now tainted by the memory of bloodshed and cruelty.

>g
With the technological revolution, a new force took over the City.  A coalition of major production companies was so large a factor in the economy of the community that they effectively supplanted the royal house, whose powers had long been eroding.  When the last of the Queens died, her heir declined to take the throne, explaining that the time for royalty had passed.

Meanwhile the City itself experienced a flourishing of wealth unparalleled since its earliest days as a trading control post.  People flocked to the area in record numbers.  There was extensive urban development in the cross-river area, which up to that point had mostly been an outlier and a sort of suburb.  The train and trolley systems were improved and the City rearranged to accommodate even more expansion.

The bookseller turns the pages of the little book he is reading, which is almost smaller than his massive hands.

>g
Gradually, however, competition in these lucrative technological fields grew up in the north, where a lower standard of living made labor costs far less.  One by one the Big Three of the local business coalition crumbled into bankruptcy, and with them went the infrastructure and economy.  The final straw was when Industrial Engineering and Design cut pay to northern levels in an attempt to survive.  The unions organized against them; management sent in guard units to bring the workers back into line; they were faced down single-handedly by the union leader, a woman named Chrythaine.  The popular account of this event is that she disabled the mechanized attack units by magic; accurate historical evidence is lacking.

Whatever the truth may be, the result was the final fall of the technocracy, a period of depression and near-anarchy, and a resurgence of power to the cults, now the strongest remaining organized units in the area.

>g
With its commanding position on the River Vuine, the City's central hill provided an ideal location for a fortress and toll castle by which the local nobility could control and charge on traffic both by river and overland.  Surrounding olive and citrus groves provided an additional incentive to settlement and a source of trade.  The wealth of the ruling family (which would later give rise to the first line of Queens) became so great that they were able to invite to the area a wide variety of artists and artisans, establishing buildings and a standard of living in emulation of court fashions.

>out
(First restoring your selections to the shelves.)


North May Street
Here along the crest of the hill, the modern buildings of the new City mingle with the historical buildings of the old town: square, glassine boxes built side by side with the ornate yellow houses, so that everything is reflected again and again in their mirror-like surfaces, and the gleam of light is cast from so many sides at once that it is almost hard to see.  There are a few stores: to the southwest, a jewelry shop, which appears to be closed down for the moment, and to the southeast, in one of the older buildings, an antiquarian bookstore.

A shimmering grey barrier blocks passage to the west.

A wall of baked brick, half-plastered but crumbling, stretches across the street to the north, with a single arched gate.  A narrow path leads off along this wall to the west.

A slim attractive woman in polka-dotted mauve clothes strolls past you, accompanied by a haze of some over-sweet scent.

>w
There's a vague feeling of resistance, but then it goes away, allowing you to pass.

Auriran Street
The southern part of this block is predominantly devoted to entertainment and nightlife.  Towards the north end of the street the buildings begin to give way to trees, where the paths lead northwest into Fianaga Park; and the Ring Road winds from east to north under the face of the ancient wall.

There's a strange darkness hovering in the air nearby -- like a cloud that you could just step into.

An elderly couple walks slowly through the area.  They're obviously bothered by and whispering about the patch of dark air -- the old woman points at it, and her husband hastily catches her hand, as though to warn her of something.  They walk on, glancing at it sidelong until they pass out of sight.

>x cloud
It hovers over the ground, casting an impenetrable shadow, and the air clots around it, so that you cannot see through.

>enter cloud
The air shivers around you.

Dark Patch
In a moonless night.  Overhead the stars shine, fierce and half-blue.

There's no one around at all -- no one walking, anyway -- just a sense of stillness and clarity, as though you'd been walking for days in a fever, and had just gotten well.

Coiled on the ground is a silver chain with a black pendant.

Another man is lying sprawled on the ground, some kind of nasty gash across his head.  Blood is pooling around him.

The man groans.

>undo
Auriran Street
[Previous turn undone.]

>save
Saved.

>enter cloud
The air shivers around you.

Dark Patch
In a moonless night.  Overhead the stars shine, fierce and half-blue.

There's no one around at all -- no one walking, anyway -- just a sense of stillness and clarity, as though you'd been walking for days in a fever, and had just gotten well.

Coiled on the ground is a silver chain with a black pendant.

Another man is lying sprawled on the ground, some kind of nasty gash across his head.  Blood is pooling around him.

The man groans.

>1
"Do you know how to get out of here?"

The man shifts uncomfortably, and you're reminded that you'd better find a way to do something for him soon, if you're going to help him at all.

"It would take more magic to break the seal than I have," he says, "which isn't saying much.  Someone could do it with the pendant, of course, but I can't reach it."  After a moment, he says, "and I'm not sure I would if I could."

>1
"You're bleeding to death!"

The man shivers, as though very cold.  "I have a family.  If Malik found out that I had his pendant, that I was in hiding with it, their lives wouldn't be worth the time it takes to charge a weapon...  He'd do anything to keep this."

>1
"He wouldn't do that."

He moves, and you're conscious of the blood still pooling from the wound in his head.

"You don't know what you're talking about."  He says it without rancor.  "Malik is the sort of person who sways people's minds with illusion and makes them believe things other than the truth."

>1
"Strange; I've heard the same thing said about Evaine."

The man shifts uncomfortably, and you're reminded that you'd better find a way to do something for him soon, if you're going to help him at all.

"It's possible, but it's not true.  You'd understand if you'd met both of them. Malik acts like he cares about you, but you can see he's lying.  Evaine has fewer pretenses."

>1
"I have met them both, in fact."

He stutters, and at first you don't think he's going to be able to say anything intelligible.  "You've met Evaine?  Then why in the name of Valoura didn't you stay where you'd be safe?"

"I met her in the train station.  She didn't take me anywhere 'safe,' whatever that means."

He grimaces.  "Should have stuck with her," he mutters, not giving you a chance to point out that you weren't asked to do so.

>1
"What happened to you?"

You've never seen a man die of violence before; it occurs to you from the way that he is bleeding that you might be about to experience it for the first time.

"Malik," he says, just loudly enough for you to hear.  "Hit me on the head when I tried to interfere."

"Malik?" you repeat incredulously.  The man might be a corrupt politician (aren't they all?), but that he would engage in a fist-fight with a working man...

"He was in a battle with Evaine," says the man, raising one hand gingerly to touch his forehead.  He grimaces as his fingers come away from his face, wet with blood.  "I got caught in things."

>1
"You tried to interfere?"

The man shifts uncomfortably, and you're reminded that you'd better find a way to do something for him soon, if you're going to help him at all.

"Yes, he was about to kill her, I think."  He closes his eyes.  "At least she got away."

"You're on her side?"

He looks distressed.  "You're on his?"

>1
"I don't know whose side I'm on."

"That's only because you're new here.  A side will choose you, if you don't select one for yourself; there's no one neutral, and anyone who claims to be is lying."

>1
"I'm not lying, just confused."

The man shivers, as though very cold.  "I believe you.  But it won't be that way for long."

>1
"How did the fight begin?"

The man shifts uncomfortably, and you're reminded that you'd better find a way to do something for him soon, if you're going to help him at all.

"I didn't see the whole of the fight."  He holds his hand to his head, and brings his fingers away wet with blood.

"No, don't do that," you say, distressed.

"I came around a corner and they were there facing each other down.  She was on her knees, but you could tell she'd put up a good fight."  He smiles faintly.  "She has courage, you have to give her that."

>2
"What do you mean, you could tell she'd put up a good fight?"

"The sky was torn," he said.  "The way it is here.  You could see through to the darkness.  The illusion wasn't holding."

>1
"So it's nighttime and this is all an illusion?"

He tries to speak, but whatever was going to come out of his mouth is silenced as he falls unconscious.

>undo
Dark Patch
[Previous turn undone.]

>get pendant
The man watches you pick up the pendant.  "You've done it now," he whispers.  "You're part of this, you've interfered just as I tried to--"

You frown at him.  "I'll just put it down again, if it's that dangerous."

He just smiles.

>give pendant to man
You find you don't want to.

>1
"What's this?" you ask, indicating the pendant with a gesture of your head.

He tries to speak, but whatever was going to come out of his mouth is silenced as he falls unconscious.

>undo
Dark Patch
[Previous turn undone.]

>drop it
You find you don't want to.

>1
"What's this?" you ask, indicating the pendant with a gesture of your head.

He tries to speak, but whatever was going to come out of his mouth is silenced as he falls unconscious.

>x pendant
A shard of dark crystal, facets shining, depths impenetrable, opaque.  Even held to the light it transmits nothing.

The chain is ordinary silver, merely cold.

>wear it
You put on the pendant.

>out
As you come to the edge of the night place, the air quickens around you, thick as spiderwebs, alive as a basket of worms.  Something hinders you -- or would hinder you, if it were not for the cold burning of the pendant.  And then you step through, back into Day--

Auriran Street
Much the same as when you first saw it, a Y-shaped piece of street mostly going somewhere else -- entertainment spots, including a bar or nightspot called the Scheherazade, to the west; the entrance northwest to Fianaga Park, framed by a pair of trees and giving onto a vista of trees and grass; the ring road that runs around the Old City Wall, connecting with May Street to the east and, in the other direction, wending up north into a clutter of smaller buildings.

But the dark spot that hung in the air here is entirely gone.

>undo
Dark Patch
[Previous turn undone.]

>get man
You lift him, though with difficulty.

"Refuge," he mutters.  "North of the moon."

>out
As you come to the edge of the night place, the air quickens around you, thick as spiderwebs, alive as a basket of worms.  Something hinders you -- or would hinder you, if it were not for the cold burning of the pendant.  And then you step through, back into Day--

Auriran Street
Much the same as when you first saw it, a Y-shaped piece of street mostly going somewhere else -- entertainment spots, including a bar or nightspot called the Scheherazade, to the west; the entrance northwest to Fianaga Park, framed by a pair of trees and giving onto a vista of trees and grass; the ring road that runs around the Old City Wall, connecting with May Street to the east and, in the other direction, wending up north into a clutter of smaller buildings.

But the dark spot that hung in the air here is entirely gone.

>n
You recollect seeing a doctor's office back near the train station, which seems like a better place to get the man some medical help, if you're not going to just abandon him.

>n
You recollect seeing a doctor's office back near the train station, which seems like a better place to get the man some medical help, if you're not going to just abandon him.

>i
You are carrying a wounded man, an invitation card, a Petra pass, six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure and Peter's letter. In addition, you are wearing a pendant and a watch.  There is also a blue lump in your wrist.

>e

North May Street
Here along the crest of the hill, new buildings mingle with the historical houses of the old town: square, glassine boxes packed against the ornate yellow walls, reflections bouncing and redoubling so that the hard light is relentless and universal.  There are a few stores: to the southwest, a jewelry shop, which appears to be closed down for the moment, and to the southeast, in one of the older buildings, an antiquarian bookstore.

A wall of baked brick, half-plastered but crumbling, stretches across the street to the north, with a single arched gate.  A narrow path leads off along this wall to the west.

A boy of about twelve loiters against one of the nearby walls.

(The pendant is cold where it touches your neck.)

>s

South May Street
Alleys east and west, the street itself north and south: even watching every direction you perceive nothing helpful.  Does anyone wear gowns like those in this window? And the spices in the adjacent shop are presumably overpriced as well.

The glamor of exoticism has vanished. "Shit in shiny paper," is how your mother used to refer to the south, and it's clear to you now what she had in mind.

Nearby stand a young couple looking into a shop window.

A placid lady with red hair stops to check her appearance in a shop window.

The sharp coldness at your throat fades.

>s

Outside Train Station
The bottom of the hill, outside the train station, with its trolley tracks and the dulled statue of an ancient queen, hemmed on the east by the hotel and on the west by the health office.  Thank goodness.

The carts of flower sellers have perhaps moved fractionally since the last time you were here, but it's hard to say.

To the south, heavy doors lead into the train station.

A lady carrying some packages stops to buy a bouquet of flowers from one of the stands.

The pendant burns cold around your neck.

>w

Doctor's Office
To call this a doctor's office is an error: it is no more than a single cozy room, currently without human attendants at all.  The clean whiteness of the wall is alleviated only by a large colorful poster.

The blood analysis machine stands against one wall, a friendly heart-shaped sign inviting you to touch it for your free diagnosis.

There's a more forbidding red button on the other wall.

The sharp coldness at your throat fades.

>press red button
You press the button.  There's a ringing, and then feet, and a nurse emerges from a door in the back of the public area, dragging a cart of medical supplies through behind her.

She shoots a quick look in your direction, before getting to work on the wounded man, cleaning away the blood and examining the extent of the damage.

For a few moments she ignores you, and you begin to wonder whether you ought to be leaving.  But when she has things a bit under control she glances up at you.  "Did you see what caused this?"

>1
"I found him after the fact."

She nods curtly.  "And you've no idea how this came about?"

>no
(You can think of nothing to say.)

The nurse works on the patient, discarding the soiled cloths into a receptacle in the cart.

>undo
Doctor's Office
[Previous turn undone.]

>save
Restored.

>1
"He was lying wounded in a strange place on Auriran."

She looks at you.  "I see.  And you're not any kind of relation?  You don't know him, you don't work with him?"

You shake your head and open your mouth to answer, but then she gives you a brisk look and forestalls you. "No, you wouldn't, would you? You just get here, today or yesterday?"

>say yes
"Yes, that's right."

"Very well.  Well, you're to be commended for bringing him in," she remarks.

The man stirs. "You need to get refuge," he says, to you.  "North of the moon. You can get in if you have the password."

"You're delirious," says the nurse, quite firmly; and his eyes only then focus on her.  She glances at you.  "Thank you for your help, but there's nothing further for you to do here."  Grasping the man by the elbow, she helps him into the back room, pulling the medical cart out behind her.

The door shuts firmly and locks with a click, almost seamless with the wall itself.

>e

Outside Train Station
The bottom of the hill, outside the train station, with its trolley tracks and the dulled statue of an ancient queen, hemmed on the east by the hotel and on the west by the health office.

The carts of flower sellers have perhaps moved fractionally since the last time you were here, but it's hard to say.

To the south, heavy doors lead into the train station.

The pendant burns cold around your neck.

>n

South May Street
Alleys east and west, the street itself north and south: even watching every direction you perceive nothing helpful.  Does anyone wear gowns like those in this window? And the spices in the adjacent shop are presumably overpriced as well.

Nearby stand a young couple looking into a shop window.

>w

West Alley
Narrow at the eastern end, but gradually widening to something like a street in its own right, overlooked from the north and south by balconies.

Paint on all surfaces does not quite conceal the fact that significant graffiti once covered these walls.

In the corner stands a girl in a dress the color of honey.

To the south is the only doorway in this alley, to an art gallery displaying works in mixed media: oil and holography, water-color and illusion.  It seems to be locked up, however.

The sharp coldness at your throat fades.

>x girl
The dress flows around her when she moves.  She walks back and forth slowly and gracefully, one hand trailing on the wall, the other gesturing; like a dancer in a solitary figure, after the ballroom has emptied.

Her gaze is blank and still.

The pendant burns cold around your neck.

>talk to girl
Her wide eyes turn to you.  She watches your mouth, as though trying to understand the mystery of its movement: but this bores her in a moment, and she turns away again, tuned to her inner music.

>w

Malta Square, North End
The sort of area that ought to be empty during the day, packed at night.  Curiously, everything is open and the signs are on.  Neon blinks impotently in the daylight, inviting you to cabarets and comedy shows and drinks.

The street leads away to the north, and an alley opens east between buildings.  There's an arcade parlor to the west; and, of course, the entire area continues some distance to the south.

The sharp coldness at your throat fades.

>w

Game Arcade
This, at least, is no different than the game arcades at home -- players hunched in front of their holographic consoles or wearing virtual-reality goggles. There is noise from the machines, and people talking and yelling over the noise. The nearest game beeps colorfully.

Near the door a garish little machine says: "TEST YOUR MAGICAL RESOLVE -- TOUCH TO ACTIVATE"

"Here, watch this," says a kid to his companion.  Stopping at the door, he touches the Resolve Tester.  There's a long pause, while he makes faces and gasps with obvious effort.  The lights go up as far as "Tolerably Tough."

"That's nothing," the second replies.  The second puts his hand on the touchpad, and with no evident distress sends the indicator through "Tough" to "Ferocious."

"How did you do that?"

The second kid grins as they go out the door and pulls a crystal of some sort out of his pocket.  "Mom gave it to me for protection because I have to walk home through the north district."

Both vanish into the street.

The pendant burns cold around your neck.

>touch machine
The machine beeps, and then there's a sensation of wrestling with a baby. The levels light up through the highest level.  There's a sharp pop. Smoke curls out of the top of the machine.

Someone passing by bumps your elbow.

(The pendant is cold where it touches your neck.)

>undo
Game Arcade
[Previous turn undone.]

>e

Malta Square, North End
The sort of area that ought to be empty during the day, packed at night.  Curiously, everything is open and the signs are on.  Neon blinks impotently in the daylight, inviting you to cabarets and comedy shows and drinks.

The street leads away to the north, and an alley opens east between buildings.  There's an arcade parlor to the west; and, of course, the entire area continues some distance to the south.

The sharp coldness at your throat fades.

>w

Game Arcade
This, at least, is no different than the game arcades at home -- players hunched in front of their holographic consoles or wearing virtual-reality goggles. There is noise from the machines, and people talking and yelling over the noise. The nearest game beeps colorfully.

Near the door a garish little machine says: "TEST YOUR MAGICAL RESOLVE -- TOUCH TO ACTIVATE"

You overhear unrealistic screams.

The pendant burns cold around your neck.

>touch machine
The machine beeps, and then there's a sensation of wrestling with a baby. The levels light up through the highest level.  There's a sharp pop. Smoke curls out of the top of the machine.

You overhear the noise of a truck being driven too quickly up a steep grade.

>e

Malta Square, North End
The sort of area that ought to be empty during the day, packed at night.  Curiously, everything is open and the signs are on.  Neon blinks impotently in the daylight, inviting you to cabarets and comedy shows and drinks.

The street leads away to the north, and an alley opens east between buildings.  There's an arcade parlor to the west; and, of course, the entire area continues some distance to the south.

The sharp coldness at your throat fades.

>n

Auriran Street
Much the same as when you first saw it, a Y-shaped piece of street mostly going somewhere else -- entertainment spots, including a bar or nightspot called the Scheherazade, to the west; the entrance northwest to Fianaga Park, framed by a pair of trees and giving onto a vista of trees and grass; the ring road that runs around the Old City Wall, connecting with May Street to the east and, in the other direction, wending up north into a clutter of smaller buildings.

>w

Scheherazade
Despite the light that leaks in through the windows, the place seems to be trying for a dark and anonymous ambiance, with high-backed booths and wood paneling, a ceiling painted black, and hanging swatches of brocaded purple velvet.  The decorations are mostly allusions to the City's distant shady past as an outpost of thieves and smugglers on the Vuine.

It seems smaller inside than outside, and practically deserted: there are just a few people sitting in the corners.

The bartender leans back at his ease, reading a magazine.

A woman of about twenty-five sits nearby, her face fixed in the glassy stare.  There's a drink on the table in front of her.

The pendant burns cold around your neck.

>i
You are carrying an invitation card, a Petra pass, six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure and Peter's letter. In addition, you are wearing a pendant and a watch.  There is also a blue lump in your wrist.

>talk to woman
(the drinking woman)
She just sips more of her drink, saying nothing.

(The pendant is cold where it touches your neck.)

>talk to bartender
(the bartender)
You wave at the bartender.

>2
"What's that you're reading?"

He holds it up for you to see.  "Trade magazine," he says.  "Lots of useful tips and so on."

(The pendant still stings, as though seeking your attention.)

>1
"Anything interesting in there?"

He lifts his head again.  "This and that," he says briefly.  "You occasionally get ideas out of a thing like this.  Mostly it's ridiculous, but sometimes there's something good."

A long pause ensues, and you figure that he's finished what he was going to say, but then he adds, "To be honest I partly read it for the comics."

(The pendant still stings, as though seeking your attention.)

>ask man about comics
(the bartender about)
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

>ask man about comic
(the bartender about the comic book about Evaine)
You can think of nothing to say about that.

"Okay, here's something," says the bartender.  "'Valodsci Sharpshooter.' Pepper-flavored vodka on ice with a twist of lime juice.  Do you people really drink that sort of thing?"

You shrug, and he returns to his reading.

"'Something to heat you from the inside during a cold northern night,'" he reads.  "Well, that's not going to have much use in these parts, I can say that right now."

>1
"Never that I've noticed, no."

"That's what I thought," he says, turning the page. "You got any drinks up there named after southern cities?"

>1
"I don't think so.  But I pretty much avoid mixed drinks."

He nods.  "Neat spirits and nothing else, right?"  He taps the magazine with one finger.  "But there's not enough to say about that, so they have to make things up to sell magazines with."

>ask man about injured man
(the bartender about)
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

The drinking woman watches the bartender for a few moments, as though she were in a trance.  Her gaze doesn't seem to bother him at all.

>undo
Scheherazade
[Previous turn undone.]

