Walker & Silhouette
C.E.J. Pacian
achievements cover art easy female protagonist feminism keyword keyword parser male protagonist multiple protagonists one-word parser romance simple steampunk TADS TADS 3 Xyzzy Awards 2009
Team up with a dashing detective and an iconoclastic flapper to solve absurd and unfathomable crimes in this interactive story - where you control the action just by typing or clicking highlighted words in the text. Walker & Silhouette uses a similar keyword system to Blue Lacuna, and experiments with applying it to various forms of interaction: talk, investigate, solve puzzles and fight villains... using only single word commands.
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I always get the criminal. Whoever it is. Whatever the embarrassment. Whichever noses I put out of joint.

So they sent me after Silhouette, and I caught her too.

And now I'm about to do something very stupid.



[Type 'About' if this is your first time playing.
Type 'Credits' to see who made this possible.]

I'm standing in the cold, early evening shadow of the Mindflower Asylum for the Criminally Insane - a tall, crooked building with barred windows and a sunken door.

Townhouses are packed in tightly on all sides, but a deathly silence pervades. The only sign of life is an ornithopter sailing high overhead.

My motor car sits to one side of the cobbled road.

(Type highlighted keywords to advance the story.)
You examine the ornithopter
A graceful machine, easing itself across the sky with metal-feathered wings.
You describe your surroundings
I'm standing in the cold, early evening shadow of the Mindflower ASYLUM for the Criminally Insane - a tall, crooked building with barred WINDOWS and a sunken DOOR.

TOWNHOUSES are packed in tightly on all sides, but a deathly silence pervades. The only sign of life is an ORNITHOPTER sailing high overhead.

My motor CAR sits to one side of the cobbled road.
Windows
The asylum's windows are raised up out of reach, seem far too small to afford much of a view, and are covered over with thick bars besides.
Inventory
I am carrying a BOWLER hat, a CANE, and a police BADGE, and I'm wearing a three-piece SUIT.
Suit
There being no consistent dress code for murder scenes, I tend to dress as if for a funeral. My suit is black and carefully pressed.
Hat
It's the nature of this line of work that my bowler spends more time in my hands than on my head.
CAR
My own personal vehicle. A bit of an expense, but I have to spend my inheritance on something.
CANE
A simple but sturdy walking stick, necessary since I was shot by an accomplice of the Bottle Street Strangler.
ASYLUM
Mindflower used to be a medieval gaol where murderers and debtors rubbed shoulders. The centuries old, eroded stone may now be run through with the gleaming pipes of a modern heating system, but those confined here are no more likely to leave with their wits intact.
Townhouses
And I thought the Old Warren could be a depressing place. The houses around the asylum are dilapidated and crooked - their roofs sagging and windows cracked.

Clearly only those who can't afford better live in the shadow of the madhouse.
Door
The asylum's main entrance is a featureless door of the thickest metal, fitting flush against the sides of a deep alcove. There's no handle or lock - just a small BUTTON on the wall.

A small grating is set into the door at eye level.
Grating
The grating is thick and sturdy. Beyond it, I can see only darkness.
Xyzzy
Your tiresome magic can hardly withstand my relentless reasoning.
Button
I push the button beside the door and a harsh electric buzzer sounds. Instantly, a narrow pair of EYES appear behind the grating, studying me carefully. A gruff voice asks uncertainly, "Are you... a patient here?"

I suppose I could IDENTIFY myself, or come back with some SNARK.
Snark
"Do I look like I'm a patient here?" I ask condescendingly.

The voice remains tactfully silent, which is an answer in itself.

I sigh and hold my badge up to the grating. "I'm a police detective. Let me in."

The voice scoffs. "You could've fooled me, mate."

But the door slowly rumbles open all the same.

When you're ready, I can go IN.
Go inside
As soon as I'm inside the asylum, I begin feeding the guard half-truths and exaggerations. He nods wordlessly and leads me through narrow, white-walled passages that echo with manic cackles and miserable sobs.

"This is the one," my guide says, stopping suddenly. "Miss Ivy Blissheart. Strictly no visitors, it says. But I don't suppose they meant policemen."

The guard slams shut the door and I hear several bolts and locks being closed. So this is where she ended up, thanks to me: a padded cell, lit harshly by a bare electric BULB. Only the small WINDOW set into the DOOR hints at a world beyond its claustrophobic confines.

A bulky WINCH has been bolted incongruously to the wall.

Silhouette - IVY, I mean, is hanging upside-down from the ceiling, tied up in a straitjacket.

She cranes her neck awkwardly to try and look at me. "Is it MORNING already? Time flies when you're all TRUSSED up like this."
Ivy
It's difficult to get a good look at her as she hangs upside-down like this, spinning slowly back and forth. But there is that impression of elfish mischief written into her features that I remember so well from her arrest. And her scandalously boyish hair is not so short that it can't trail below her in unruly curls.