>topics
Topics you have discussed with other characters thus far:

time, what time it is, night, mother, Southern Light Rail, timetable, your location, City itself, Malta Square, sun court, temple, fortress, history, boundaries, war, Technological Revolution, guild of the illuminated, Malik, money, press gangs, Scheherazade, Enforcement Chief, magic seller, Gnostics, Evaine, comic book about Evaine, lunatics, how the knocked-out man wound up in the dark patch, his family, invitation, pendant, magic, sweetmaking robots, hotel decorations, bartender's magazine, merchandise, magic props, books, selene oil, computers, security, bug, hotel check-in, travel documents, tours, architecture, northerners, the health of the knocked-out man, how to find Evaine, your usefulness to the City, yourself, Peter, your frustration, restaurants, food, Markolis Ambolin, Petra Valourim.

>tell bartender about knocked-up man
(the bartender about)
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

"Sometimes I wonder," the bartender murmurs to himself.  "Do the people who write these magazines actually own bars, or do they just make it all up?"

The drinking woman watches the bartender for a few moments, as though she were in a trance.  Her gaze doesn't seem to bother him at all.

>ask bartender about refuge
(the bartender about)
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

>ask bartender about evaine
(the bartender about the Evaine)
You contemplate your options.

>2
"Do you know where I could find Evaine?"

"I don't know.  But if she's anywhere, she's in the northern part of the city. There are places up there where normal people don't go; it's all deserted."

>1
"What can you tell me about Evaine?"

"Ha.  Ha ha."  He shakes his head and leans over the bar to have a better look at you. "She's whatever the stories make her," he says.  "She's a magician, a witch, a rebel, the protector of the innocent, the seductress of the wise; perhaps a criminal, or perhaps the true queen of the City."

He smiles at you.  "Like it? I've learned a little bit from Scheherazade since I've worked here."

(The pendant still stings, as though seeking your attention.)

>1
"Yes, but which of those is true?"

He smiles and shrugs. "It doesn't really do a lot of good for me to have an opinion about this topic," he says. "Just get me into trouble in the long run. I listen to whoever wants to talk and I see how their story fits together. And usually Evaine plays whatever role works out best for that person."

(The pendant still stings, as though seeking your attention.)

>2
"I'm not going to get you into trouble."

"That's wonderful.  But once again, and for the record, I have no opinion about Evaine or anyone associated with her."  He glances around the room, and you can't help following his glance, to the other customers, to the windows, to the security camera mounted under the ceiling.

(The pendant still stings, as though seeking your attention.)

>show pendant to bartender
"Do you know what this pendant is?"

"If you've got actual cash, I'll give you a drink.  I don't collect trinkets, no matter what you say they are." He swipes at the bar vigorously.

(The pendant still stings, as though seeking your attention.)

>1
"I'd like a drink, please."

"If I can see the color of your money first," he says; and you shuffle awkwardly and feel like an idiot.

"Foreigners," he mutters mostly to himself.  "Think this place is a charity shop."

(The pendant still stings, as though seeking your attention.)

>1
"What do you serve here?"

"Everything from pale ale at 4 lumini a glass to verbene-absinthe for 50.  It's a well-stocked bar."

(The pendant still stings, as though seeking your attention.)

>x pendant
You gaze into the pendant, and the darkness fills your sight...

(From somewhere within the crowd, from a source you can't place...)

They're after you.  They know about your association with Evaine, your devotion to the cause.  If they catch you, they'll have the key to opening the temple door.  Your ring.

So you take it off and bury it -- in an obvious place, in the riverbank embankment.  If you ever get out of this you can dig it up again...

The vision fades.

The bartender runs a cloth over the already clean surface of the bar.

> ask bartender about temple
(the bartender about the temple)
You can think of nothing to say about that.

The drinking woman looks out the window.

> ask bartender about riverbank
(the bartender about)
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

>ask woman about riverbank
(the drinking woman about)
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

>ask woman about evaine
(the drinking woman about the Evaine)
The drinking woman doesn't seem eager to chat with you just now.

The bartender pauses in his reading for a moment.

>i
You are carrying an invitation card, a Petra pass, six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure and Peter's letter. In addition, you are wearing a pendant and a watch.  There is also a blue lump in your wrist.

>e

Auriran Street
Much the same as when you first saw it, a Y-shaped piece of street mostly going somewhere else -- entertainment spots, including a bar or nightspot called the Scheherazade, to the west; the entrance northwest to Fianaga Park, framed by a pair of trees and giving onto a vista of trees and grass; the ring road that runs around the Old City Wall, connecting with May Street to the east and, in the other direction, wending up north into a clutter of smaller buildings.

>n

Ring Road, among Shops
Auriran Road becomes narrower and climbs steadily as it goes north, clinging to the side of the Old Town Wall to your east.  The shops also become smaller and less notable, and there is an increasing air of shabbiness.

In a little shack-like structure that clings to the overhanging wall, a tiny shop advertises: "Used Tech. Parts. Cheap."

>n

Ring Road, among Houses
The houses here are old enough that the piping and wire-cables are retrofitted on the outside without proper shielding; everything is crowded together; the walls, orange and yellow and salmon-pink, are shedding plaster chunks.

The road curves around from south to east, following the wall, while a street that is almost a staircase leads down the northwest.

Walking in the shadows, a red-haired woman.  Every once in a while she stops to pick some imaginary bit of something from her clothes.

>nw

Outside a School
Here the street widens a bit, and instead of houses, there is a tall fence enclosing a schoolyard, labeled "Queen Rine Children's School." There is a deep silence about the place; presumably the children are all indoors, and it is not time for whatever outdoor activities they are allowed.

A street made of deep stone steps leads back up to the southeast.

On the north side of the street, a tiny door leads into an establishment calling itself Miss Wine's Millinery.  An explanatory note under the sign adds, "(HATS)".

>x school
The school has the familiar shabby-grim aspect of children's schools in your own district: windows built to keep the students in, a paved schoolyard without trees, a high fence with barbs at the top of each bar.  The building itself is built of the same crumbling plaster as most of the houses in the immediate neighborhood.

>in

Hat Shop
Well-lit but hazy with smoke or dust.  Long shelves stocked with out-of-fashion goods.  The place probably hasn't seen customers in a generation, or perhaps two.

On a chair in the corner sits an old lady, working deftly to wire a couple of silver mesh roses to a bright blue bonnet at least fifty years out of style.  She is herself wearing a cap of crushed velvet, from which escape a few strands of white hair.

The pendant burns cold around your neck.  As it did before.

>x pendant
You gaze into the pendant, and the darkness fills your sight...

The image presents itself askew, as though you are looking at it from an odd angle: half-sitting, half-lying on the floor of a detainment wagon, while the gangs round up the others.  The protest is still in progress, men and women dressed in purple and black, but their chants are rapidly dying away.  Uniformed pressmen move among them, carrying some kind of device that renders them mute.

That's what happened to you, in fact.  It may wear off in time, but something feels broken in your voice and in your mind.  And who knows what will come after this?

Sadness.  There will never be a second chance.

The vision fades.

>greet woman
You approach the hat shop woman.

>1
"Greetings," you say.

She turns on you with eyes suddenly bright.  "THE HAT SAYS YOU MUST GO NOW."

You open your mouth to reply, but she pushes you (with startling strength) towards the exit.  "DO NOT ARGUE WITH THE HAT."

And the door slams behind you.  There is the unmistakable sound of locking.


Outside a School
Here the street widens a bit, and instead of houses, there is a tall fence enclosing a schoolyard, labeled "Queen Rine Children's School." There is a deep silence about the place; presumably the children are all indoors, and it is not time for whatever outdoor activities they are allowed.

A street made of deep stone steps leads back up to the southeast.

On the north side of the street, a tiny door leads into an establishment calling itself Miss Wine's Millinery.  An explanatory note under the sign adds, "(HATS)".

>x wrist
Barely distinguishable from a vein.

>cut wrist
(with the curved scissors)
Launching into such a project in public would probably draw more attention than you want.

>sw
You wander aimlessly down the twisting side streets for a bit, but there's very little here that strikes you as at all remarkable.  Certainly no one is standing around in the streets to talk to, and there aren't even any shops, just more houses modestly shuttered and locked.  Eventually you go back the way you came before you can get completely lost.

>n
The hat shop appears to be locked up now.

>se

Ring Road, among Houses
The houses here are old enough that the piping and wire-cables are retrofitted on the outside without proper shielding; everything is crowded together; the walls, orange and yellow and salmon-pink, are shedding plaster chunks.

The road curves around from south to east, following the wall, while a street that is almost a staircase leads down the northwest.

Walking in the shadows, a red-haired woman.  Every once in a while she stops to pick some imaginary bit of something from her clothes.

>x woman
Small wire-rimmed glasses; short unvarnished nails; a kind of settled practicality in her bearing and style.  She looks like the stereotype of a technical researcher: precise, intelligent, but with any hint of flair repressed.

Still.  In the light her hair gleams copper-red.

>greet woman
She avoids your gaze, seeming not to hear you at all.

>s

Ring Road, among Shops
The treacherous road broadens as it descends into the city. The Old Town Wall stands to the east, and if you look up at the right times you can see over it to the Fortress itself, but for the most part the road is too far below the wall for anything to be visible but a bulk of bricks and the foliage of the trees that grow above.

Small shops mark the beginning of the commercial district on Auriran Road, to the south.

In a little shack-like structure that clings to the overhanging wall, a tiny shop advertises: "Used Tech. Parts. Cheap."

>s

Auriran Street
Much the same as when you first saw it, a Y-shaped piece of street mostly going somewhere else -- entertainment spots, including a bar or nightspot called the Scheherazade, to the west; the entrance northwest to Fianaga Park, framed by a pair of trees and giving onto a vista of trees and grass; the ring road that runs around the Old City Wall, connecting with May Street to the east and, in the other direction, wending up north into a clutter of smaller buildings.

>e

North May Street
Here along the crest of the hill, new buildings mingle with the historical houses of the old town: square, glassine boxes packed against the ornate yellow walls, reflections bouncing and redoubling so that the hard light is relentless and universal.  There are a few stores: to the southwest, a jewelry shop, which appears to be closed down for the moment, and to the southeast, in one of the older buildings, an antiquarian bookstore.

A wall of baked brick, half-plastered but crumbling, stretches across the street to the north, with a single arched gate.  A narrow path leads off along this wall to the west.

A boy of about twelve loiters against one of the nearby walls.

There's a sound of far-off music, audible and then cut off.

The pendant burns cold around your neck.  As it did before.

>x pendant
You gaze into the pendant, and the darkness fills your sight...

Something about setting out on a journey with your family; then the train stopped and you all had to get off, and then your mother and father and sister began to act strange, as though there was something distracting them, as though they were sleepwalking.  Afterward, the uniformed men, and--

The vision fades.

A woman wearing gloves stops to give a kiss to a middle-aged man.

>g
A shard of dark crystal, facets shining, depths impenetrable, opaque.  At the moment, it shows you nothing.

Somebody saunters past you.

>map



>n

Varro Street
Close and crooked buildings, hanging over a narrow road that twists away northwest. Paint, beginning to peel away in spots.  Letters you cannot read, carved into the plaster of the walls with a sharp tip.  The air hums.  Something is impatiently waiting to happen.

An arch crosses the southern extent of the street, opening onto May Street and heading down toward the train station.

An ancient magic shop inhabits a building with windows like bottle glass, 650 years old.

>n
You can go only in, northwest, northeast or south.

>nw

Outdoor Bazaar
An area jammed with tables, smaller than it might at first appear.  There are booths for fruits and flowers and assorted random junk.  So much is on display that it is hard to find a single place for the eye to rest.

Off to the west is an outdoor cafe. There are openings between the buildings southeast and northeast.

Of the merchants, the nearest is a woman selling antiques.

A fierce overweight lady with implausible red hair buys some fruit and strolls off, eating it immediately.

>ne

Fortress Forecourt
Here part the twisting narrow streets of the old City to make room for the original fortress, an enormous round construction of pale bricks half plastered-over.  Its great weight and age are evident in its shape. Someone in more recent centuries added to its forbidding defensive door a pair of tremendous statues.

A gap in the buildings southwest leads to other streets.

>n

You stare around you, trying to make sense of it.  Here is the Fortress, yes; a large old heap of stone, majestic but somehow lacking, in reality not terribly interesting.  The holovid documentaries at least superimpose some recreated drama, badly acted perhaps, but allowing one the temporary illusion of standing at the side of some historical scene; of being one of the back guards at a court procession, one of the children at a festival.  Here--

--but all the same, like music dimly heard, something just out of grasp, grander than comprehension, lingers in the dusty air.

Inside Fortress Walls
Inside the heavy round of walls, many stories tall and broader than an amphitheater.  The ground is bare earth, packed so hard that nothing grows, and the light and air press everything.  Even with your eyes closed they pound at your eyelids.

At the center of the area is the fortress' inner keep, a square tower of the same bleached brick, pierced by narrow slitted windows.  A sign outside the tower reads, "Entrance, 6 lumini."

You have a brief image: when you breathe in, your lungs are filling with light as well, a brilliance that circulates in your blood and seeks every part of you from the inside.

There is a small door set into the wall on the east side, which bears the symbol of a public toilet.  It's closed at the moment.

A man in rags sits against the wall, periodically shaking his cap full of coins and addressing the passers-by.

>e
(first opening the door)
You open the door.

Public Latrine
Little larger than a closet, a nook built into the width of the fortress walls.  It appears to have been serving its particular purpose for hundreds of years, since there is only a dark hole in the ground with a stone seat built over it.

There is a high window over the door, stained blue, which gives the whole space an odd, underwater quality.  The walls beside the toilet are scrawled with generations of commentary.

The door stands open.

>cut wrist
(with the curved scissors)
You clench your teeth and just manage to hold still while you dig into your own skin with the little scissors, hyperconscious of veins.

The bug itself, when exposed, turns out to have little tentacles growing off of it and attaching to your nerves and veins.

>get bug
You're not going to be able to pull it out until you've -- ugh -- cut it the rest of the way free.  It's still too much attached to various bits of you.

>cut bug
(with the curved scissors)
You go to cut out the bug the rest of the way, but your hands are shaking.  Better calm yourself a bit and try again.

>g
(with the curved scissors)
Holding your wrist up to the light and concentrating carefully, you manage to snip away at the delicate connections between the bug and your body.  Soon it hangs by a few strands, and then it is removed entirely.

>put bug in hole
It falls into oblivion with a satisfying plish.  Let them go looking for it in there.

>out

Inside Fortress Walls
Inside the heavy round of walls, many stories tall and broader than an amphitheater.  The ground is bare earth, packed so hard that nothing grows, and the light and air press everything.  Even with your eyes closed they pound at your eyelids.

At the center of the area is the fortress' inner keep, a square tower of the same bleached brick, pierced by narrow slitted windows.  A sign outside the tower reads, "Entrance, 6 lumini."

There is a small door set into the wall on the east side, which bears the symbol of a public toilet.  It stands open.

A man in rags sits against the wall, periodically shaking his cap full of coins and addressing the passers-by.

>s

Fortress Forecourt
Here part the twisting narrow streets of the old City to make room for the original fortress, an enormous round construction of pale bricks half plastered-over.  Its great weight and age are evident in its shape. Someone in more recent centuries added to its forbidding defensive door a pair of tremendous statues.

A gap in the buildings southwest leads to other streets.

Three of Malik's Press appear out of the shadows.

"Hey," says one.  "Your bug is broken.  Malik wanted us to check you and make sure things were all right."

>undo
Inside Fortress Walls
[Previous turn undone.]

>save
Restored.

>e

Public Latrine
Little larger than a closet, a nook built into the width of the fortress walls.  It appears to have been serving its particular purpose for hundreds of years, since there is only a dark hole in the ground with a stone seat built over it.

There is a high window over the door, stained blue, which gives the whole space an odd, underwater quality.  The walls beside the toilet are scrawled with generations of commentary.

The door stands open.

>heal wound
You bend your attention to the matter, and the wound does begin to heal -- slowly at first, more slowly than you'd like, and even when the skin closes there's an ache that makes you wonder if you did it right.  But the bug is out.

>w

Inside Fortress Walls
Inside the heavy round of walls, many stories tall and broader than an amphitheater.  The ground is bare earth, packed so hard that nothing grows, and the light and air press everything.  Even with your eyes closed they pound at your eyelids.

At the center of the area is the fortress' inner keep, a square tower of the same bleached brick, pierced by narrow slitted windows.  A sign outside the tower reads, "Entrance, 6 lumini."

There is a small door set into the wall on the east side, which bears the symbol of a public toilet.  It stands open.

A man in rags sits against the wall, periodically shaking his cap full of coins and addressing the passers-by.

Three of Malik's Press appear out of the shadows.

"Hey," says one.  "Your bug is broken.  Malik wanted us to check you and make sure things were all right."

>1
"It's all fine."

They look at you suspiciously.

"Really," you say.  "I must have got the signal jammed for a minute.  Go back and the monitor will probably be working again."

"Right then.  See you later."

And they vanish.

>think about evaine
You've only seen Evaine briefly.  Things between you were left on a civil basis, as you recall.

So far you've gathered...

  (from the attendant) that Evaine might be disguised as almost anything
  (from Thomas Malik) that you're needed to help find Evaine
  (from Thomas Malik) that Evaine put a marker in you in order to find you again and use you for whatever her own purposes are
  (from the Enforcement Chief) that she's become a rallying point for anyone who wants to overthrow Malik
  (from the bartender) that she might be a witch, a seductress, the true queen... you forget all the things he came up with, but it was quite a range and of dubious accuracy
  (from the bookseller) that she is a magician, and opposed to Malik
  (from the magic seller) that in her native state she would be the most powerful magic user in the City, though Malik has more resources he can bring to bear
  (from the temple attendant) that she's a thorn in Malik's side, formerly a friend of his who rejected everything he chose to work for; he says that he hasn't met her himself
  (from the attendant) that people search for Evaine in the northern district

>s

Fortress Forecourt
Here part the twisting narrow streets of the old City to make room for the original fortress, an enormous round construction of pale bricks half plastered-over.  Its great weight and age are evident in its shape. Someone in more recent centuries added to its forbidding defensive door a pair of tremendous statues.

A gap in the buildings southwest leads to other streets.

>sw

Outdoor Bazaar
An area jammed with tables, smaller than it might at first appear.  There are booths for fruits and flowers and assorted random junk.  So much is on display that it is hard to find a single place for the eye to rest.

Off to the west is an outdoor cafe. There are openings between the buildings southeast and northeast.

Of the merchants, the nearest is a woman selling antiques.

The antique seller glances in your general direction, then goes back to what she was doing.

A lady in long earrings walks by with a bag of fresh fruit.

>se

Varro Street
Close and crooked buildings, hanging over a narrow road that twists away northwest. Paint, beginning to peel away in spots.  Letters you cannot read, carved into the plaster of the walls with a sharp tip.  The air hums.  Something is impatiently waiting to happen.

An arch crosses the southern extent of the street, opening onto May Street and heading down toward the train station.

An ancient magic shop inhabits a building with windows like bottle glass, 650 years old.

>ne

Magic Shop, Lower Floor
Your eye skips over the bins of beads and cloth: they're just toys, you imagine, decoys from the reality. Anything of note is upstairs.  Even from here you sense concentrated power.

The store is currently being presided over by a tall woman with a red scarf tied around her head.

The magic seller watches you from her corner of the store.

>ask woman about pendant
You approach the magic seller.

"Do you know what this pendant is?"

She reaches out to touch it, but draws back again hastily with an air of having been stung.  The oath she mutters is not in a familiar language.

"What does that mean?" you ask.

"That means that you have a dangerous piece of work there, boy.  Be careful."

>1
"Yes, but what IS it?"

"It looks to me like a control," she says.  "Not worth much without the original piece it was designed to manage, but..."

>out

Varro Street
Close and crooked buildings, hanging over a narrow road that twists away northwest. Paint, beginning to peel away in spots.  Letters you cannot read, carved into the plaster of the walls with a sharp tip.  The air hums.  Something is impatiently waiting to happen.

An arch crosses the southern extent of the street, opening onto May Street and heading down toward the train station.

An ancient magic shop inhabits a building with windows like bottle glass, 650 years old.

>map



>w
You can go only in, northwest, northeast or south.

>s

North May Street
Here along the crest of the hill, new buildings mingle with the historical houses of the old town: square, glassine boxes packed against the ornate yellow walls, reflections bouncing and redoubling so that the hard light is relentless and universal.  There are a few stores: to the southwest, a jewelry shop, which appears to be closed down for the moment, and to the southeast, in one of the older buildings, an antiquarian bookstore.

A wall of baked brick, half-plastered but crumbling, stretches across the street to the north, with a single arched gate.  A narrow path leads off along this wall to the west.

A boy of about twelve loiters against one of the nearby walls.

A woman with red hair saunters past, with a newspaper in hand.

>w

Auriran Street
Much the same as when you first saw it, a Y-shaped piece of street mostly going somewhere else -- entertainment spots, including a bar or nightspot called the Scheherazade, to the west; the entrance northwest to Fianaga Park, framed by a pair of trees and giving onto a vista of trees and grass; the ring road that runs around the Old City Wall, connecting with May Street to the east and, in the other direction, wending up north into a clutter of smaller buildings.

>n

Ring Road, among Shops
Auriran Road becomes narrower and climbs steadily as it goes north, clinging to the side of the Old Town Wall to your east.  The shops also become smaller and less notable, and there is an increasing air of shabbiness.

In a little shack-like structure that clings to the overhanging wall, a tiny shop advertises: "Used Tech. Parts. Cheap."

>n

Ring Road, among Houses
The houses here are old enough that the piping and wire-cables are retrofitted on the outside without proper shielding; everything is crowded together; the walls, orange and yellow and salmon-pink, are shedding plaster chunks.

The road curves around from south to east, following the wall, while a street that is almost a staircase leads down the northwest.

Walking in the shadows, a red-haired woman.  Every once in a while she stops to pick some imaginary bit of something from her clothes.

Up in one of the houses above you, a curtain twitches in a window, as though someone has been watching you down here.

>n
The road itself curves from east to south, hugging the wall; all other directions lead into an impenetrable maze of huddled houses.

>e

Deserted Plaza
The Ring Road widens here into the approximation of an actual plaza, but empty and silent, without pedestrians or vehicles.  To the north there stands the remains of a burned and gutted storefront, which, presumably, you could walk into if you wished; it does not look as though anyone has been there recently, though, or even tried to clean up the mess inside.

Across the street to the east is a gate of wood, supported on each side by a statue much taller than yourself and with the expression of an angel.

>n

Ruin
The remains suggest that this was once a store of some sort built into one of the same old-style houses common along the Ring Road.  The walls are only about half height now, though, and black with soot where they do still stand; in many places the plaster is gone and charred beams show through.  There's scattered broken glass on the ground.

At your feet is a large and heavy piece of plaster and wood.

The pendant burns cold around your neck.  As it did before.

>x pendant
You gaze into the pendant, and the darkness fills your sight...

A large, square room, full of children.  The boys stand on one side, the girls on the other, facing each other in a line.  They're having a dance lesson.  For some reason this makes them all extremely solemn; the nearest of the girls has a deep concentrated expression, plain dowdy clothes, a long black braid down her back.

The vision fades.

>x glass
It looks like it was only ordinary window glass, shattered into many tiny bluish shards.  But even that seems to have happened some time ago, because the shards have been tracked around, and some of them appear to have been heated in the fire.

>x plaster
It looks like a piece of ceiling: broken-away on most sides, but with one face still decorated with what must have been the original molding.

>search ground
You find nothing of interest.

>search wood
You find nothing of interest.

>e
You can go only south.

>s

Deserted Plaza
The Ring Road widens here into the approximation of an actual plaza, but empty and silent, without pedestrians or vehicles.  To the north there stands the remains of a burned and gutted storefront, which, presumably, you could walk into if you wished; it does not look as though anyone has been there recently, though, or even tried to clean up the mess inside.

Across the street to the east is a gate of wood, supported on each side by a statue much taller than yourself and with the expression of an angel.

>e
You can't, since the gate is in the way.

>open gate
The eyes of the guardian statues open slowly to look at you.  "What do you say?" says the one.

  "-- he does not know the word key," the other replies, in a lilting voice.

"Then will he be scanned?"

  "That is his choice.  Let him touch us if he dares."

>say Chrythaine
"There it is!"

  "Yes, there!"

"He speaks like a friend."

  "Like an ally."

"Such a one we must admit."

  "One who knows, we cannot deny." And the gate creaks wide for you.

>e

Old Campus
This was the heart of an academic campus, with cafeterias and classroom buildings and dormitories, but most of them have been sealed and grown over with ivy.  The doors along the north side seem still to be operational, however -- northeast to a low building with a pitched roof, northwest to a several-story structure with narrow windows.  Roughly to the south is an open building.

The Ring Road leads away to the west.

Partially defaced, an old map of the area stands here, carved in stone.

A young man -- probably a few years younger than yourself -- is standing nearby, panning over the place with a handheld holovid camera.

The young man looks up, swinging the camera in your direction.  "You're northern!" he exclaims.  At your blank look, he adds hastily, "I didn't think any of the others made it."

He laughs a little.  "My manners are terrible, right?  I'm Simon."

>1
"How did you wind up here?"

"Some guys came around to the hotel offering to give tours to the whole group," he says.  "I thought, since I didn't have anything better to do and I was stuck here, why not?   Everyone else seemed to have the same idea -- actually, there was a lot less bickering and complaining about it than you would've thought.  Everybody seemed to think it was a perfectly wonderful idea... There were probably fifty of us, split up into a couple of sections."

He rubs his hand over his mouth. "We went up the hill to the fortress, but then I felt sick, and the next thing I knew I was in the public lavatory in the fortress puking my guts out. It was disgusting."

>1
"Hi, Simon."

He nods at you formally, as though you were being introduced at a business function. The expected next thing would be for you to tell him your name, of course, but you suddenly don't feel inclined to do so: whatever little bits of information you can reserve for yourself, you want to keep. Paranoia setting in.

>ask simon about evaine
You contemplate your options.

>1
"Do you know where Evaine is? Have you seen her?"

"I've heard from some of the other guys who've come through here that she's some sort of local leader, that she does the protection around here. I haven't met her, though, no."

>1
"This is so infuriating," you say, blowing out a sigh.  "I was sure I'd find Evaine up in this area."  Something moves at the corner of your vision, and for a half second you think that she's standing right there, in the periphery, waiting for you-- but no.  You turn your head and the shadows are empty.

"I think she's around here somewhere," he replies, brightly oblivious to your tics. Your heart slows again, returning to its normal pace. "You're just not looking in the right places.  Or maybe you need someone who knows her to get you in," he adds.

The breeze picks up for a moment, rustling in the ivy on the buildings.

>1
"Have you seen anyone who might know Evaine around here?"

"Obvious insiders, you mean?"  He makes a gesture, palm up, that is the far-northern equivalent of a shrug.  "Not that I could tell.  Some of them are just in hiding, and some of them wander around in the main part of the City but just pretend like they've already had their minds pulled out."  He taps the top of his head. "It's a pretty convincing act.  You wouldn't be able to tell.  But all those people-- I think they're just like me, not really on the inside planning whatever they're planning in there."

>1
"I saw Evaine earlier, at the train station," you say. He doesn't say anything, but he seems to be giving you his full and fascinated attention, so you go on. "She came up to me and asked me some weird question, about what time it was."

His mouth forms a crooked grin. "If anyone just tells you something straight out, it's probably a lie."

Eddies of wind catch the dust and garbage, spinning and redistributing them.

>1
"She doesn't entirely seem like the rest of them, though, I'll give her that. She stands out."

He watches your face thoughtfully. "The guys were talking about her like she's a holovid-star."

>2
"No-- I wouldn't put it that way. She's beautiful, but when you see her it's like she's more there than everything else around her, like the whole rest of the world is the holovid and she's the human."

"Hunh." He's too polite to add anything, but you sense his skepticism.

Off in the shadows, some small animal moves.

>tell him about malik
"Have you seen or met Malik?"

"I only know about him from hearsay.  Certainly didn't meet him, no."

>ask him about campus
"Is this map accurate, do you suppose?" you ask, gesturing at it.

"As far as I've been able to tell, everything is still where that says it is," he replies. "There are some passages that seem to be blocked off, and there are a few places that I... didn't pursue. But yes, I think it's essentially true."

>1
"What do you think happened to this university?"

"You mean, why isn't it still cranking out students?" He shrugs. "I had the impression it's been shut down for a long time."

>1
"This place is a complete dump."

"I'm guessing that they didn't have a lot of options about choice of scenery," he remarks, looking around dubiously himself.

"I suppose."

>ask him about train
You contemplate your options.

>2
"I assume you came on the train that I did, and had technical difficulties?"

"Yeah, the one just recently. I was in car B. No food. Man, they treat you like cargo in there."  He grimaces in memory of it.

>1
"Yes, I did notice that," you say, thinking of your uncomfortably narrow coach seat and the great efforts you had to go to not to inadvertently sleep against the ample shoulder of the woman beside you. "But hey, you're not important if you don't buy a first class ticket."

"It's because it's a southern-based rail line, you know? No northern company would be like that. They're so pretentious and -- fake."

It strikes you that a northern-based railway would probably go out of its way to be equally uncomfortable for everyone, but you don't really have the spirit to cut in on his patriotic zeal, here. You're as homesick as he is, and have at least as much reason to hate the south, at the moment.

The breeze picks up for a moment, rustling in the ivy on the buildings.

>1
"What did you come down south for?  Vacation or work?"

"Training," he says. "I've been doing some holovid work lately, and I got a sort of grant--" He blushes easily under his fair skin, a northern reaction to bragging about one's accomplishments -- "to come down here and do some additional studies about onsite work. I was supposed to meet up with a team in Crescent City and do some work with them. The whole thing is being paid for by Wantage Media."

Eddies of wind catch the dust and garbage, spinning and redistributing them.

>talk to him about hote
You find yourself with nothing to say.

>talk to him about hotel
"Were you staying in that hotel down by the train station?"

"Yeah. I think it's the only one they have in the whole damned town. Why would they need any others when no one ever comes to stay here for very long?"

>1
"Did the concierge there annoy the hell out of you?"

He raises his eyebrows.  "No.  Why?"

"Just curious," you remark.

>show pendant
(to Simon)
You contemplate your options.

>1
"Do you know what this is?"

"No idea."

>1
"I think this thing is magic," you say, showing him the pendant.

"I wouldn't be able to tell. Is it-- is it worth money? Maybe we could-- well, I mean, maybe you could sell it and use it to get out of here." His ears flush a bit red. "I bet if you could afford to bribe people you could find a way."

Off in the shadows, some small animal moves.

>2
"I'm not sure that's the best use for it."

"You mean, it would be hard to find a place that would pay you for it?"

>1
"I just don't want to, all right?" Your fingers close around the chain, and there's a feeling of reassurance, strength, cold certainty. If you were separated from it you would go back to being no one of account.

"Maybe if I did that they'd cheat us," you say finally. "Cheat us, take our money and leave us to die here. But as long as I keep the thing, I still have its power. Whatever that is."

He looks worried, but he nods. "I still don't see how you mean to wield it," he says. "If it even really does anything."

>help
Help menu displayed.

>[Menu Selection]
Here is a list of the standard instructions in games like this. You should be aware that the game you are playing may introduce some other verbs, as well.  This list is just a place to start:

LOOK       EXAMINE    SEARCH     LOOK UNDER

INVENTORY  TAKE       DROP       EMPTY
REMOVE     PUT ON     PUT IN     TRANSFER

NORTH [N]  SOUTH [S]  EAST  [E]  WEST  [W]
[NE]       [NW]       [SE]       [SW]
UP         DOWN       IN         OUT
GO         ENTER      EXIT       GET OFF

CLIMB      SWIM       JUMP       JUMP OVER

LOCK       UNLOCK     OPEN       CLOSE
SWITCH ON  SWITCH OFF SET        TURN
PULL       PUSH       PUSH NORTH THROW AT
SWING      WAVE       RUB        SQUEEZE
EAT        DRINK      WEAR       TAKE OFF
LISTEN     TASTE      TOUCH      SMELL
BURN       DIG        CUT        TIE
BLOW       BREAK      FILL       CONSULT
WAIT       SLEEP      SING       THINK

GIVE       SHOW       WAKE       KISS
ATTACK     BUY


The following commands control the game itself:

RESTART    RESTORE    SAVE
QUIT       UNDO       PRONOUNS
SCRIPT ON  SCRIPT OFF VERIFY
OBJECTS    PLACES

>[Menu Selection]
GETTING UNSTUCK
Explore.  Examine every object mentioned in room descriptions, and everything in your inventory.  Examine yourself, too.  Look inside all closed containers.  Open all doors and go through them.  If anything is locked, that's probably a puzzle, and you should try to get it unlocked.

Try out all your senses.  If the game mentions an interesting texture, odor, or sound, try SMELLing, TOUCHing, LISTENing, etc.

Be thorough.  If you still can't figure out what to do, try opening windows, looking under beds, etc.  Sometimes objects are well-hidden.

Talk to Non-Player Characters.  Try chatting with everyone you meet, and ask them questions about things you're still working through in the game.

Reread.  Look back at things you've already seen; sometimes this will trigger an idea you hadn't thought of.  Try commands such as SUMMARY and PERSONAE to remind yourself of what has happened in the plot thus far, and give yourself ideas about what else to try.

Take hints from the prose of the game.  Things that are described in great detail are probably more important than things that are given one-liners. Play with those objects.  If a machine is described as having component parts, look at the parts, and try manipulating them.   Likewise, notice the verbs that the game itself uses.  Try using those yourself.  Games often include special verbs -- the names of magic spells, or other special commands.  There's no harm in attempting something if the game mentions it.

Rephrase.  If you have something in mind that you want to do, but can't get the game to respond, try alternative wordings.  We try to account for everything you might think of typing, but sometimes things get left out.

Try variations.  Sometimes an action doesn't work, but does produce some kind of unusual result.  These are often indications that you're on the right track, even if you haven't figured out quite the right approach yet.  Pressing the red button alone may only cause a grinding noise from inside the wall, so perhaps pressing the blue and *then* the red will open the secret door.

Try to understand the game's internal logic.  Sometimes there is a system in play that does not operate in the normal world -- a kind of magic, for instance, or technology we don't have on modern-day earth.  If you've been introduced to such a system in the game, ask yourself how you might apply it to the situations that are still causing you problems.

Play with someone else.  Two heads are usually better than one.

If you're stuck somewhere that just makes no sense at all, it's possible that you're facing a bug.  If you think you are, you should email the author (politely) to report the problem and ask for a way around it.

>contact evaine
That's not a verb I recognize.

>help
Help menu turned off.

>evaine,hello
You've got a comma in your command, which is making it hard to parse.

>apparate
That's not a verb I recognize.

>transport
That's not a verb I recognize.  (For lists of standard and customized verbs you should know in order to play this game, type HELP and follow the menu prompts.)

>n
You can go only northwest, northeast, west or south.

"I guess probably there are some people you could talk to about the pendant, right?" he asks. "To find out what it does. Unless you're worried about them stealing it from you, I mean."

Off in the shadows, some small animal moves.

>nw
That entryway is sealed with some kind of door that slides into place.

"They're pretty solidly blocked," Simon says, watching you.  "The locals lock the place down at certain hours. On a schedule of some kind."

"Well, anyhow," Simon remarks.

"Say, what do-- or, ah, did-- you do?"

>1
"Nothing as glamorous as you, really. I worked at a production factory in Valodsci, overseeing the robotics. A certain amount of electronics and engineering required, but mostly a lot of hefting around boxes and making sure nothing screws up."

"Ah." You watch his face, which is polite and impassive. He might have a much more interesting job than yours, but like most northerners he respects any and all work -- something you haven't noticed so much down here, where people seem to find an occasion to put on airs every second of the day if they can manage it.

Off in the shadows, some small animal moves.

>1
"You like your job?"

"I think it is a good match for my talents," he says, which, through his stiffness, you guess conceals more enthusiasm than he thinks it would be polite to reveal.

Eddies of wind catch the dust and garbage, spinning and redistributing them.

>1
"Have you thought about looking for a job in this city?"

"What, down there? No-- I'm worried that something might happen to me. Why, have you tried it?"

>2
"No, I'm just wondering."

"I see."

>ne
That entryway is sealed with some kind of door that slides into place.

Simon whistles a little of a familiar tune from home.

>w
Simon draws back to let you go.  "I'm not going back out there," he remarks.  "But good luck."

Deserted Plaza
The Ring Road widens here into the approximation of an actual plaza, but empty and silent, without pedestrians or vehicles.  To the north there stands the remains of a burned and gutted storefront, which, presumably, you could walk into if you wished; it does not look as though anyone has been there recently, though, or even tried to clean up the mess inside.

Across the street to the east is a gate of wood, supported on each side by a statue much taller than yourself and with the expression of an angel.

>undo
Old Campus
[Previous turn undone.]

>s
"I think I'll come with you," says Simon.  "If you don't mind.  I think it would be a good idea."

Lounge
At some time or other this room seems to have been a lounge, where students might have gathered.  There is a tattered loveseat pushed to one side, and there is a broad sheet of corkboard on the west wall, covered with papers. To the north is the open doorway back to the campus, and there is a staircase climbing one wall.

Simon is in the middle of adjusting the settings on his camera.

On the loveseat is a thin grey blanket.

The pendant burns cold around your neck.  As it did before.

>undo
Old Campus
[Previous turn undone.]

>ask simon about tour
"What were these tour guide people like?  Would you recognize them again?"

"Now that you mention it-- not really."  He frowns.  "They looked... normal."

"Normal?  Like normal southerners, you mean?  Or like northerners?"

"They looked like the sort of people you don't look at very hard," he replies, a little wryly.  "I just didn't pay very much attention to them.  They seemed unremarkable."

>1
"And they didn't have memorable personalities either, I take it?" you ask.

"I don't know.  I really don't.  Does it matter?"  He catches the flash of irritation on your face, and looks away.  "If I try to think about it, there's no memory there at all.  Just vague impressions of events, like something in a dream or that someone told me about in a story.  I remember that it happened, but I don't remember it happening.  Until the part where I felt sick.  That's all clear."

The breeze picks up for a moment, rustling in the ivy on the buildings.

>s
"I think I'll come with you," says Simon.  "If you don't mind.  I think it would be a good idea."

Lounge
At some time or other this room seems to have been a lounge, where students might have gathered.  There is a tattered loveseat pushed to one side, and there is a broad sheet of corkboard on the west wall, covered with papers. To the north is the open doorway back to the campus, and there is a staircase climbing one wall.

Simon is measuring something with the camera's distance-finder.

On the loveseat is a thin grey blanket.

The pendant burns cold around your neck.  As it did before.

>x pendant
You gaze into the pendant, and the darkness fills your sight...

Light, and pain, and shadows; a faded garden, snarling, untended; scraps of cloth; rope sliding through the hands, too quickly to grasp; the bars of a prison cell.

The pieces come and go, too rapidly to hold.

The vision fades.

"Whoa, what the hell was that?"

>1
"What was what?"

"You looked like you were faint, for a minute there. Closed eyes and swaying, the whole thing." He frowns at you. "You're not sick or something, are you? That could be really inconvenient -- I don't know where we'd get a doctor..."

>1
"Er, it's hard to explain. Sometimes I -- seem to see things that happened to other people."

"You see things that happened to other people," he repeats, in a dull voice. "You mean like the mind readers on holovid ads? The ones that can tell you where you lost your car keys?"

>1
"It's related to this pendant," you explain. "It started when I got it."

"Really? Strange." He doesn't sound particularly convinced, though.

>ask about loungue
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

>ask about lounge
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

>ask simon about room
You can think of nothing more to say about that.

>i
You are carrying an invitation card, a Petra pass, six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure and Peter's letter. In addition, you are wearing a pendant and a watch.

>l

Lounge
At some time or other this room seems to have been a lounge, where students might have gathered.  There is a tattered loveseat pushed to one side, and there is a broad sheet of corkboard on the west wall, covered with papers. To the north is the open doorway back to the campus, and there is a staircase climbing one wall.

Simon is measuring something with the camera's distance-finder.

On the loveseat is a thin grey blanket.

>talk to simon about loveseat
You can think of nothing to say about that.

Simon whistles a little of a familiar tune from home.

>x blanket
Thin and in patches almost worn through; it looks as though it has seen extensive use.

Simon adjusts a knob on his camera.  "Okay," he says.  "I've gotten as much footage as I can really use of this area-- I think I'm going to head back outside for a minute."  And he heads briskly for the door.

>take it
You pick up the thin grey blanket.

>search blanket
You find nothing of interest.

>search couch
There is nothing on the loveseat.

>search under counch
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>search under couch
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>x corkboard
It's thin cork, adhering to the wall. There are a number of pieces of paper tacked to it.

>x paper
On inspection, they mostly seem to carry names and dates, such as "Farin Lewiss -- 2-14." The names belong to a variety of nationalities, written in assorted hands; a few are even typed on small cards. All the dates are within the last six months or so, and some of them carry additional annotations: "shot," "taken," "last seen." Here and there among them are photographs.

>x photographs
Most of them are informal shots of people, taken at unexpected times; one or two are black-and-white studio portraits. What strikes you about them is their variety: here is a solemn young girl, in what is probably a school studio picture, with long straight hair that hangs past her shoulders; here is a handsome old woman, her face lined with humor, her face buried in a bunch of fresh lavender.

>sit
You get onto the loveseat.

>sleep
You're awake and likely to stay that way.

>l

Lounge (on the loveseat)
At some time or other this room seems to have been a lounge, where students might have gathered.  There is a tattered loveseat pushed to one side, and there is a broad sheet of corkboard on the west wall, covered with papers. To the north is the open doorway back to the campus, and there is a staircase climbing one wall.

>u
You get off the loveseat.