Ivy is wearing a STRAITJACKET.

"Hey," she suddenly exclaims. "I know you, don't I? No hard feelings about the whole incarcerating me thing, Inspector. I'm just glad you came to visit."
Bulb
Painful to look at. It casts sharply defined shadows against the featureless walls.
Trussed
I look over the straitjacket. "Did they put you in this thing the right way up?"

Ivy laughs dryly. "CRIME, the good doctor believes, is the result of insufficient blood flow to the brain. So, you know, gravity's not my friend - and sleeping like a bat's the best TREATMENT."

"I can call you Ivy, can't I?" I suddenly think to ask.

"Of course you can," she says. "As long as I can call you... Um..."

"Nathaniel. Or 'Nate' if that's too much of a mouthful."
Straightjacket
The long white sleeves of the straitjacket are wrapped tightly around Ivy - completely restraining her arms.

"I could get out of this real quick," Ivy says, "if only I was the right way up."
Treatment
I'm almost afraid to ask. "Is this the worst thing they do to you?"

"Pretty much. I think they're still working out what to make of me.
I get plenty of peace and quiet, of course, so my fragile feminine mind can keep its uncontrollable emotions this side of HYSTERIA."

She attempts an upside-down shrug. "Hey, it's better than breaking rocks in PRISON, right?"

"Assuming," I say carefully, "they don't go so far as a LOBOTOMY."

Ivy says, "Um, what?"
Lobotomy
"Do you feel like you're responding to the treatment?" I ask.

Ivy snorts with laughter. "Well, I keep throwing up when they hang me upside-down. That's a response, right?"

My hair's fallen over my eye. I brush it back. "Eventually, they'll intervene physically."

"You mean beating me?"

"I mean cutting into your brain. It's been shown to result in a more placid personality." Gauging her expression, I add, "Don't worry. That's why I'm here. To HELP."
Hysteria
I study Ivy's carefree expression. "You don't seem hysterical to me."

"All bold women get the diagnosis sooner or later," she says with a wink. "It's almost a compliment."
Winch
The winch seems to be the main mechanism for raising and lowering whichever poor soul is assigned this bizarre treatment.

I certainly intend to let Ivy down eventually... but I'd like to try and explain my proposition to her first.
Crime
"You know," I say, "with the talent, cunning and ingenuity you put to work disrupting the city, you could have done some amazing things on the right side of the law."

"Don't think I didn't try," she says. "But somehow, society took one look at me and figured I'd be best put to use working a loom for ten hours a day."

I twist my cane in my hand. "Now that should be criminal."

She laughs. "And yet I'm the one you ARREST."
Arrest
"Ivy," I begin, "I feel rather rotten that I actually caught you. I got carried away with unravelling the mystery, and I didn't stop to think about what they'd do once they got you."

She pulls a face. "Don't be. You're a policeman, and I broke laws, didn't I? And maybe I got carried away too. I don't think I'd actually thought it through as far as winding up in PRISON or wherever."
PRISON
"It kind of makes me angry," I say.

Ivy looks at me strangely. "You have a very sedate angry face, but what does?"

"That you should have just been given a short prison sentence. And instead you wind up in here, indefinitely, at the mercy of unsupervised quacks."

"It makes me angry too," she says. "But not at you. You weren't even at the TRIAL."
Trial
I clear my throat. "I'm sorry I wasn't at the trial. It was my case. I should have been there, but..."

She finishes for me. "But they thought you might say things in my favour, and they presented your evidence without you. It's okay, I figured it out."
Police
"It's odd," I muse aloud. "You're happy to sabotage the discipline machine in a workhouse, but not to assist the one occupation where you have the legal power to stop abuse and suffering."

Ivy snorts. "And yet it always seems to be people like me they use that power against instead."

"Maybe 'they' do. But I don't. You've ruffled the feathers of some powerful people. But you're small fry compared to me. I've put powerful people away for life."

"Well, I'll try anything once," Ivy says. "How does this PRESS thing work, anyway?"
Press
"All you have to do is agree to provide..." I clear my throat, "invaluable and urgent assistance to my police work. And then I can walk you out of here. I have the paperwork on me."

"Invaluable? Okay, okay," Ivy says, "anything, just as long as I'm the right way up."

I rub my hands together. "Great! I'll see about getting you down."

"Gently!" Ivy warns.
You look around
I'm in a padded cell. I'm sure Forthright would say it's about time. The walls are lit harshly by a bare electric BULB, and only the small WINDOW set into the DOOR hints at a world beyond its claustrophobic confines.

A bulky WINCH has been bolted incongruously to the wall.