Lounge
At some time or other this room seems to have been a lounge, where students might have gathered.  There is a tattered loveseat pushed to one side, and there is a broad sheet of corkboard on the west wall, covered with papers. To the north is the open doorway back to the campus, and there is a staircase climbing one wall.

>u

Dormitory Hallway
A narrow, carpeted hallway, lit by skylights above; someone has taped up pieces of thick black paper to cover some of them, but the light is still quite bright.  The walls are made of painted cinderblock. There is a sign pasted to one wall, but otherwise they are fairly bare of decoration.

Doorways lead off east and west, and the stairs return downward, while at the south end there is a utility closet.  To the north is the only room with a real door.

Beside the north door there is a bell pull, attached to a bell mounted near the ceiling.

>save
Saved.

>x sign
A long list of instructions that seems to have been printed up by someone with an unholy lust for font variety: boldface and Italic are used with abandon, and the typefaces include several flavors of sans-serif and an embarrassingly ornate pseudo-historical font.

>read sign
                         IF YOU MUST GO OUT:

1. Do NOT eat anything.
2. Avoid other TOURISTS: let the rogues try to save them.  YOU WILL BE CAUGHT ALONG WITH THEM.
3. If you do run into ENFORCERS, pretend to be DEAF and STUPID.  Do NOT look in their eyes.  Do NOT answer their questions. IF they think you are already LOST they will probably NOT take you in.
4. Do NOT take young children outside.  Leave them HERE.  It is VERY DIFFICULT to teach them how to behave as though LOST.  Someone in the campus may be willing to supervise.
5. IF you are in serious TROUBLE you may seek help at the following places: Scheherazade, the Spice shop on May St, the Little TECH SHOP.  Do NOT request HELP unless you need it.  Do NOT reveal your identity or ask for HELP in the presence of any NONREFUGEES.
6. Do NOT use the public health office machines!!!  They are ALL connected to the MAIN SECURITY COMPUTER and will INFORM MALIK'S MEN if there is a search for you.
7. If you SEE someone being ARRESTED, do NOT attempt to intervene. There is NOTHING you can do.  If there are rogues present they MAY be able to perform a RESCUE but the ENFORCERS WILL ARREST YOU TOO if you try to do anything without being PROPERLY TRAINED FIRST. SAVE YOURSELF if there is NO HOPE of helping the OTHER PERSON.
8. NOTE FOR NATIVES: PASSWORD for the GATE changes FREQUENTLY.  Once you have used it you should not need a password again.  IF you need to give the password to SOMEONE ELSE such as a FAMILY MEMBER or FRIEND (making SURE they are safe FIRST), tell them to find the LATEST VERSION at the OLD VIC.  NON-NATIVES SHOULD NOT NEED THE PASSWORD.
BUT: AVOID GOING OUT IF AT ALL POSSIBLE.  We have NOT lost ANYONE from INSIDE THE CAMPUS GROUNDS yet.

>s

Utility Closet
Presumably originally intended to contain janitorial supplies for the upkeep of the dormitory, but there is now very little of that left, and the door has been removed, to allow people to enter freely. There is a ladder up one wall, providing roof access.

The hallway is back to the north.

There's a large box of medical supplies pushed into one corner.

>x box
At least, you assume that's what it is; it's a steel case with a prominent medical symbol on the side, with heavy-duty latches.

>open it
You open the medical box, revealing a brown bottle, a sterile bandage and a box of painkillers.

>x bottle
Which do you mean, the brown bottle, the tiny bottle of conditioner or the tiny bottle of shampoo?

>x brown bottle
An empty brown glass bottle with a warning label on the side.

>read label
The label identifies the contents as selene oil, and warns against combining it with white verbene or liontail.

>x painkillers
A box, formerly containing light yellow pills (as you can see from the cover illustration). The contents seem to have been used up, and someone has written on the surface of the box in black marker, "NEED REPLACEMENT ASAP."

>u

Rooftop of Dormitory
The roof of the dormitory is flat and covered with a gravelly black paper, except for the raised glass skylights into the rooms below.

A short wall runs around the edge of the roof, lined with a number of potted tomato plants, and there is a pleasant view in most directions, which makes the place seem much more welcoming than it otherwise might.

There's a girl of, you guess, about fourteen or fifteen sitting on the wall at the north end of the roof.

The girl turns, startled, when she hears you emerging. "Hi," she says. "I didn't see you."

>3
"I just came in."

"I guess so."

>1
"See anything interesting from up here?"

She raises her shoulders in a shrug. "Not for a while. Earlier -- I guess a couple of hours ago -- they brought Evaine in on a stretcher."

>ask her about evaine
You contemplate your options.

>2
"What? Is she dead?"

"No, I don't think so," she replies thoughtfully. "They brought her in through the gate and they took her..." She points to the north. "Into one of the buildings on that side, and then I couldn't see any more. There was a man with them who I think was a doctor. Not sure about that, though."

A woman sticks her head up from the room below.  "Lucia!" she says sharply.  "I told you to stay in the bedroom during sleep times."

Lucia rolls her eyes (but where only you can see it).  "Coming, mother," she says.

The woman's head vanishes and Lucia descends the ladder as well.

>l

Rooftop of Dormitory
The roof of the dormitory is flat and covered with a gravelly black paper, except for the raised glass skylights into the rooms below.

A short wall runs around the edge of the roof, lined with a number of potted tomato plants, and there is a pleasant view in most directions, which makes the place seem much more welcoming than it otherwise might.

>x plants
The plants look flourishing and well-tended, each bearing a few round fruits.  There's nothing to indicate whose they are; perhaps they're raised as common property.

>focus
What do you want to focus on?

>plants
The plants look flourishing and well-tended, each bearing a few round fruits.  There's nothing to indicate whose they are; perhaps they're raised as common property.

>grow plants
That's not a verb I recognize.

>heal plants
It's unlikely that that will have much effect on an inanimate object.

>focus on evaine
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>close eyes
You're not something you can close.

>d

Utility Closet
Presumably originally intended to contain janitorial supplies for the upkeep of the dormitory, but there is now very little of that left, and the door has been removed, to allow people to enter freely. There is a ladder up one wall, providing roof access.

The hallway is back to the north.

There's a large box of medical supplies pushed into one corner.

>n

Dormitory Hallway
A narrow, carpeted hallway, lit by skylights above; someone has taped up pieces of thick black paper to cover some of them, but the light is still quite bright.  The walls are made of painted cinderblock. There is a sign pasted to one wall, but otherwise they are fairly bare of decoration.

Doorways lead off east and west, and the stairs return downward, while at the south end there is a utility closet.  To the north is the only room with a real door.

Beside the north door there is a bell pull, attached to a bell mounted near the ceiling.

>e
You poke your head in through one of the doorways, into a room that has been made as dark as the windows will permit.  Your eyes adjust just enough to show you bunks; then one of the slumbering forms sits up.

"Hsst!" it says.  "Some of us are trying to sleep, hey?"  And then (as the person lies back down), "It's hard enough with it being so damn light all the time without people wandering around staring and making noises."

>w
After your previous experiences you're not inclined to explore any more of the rooms.  They all seem to be occupied by sleepers.

>n
(first opening the wooden door)
You open the wooden door.

Advisor's Room
This room seems to have been functioning as both office and bedroom for someone quite recently, though it is empty of its inhabitant at the moment.  A cheap desk made of pressboard stands against one wall, with a bookshelf of similar material; there's a mattress on the ground, neatly covered in bedclothes.

In spite of the tawdry furnishings, there is a kind of brisk and purposeful air about the room. It smells faintly tangy, as though someone has been over it with air freshener in the recent past.

On the pressboard desk is a stack of photos.

On one of the walls is an on-off switch labeled 'remote lock', and someone has pasted next to it a schedule of mealtimes.

>undo
Dormitory Hallway
[Previous turn undone.]

>x bell
The bell is mounted too high to reach, but there is always the bell pull.

>pull bell
The bell rings: "Bing-bing! Bing! BONG!"

One of the bead curtains on the west side of the hall parts and a girl pokes her head out; her hair stands out fuzzily all over and she looks half asleep.  "Oh, great," she mutters.  "Another new one.  Look, I know it's nearly irresistible, but don't pull the damned bell, okay?  Thank you."

She withdraws her head, but there are rustlings from several other rooms, reminiscent of what happens if you hit a hornet's nest with a large stick.

>undo
Dormitory Hallway
[Previous turn undone.]

>n
(first opening the wooden door)
You open the wooden door.

Advisor's Room
This room seems to have been functioning as both office and bedroom for someone quite recently, though it is empty of its inhabitant at the moment.  A cheap desk made of pressboard stands against one wall, with a bookshelf of similar material; there's a mattress on the ground, neatly covered in bedclothes.

In spite of the tawdry furnishings, there is a kind of brisk and purposeful air about the room. It smells faintly tangy, as though someone has been over it with air freshener in the recent past.

On the pressboard desk is a stack of photos.

On one of the walls is an on-off switch labeled 'remote lock', and someone has pasted next to it a schedule of mealtimes.

>x photos
There's quite a wide variety, but they seem to stick to two chief themes. Some show the City at night, usually from a high vantage point: at least three of them seem identifiably from the top of the Fortress, looking out over various areas, and you can make out Malta Square in one, the Vuine with light glancing off of it.

The others are portrait studies of people, all kinds of people, often in unusual or dramatic lighting.

>x schedule
The schedule is divided up into 32 units per day, and contains instructions like 'BREAKFAST: UNLOCK CAFETERIA FOR TWO UNITS.'  Mealtimes and sleep hours are all noted down.

>x switch
It looks like a light switch, except for the label.

The remote lock is currently switched on.

>x label
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>save
Restored.

>press switch
It is fixed in place.

>toggle
(the remote lock)
There is a faint distant rumbling sound as you set the remote lock.

>s

Dormitory Hallway
A narrow, carpeted hallway, lit by skylights above; someone has taped up pieces of thick black paper to cover some of them, but the light is still quite bright.  The walls are made of painted cinderblock. There is a sign pasted to one wall, but otherwise they are fairly bare of decoration.

Doorways lead off east and west, and the stairs return downward, while at the south end there is a utility closet.  To the north is the only room with a real door.

Beside the north door there is a bell pull, attached to a bell mounted near the ceiling.

>d

Lounge
At some time or other this room seems to have been a lounge, where students might have gathered.  There is a tattered loveseat pushed to one side, and there is a broad sheet of corkboard on the west wall, covered with papers. To the north is the open doorway back to the campus, and there is a staircase climbing one wall.

>n

Old Campus
This was the heart of an academic campus, with cafeterias and classroom buildings and dormitories, but most of them have been sealed and grown over with ivy.  The doors along the north side seem still to be operational, however -- northeast to a low building with a pitched roof, northwest to a several-story structure with narrow windows.  Roughly to the south is an open building.

The Ring Road leads away to the west.

Simon is measuring something with the camera's distance-finder.

Partially defaced, an old map of the area stands here, carved in stone.

"Hey," he says. His head jerks towards the northeast passageway. "I saw you open the door on that. That was you, wasn't it?"

>1
"Yes, it was."

"How did you do it? I was wondering how to get back in there."

Off in the shadows, some small animal moves.

>1
"It was fairly easy, really," you say. "Just took a little creative interpretation of public and private space. Or as we say at home, trespassing."

"Anyone see you?" he asks. "Catch you in the act?"

>1
"I don't think so."

He nods. "Well, good work. I caught the opening on camera, which I couldn't have done if I'd triggered it myself."

>1
"Glad to be helpful."

He looks at you dubiously, as though trying to guess whether this is sincere or not, and then shrugs.

The breeze picks up for a moment, rustling in the ivy on the buildings.

>2
That option is undefined at the moment.

Simon yawns.

>1
"Man, look at this stuff."

"Yah, it's in pretty bad shape. I don't know where it comes from -- maybe someone donates castoffs."

"Somehow I don't see them doing a jumble sale to raise money for the unfortunate refugees," you remark.

>n
You can go only northwest, northeast, west or south.

Simon scratches his head.

>ne
Simon walks along at your side.

Old Cafeteria
The room is huge, square, and mostly empty.  At intervals, octagonal columns support a beamed wooden ceiling, and the strangled remains of light fixtures hang from between the beams, no longer functional.  A filtered, shifting light, trembling with every movement of the ivy, comes in through the windows.

The whole of the wall opposite the windows is covered with an enormous mural, whose paint is beginning to fade.

The southwest doorway gapes open, and there are other, smaller passageways to the north and northeast.

Simon is measuring something with the camera's distance-finder.

>n
Simon walks along a few feet behind you.

Industrial Kitchen
Though recognizably still a kitchen, this one seems to have been mostly decommissioned.  The floor is divided by counters and the shapes of machines, over which have been thrown thick plastic coverings -- presumably to keep them safe and ready for some indefinite time when they might be reused.  But it does not seem as though that time is going to come.  Exits lead south to the main cafeteria and east to the Faculty Dining Room.

On one wall is a poster of nutritional instructions.

Simon is measuring something with the camera's distance-finder.

Some heavy crates are stacked against one wall.  "CAUTION," says the stenciling on the sides, and there follows a long list of warnings.

In one corner is an industrial refrigerator the size of a large closet.

>move crates
You lean against the bottom crate and give it a good hard shove, but it doesn't go anywhere.  These things are heavier than they look, even.

>ask simon to move crates
To talk to a character:  Type >GREET <character> to begin a conversation.  You will get a list of options of things to say.  If you want to change the topic of conversation, type >T <new topic name> and (assuming that's a valid topic) you'll get a new menu of conversation choices.

Your companion whistles a little of a familiar tune from home.

>t crate
You contemplate your options.

>1
"Here, help me move these crates."

"Okay," he says gamely, and sets one shoulder against them. Between the two of you, you're able to shift the pile a few feet to one side.

In the floor, formerly covered by the crates, is a large manhole cover.

>1
"Nice poster."

"What is that stuff?" he asks, looking it over. "Those fruits don't look like they could really exist."

>1
"I don't think the refrigerator is plugged in."

"Yah, I very much doubt there's any power in here at all. Unless someone donated a generator and fuel."

>1
"Or solar panels."

He laughs.

>x poster
It appears to describe the nutritional value of an assortment of fruits and vegetables you are unfamiliar with, all drawn in a cartoonish style, brightly colored.

>x manhole
A heavy metal cover which bears the inscription, "PROPERTY OF HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN."

Idly, Simon opens the refrigerator and looks in.  "Not much in there," Simon remarks.  "I guess it's nearly time for their grocery run."

>1
"I wonder how Evaine's people manage the food issue," you say. "I imagine they can't exactly have a delivery van drive up here. And do they have sympathizers that donate, or do they steal supplies? Or buy them, for that matter? And if so, with what money? Are some of these people legitimately employed?

Simon blinks at you. "That's a mouthful."

"Sorry, just thinking aloud," you reply. "Don't actually expect you to know."

>open manhole
You open the manhole cover.

"If you were asking me," he says after a moment, "you know what I'd guess? I'd guess that they have a network of sympathizers throughout the City who each give in small amounts. That way, it would be hard to track, hard to cut off a single supply."

>1
"Interesting, but then how would they coordinate that? It seems a lot of effort," you point out.

"I think some of them must go out into the rest of the City sometimes."

>1
"I know they do," you say.  "I saw Evaine out there."

"Right, then. Case in point. And if Evaine risks it, maybe it's safe to assume that most of her compatriots do, too," he says. "So maybe they do a little light collection while they're out there."

>d
You sit at the edge of the hole and lower yourself in, bracing yourself with your arms to prevent a fall.  It's not too difficult, especially since the tunnel is not very much taller than you are.

Maintenance Tunnel, Southwest
Instead of being bare concrete, as you would more or less expect, the tunnel is faced on both sides with stones, and pipes run the length of it, stapled to the walls and ceiling with heavy metal brackets.  Piled against these walls are boxes of various foods, some still sealed.

The tunnel continues northeast.

Light streams in through a hole in the ceiling.

Simon watches you lower yourself into the passage below.  "Here, move out of the way," he says.  "I'm jumping in."

You step back obediently, and he jumps.  He lands awkwardly, though, and stumbles against the wall.  "Ow, shit."  He settles to a sitting position.

>1
"Are you all right?"

"Not... entirely." He rotates his ankle gingerly, grimacing. "I think the floor down here must be more uneven than I guessed."

>heal simon
You kneel beside Simon and hold his ankle, willing it to heal.  He watches you nervously, and his nervousness only seems to increase after a few moments.  "What did you do?" he demands.  "Who are you?"

You open your mouth, but he flinches away from you, pulling himself back to a stand. "I don't like this," he says.  "You-- finish doing whatever it is you're doing, but I don't think I'm going to come along for the rest of the ride, if you don't mind."

He stands up and pulls himself readily through the hole, making it obvious that he's feeling no further pain, at least.  His footsteps sound on the floor above and then die away.

>undo
Maintenance Tunnel, Southwest
[Previous turn undone.]

>1
"Need me to help you get back up through the hole?"

"That would probably be useful, yah," he says.  "Dammit.  And I wanted to see what was down here."

"Probably nothing at all interesting," you assure him.  You give him a hand, and he manages to scramble up through the hole in the ceiling.

"Thanks," he calls down.  "I'll be fine now -- don't worry about me."

There are sounds of limping from above.

>ne

Maintenance Tunnel, Northeast
Instead of being bare concrete, as you would more or less expect, the tunnel is faced on both sides with stones, and pipes run the length of it, stapled to the walls and ceiling with heavy metal brackets.

The tunnel continues southwest.

There is a closed manhole cover in the ceiling, through which you might just be able to hoist yourself.

>u
(first opening the manhole cover)
You open the manhole cover.

Geometry Room
What would seem once to have been a classroom: the walls are white plaster, but have been overlaid with drawings in an ink that has faded to sepia, showing various mathematical figures: circles, triangles, arcs; the globe of the world, and the lines that divide it into zones.

The windows are framed in dark wood, and one is deep enough to sit in; there is also a doorway leading out to the east.

An open manhole leads down into a space under the floor.

On the windowseat is The Meditations of Queen Rine.

There is a small plaque hung on the north wall.

>x plaque
It has been carefully screwed into place, and reads,

In This Room
At the End of the First Dynasty
Did the Young Queen Marvaine
Receive Instruction
From Her Tutor Dorcas

Whom Subsequently She Executed
On the Most Serious Charge of Treason
When She was 15 Years of Age

>x book
Old and worn, the covers softened with age and handling, the edges of the pages darkened with frequent reading.  The typeface is an old-fashioned one, and the state of the binding also suggests that the book was printed decades ago, or even a hundred years or more.

>read book
When you touch the book, you have a moment's unbidden image, clear as day, of Evaine sitting in the window reading this book.  The sunlight casts her in dark profile, but illuminates the pages with a halo like fire.

Then the image fades, without your doing anything at all.

>g
(first taking The Meditations of Queen Rine)

You pick up The Meditations of Queen Rine.

A Meditation Upon Passion

Passion is often most inaccurately portrayed as an excess of strong emotion; when in fact there is very little in it that has to do with whim, or wishing, or even desire.  Passion is a compulsion laid on us, and the suffering that results.  Its effect is great work and sometimes great charisma. But the artist -- to keep to a single example -- is not driven only by ego, or supported by talent alone; she knows that what marks her is not a blessing of special ability within, but a cursed compulsion laid on her from the outside.

>g
It is with suffering and endurance that art is born: the vision first conceived, then executed with much labor; then analyzed, and the imperfect parts painfully excised. And sometimes the whole must be discarded as a miscarriage and begun again.

>g
During all this there is no ease.  It is all difficulty and doubt. Doubt whether the conception has merit; doubt whether its demands will exhaust her; and, most of all, that even at the extremity of her passion, when she has gone without sleep, without food, without the society of friends or the comfort of a lover, when she has drawn upon all her experiences, when she has tempered them with the most discerning powers of her intellect, when she has humbly accepted the criticism of her peers -- when she has burnt herself entirely, omitting nothing -- when she has surrendered all her physical and all her mental resources, all her worldly wealth, all her prospects of the future, her reputation, her hopes, to this one purpose -- that what will in the end result is mediocrity. That those who receive it will see no special merit. That it will speak to no one.  That it will be nothing.

>g
Then supposing such a person succeeds, to some degree -- in the minds of other people, never in her own, since in her own view the perfection that commands her allegiance is forever elusive -- then, frequently, her reward is abuse and jealousy. Some suppose that the work was trivial; they are angry that the same rewards do not come as trivially to them. They mock the passion itself; they point out how insignificant 'in the grand scheme' is the particular work, whether it is sculpture, literature, the stage, or the government of a City.  Here is a single poem that will soon die into archaism, henceforth to be known only to scholars.  Here is a half generation of stability amid two hundred years of strife.

>g
Yes; I speak to the Queens of the City.  This is what the Gnostics have taught me.  Do not question yourself about the value of the contribution.  The passion itself, which gives us both our power and our pain, is the mark of eternity in our souls.  No matter in what specific arena you seek your perfection; that you seek it is enough; let no one persuade you that you do too little or too much.

>g
A glance back at the flyleaf reveals the following, smudged, inscription:

To Evaine, from one who would in better times have been honored to be the Royal Tutor. I hope you will ponder both Rine's arrogance and her humility, and find your own rightful place thereby.

>g
A Meditation Upon Passion

Passion is often most inaccurately portrayed as an excess of strong emotion; when in fact there is very little in it that has to do with whim, or wishing, or even desire.  Passion is a compulsion laid on us, and the suffering that results.  Its effect is great work and sometimes great charisma. But the artist -- to keep to a single example -- is not driven only by ego, or supported by talent alone; she knows that what marks her is not a blessing of special ability within, but a cursed compulsion laid on her from the outside.

>e

Moon Court
A semicircle of stone, half black, half white.  A deep arcaded passageway runs along the northern crescent side, supported by slender columns in the shape of women. They are dressed in a very archaic style, and support the ceiling with their upraised arms.

There are doors south and west.  The air lies still and calm.

The curved north wall is entirely grown over with ivy.  Which, on consideration, seems odd: even in this climate, there's no sun on it.

A sudden wind picks up the trash here and there and blows it around.  The gust flattens against your chest an advertisement flyer of some sort, which -- the moment past -- falls at your feet.

>x ad
"TONIGHT upstairs at the Scheherazade," says the flyer, and there is a picture of a dark-haired woman with a veil drawn across her mouth and a snake coiled around her throat.  "The Original Illusionist."

>take ad
You pick up the flyer.

>x ivy
The ivy ripples under a wind that is not there, and the darkness is thicker than it ought to be.

>search ivy
You find nothing of interest.

>w

Geometry Room
What would seem once to have been a classroom: the walls are white plaster, but have been overlaid with drawings in an ink that has faded to sepia, showing various mathematical figures: circles, triangles, arcs; the globe of the world, and the lines that divide it into zones.

The windows are framed in dark wood, and one is deep enough to sit in; there is also a doorway leading out to the east.

An open manhole leads down into a space under the floor.

There is a small plaque hung on the north wall.

>x globe
The lines of continents are only roughly sketched in, and though some of the southern cities are noted, there is no attention spared for the colonies of the north. Someone appears to have put a large x, in pencil, roughly where Old Engkratis ought to be.

>d

Maintenance Tunnel, Northeast
Instead of being bare concrete, as you would more or less expect, the tunnel is faced on both sides with stones, and pipes run the length of it, stapled to the walls and ceiling with heavy metal brackets.

The tunnel continues southwest.

An open manhole leads up through stone flooring.

>sw

Maintenance Tunnel, Southwest
Instead of being bare concrete, as you would more or less expect, the tunnel is faced on both sides with stones, and pipes run the length of it, stapled to the walls and ceiling with heavy metal brackets.  Piled against these walls are boxes of various foods, some still sealed.

The tunnel continues northeast.

Light streams in through a hole in the ceiling.

>u

Industrial Kitchen
Though recognizably still a kitchen, this one seems to have been mostly decommissioned.  The floor is divided by counters and the shapes of machines, over which have been thrown thick plastic coverings -- presumably to keep them safe and ready for some indefinite time when they might be reused.  But it does not seem as though that time is going to come.  Exits lead south to the main cafeteria and east to the Faculty Dining Room.

On one wall is a poster of nutritional instructions.

An open manhole leads down into a space under the floor.

The pile of heavy crates still stands near the wall, though it has been shifted a few feet to the side from the original position.

In one corner, the industrial refrigerator stands open.  It is dark inside, and not more than trivially cold.

>close fridge
You close the refrigerator.

>s

Old Cafeteria
The room is huge, square, and mostly empty.  At intervals, octagonal columns support a beamed wooden ceiling, and the strangled remains of light fixtures hang from between the beams, no longer functional.  A filtered, shifting light, trembling with every movement of the ivy, comes in through the windows.

The whole of the wall opposite the windows is covered with an enormous mural, whose paint is beginning to fade.

The southwest doorway gapes open, and there are other, smaller passageways to the north and northeast.

>sw

Old Campus
This was the heart of an academic campus, with cafeterias and classroom buildings and dormitories, but most of them have been sealed and grown over with ivy.  The doors along the north side seem still to be operational, however -- northeast to a low building with a pitched roof, northwest to a several-story structure with narrow windows.  Roughly to the south is an open building.

The Ring Road leads away to the west.

Partially defaced, an old map of the area stands here, carved in stone.

Off in the shadows, some small animal moves.

>s

Lounge
At some time or other this room seems to have been a lounge, where students might have gathered.  There is a tattered loveseat pushed to one side, and there is a broad sheet of corkboard on the west wall, covered with papers. To the north is the open doorway back to the campus, and there is a staircase climbing one wall.

>n

Old Campus
This was the heart of an academic campus, with cafeterias and classroom buildings and dormitories, but most of them have been sealed and grown over with ivy.  The doors along the north side seem still to be operational, however -- northeast to a low building with a pitched roof, northwest to a several-story structure with narrow windows.  Roughly to the south is an open building.

The Ring Road leads away to the west.

Partially defaced, an old map of the area stands here, carved in stone.

>w

Deserted Plaza
The Ring Road widens here into the approximation of an actual plaza, but empty and silent, without pedestrians or vehicles.  To the north there stands the remains of a burned and gutted storefront, which, presumably, you could walk into if you wished; it does not look as though anyone has been there recently, though, or even tried to clean up the mess inside.

Across the street to the east is a gate of wood, supported on each side by a statue much taller than yourself and with the expression of an angel.

>save
Saved.

>w

Ring Road, among Houses
The houses here are old enough that the piping and wire-cables are retrofitted on the outside without proper shielding; everything is crowded together; the walls, orange and yellow and salmon-pink, are shedding plaster chunks.

The road curves around from south to east, following the wall, while a street that is almost a staircase leads down the northwest.

Walking in the shadows, a red-haired woman.  Every once in a while she stops to pick some imaginary bit of something from her clothes.

>s

Ring Road, among Shops
The treacherous road broadens as it descends into the city. The Old Town Wall stands to the east, and if you look up at the right times you can see over it to the Fortress itself, but for the most part the road is too far below the wall for anything to be visible but a bulk of bricks and the foliage of the trees that grow above.

Small shops mark the beginning of the commercial district on Auriran Road, to the south.

In a little shack-like structure that clings to the overhanging wall, a tiny shop advertises: "Used Tech. Parts. Cheap."

>map



>go to bar
Travel in this game requires the use of compass directions (NORTH, EAST, SOUTHWEST, etc), augmented by UP, DOWN, IN, and OUT.  If you have gotten lost, you can look at the handy MAP.  It also sometimes works to ask other characters about the place that you want to reach.

>apparate
That's not a verb I recognize.

>d
The road runs north-south.  The wall prohibits movement to the east, and to the west is a twisty maze of little uninteresting streets, too forbidding to enter.

>s

Auriran Street
Much the same as when you first saw it, a Y-shaped piece of street mostly going somewhere else -- entertainment spots, including a bar or nightspot called the Scheherazade, to the west; the entrance northwest to Fianaga Park, framed by a pair of trees and giving onto a vista of trees and grass; the ring road that runs around the Old City Wall, connecting with May Street to the east and, in the other direction, wending up north into a clutter of smaller buildings.

>w

Scheherazade
Despite the light that leaks in through the windows, the place seems to be trying for a dark and anonymous ambiance, with high-backed booths and wood paneling, a ceiling painted black, and hanging swatches of brocaded purple velvet.  The decorations are mostly allusions to the City's distant shady past as an outpost of thieves and smugglers on the Vuine.

It seems smaller inside than outside, and practically deserted: there are just a few people sitting in the corners.

The bartender sees you standing there and nods at you in acknowledgement.

A woman of about twenty-five sits nearby, her face fixed in the glassy stare.  There's a drink on the table in front of her.

>ask barman about show
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>ask man about show
(the bartender about the Scheherazade's show)
You say hello to the bartender.

"Who's Scheherazade?"

"The famous illusionist," he says.  "About ten years ago she did a show where she made the whole sun disappear over the Old City."  He stops to let this sink in, though it's hard to guess whether it's true or a piece of propaganda.

"And she's upstairs right now," he adds.

>3
"This flyer is for the show here, right?" you ask, brandishing the paper with the drawing on it.

"Yes, it is."

The drinking woman looks out the window.

>1
"It just landed at my feet.  How do you make it do that?"

"I don't do it," he says. "I'm not sure how it's done. That's not my side of the job."

>1
"But it is magic, right?"

"Yeah, probably." He doesn't seem very intrigued by this question.

>1
"How does anyone know when to come to this show, if you can't say exactly when it starts?" you ask.

He reaches down and tosses a small copper disk on the bar.  "Buzzer," he says.  "Take one if you want.  It'll go off just before showtime."

>take buzzer
You pick up the copper disk.

The bartender pauses in his reading for a moment.

The drinking woman gets up, discarding her beverage, and heads upstairs.

>2
"So when does this show start?"

"Quite soon, but you can still probably afford to go out and look around a bit.  If you miss the very beginning of the show it's not a disaster."

>u

Scheherazade, Upstairs
Heavy curtains have been drawn across the windows to mask the light; the ceiling is low and painted a deep color.  It feels like a square cave.

Near the door is a large bowl of stalks of a plant of some kind.

At the center of the room, standing on a box, is a woman with long dark hair streaked with silver.  Her fingers play with the air.

Scattered around in chairs and leaning against the walls are a number of people somewhat shadily dressed; there are perhaps three men for every woman in the audience.  They're all watching the performance.

>watch
What do you want to watch?

>performance
Aside from the flash of her hair and costume -- a silver and black two-piece outfit cut to reveal a considerable amount of leg when she moves -- there is nothing of the typical night performer about her.  Her face is older, and there is considerable intelligence about her mouth.  A dozen bangles rattle with each gesture of her arm.

"And so," the performer is saying, "the Queen sent for a seer."  A gesture of her hand and for a moment she becomes someone quite different, a stooped old man.

>x buzzer
The size and shape of a flat coin, with no decoration on upper or lower surface.

"So the seer came from far away, twenty miles through the hot desert by day."

(The floor turns to grit, heat ripples around you, the sun burns out of the ceiling.  At a touch, one of the tables dissolves into a heap of sand.)

>heal woman
Nothing changes.

"There were snakes in the desert.  Foul creatures."

(An older woman, near the back, leaps screaming from her seat.  There is general laughter at her confusion.  Someone hands her another drink, and she subsides, laughing as well.)

>z
Time passes.

"When the seer arrived, he began to go from place to place in the palace, looking each man in the face and seeing his true face.  No illusion deceived him."

(All the illusion in the room suddenly dies -- not only the performer's, but even the cosmetic illusions used by the audience.  Quite a few people look less attractive suddenly, and less well-groomed.  Then the moment passes.)

>talk to woman
She's obviously too busy to talk at the moment.

"Going around like this, he did find the traitor: the Queen's brother, Nessat."

A pause for dramatic effect.

"But Nessat knew that he was found.  And seers have no magic of their own."  Her eyes sweep the audience and she seems threatening, a creature of darkness.  She stops at you.  A chill goes down your back.  She looks away.

>create
That's not a verb I recognize.

>make
What do you want to make?

>illusion
It's hard to see what you have in mind.

"Nessat killed the seer.  There was no defense."

(Your hands feel sticky and unwashed.)

>make bread
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>magic
That's not a verb I recognize.

>do magic
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>z
Time passes.

"Then he took an old servant of his and dressed him in the seer's garb and put the seer's face upon him, and sent him to whisper to the Queen.  And so he accused the last of her honest courtiers, and she, deceived, held an execution at the dawn."

>z
Time passes.

"Then the kingdom fell to Nessat; his influence was everywhere.  Men drank dust from the fountains, taking it for water; they walked by night supposing it was day."

(The glass of beer in your neighbor's hand is suddenly full of cobwebs and spiders.  He dashes it against the floor.)

>i
You are carrying a copper disk, a flyer, The Meditations of Queen Rine, a thin grey blanket, an invitation card, a Petra pass, six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure and Peter's letter. In addition, you are wearing a pendant and a watch.

"It was many years indeed before he died and his power on the land was released."  She concludes in a soft voice.  There is a silence, and then a collective sigh as she steps off the pedestal.  The audience begins after a moment to chatter to itself, taking advantage of the intermission to send down for more beer or to replenish their supplies from the bowl.

As for her, she moves away into a quiet corner and stands looking out the window at nothing.  When she is not performing, no one seems to pay her any mind.

>talk to woman
She catches you looking at her, and narrows her eyes.  "You shouldn't even be able to see me," she says.

You open your mouth, but--

"Best come inside and talk."  She nods her head towards a doorway you had not noticed before.

Scheherazade's Apartment
An efficiency, smaller even than yours, packed into the back of the building. The decoration is sparse but effective: several low cushioned benches, not rectangular but slightly curved; a chest of many small drawers; stacks of books, many of them atlases and historical picture books. On the walls are some posters advertising shows, some of them obviously much more glamorous than the current material at the Scheherazade.

"So," she says, without preamble or any attempt to make you comfortable, "where did you get that?"

Her finger points at the pendant at your throat.

>1
"So you know what it is?"

"I heard it was missing," she says.  "There can't be many control sources of that size in the City.  So yes, I know what it is."

>1
"Maybe you could enlighten me, then."

She runs a hand through her hair, setting her bracelets jangling."You don't know?"

You shrug eloquently.  "I just found it," you say.  "I didn't ask for it or steal it from anyone.  It was just lying on the ground."

"Not without some fairly serious protections on it, it wasn't," remarks Scheherazade.  "Or Malik would have it back again already.  He's not a man to let that sort of thing go unattended to."

>1
"So what should I do with the pendant?"

"First," says the illusionist dryly, "you should refrain from accepting the advice of anyone who might tell you what to do with it."

"Yes, but--"

"Second, you should get it to Evaine, immediately.  The longer you wait, the worse things will be, and the better chance there is of Malik getting it back."

>2
"Do you know where I could find Evaine?"

"I can't take you to her."  She pulls up a seat and sits down in it, one foot tapping against the floor with repressed agitation.

>2
"Is that no, you don't know where she is, or no, you don't want to?"

"That means that if I led you anywhere, I would be leading Malik at the same time."  She gestures up at the ceiling, which you guess is meant to indicate the presence of a security system you can't actually see.

>1
"But you think I should take the pendant to her?"

"Yes.  And I do know how you can reach her.   Evaine keeps a refuge for the people like you who come into the City for the first time.  If you're not to be gotten by Malik--"

"Wait, what do you mean, 'gotten by Malik'?"

"Trains come in," she says.  "They don't go out.  No passenger who comes here leaves again."

>2
"So he's a serial killer? A cannibal? What?"

"You've seen the people on the street who have something wrong with them? People you can talk to, but who will not answer you? They are his victims, their souls ripped away to feed the power of his power source Crystal, which fuels all the illusions and the controls of his governing."

>2
"Like what?"

"All sorts of things.  Illusions to make those who oppose him look weak or stupid or corrupt.  Illusions to make people think that they are better off than they are, or to keep them from noticing things that ought to be obvious.  The great illusion of the sky, of course."

>2
"What kind of power would it take to put the whole City under an illusion?"

"The cost of that would be more than a single soul could sustain.  If I could bear to try it, it would destroy me."

"So it's impossible?"

"No.  I just said that I couldn't do it.  It would take a power source of considerable strength.  A dangerous power source."

>ask about power source
"Do you have a power source?"

"Yes.  But it is depleted now.  Look."

She strips one of the bangles from her wrist: it is covered, you see, with shards of white crystal, slightly warm to the touch.  "It gathers heat when it is used."

>1
"Do they all do that?"

"All the ones I've handled," she says. "Which is not in fact very many. A very large one would be even hotter and brighter than this."

There's a sharp knock from outside the room.

"Ah, here we are," says the illusionist, and she moves to open the door, admitting a man in spats, who looks faintly familiar, if only because his odd dress makes him notable.

"Excuse us for a moment," she says to you, and draws him aside to speak to him in words that somehow fail to carry even across the narrow space of a few feet.  Then she turns back to you.

"He will see you to where you need to go," she says.


"Here is what we shall do," says the man, taking out a pair of smoke-lensed glasses and putting them on.  His voice is low, pitched not to carry. "I am a blind man; you are my escort.  I'll keep my hand on your arm.  Keep chatter to a minimum; don't attract attention. We'll head towards the north end of the City, and I'll take you where we need to go."

He leads you downstairs, and Scheherazade's door clicks shut and vanishes behind you...

>undo
Scheherazade's Apartment
[Previous turn undone.]

>ask about refuge
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

There's a sharp knock from outside the room.

"Ah, here we are," says the illusionist, and she moves to open the door, admitting a man in spats, who looks faintly familiar, if only because his odd dress makes him notable.

"Excuse us for a moment," she says to you, and draws him aside to speak to him in words that somehow fail to carry even across the narrow space of a few feet.  Then she turns back to you.

"He will see you to where you need to go," she says.


"Here is what we shall do," says the man, taking out a pair of smoke-lensed glasses and putting them on.  His voice is low, pitched not to carry. "I am a blind man; you are my escort.  I'll keep my hand on your arm.  Keep chatter to a minimum; don't attract attention. We'll head towards the north end of the City, and I'll take you where we need to go."

He leads you downstairs, and Scheherazade's door clicks shut and vanishes behind you...

>undo
Scheherazade's Apartment
[Previous turn undone.]

>1
"Do they all do that?"

"All the ones I've handled," she says. "Which is not in fact very many. A very large one would be even hotter and brighter than this."

There's a sharp knock from outside the room.

"Ah, here we are," says the illusionist, and she moves to open the door, admitting a man in spats, who looks faintly familiar, if only because his odd dress makes him notable.

"Excuse us for a moment," she says to you, and draws him aside to speak to him in words that somehow fail to carry even across the narrow space of a few feet.  Then she turns back to you.

"He will see you to where you need to go," she says.


"Here is what we shall do," says the man, taking out a pair of smoke-lensed glasses and putting them on.  His voice is low, pitched not to carry. "I am a blind man; you are my escort.  I'll keep my hand on your arm.  Keep chatter to a minimum; don't attract attention. We'll head towards the north end of the City, and I'll take you where we need to go."

He leads you downstairs, and Scheherazade's door clicks shut and vanishes behind you...

>undo
Scheherazade's Apartment
[Previous turn undone.]

>ask about evaine
You contemplate your options.

>1
"How would Malik get the pendant?  I have it."

"And if he knew that, you wouldn't have it for long.  But fortunately, I think he is much too busy at the moment -- looking for that, looking for Evaine -- to pay too much attention to you."

There's a sharp knock from outside the room.

"Ah, here we are," says the illusionist, and she moves to open the door, admitting a man in spats, who looks faintly familiar, if only because his odd dress makes him notable.

"Excuse us for a moment," she says to you, and draws him aside to speak to him in words that somehow fail to carry even across the narrow space of a few feet.  Then she turns back to you.

"He will see you to where you need to go," she says.


"Here is what we shall do," says the man, taking out a pair of smoke-lensed glasses and putting them on.  His voice is low, pitched not to carry. "I am a blind man; you are my escort.  I'll keep my hand on your arm.  Keep chatter to a minimum; don't attract attention. We'll head towards the north end of the City, and I'll take you where we need to go."

He leads you downstairs, and Scheherazade's door clicks shut and vanishes behind you...

>undo
Scheherazade's Apartment
[Previous turn undone.]

>2
"So how do I find out how to get in?"

"It's protected by an illusion," she says.  "There's a way to turn the illusion off, though.  I know someone who can lead you."

There's a sharp knock from outside the room.

"Ah, here we are," says the illusionist, and she moves to open the door, admitting a man in spats, who looks faintly familiar, if only because his odd dress makes him notable.

"Excuse us for a moment," she says to you, and draws him aside to speak to him in words that somehow fail to carry even across the narrow space of a few feet.  Then she turns back to you.

"He will see you to where you need to go," she says.


"Here is what we shall do," says the man, taking out a pair of smoke-lensed glasses and putting them on.  His voice is low, pitched not to carry. "I am a blind man; you are my escort.  I'll keep my hand on your arm.  Keep chatter to a minimum; don't attract attention. We'll head towards the north end of the City, and I'll take you where we need to go."

He leads you downstairs, and Scheherazade's door clicks shut and vanishes behind you...

>undo
Scheherazade's Apartment
[Previous turn undone.]

>3
"How is Evaine fighting Malik?"

"Partly in open battle like the one today," she says.  "But that kind of strategy doesn't win; she has tried and failed to convince him or to overpower him directly.  She thought it would be the cleanest and least underhanded way, but now..."

She looks away for a moment. "It's obvious that that isn't working and that her own plans are not going to succeed unless she finds some better approach.  So she's been trying to find out what he's doing, and undermining his plans... he's been harvesting people, people like you who come in here innocently and don't know better."

There's a sharp knock from outside the room.

"Ah, here we are," says the illusionist, and she moves to open the door, admitting a man in spats, who looks faintly familiar, if only because his odd dress makes him notable.

"Excuse us for a moment," she says to you, and draws him aside to speak to him in words that somehow fail to carry even across the narrow space of a few feet.  Then she turns back to you.

"He will see you to where you need to go," she says.


"Here is what we shall do," says the man, taking out a pair of smoke-lensed glasses and putting them on.  His voice is low, pitched not to carry. "I am a blind man; you are my escort.  I'll keep my hand on your arm.  Keep chatter to a minimum; don't attract attention. We'll head towards the north end of the City, and I'll take you where we need to go."

He leads you downstairs, and Scheherazade's door clicks shut and vanishes behind you...

>1
"Sounds sensible to me."

"Excellent."

Behind his glasses, he looks back and forth, scanning the shadows for figures.
"That's up to Evaine."

"She'll see me?"

He looks at you sideways, his voice low.  "She isn't a goddess," he says.  "She speaks to people."
"She's a wanted woman. Of course she avoids seeing people if she doesn't know who they are."

"We will need to head east now," comments the man in spats.

>1
"I had the impression she tended to avoid conversations."

"She's a wanted woman. Of course she avoids seeing people if she doesn't know who they are."

The man in spats leads you on east.

Auriran Street
Much the same as when you first saw it, a Y-shaped piece of street mostly going somewhere else -- entertainment spots, including a bar or nightspot called the Scheherazade, to the west; the entrance northwest to Fianaga Park, framed by a pair of trees and giving onto a vista of trees and grass; the ring road that runs around the Old City Wall, connecting with May Street to the east and, in the other direction, wending up north into a clutter of smaller buildings.

Your escort stands beside you, leaning upon your arm.

>i
You are carrying a copper disk, a flyer, The Meditations of Queen Rine, a thin grey blanket, an invitation card, a Petra pass, six complimentary toiletry items (a tiny cake of soap, a tiny bottle of conditioner, a tiny bottle of shampoo, a canister of tooth paint, a small shaving device and a pair of curved scissors), a tourist brochure and Peter's letter. In addition, you are wearing a pendant and a watch.

The man in spats directs you north.

Ring Road, among Shops
Auriran Road becomes narrower and climbs steadily as it goes north, clinging to the side of the Old Town Wall to your east.  The shops also become smaller and less notable, and there is an increasing air of shabbiness.

Your escort stands beside you, leaning upon your arm.

In a little shack-like structure that clings to the overhanging wall, a tiny shop advertises: "Used Tech. Parts. Cheap."

>save
Saved.

>z
Time passes.

You move north.

Ring Road, among Houses
The houses here are old enough that the piping and wire-cables are retrofitted on the outside without proper shielding; everything is crowded together; the walls, orange and yellow and salmon-pink, are shedding plaster chunks.

The road curves around from south to east, following the wall, while a street that is almost a staircase leads down the northwest.

Your escort stands beside you, leaning upon your arm.

Walking in the shadows, a red-haired woman.  Every once in a while she stops to pick some imaginary bit of something from her clothes.

>x woman
Small wire-rimmed glasses; short unvarnished nails; a kind of settled practicality in her bearing and style.  She looks like the stereotype of a technical researcher: precise, intelligent, but with any hint of flair repressed.

Still.  In the light her hair gleams copper-red.

The man in spats leads you on east.

Deserted Plaza
The Ring Road widens here into the approximation of an actual plaza, but empty and silent, without pedestrians or vehicles.  To the north there stands the remains of a burned and gutted storefront, which, presumably, you could walk into if you wished; it does not look as though anyone has been there recently, though, or even tried to clean up the mess inside.

Your escort stands beside you, leaning upon your arm.

Across the street to the east is a gate of wood, supported on each side by a statue much taller than yourself and with the expression of an angel.

>think
You can think of things to say about  ...well, not much, really.  You must be more tired than you thought.

>sleep
You're awake and likely to stay that way.

The man's grip tightens on your arm. "Did you realize you're being tailed?" he asks.

>1
"What do you mean?"

"Ssh!" His fingers tighten further. "I'll handle it. Go north, and stand still." Obediently you head through the fragmenting door, into the shattered ruins among the ash. He pushes you to one side of the gaping doorway and goes to stand at the other.

>kill woman
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>n
You can go only south.

Your pursuer comes in through the door, and instantly your escort has her arms pinned behind and his elbow around her throat. Her eyes seek you out, watch you doubtfully, but she says nothing.  It's a woman in a grey cloak.

"What are you?" the man asks. "Agent? Or just common thief?"

Her mouth tightens. She's not going to say anything at all, you realize.

>kill woman
You're not by nature or skills a murderer.

"Well, look here."  The woman squirms.

"We can't have her follow us," he says brusquely, and your stomach drops; you don't want to see her strangled or shot or brained.

>undo
Ruin
[Previous turn undone.]

>2
"What are you going to do?"

"We can't have her follow us," he says brusquely, and your stomach drops; you don't want to see her strangled or shot or brained.

>undo
Ruin
[Previous turn undone.]

>1
"Don't kill her," you say.

Spats man stares at you. "We don't kill people," he says, exasperated. "That's the enemy's style, not ours. I admit it would be easier, at the moment -- shutting someone up without harming them is a dicier proposition."

>1
"What then?"

His fingers tighten around her throat. "Listen, girl," he says. "This is unpleasant, but there are unpleasanter things we could do, and I'm a little too pressed for time to come up with a better idea. This should wear off in a week or two." He turns to you. "Okay, curse her."

>curse woman
Uncomfortably, you turn your attention towards cursing her, muttering whatever words come to your mind at the same time -- something about binding her voice in her throat so that she will not be able to say anything.

It's not actually terribly difficult, you discover -- she seems not to be fighting it, or else her strength to do so is so slight that it doesn't count for much against the pendant.  What's hardest to overcome is the feeling that you're torturing a puppy: sinister as her presence is, she looks at the moment like a lost dog, unprotected by its owner, her eyes round and damp.

When you're done, she looks subdued and unhappy.  She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

The man in spats tugs at your elbow, leading you away from her.  You feel dazed; the sun is too bright.

Deserted Plaza
The Ring Road widens here into the approximation of an actual plaza, but empty and silent, without pedestrians or vehicles.  To the north there stands the remains of a burned and gutted storefront, which, presumably, you could walk into if you wished; it does not look as though anyone has been there recently, though, or even tried to clean up the mess inside.

Across the street to the east is a gate of wood, supported on each side by a statue much taller than yourself and with the expression of an angel.

>ask about curse
You can think of nothing to say about that.


The man in spats leads you east.

Old Campus
This was the heart of an academic campus, with cafeterias and classroom buildings and dormitories, but most of them have been sealed and grown over with ivy.  The doors along the north side seem still to be operational, however -- northeast to a low building with a pitched roof, northwest to a several-story structure with narrow windows.  Roughly to the south is an open building.

The Ring Road leads away to the west.

Your escort stands beside you, leaning upon your arm.

Partially defaced, an old map of the area stands here, carved in stone.

>ask about woman
You can think of nothing to say about that.

Together, you walk northeast.

Old Cafeteria
The room is huge, square, and mostly empty.  At intervals, octagonal columns support a beamed wooden ceiling, and the strangled remains of light fixtures hang from between the beams, no longer functional.  A filtered, shifting light, trembling with every movement of the ivy, comes in through the windows.

The whole of the wall opposite the windows is covered with an enormous mural, whose paint is beginning to fade.

The southwest doorway gapes open, and there are other, smaller passageways to the north and northeast.

Your escort stands beside you, leaning upon your arm.

>ask about magic
You can think of nothing to say about that.

Together, you continue northeast.

Faculty Dining Room
A smaller room than the main Cafeteria, and decorated with more restraint and a complete lack of wall-painting.

Glass doors face out east onto an open courtyard; west is the doorway into the kitchen, and to the southwest the cafeteria.

Your escort stands beside you, leaning upon your arm.

>z
Time passes.

Together, you continue east.

Three Sisters Courtyard
A bare patch, older and rougher than most of the buildings in the main part of campus.  The ground is paved in flagstones that no longer sit quite properly, making walking a bit of a hazard, if you are not careful.

The south side of the courtyard is taken up with a sculptured fountain, now dry.

At the eastern side is a temple of some sort, with deep and shadowed doors.

Your escort stands beside you, leaning upon your arm.

An orange tree grows in the center of the square, in a plot where the flagstones have been left out.

>z
Time passes.

Together, you walk east.

Gnostic Temple
Here is the flamboyant style of architecture at its ultimate extent: not a surface undecorated, not a window that does not end in a peaked arch.  Everything leaps upward, into the height of the silvered roof.

In the hollows gather intricate shadows, cast by the fine decoration, suggesting, in places, an eye, a hand, a gaping mouth.

Your escort stands beside you, leaning upon your arm.

Attached with bolts to one wall, next to the door, is a brass incense-burner, from which there is a faint glow and a slight curl of smoke.

Mounted on a tripod at the front is a lump of onyx, worn smooth by the touch of many hands.

>x man
Everything about his bearing bespeaks money and good taste; his face, however, is utterly vacant.


The man in spats touches the onyx stone.  There is a dull noise and a crackling, and then there opens a door in the north wall.

"There," says the man in spats, with some satisfaction.

>n
You duck through the hidden door and down a twisting passage, to come out blinking in the light again.

Moon Court
A semicircle of stone, half black, half white.  A deep arcaded passageway runs along the northern crescent side, supported by slender columns in the shape of women. They are dressed in a very archaic style, and support the ceiling with their upraised arms.

There are doors south and west.  The air lies still and calm.

Your escort stands beside you, leaning upon your arm.

The curved north wall is entirely grown over with ivy.  Which, on consideration, seems odd: even in this climate, there's no sun on it.

You can also see a dark door in the south wall here.

Addressing the ivy on the northern wall, the man speaks a word under his breath that you cannot hear.  Abruptly the ivy vanishes, leaving a doorway plainly visible.  He ushers you through a small foyer then on into a small chamber...


Council Chamber
There is a table at the center of the room. Most of the chairs surrounding it are empty and scattered, as though pushed back in haste.

A familiar-looking red-haired woman lounges at the back of the room, her shoulders squared against the wall.

The stocky woman in work clothing is keeping a close eye on you.

The man in spats whispers something in the ear of the stocky woman, and then waves at you encouragingly and goes out the door.

"Here's the deal," says the stocky woman conversationally.  "I check you over, and if you're all right I take you to see Evaine.  If you try anything funny, Evaine will be looking over your charred remains, instead."

>2
"Fine by me."

"I'm glad to hear it."

The woman opens a cupboard and fishes around in it.  After a moment, she emerges with some sort of strange wand, which she begins to fiddle with.  "I can never remember how these damned things work," she mutters to herself.

>x wand
Black, and about as long as your forearm, though considerably slenderer. You haven't actually encountered such things before, so you are uncertain whether it is checking for transmissions or whether it has some other, subtler mechanism for detecting bugs.

Evidently she has finally figured out how to work the wand-object, because it makes the humming noise of an electrical device coming to life, and the light at the end glows purple.

>save
Saved.

>curse woman
Which do you mean, the red-haired woman or the stocky woman?

>stocky
You can't bring yourself to attempt anything of the sort.

("Here we go," she says, and begins methodically to wave the device along each of your legs.  It makes any conversation a bit awkward, admittedly, but she seems quite professional and determined.)

>curse me
You can't bring yourself to attempt anything of the sort.

She proceeds with the wand-checking of your torso.  You repress the urge to squirm.

>1
"I must say, I was hoping for a slightly more friendly reception."

"If you're clean, I'm the first one who'll welcome you with open arms," she says brusquely.  "But if you're a friend, you understand how desperate our situation is.  And if you're an enemy, well--  I haven't much pity."

She gets to your shoulders, then checks down along each arm.

"Clean as a whistle," she remarks after a moment, with obvious relief.  "Very well.  I'd like to know more about what you're doing here, but the sooner Evaine sees you, the better."

You follow along down the hall...

Observatory
A hollow dome closed against the sky.  The well of darkness is partly lit by branches of candles, but most lies in obscurity, the giant equipment, the telescope and the platform that go with it, in odd-shaped shadows.

Evaine is here, lying on a long chair like a woman in some antique novel, candles glowing pale around her.  At first you think she is asleep, but you catch the glimmer of her stare.

"Look what Michael brought us," says the woman behind you.

"A spy?" Evaine asks.  "Or a refugee?"

"Refugee, as near as we can tell.  We checked him for bugs, but he's clean.  He also doesn't appear to possess any money or travel papers, but he's definitely foreign.  You can tell by his accent."

"Then why didn't you--"

The woman cuts off whatever Evaine is about to suggest.  "Because he also has the pendant," she says.  "I thought you'd be interested."

Evaine sits up suddenly, and stares at you.  "So he does," she says slowly.  She nods to the woman.  "I think I'd better speak with him alone, in that case."

When she moves the shadows move with her, like the train of a long dress. The candle flames dwindle to tiny slips of red, clinging to their wicks. You instinctively step back as she approaches; Evaine laughs, and it is not a comradely laugh.

"I apologize for my appearance," she says. It is a vidstar's voice, grey velvet and thin steel. "I don't have the strength to waste on looking more usual." She throws back her hood and her hair flows out, a cascade of liquid black, and in the structure of her face, the sharp arch of her eyebrows, is the dead lineage of nobility, all arrogance, command, and inborn power.

"Are you alone?" Her gaze flicks over you, taking in-- something; who knows what details she is reading in your beaten clothes and the lines of your face. In a rush you remember what you felt when you first saw her: not desire, not longing, not trust, but something unspeakable, like what you felt the morning you came into your mother's room and there was no breathing.

"Are you alone?" she repeats. "Does anyone know where you are?"

>heal woman
Nothing changes.

>3
"Malik knows," you say boldly.  "He sent me here."

"A forthright spy," she says. "How unusual."

>2
"The bug is gone now, so I'm on my own."

"Ah."

A pause.

"We've met before," she remarks.  "I know I've seen you."

>1
"Yes, in the train station.  You asked me the time."

"Yes." Her gaze flickers. "It seems like a million years ago. I apologize for not remembering sooner." She breathes deeply. "You were frightened."

>2
"Not as much as I am now."

She looks into you, enigmatic. "Flattery will gain you nothing," she purrs.

You can feel the air stir as she moves; she can't be far from you.

Her head tilts, and she takes another step forward. You can feel her breath on your skin.

"I am sorry," she adds, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Everything is black as midnight to me now. I can't see you unless I am as close as this." Her hand moves out towards you, and she catches herself on your shoulder. "I know you people hate to be touched, but I have no strength."

>2
"You seemed to be able to see the pendant," you point out.

"Yes, the pendant," she says, and she half turns away from you, her arm still weighing on your shoulder. "If you had recently been stabbed, I think you would be quite aware of blades."

She shifts her position, clothing rustling.  "Why did you come here, if you weren't sent by Malik?"

>1
"I thought you would be able to do something if I brought the pendant to you. I didn't realize that you were--"

"I'm not dying," she says swiftly, her voice tightening. "Wounded, but not fatally. I need only time."

She sighs.  "You'd better rest," she says.  "We have more talking to do, but I am ill and you, whether you know it or not, have been the victim of many kinds of manipulation."  She leads you through corridors and down stairs, into a room that is wholly dark...

The sleep is subtle, fitful, and full of music.  In your dreams you seem to see her walking, sometimes alone, sometimes with a companion whose face is not revealed.

And then--


Clinging to Ice
You are inside a crevasse, clinging to the sheer wall of ice that ascends above you and descends beneath you.  Your fingers dig into the ice cracks; the spikes of your boots bite its face, keeping you from a bitter demise.

Above you on safe ground are Evaine and Malik.  You can hear them, and you know they are there, but you can't see them, only a jagged slash of occluded sky.

> undo
Observatory
[Previous turn undone.]

>heal evaine
Nothing changes.

You can feel the air stir as she moves; she can't be far from you.

She purses her lips at your silence. "Curiosity? Desire to interfere? I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it?"

>undo
Observatory
[Previous turn undone.]

>2
"Because I'd like one day to get out of here," you say. "You seemed to be the only person around here with the power to help me."

"In that respect you are probably right," she says. "Though it remains to be seen whether I can do anything for anyone."

>1
"What do you mean?"

Her expression closes.

She sighs.  "You'd better rest," she says.  "We have more talking to do, but I am ill and you, whether you know it or not, have been the victim of many kinds of manipulation."  She leads you through corridors and down stairs, into a room that is wholly dark...

The sleep is subtle, fitful, and full of music.  In your dreams you seem to see her walking, sometimes alone, sometimes with a companion whose face is not revealed.

And then--


Clinging to Ice
You are inside a crevasse, clinging to the sheer wall of ice that ascends above you and descends beneath you.  Your fingers dig into the ice cracks; the spikes of your boots bite its face, keeping you from a bitter demise.

Above you on safe ground are Evaine and Malik.  You can hear them, and you know they are there, but you can't see them, only a jagged slash of occluded sky.

>undo
Observatory
[Previous turn undone.]

>undo
Observatory
[Previous turn undone.]

>1
"I thought you would be able to do something if I brought the pendant to you. I didn't realize that you were--"

"I'm not dying," she says swiftly, her voice tightening. "Wounded, but not fatally. I need only time."

She sighs.  "You'd better rest," she says.  "We have more talking to do, but I am ill and you, whether you know it or not, have been the victim of many kinds of manipulation."  She leads you through corridors and down stairs, into a room that is wholly dark...

The sleep is subtle, fitful, and full of music.  In your dreams you seem to see her walking, sometimes alone, sometimes with a companion whose face is not revealed.

And then--


Clinging to Ice
You are inside a crevasse, clinging to the sheer wall of ice that ascends above you and descends beneath you.  Your fingers dig into the ice cracks; the spikes of your boots bite its face, keeping you from a bitter demise.

Above you on safe ground are Evaine and Malik.  You can hear them, and you know they are there, but you can't see them, only a jagged slash of occluded sky.

>i
You are carrying nothing, but you are wearing a pendant and a watch.

She: Everything lies; all deceives.

He: I have obliterated lies.  In the light, there is only truth.

>jump
Painfully you uncurl your fingers-- panicking at the last moment, when it is too late, and you can no longer regain your grip--


Someone shakes you awake.

In a Small Darkness
No light anywhere.  Deep underground. Rough floor under your palms.  Your clothes, uncomfortable after being repeatedly slept in. Evaine, a presence which is part scent in the air, part sound, part certainty.

"Are you all right?"  Her voice is a dry whisper.

>undo
Clinging to Ice
[Previous turn undone.]

>curse malik
You can't bring yourself to attempt anything of the sort.

She: The light is a lie.

From somewhere beneath you, deep in the crevasse, comes a groan of shifting ice that stretches, somehow, into a sounding note, bass, sustained.

>heal
What do you want to heal?

>me
Nothing changes.

He: (startled) What is that?

She: The source of the illusion.

The ice vibrates beneath your cheek.

>z

She: You have heard the song, but you have not understood;
    you have taken the words but not the music,
    the tune but not the harmony,
    that which lies on the face but not that which the face conceals...

Your fingers grow numb and slip on the ice.


Someone shakes you awake.

In a Small Darkness
No light anywhere.  Deep underground. Rough floor under your palms.  Your clothes, uncomfortable after being repeatedly slept in. Evaine, a presence which is part scent in the air, part sound, part certainty.

"Are you all right?"  Her voice is a dry whisper.

>2
"I had a bad dream," you explain.  "I was clinging to the side of a cliff. Freezing."

"I guessed that when I heard you screaming," she replies, her voice gentle and full of humor.

Her hand brushes the side of your face, casual enough to be an accident.  You hold your breath.

>1
"You and Malik were both there."

There's a long pause.  "Could Malik see you from up there?" she asks.  "Did he look over and see you at any point?"

You shrug, before you realize that she can't see the gesture.  "I couldn't see him, so I assume not," you say reasonably, though in the dream you somehow knew that they both knew you were there, and were ignoring you.

>1
"You were talking, but it was like lines from a play."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well--"  You take a moment to try to think of what you mean, but all you get for your pains is a pointless memory of being forced to see an Engkratian play for school, something interminable with a magic alligator-woman.

"It didn't sound as though you were trying to convince each other," you conclude lamely.  "It was more like a litany, or a duet: you'd each say your side and all the lines matched up..."

"Ah."

>3
"I fell.  In the dream.  I fell off the side of a crevasse and died."

"Naturally," she replies.  "One always does-- fall-- in such dreams."

There is a slight rustle in the darkness beside you; you think she has just sat down, adjusting her clothing about her.

>2
"Does the falling have some special meaning, or something?"

"No; that's just always what happens," she replies, as though talking to a child. "It's a pattern."

"I suppose," you say dubiously.  "But this seemed-- significant, in some way."

"...Of failure, maybe," she muses.  "Though not, I pray, an omen."

>undo
In a Small Darkness
[Previous turn undone.]

>kiss her
(Evaine)
For all her beauty there is a kind of crackling power about her that makes you keep your distance.  She sees too much for your comfort.

She shifts her position, clothing rustling.  "You should realize," she remarks, "that that was not your dream that you saw.  You were just a side character in it."

>1
"Not my dream? Whose dream was it?"

"At a guess I would say it was Malik's," she replies.  "If he is sleeping now."

"I was in Malik's dream?" you ask.

"Yes, but he couldn't see you," she says.  "He knew you were there but he wasn't in sight of you.  It must be driving him insane not knowing who you are, or where you are, or what you're going to do."

>1
"What are you talking about?  He's met me," you say.  "In fact, from the way he spoke to me I wouldn't be surprised if he had an entire dossier on me.  Probably pulled up my records from Valodsci and has my work history and my school grades back to the age of four, along with video footage of every time I've sneezed since stepping off the train in the City.  He probably knows more about me than I do."

"Very likely," Evaine agrees.  "But that's not the person he's worried about.  The person he's looking for is the one who took the pendant from the dark patch, and thereby circumvented whatever he was planning to do to get it back."

She paces, quick footsteps between you and the opposite wall.

"That person probably has quite a different profile in Malik's mind," she goes on, after a moment. "And he doesn't know which side that person is on.  Hence, perhaps, the little debate enacted for the benefit of this unseen listener, with me on one side and himself on the other."

>give pendant to evaine
You find you don't want to.

>take pendant
You already have that.

There's a distant movement somewhere out beyond the chamber you're in, but nothing threatening.

"How did you get the pendant?"

>1
"I wandered into a dark place on Auriran Street. It was just lying there, on the ground."

"Ah." The floor whispers with the movement of cloth on stone -- her sleeve, the hem of her cloak. "Did you see whether there was a man there? A wounded man?"

>3
"Yah, there was," you say. (Have you always sounded like such a northern idiot?) "I carried him out."

She lets go a breath she was holding. "One less loss, then," she says.

>2
"Was he someone you know?"

"I don't know anything about him, except that he hurled himself in after me," she replies. "If I asked around, I might be able to find out what happened to him. But if Malik got him... possibly not. Sometimes we have only silence to go on."

>undo
In a Small Darkness
[Previous turn undone.]

>1
"How did you make that dark patch on Auriran Street?" you ask.

"It's a hole in Malik's illusion," she says. "Or it was -- and with an additional protection on it, to prevent people from crossing between one state and the other too easily. I didn't want Malik getting back in there and taking the pendant back; and I didn't really want someone else getting in there either."

>2
"How are you feeling, by the way?" you ask. "Are you recovered?"

"I'm somewhat better than I was, thank you. To be fully recovered will probably take me a while longer."

>1
"Was the man in the dark patch someone you know?"

"I don't know anything about him, except that he hurled himself in after me," she replies. "If I asked around, I might be able to find out what happened to him. But if Malik got him... possibly not. Sometimes we have only silence to go on."

>1
"I take it that this happens frequently."

"People disappearing?" she asks.  "Yes.  People who have no friends or relatives are taken openly, but those with connections tend to simply disappear; the City offices disclaim all knowledge.  They always say that the person might have run off voluntarily.  Sometimes they even claim that they're making an investigation into the person's whereabouts."

>1
"That man needs to be killed."

"His death isn't really the main issue."

>1
"Perhaps you're right," you say. "Just torture, then. A prolonged life of misery would be much more fitting, when I think about it."

"I would not have guessed you for such a vengeful type," she remarks. "I had the impression northerners all had ice in their veins and under their tongues, and no one ever felt anything very strongly. You don't find it bad taste to be so emphatic?"

>say no
"We tend to get a little testy about being taken advantage of."

"Ah." A moment passes. "I'll do what I can to take him out of power," she assures you. "I hope that will be punishment enough; I'm fairly certain that he would see it as the worst possible outcome."

She walks over to the door of the room and opens it -- you can tell by the thin line of grey, barely brighter than the absolute black.  "I'm going now," she says.  "I will see you again-- well.  I hope to see you again."

"Good luck," you say.

>i
It is utterly dark here.

From outside the room, you hear voices, Evaine's and someone else's.

"You're leaving now?"

"Yes," she says.  "It's getting dark out beyond the illusion. I think it's time."

>ask evaine about magic
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>t next
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

"You should wait a little longer," says the other voice, urgently.  "You've had a difficult--"

"Yes," she interrupts.  "You think two hours of sleep is going to make a difference?  Try two months."

"Evaine, what did he...?"

>up
You can't locate an exit.

"Enough," she says. "I can't tell you about it-- I can't talk about it." There are tears in her voice.  "Please, I don't want the others to--"

"Ssh, ssh, I'm sorry," he replies.  "I shouldn't have asked, but this is my point.  Let yourself recover."

"We don't have the luxury to let me recover," she replies tightly, every word enunciated. "Malik will start using the Crystal again.  Losing the pendant will have set him back for a bit, but soon he will get desperate enough to go on without it."

"It doesn't do any good if you go out there and die," says the man, angrily.  "You're going to kill yourself."

>heal evaine
There's nothing around fitting that description.

>wake
You are already awake; not that this reality bears much resemblance to the one you've lived for the last 27 years.

"I thought we had already agreed," she replies, in a soft voice, much gentler and more familiar than anything you've heard her use before.  "Michael, you know this is the only chance we're going to have.  If I can disenchant it now, it'll be over."

"I know, I just don't want you to..." His voice goes so quiet that you can't make out more than the tone, pleading and frustrated. She responds in the same low voice.

>z
You concentrate on the voices just outside.

"...promise me that when this is over you'll see a healer," he says. "Get Scherry to have a look at you."

"This isn't Scherry's line of work."

"Someone, then," he replies insistently.

She's silent.

>z
You concentrate on the voices just outside.

"All right," he says.  "I won't push this now... but tell me, what am I supposed to do with snowboy in there?"

"Just let him be," she says.  "He's out of his element, and exhausted.  I think he has done and seen more today than in all the rest of his life combined."

>z
You try to divert yourself with various thoughts, and find your mind wandering over the most obscure corners of your childhood, places you have not visited in Valodsci for a long time, your mother's moods and ways, things that didn't quite fit; everything in the course of your youth that you never quite understood, and hoped to comprehend later.  And end up, and the end of it, back where you started, waiting for Evaine.

>sleep
You close your eyes, and try to sleep again; the darkness under your eyelids looks the same as the darkness above, and neither comforts you.

>escape
You would pace, but it is difficult, in a room where you don't know the location of the walls.  The chance of bumping into things is too real.

>i
It is utterly dark here.

>concentrate
That's not a verb I recognize.

>dream
You close your eyes, and try to sleep again; the darkness under your eyelids looks the same as the darkness above, and neither comforts you.

>curse
Quite.

>heal me
Nothing changes.

>think
You ponder aimlessly.

>verb
That's not a verb I recognize.

>hint
Help menu displayed.

>exit
You feel along the wall nearest you, and fail to find anything resembling an exit.

>jump
You do, and discover that the ceiling is closer to your own height than you would like.  A burst of white pain, --


              The world
                                      tilts.

You're thrown, hard: the ground is trying to cast you off.  It is as though--

You understand belatedly what it is: earthquake. It feels like the end of the world, but it is only an earthquake.  Or should that be: it is an earthquake, which is one of the infallible signs of the end of the world?

And then you think: you are in a tunnel.  Underground.

>w
You scramble along the walls, feeling for the door, but it's as though the stone has sealed around you; your breath catches in your throat.

A thin line of cold fire appears, a floating rectangle in the darkness, like some odd apparition; then you realize it is only the outline of the door, and the next moment it swings open, revealing the silhouette of a woman, not Evaine, but heavier and less tall.

"She said that if anything happened we were supposed to let you out," says the woman. You can't quite make out her face in the darkness; you take a few steps towards her but she's still inscrutable. "Not that I know what good that's going to do."

>1
"What's going on?"

"Did you feel the quake?" she demands.

"Of course I felt it," you reply. "But what does it mean?"

"We've been watching the holovid since she went out," the woman says. "Malik's announcing that he's defeated her."

>
I beg your pardon?

>1
"Defeated?" you repeat.  "So she's --"

"Not necessarily." She sighs. "We sent her out wearing a little transmitter, in case-- in case she got captured somewhere and we had to try to rescue her."

>1
"Then you know where she is?"

"The transmitter stopped transmitting."

"Oh."

"But we got a recording of a piece of conversation before it went out. Something about Malik finding her and saying that she couldn't hope to disenchant the Crystal without the pendant."

>1
"I have the pendant."

"We know." She cocks her head towards you. "And Michael thinks you should be sent out, to see if you can get close and use the pendant against the Crystal. He says it can't make things any worse, and it might fix them."

>2
"All right.  What do I have to do?"

"Just get out there and let the enforcers pick you up. And when you get near the Crystal, you--" She pauses, swears. "I don't know. You resist it. I can't tell you more than that, because I don't know, but maybe it will be clear when the time comes."

"Then you're going to send me?"

"Yes," she says.

She lets you out through long passages in the total darkness, guiding you with a hand on your elbow: you would never find your way back alone. And you come out suddenly blinking into the light.

"Go," she says.  "Go get yourself arrested."

Moon Court
A semicircle of stone, half black, half white.  A deep arcaded passageway runs along the northern crescent side, supported by slender columns in the shape of women. They are dressed in a very archaic style, and support the ceiling with their upraised arms.

There are doors south and west.  The air lies still and calm.

At the midpoint of the semi-circle is the double entrance door to a round building: an observatory.

You can also see a dark door in the south wall here.

>save
Saved.

>s

Gnostic Temple
Here is the flamboyant style of architecture at its ultimate extent: not a surface undecorated, not a window that does not end in a peaked arch.  Everything leaps upward, into the height of the silvered roof.

In the hollows gather intricate shadows, cast by the fine decoration, suggesting, in places, an eye, a hand, a gaping mouth.

Attached with bolts to one wall is a brass incense burner, which contains a burnt-out lump of incense.

Mounted on a tripod at the front is a lump of onyx, worn smooth by the touch of many hands.

You can also see a (formerly) hidden door leading north here.

>s
You can go only out, west or north.

>w

Three Sisters Courtyard
A bare patch, older and rougher than most of the buildings in the main part of campus.  The ground is paved in flagstones that no longer sit quite properly, making walking a bit of a hazard, if you are not careful.

The south side of the courtyard is taken up with a sculptured fountain, now dry.

At the eastern side is a temple of some sort, with deep and shadowed doors.

An orange tree grows in the center of the square, in a plot where the flagstones have been left out.

>w
(first opening the glass doors)
You open the glass doors.

Faculty Dining Room
A smaller room than the main Cafeteria, and decorated with more restraint and a complete lack of wall-painting.

Glass doors face out east onto an open courtyard; west is the doorway into the kitchen, and to the southwest the cafeteria.

>sw

Old Cafeteria
The room is huge, square, and mostly empty.  At intervals, octagonal columns support a beamed wooden ceiling, and the strangled remains of light fixtures hang from between the beams, no longer functional.  A filtered, shifting light, trembling with every movement of the ivy, comes in through the windows.

The whole of the wall opposite the windows is covered with an enormous mural, whose paint is beginning to fade.

The southwest doorway gapes open, and there are other, smaller passageways to the north and northeast.

>sw

Old Campus
This was the heart of an academic campus, with cafeterias and classroom buildings and dormitories, but most of them have been sealed and grown over with ivy.  The doors along the north side seem still to be operational, however -- northeast to a low building with a pitched roof, northwest to a several-story structure with narrow windows.  Roughly to the south is an open building.

The Ring Road leads away to the west.

Partially defaced, an old map of the area stands here, carved in stone.

>s

Lounge
At some time or other this room seems to have been a lounge, where students might have gathered.  There is a tattered loveseat pushed to one side, and there is a broad sheet of corkboard on the west wall, covered with papers. To the north is the open doorway back to the campus, and there is a staircase climbing one wall.

>n

Old Campus
This was the heart of an academic campus, with cafeterias and classroom buildings and dormitories, but most of them have been sealed and grown over with ivy.  The doors along the north side seem still to be operational, however -- northeast to a low building with a pitched roof, northwest to a several-story structure with narrow windows.  Roughly to the south is an open building.

The Ring Road leads away to the west.

Partially defaced, an old map of the area stands here, carved in stone.

The breeze picks up for a moment, rustling in the ivy on the buildings.

>w

Deserted Plaza
Still quiet, still deserted; apparently people are staying tight at home.  The burned storefront to the north doesn't even look much different, though it would be hard to tell at this point if anything had fallen there.

Across the street to the east is a gate of wood, supported on each side by a statue much taller than yourself and with the expression of an angel.

>s
You can go only in, west, east or north.

>s
You can go only in, west, east or north.

>w

Ring Road, among Houses
Surprisingly, the elderly houses along this stretch of road don't seem to have suffered too terribly from the shaking they got, though some of the piping has come loose and there are places where (you think) some of the plaster chunks are newly-shed.  But none of them have fallen into a heap of powder, which is a reassuring sign for their inhabitants.

The road curves around from south to east, following the old city wall, which is similarly undestroyed, while a street so steep that it is almost a staircase leads down the northwest.

>s

Ring Road, among Shops
The treacherous road broadens as it descends into the city. The Old Town Wall stands to the east, and if you look up at the right times you can see over it to the Fortress itself, but for the most part the road is too far below the wall for anything to be visible but a bulk of bricks and the foliage of the trees that grow above.

Small shops mark the beginning of the commercial district on Auriran Road, to the south.

The Used Tech shop you saw on your way through here earlier is closed now, with bars rolled across the flimsy windows, and a padlock on the door.

>s

Auriran Street
Quieter than it was before.  Northwest the entrance of Fianaga Park is still open, framed by a pair of shadowy trees.  The old city wall to the northeast looks undamaged, which is fortunate, seeing as it's extremely old masonry.

Everything's almost normal, but you don't like the very faint smell of something brackish that hangs in the air.

>map



>e

North May Street
The glossy buildings seem to have suffered more than the older ones: some of plate glass windows are broken, and the brilliance of the area is a bit dimmed.  The older houses have lost some trim and plaster in spots, but seem for the most part to have survived their rattling.  There are a few stores: to the southwest, a jewelry shop, which appears to be closed down for the moment, and to the southeast, in one of the older buildings, an antiquarian bookstore.

Somewhere up the hill a pipe has broken, and there's water running down the middle of the road, dirty water the color of rust.  A smell hangs in the air as well, presumably from the same source.

The wall of baked brick has lost more of its plaster, and the gate into the Old City has been closed off -- not with a grey force barrier this time, but with solid wood and bars.

>e
You can go only southwest, southeast, west, south or north.

One of the green trolleys rumbles past, the poster on its side advertising Petra Valourim's latest vid.

>s

South May Street
On the climbing curve of the street, among stately buildings painted in pale shades of gold and grey and pink, ornamented at the windows with metalwork; most of the windows are shuttered and the doors are barred, and the lines seem just off-true, perhaps from foundations newly resettling.

Narrow alleys run east and west.

Somewhere up the hill a pipe has broken, and there's water running down the middle of the road, dirty water the color of rust.  A smell hangs in the air as well, presumably from the same source.

A trolley slides past, the poster on its side advertising the Scheherazade Bar.

>e

East Alley
Narrow and clear, running from east to west, with the green door opening into Malik's offices to your north.

>knock
(on the green door)
You step up and knock boldly on the green door.

The door swings open.  "Well, imagine that," says the Enforcement Chief.  "I did say you seemed cooperative but I admit I didn't expect you to just deliver yourself like a birthday present."

You stand firm, trying not to protest as the men emerge, pinion your arms, and take you away under arrest...



Leading you into the old fortress, the guard takes you into a staircase without markers or signs.  Through the slit of a window you can make out a bare patch of dry grass.

"Come downstairs."  He pushes you towards the door.  Obediently you head down the winding stairs, which turn steadily counterclockwise, into the earth.

The last door he pushes open, and shoves you through. You blink in surprise.  This isn't what you'd expected, this dank tomb without light of any kind.

"I was waiting for you to appear."  Malik stands beside you.  "I normally don't have the time to attend these, but for you, I made an exception."

>2
"This place is a bit... dark, for you, don't you think?"

He says nothing.

"I only ask because I've gotten the impression that you prefer, you know, bright light."

"Hush.  I'm about to show you how night becomes day."

At the center of the room, a light begins to grow.  It is at first no more than a pinprick, but startlingly brilliant.  Then it grows, and you see that it is coming from someone, a prisoner in chains.  The chains themselves almost burn, as the body of the prisoner becomes brighter and brighter.

"Malik!" says Simon's voice, from inside the light. "Is that you here? Yes, it is you. Let me go, or I'm going to slap you with an interjurisdictional suit that'll make your head spin."

"You'd have to survive long enough to do so," Malik remarks mildly.

>curse malik
You can't bring yourself to attempt anything of the sort.

>1
"Let him go!"

"Oh, he's part of the demonstration," Malik replies. "I can't let him go until I've shown you what I brought you here to see."

Simon twists around, struggling to face the guards. "Did you know that you can be named as co-defendants for this? Assisting in a human rights violation carries a minimum punishment of twenty years' penal servitude."

The guards turn to look at Malik. "Ignore him," Malik says. "Finish him off now."

>resist
That's not a verb I recognize.

>1
"He's right, you know!" you shout at the guards.  "You could all be sentenced for this.  Think about it! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in the mines of Valod?"

"They know," Malik interrupts, and in just as loud a voice, "that no one from another jurisdiction can do anything to them without my permission. The only thing they have to fear is me."

"Hey!" Simon screams. "I'm wired, you bastards! I've got a microphone broadcasting every word you say back to a recording camera! You think you're the only ones who can do the surveillance routine? Hey! You're writing your own death warrants! Stop it, you dumb f--"

His voice goes silent, and the light grows from the crystal, brighter and brighter.

>x crystal
So bright you can barely look at it.

You can see it now, the famed Crystal.  The glimmering light catches it, casts through it and breaks upon the walls.

Simon struggles, averting his face.

"The Crystal feeds upon whatever you choose to give it," says Malik; "even resistance."

Simon's memories begin to fragment; you can see them, like flickering film projected on a screen, for a moment at a time: the central plaza of Smirnisc, a room crammed with people (that must be university, you think, though the image is already past when you realize it), a capable older woman in business clothing for whom you feel strong affection, even though you have never met her...

>push malik
You're tempted, but it would be unlikely that you would get very far before dying a messy death.

They go by faster now: some faces, unfamiliar; yourself, unnervingly, except that you look taller than you are; the train, rattling, jolting; alpine flowers, a funeral, an old man in a nursing home, a broken window, the smell of cinnamon... and then a broad sea of ice, with the sun sitting on the horizon, and the deep groan of a glacier calving...

>resist
That's not a verb I recognize.

>curse crystal
You concentrate.
You set your will against the Crystal.  There is a moment of wrenching where it lets go its hold on Simon, and then it rushes over you...        light
               stars
         ice

     a long shadow...


Dream of Snow
You're on a bare street in the midst of the whirling snow.  Alleys lead away north and south from the desolate plaza; in the center rises the statue of Markolis Ambolin, who founded Valodsci at the beginning, and died in its mines.

The pendant is around your neck, shining -- the light in this bitter darkness, against the storm.  It casts your shadow out behind you.

Slowly there separates from the dark shape of the monument another silhouette, so familiar that your heart stills: a hood, a cape, deep eyes.  She is walking towards you, her stride long in the snow.

"Evaine!"

She glances behind her.  "Watch out: I think you brought him in with you."

"'Him'?"

"Malik.  He brought me to the Crystal, I fought against it, and I wound up... here. I'm not sure how long I've been here.  But I thought I saw him come through too, when you did."

"Yes, I did," he says, coming into sight.

>1
"You look dreadful," you say, hovering near Evaine.

"She was foolish enough to think that she could dispel the Crystal with a spell," Malik remarks, walking towards you through the snow. "And now she's paying for it."

>1
"What's happening to her?" you demand of Malik.

Malik glances at Evaine. "What's happening to her is that she found her own way to sacrifice herself to the Crystal. Everyone does, in the end."

>1
"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he says, "that it will take your power with or without your consent." A smile flickers, then is gone. "I have never brought it anyone it couldn't break, eventually."

>1
"Is that where we are? Inside the Crystal?"

"We're in the world beneath," Malik says. "A level lower than our own world, almost the deepest of universes. The power of the Crystal comes from here, and when you tried to fight it, you got brought down here to face it in person."

>1
"Is this what happens to everyone?"

"For a little while at least; most go mad more quickly, or snap, but you seem to have brought a little extra protection."

Neither of you says anything for a moment, both lost in thought.

"So, Thomas," she whispers, looking up. "Here we are again."

He looks down into her face thoughtfully, his expression solemn. "Yes," he says. "I believe you're dying, my dear."

>1
"As if you care," you erupt. "You hypocritical goat. Leave her alone!"

Malik raises his eyebrows, and continues talking to Evaine. "Quite the gallant young protector you brought with you."

"I didn't mean to bring him," she remarks. Her eyes fix on you for a moment, apologetic. "He seems to have been sent after me by someone else."

For a moment you catch the scent of something floral, but it is gone again, too quickly to identify.

Evaine's forehead wrinkles. "Why are you here, Thomas? I thought you were going to go and finish destroying my City. Free of me, free to do whatever damned thing you pleased."

His eyes drop. "The pendant dragged me through," he says. He points at you. "He went up against the Crystal and got pulled in, but I got pulled in as well."

>curse malik
You don't really dare.

For a moment you catch the scent of something floral, but it is gone again, too quickly to identify.

Evaine laughs faintly. "And now we're trapped here, the three of us?" she asks. "What a perfectly stunning outcome for it all, Thomas. No one wins. I do congratulate you."

He drops to one knee next to her. "I didn't mean it to come out like this," he says urgently. "You know that. I was..."

Her eyes snap open and she stares at him; even from where you're standing you can feel the force of that glare. "You gave away your soul, Thomas, and I know it. I have heard your dreams."

>undo
Dream of Snow
[Previous turn undone.]

>smell
You smell nothing unexpected.

For a moment you catch the scent of something floral, but it is gone again, too quickly to identify.

Evaine laughs faintly. "And now we're trapped here, the three of us?" she asks. "What a perfectly stunning outcome for it all, Thomas. No one wins. I do congratulate you."

He drops to one knee next to her. "I didn't mean it to come out like this," he says urgently. "You know that. I was..."

Her eyes snap open and she stares at him; even from where you're standing you can feel the force of that glare. "You gave away your soul, Thomas, and I know it. I have heard your dreams."

>1
"Please tell me we're not going to be here forever."

Malik looks at you. "I don't think so," he says dryly. "It's still possible to die of exposure, even in a place like this."

>1
"Surely there are buildings...?"

"I think you'll find that you can't go very far," Evaine says. "I tried wandering when I first got here, but all the streets dead end, and all the doors are locked." Her eyes search for yours. "And when I tried to break the windows, my fist just bounced off again."

>1
"And no one would let you in?"

"There's no one here," she says.  "Just the three of us."

>1
"Then where did they all go?" you ask, turning around and around, your tracks the first in the fresh snow. "This is one of the main plazas. There should be dozens-- hundreds of people coming through here at any given moment, at least during the day."

"There were never any people here at all," she says. "This isn't your world."

Malik adds, "It seems that we are caught inside a dream of your construction."

The light around Evaine expands and blossoms, until the sky above her seems torn. Even not standing immediately next to her there is a great heat.  The snow around her feet begins to melt.

Malik watches, frowning.  "There was never power like this in anyone else I had to offer..."

>ask evaine about malik
You can think of nothing to say about that.

"Great power indeed," says yet a third voice, a figure you can barely see among the whirling snow.  He steps forward, into the light, brushing flakes from his factory uniform. A northerner, someone like you.  "Now that I'm this far, the last little distance from dream to reality should be little difficulty."

"NO!" says Malik, losing his calm for the first time since you met him.  "No, I'm not ready yet."

The grey-clad figure smiles.  "When I gave you the Crystal, I said you would have time. I did not say how much."

>1
"Wait, you gave the Crystal to Malik?"

"I did indeed."

>1
You turn to Malik, confused. "Who is this person, anyway? Or what is he?"

Malik shakes his head. "He's-- it is a force from beyond the world you are familiar with." He laughs grimly, his breath puffing in the freezing air. "You've meddled more deeply than you knew, foreigner."

"And so have you," cuts in the figure in grey, speaking to Malik. "There is no one now living who knows what I am." His eyes glitter as they turn to you. "This one is at least humble enough to admit his ignorance."

>undo
Dream of Snow
[Previous turn undone.]

>2
"Why did you do that?"

"It seemed opportune," he remarks. "He appeared an apt and malleable pupil." He looks thoughtful. "Good men are the easiest to corrupt, you know."

>1
"Presumably because there's no need to corrupt bad ones," you remark dryly.

"There's a kind of purity in a really determined bad man," he says. "Real and perfect selfishness. It's hard to get a purchase on that. If it hadn't been for the shards of altruism and the desire for order in Malik, he would never have agreed to the deal I offered him."

>1
"Possibly the lust for power is stronger than self-preservation."

"More to it than that, I think." He looks at Evaine, curled in the snow. "She's pretty, don't you think?"

>1
"Yes, but I don't see how that's to the point."

"The point, northerner, is that he did not want her hurt." He looks up at you. "He wanted to be her protector."

>1
"He didn't give much sign of that when I saw him."

"It was there at the beginning. Unfortunately, she didn't prove to need him as much as he hoped. But when he was first making his deals and laying his plans, he wanted to offer her a City to rule purified and made tenable. Something like what it had once been. He saw her as his daughter. These are the little flaws that slips are made of." He pushes her with his foot. "And what's your weakness, northerner. Shall we see? What do you want?"

>1
"I think probably I'd be better off not telling you."

"You don't have to tell me," he replies. "You'll wind up acting on it sooner or later, whatever it is."

>1
You turn to Malik, confused. "Who is this person, anyway? Or what is he?"

Malik shakes his head. "He's-- it is a force from beyond the world you are familiar with." He laughs grimly, his breath puffing in the freezing air. "You've meddled more deeply than you knew, foreigner."

"And so have you," cuts in the figure in grey, speaking to Malik. "There is no one now living who knows what I am." His eyes glitter as they turn to you. "This one is at least humble enough to admit his ignorance."

>1
"Where did you find him?" you ask Malik.  "Did you conjure him up or read about him in a book or what?"

"He didn't find me," says the grey figure. "I found him. You keep misunderstanding who is in charge of all this."

>ask man about magic
Which do you mean, the man in grey or Thomas Malik?

>grey
You can think of nothing to say about that.

"Don't do this!" says Malik. "You can't stop now, I've come too far--"

"You grow wearisome," the man in grey replies.  "This was never a project to benefit your City.  I'm not a charity; surely you realized that?"

Malik meets the grey-figure's eyes grimly. "Then let her go," he says. "Take your forfeit from me, but send her back. If the City doesn't have me, then it will need her."

>1
"Now there's something I wouldn't have expected to see," you mutter under your breath.

"Your expectations are not very interesting," says the figure to you. He turns to Malik. "You want to bargain with me, after all this time? You haven't caught on yet? I always wind up with everything, in the end." He approaches Malik, stands right beside him. "You can't strike a bargain with someone if you don't have anything he needs."

With this remark he takes a short knife and stabs Malik with it, between the ribs, up to the hilt. "Now," he says, "you may go home."

Malik's eyes widen with pain, and then he fades out of view again, the body vanishing before it's fully dead.

>1
"What just happened?"

"I took the rest of my forfeit." He crosses his arms and regards you thoughtfully.

He glances, almost casually, at Evaine, who lies still on the ground.  "You'd better help her," he says.  "She is almost exhausted."

"Dead?"

"No, not dead, nor even soul-lost, as long as she remains in the dream-place, beyond the world she comes from. You still have time." He nods to the vivid slash of Day that surrounds her, the rift of light in the midst of darkness.  "That-- is a gate, of sorts, opening back into the world you know.  And soon it will be passable.  So you must heal her now."

>1
"I still don't understand what you're trying to do."

"You're out of time to talk about this."

Evaine stirs in her fever-sleep.  Where her hair falls, the snow hisses to steam.

"Heal her; you have the means," he says urgently.

>undo
Dream of Snow
[Previous turn undone.]

>heal evaine
Bending your attention to the cause, you begin to heal Evaine, with the power of the pendant. It draws on you directly, pulling your strength out of you.

"I applaud," says the man, leaning back against a wall to observe this process. "She's looking better already, aren't you, my dear?"

He leans down to touch her skin.  "Goodness, she's quite warm.  Well, perhaps it will improve."

>g
Your original attempt to heal her is still in progress.

The light around you is getting brighter and brighter.

>x me
You feel strangely drained and yet energized at the same time, as though someone had taken you off battery and plugged you in direct to a generator.

Evaine does not seem to be getting any better, but your own strength is beginning to fail, pouring all this strength into her.

>t about magi
Nothing on that topic leaps to mind.

Around Evaine, you can see into the other place: a gate of sunlight that fills all the ground between her and you, a door into the southern day. The man in grey puts an experimental hand towards it.  "Almost strong enough," he mutters, not to you.

>undo
Dream of Snow
[Previous turn undone.]

>t magic
Now is not the time for a change in topic.

Around Evaine, you can see into the other place: a gate of sunlight that fills all the ground between her and you, a door into the southern day. The man in grey puts an experimental hand towards it.  "Almost strong enough," he mutters, not to you.

>x man
He wears the grey pants and shirt favored as a uniform by so many northern companies, and the parka and gloves of a native northerner; he alone seems to belong here, but you sense, at the same time, that he could if he chose appear to belong anywhere.


The loss of strength becomes too much for you, and you succumb.  In the end you're dimly aware of the brilliant gate opening back into the City, on the strength that you were trying to send into Evaine; and the man in grey steps through it, waving farewell to you as he goes.



    *** You have died ***



Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, see the final SUMMARY for that game, or QUIT?
> undo
Dream of Snow
[Previous turn undone.]

>take evaine
I don't suppose Evaine would care for that.


The loss of strength becomes too much for you, and you succumb.  In the end you're dimly aware of the brilliant gate opening back into the City, on the strength that you were trying to send into Evaine; and the man in grey steps through it, waving farewell to you as he goes.



    *** You have died ***



Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, see the final SUMMARY for that game, or QUIT?
>  undo
Dream of Snow
[Previous turn undone.]

>out
Out? Out of the Crystal-dream?  That is not a particular direction...


The loss of strength becomes too much for you, and you succumb.  In the end you're dimly aware of the brilliant gate opening back into the City, on the strength that you were trying to send into Evaine; and the man in grey steps through it, waving farewell to you as he goes.



    *** You have died ***



Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, see the final SUMMARY for that game, or QUIT?
> undo
Dream of Snow
[Previous turn undone.]

>curse man
You can't bring yourself to attempt anything of the sort.


The loss of strength becomes too much for you, and you succumb.  In the end you're dimly aware of the brilliant gate opening back into the City, on the strength that you were trying to send into Evaine; and the man in grey steps through it, waving farewell to you as he goes.



    *** You have died ***



Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, see the final SUMMARY for that game, or QUIT?
> undo
Dream of Snow
[Previous turn undone.]

>stop
With considerable force you pull your strength away from Evaine again.

"What do you think you're doing?" asks the man in grey.  "She's going to die!"

"Yes," you reply. "Trying to help her is destroying me as well."

What happens next is not exactly clear.  The pendant shatters at your throat, all of its power diverted to stop the process that you began...


When you come to yourself, you are somewhere else.  Not, you think, where you began, but at the top of a vast tower, overlooking the whole of the City. The top of the Keep, the center of the Fortress.

Malik is nowhere to be seen, nor the man in grey.  Only Evaine.  She lies at your feet, unmoving.

Evaine's familiar plain-faced assistant appears then, climbing the staircase.  Others of her group are not far behind.

"The sun is setting," one of them says.  "We knew that something had to have happened... Malik is nowhere to be found..."

You rub a hand over your eyes.  "Something did happen."  You gesture at Evaine.  "Someone should see to her," you say flatly, feeling the words come from a great distance.  "I'm afraid she might be lost."

It is the last remark you remember making for some time.

>x me
There's nothing to do but wait.

>z
Time passes.


Central Keep, Upper Room
A square room, solidly built of stone, with stairs going both up and down. Tall thin windows face out over the City itself, letting in a fading evening light.  There are murals on three of the walls, on the sides without staircase; they have the faint glow of holovids.

Evaine stands beside you, looking out the window.

"Where am I?" you ask. "Are you in my dream, again?"

"No," she says. "You're in one of my dreams." She turns away, and you go to stand next to her at the window, looking out down the length of May Street, but May Street as you never saw it: there are flowers and ribbons strung on the buildings, and the train station is not there (not built yet? or torn down?). There is a parade moving up that street. The beat of distant music boils up from below and reverberates in the stone. The clothes of the people are every color, gold, orange, eggplant, pine.

>1
"I don't understand," you say. "I thought I--" You frown. "I thought I was letting you die, back there, in the snowy place. Was that not really you? Was it a trick, or something?"

"Not a trick," she replies, half smiling. "I was really there, and I was really dying."

>3
"Who was that man-- or god, or whatever-- that we defeated?"

"Good question.  He did not exactly tell us his name."

>1
"Is the grey figure evil?"

"What do you think? These people don't come with labels, but considering that his goal is to consume the spirits and wills of everyone he meets, I know he's not on my side."

>1
"Don't you think someone should watch to make sure he doesn't try again?"

"It's a good idea," she says, smiling. "But I'm not sure how we would know. Do you?"

>1
"Not exactly, no."

"For all I know, it was some purpose like that that led to the foundation of the Gnostics in the first place. We don't have much information about how the group began," she says. "The early history is secret and vague."

For a moment you catch the scent of something floral, but it is gone again, too quickly to identify.

She looks out the window again.  "It's good to see the place back the way it's supposed to be," she says.

>1
"What is this place?"

"It's the central keep of the fortress," she says. "Where did you think?"

Neither of you says anything for a moment, both lost in thought.

"For what it's worth," she remarks conversationally, "you saved your friend in the Crystal chamber.  Simon."

>1
"Ah.  That's good."

She nods. "If you'd left him much longer it would not have gone as well for him."

>1
"That's something, at least."

She raises her eyebrows, but says nothing.

Neither of you says anything for a moment, both lost in thought.

The expression on her face sharpens into fear. "You're fading on me."

"Sorry," you hear yourself muttering. The world seems to waver; you remember now, you had to let go of her, let go of the City, let go of everything you thought you wanted, and now, what's left? What is there to do?

She slips into your arms. So strange that it should be possible to embrace her, but this is a dream. You feel a little impatient. You could leave, if it weren't for her hold on you, and the dim longing it evokes, the memory of some much stronger feeling you thought you had put away.

>1
"I need to get to Peter's wedding." There; you knew there was something at the back of your brain, itching at you, some reason you couldn't... what? Memories shift, fade: you thought you'd been unconscious all this time, but something was going on, deep in your head, and you just can't remember what it was.

"What?" She looks at you in puzzlement at this turn of conversation.

>undo
Central Keep, Upper Room
[Previous turn undone.]

>kiss her
(Evaine)
Her mouth is cool as water. It tastes unexpectedly of mango and strawberries. You kiss her in return, and your heart begins to beat, as though it had been frozen...


"Sir?"  Someone is shaking you awake.  You look around, startled: you are in the bunk of an Express train, and the conductor is at your elbow.

"Sir," the conductor repeats.  "I was given this for you."

Numbly you take the paper and unfold it.  The writing is spiky and unfamiliar, yet you recognize it instantly.

Northerner--

We've put you on the train to Westallia because you weren't getting better here, and because your friend had started inquiries about you.  When you're done with your other obligations, you may come back, if you wish; or, if there is anything you need, don't hesitate to ask.  We don't forget our debts.

In the same hand, and without any additional comment, is a communications access number.

Outside the dark southern forest is passing rapidly, silently.  You fold the paper again and put it away.


    *** The End ***



Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, see the final SUMMARY for that game, see some AMUSING things to try, or QUIT?
> undo
Central Keep, Upper Room
[Previous turn undone.]

>1
"I need to get to Peter's wedding." There; you knew there was something at the back of your brain, itching at you, some reason you couldn't... what? Memories shift, fade: you thought you'd been unconscious all this time, but something was going on, deep in your head, and you just can't remember what it was.

"What?" She looks at you in puzzlement at this turn of conversation.

>1
"My friend Peter.  I was going to his wedding."

"Oh. Yes. We found the letter, and I contacted your friend," she says. "They're waiting for you. You won't be too late."

>1
"Really?"

She looks at you enigmatically. "He was a bit angry you hadn't contacted him," she admits. "I-- explained."

For some reason the concept of Evaine calling up Peter strikes you as the most bizarre thing you've heard or seen yet.

"It should be all right," she goes on. "As long as you're healthy enough to go on."

>1
"Is there something wrong with me?"

"You haven't woken up yet, northerner," she replies. "Or we might be having this conversation under more normal circumstances."

>1
"Heh. It almost doesn't feel like a dream."

"I'm keeping it fairly stable," she says. Her eyes slant sideways at you, challenging. "Would you like me to make some pink elephants walk through the wall, to prove it's a dream?"

>2
"That would be amusing."

She stretches out a hand, but what happens is not a stampede of pink elephants. Instead the walls of the fortress go transparent for a moment, and you have a feeling of giddy nausea, because it feels as though you are suddenly standing at the top of a mountain, and can see the whole world: the City at your feet, glittering; the Vuine stretching away up north into the mountains, dotted with the triangular sails of trading vessels; the northern cities, and the north sea with Archangelika a tiny spot at its southern edge; in the other direction, Engkratis, not as a ruin of archaeological remains, but a living city with high and narrow gates; Stallor and Westallia, prosperous, gleaming with skyscrapers. Everything as it was at its most flourishing, all at once, even towns you do not recognize, and fields of crops where there is only desert now, and, dimly, cities not yet built, ghostlike.

"There," she says. "It is the soul of this world, which you will never see in waking life."

Then it fades away, and the stone walls surround you again.

>1
"Oh."

She smiles.

Neither of you says anything for a moment, both lost in thought.

"You'll wake up soon, I think," she says. "You're looking more solid than you were -- I think that's a good sign." She squeezes your hand in encouragement.


"Sir?"  Someone is shaking you awake.  You look around, startled: you are in the bunk of an Express train, and the conductor is at your elbow.

"Sir," the conductor repeats.  "I was given this for you."

Numbly you take the paper and unfold it.  The writing is spiky and unfamiliar, yet you recognize it instantly.

Thank you for everything you have done.  More people are in your debt than will ever know it.  But you did not seem to be getting better in the City; even with the Crystal broken and the shards buried, it seemed that it was perhaps exerting a power over you.  As you asked, I've sent you on on the journey you meant to make at the start. I hope you find peace and a happy future; if you find yourself at loose ends after your other obligations are complete, you're welcome to come back here, if you think you can stand the City again.  We will be glad to see you.

Outside the dark southern forest is passing rapidly, silently.  You fold the paper again and put it away.


    *** The End ***



Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, see the final SUMMARY for that game, see some AMUSING things to try, or QUIT?
> summary
This game does not provide a score.  In terms of progress through the story, you have experienced the following stages:

Part One:
   Being Stuck in the City
   Wandering around, Tired
   Checking into the Hotel
   Looking for Bed
   A Strange Dream of the Factory
   Sightseeing
   Being Vilely Ill
   Sightseeing
   Chatting with the Concierge
   Sightseeing
   Being Pitched to by a Con Artist
   Sightseeing
   Chatting with the Shopkeeper
   Sightseeing
   Meeting An Unpleasant Man in a Back Alley
   Blackness and Solitude
Part Two:
   Talking to Malik
   Waiting in the Waiting Room
   Chatting with the Press Gang Leader
   Looking for Evaine
   Meeting a Man with a Lamp
   Looking for Evaine
   In the Dark Patch
   Wandering With Man
   Finding the Man Some Medical Help
   Looking for Evaine, with the Pendant
   Removing Malik's Bug with Tiny Scissors
   Looking for Evaine, with the Pendant
   Being Offered a New Bug
   Looking for Evaine, with the Pendant
Part Three:
   Meeting Simon
   Exploring the Dormitory
   Conversation on the Roof
   Exploring the Dormitory
   Meeting Simon
   Exploring the Tunnel with Simon
   Looking for Evaine, with the Pendant
   Watching the Illusionist
   Hanging Around After The Show
   Talking to the Illusionist
   Being Led by one of Evaine's Folk
   Dealing With a Tail
   Being Led by one of Evaine's Folk
   Being Inspected for Bugs
Part Four:
   Finding Evaine
   Dream of Ice
   Evaine Wakes You From A Bad Dream
   You and Evaine Sit Thoughtfully
   Evaine Asks About The Pendant
   Evaine's Departure
   Waiting In the Dark
   An Earthquake
Part Five:
   Recovering From Earthquake
   Looking for Trouble
   Trouble Arrives
   Simon Battles His Fate
   A Soul Lost
   Standing in the Snow
   Meeting a Familiar Stranger
   Losing Energy
   Drifting in the Dark
   A Last Dream of Evaine

Your adventures are at an end.

Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, see the final SUMMARY for that game, see some AMUSING things to try, or QUIT?
> amusing
Have you ever managed to...

    make the concierge call out the guard to deal with you?
    get the concierge to yell at the tour guide?
    indulge in a little whittling?
    change what shows up on Malik's security tape when he first interviews you?
    give the Enforcement Chief a lecture about robot design?
    beat the game in the arcade shop?
    make the mushroom-shaped advice machine give out nonsense?
    read the book in the temple?
    get the spiceseller to help you with the bug?
    make the bookseller too angry to talk to you?
    get shot by the scruffy man?
    be thrown out by the hat shop lady?
    get the attention of the juggler?
    get the bartender really annoyed with you?
    kiss Evaine?
    be kissed by the holovid seller?
    be called a kook by the holovid seller?
    nearly get arrested, then be rescued by Evaine's people?


Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, see the final SUMMARY for that game, see some AMUSING things to try, or QUIT?
> quit