IVY is hanging upside-down from the ceiling, tied up in a straitjacket.

Ivy nods awkwardly towards the WINCH. "Hey, detective. That's how they get me up and down from here."

(Talking to Ivy: MORNING.)
Morning
"I hate to be the one to tell you, but the sun hasn't even set yet."

Ivy sighs. "You mean it's still yesterday? Damn it."
Window
Just the smallest slot for a guard to spy into the room, without the inmate being afforded any kind of view back out.
Door
The cell door is badly scratched and scuffed, but years of abuse have barely managed to bend the thick bars across its tiny WINDOW.

A CLIPBOARD is crookedly affixed to the door.
Clipboard
It's written in the barely decipherable scrawl of a medical professional. I could READ it, if you want.
You read
I suppose this horrible, spidery scrawl is one way doctors try to respect patient confidentiality. I can just about make out what the chart says.

Name: Blissheart, Ivy
Sex: F
Ref #: 134A

Incarcerated for:
Vandalism; obscenity; blasphemy; criminal damage; disturbing the peace; conduct unbecoming of a woman.

Diagnosis:
Insufficient development of the ethical lobe.
Hysteria.
Winch
There's a little hook on the winch. It seems to be holding it in position. If I just carefully... Oh dear.

Ivy squirms to her feet. "It's okay, I'm fine. I only landed on my head."

She wriggles a little, and the straitjacket drops to the floor.
"Ouch. Can you do me a favour and just pop my SHOULDER back in?"
Shoulder
Ivy slips the hand of her dislocated arm into mine, and then twists around grotesquely while I pull firmly in the other direction.

There's a sudden pop, and she gasps with relief. "Yeah, that's better."
Ivy
Ivy looks rather relieved to be the right way up again. Her elfin features are no longer quite so red, and her hair has returned to a messy imitation of its usual bob.

Ivy is wearing some PYJAMAS.

Ivy clasps her hands behind her back and looks at me expectantly. "So are we going to LEAVE, or what?"
PYJAMAS
A pair of simple white pyjamas. Of all forms of clothing, surely the least taxing on the mind.

Ivy stretches her arms and legs.
You leave
I knock loudly on the door for the guard to let us out.

Ivy shakes her head. "Now this I've got to see."

"They can't squirm out of this," I say. "I've caught them in their own loophole. And once you're out of here... maybe you should just run. Flee the city."

"Not likely," Ivy says. "This city's all I know. And you sold me on the idea of being a detective. Don't tell me you're chickening out now?"

I brush back my hair and put on my bowler. "Never."

Okay, hi. It's me now: Ivy Blissheart, a.k.a. Silhouette. How are you doing?
Fine
Not very talkative, eh? Well, we'll just keep it to the keywords then.

So this is the second time in my life I've been in a police station, and you know what? The Office of Unfathomable Crimes is a lot more comfortable than the interrogation room.

But maybe not so much for Walker right this moment. Nate, I mean. He's been in the Chief Inspector's office an hour now, just on the other side of that door, getting shouted at. I feel sort of bad for him, because it's got to all be about what he did for me.

Maybe if I LOOK around, I can figure out a way to help him out.
You look
I'm in the Oldchester C.I.D., specifically the Office of Unfathomable Crimes. It's quite homely, really, with sunlight streaming in through a large WINDOW and moustachioed men smiling down from PICTURE frames on the walls.

A DESK fills much of the room, piled high with PAPERS and FILES, and a pneumatic TUBE snakes along one wall.

Nate said I should just WAIT here and not get into trouble, but I've never been one to do what I'm told.

I can hear a raised voice ranting on the other side of the door to the Chief Inspector's office.
Papers
Official documents and memos are scattered over the desk in a disorganised fashion. They all look to be on the officious side of bureaucratic.
Tube
So I used to work in a factory that had tubes like this for sending messages between departments. It was great fun - and those pipes didn't even have coppers on the other end of them.

There's a metal BOX attached to it, and a little BASKET ready to catch the messages it spits out.
Ivy
Oh, um, hi. I'm Ivy, although a lot of people know me - know of me, really - as Silhouette: anarcha-feminist dissident. I want you to know that if I ever messed around with any of your stuff, or made you look bad, or whatever, that it was absolutely nothing personal.

But, you know, you probably had it coming.
Basket
There's a little basket just beneath the metal BOX. It looks like it's positioned to catch anything that might come flying out of the pneumatic tube. It contains a CANISTER.
BOX
A neat little box of tarnished filigree, attached to the pneumatic tube. Loads of BUTTONS are set into the face of the thing, a LEVER on the side, and a BASKET underneath it. Oh, and there's a small HOLE in the top of it.

You know, I've always been fond of a good gadget.
Canister
It's a cylindrical canister, taking a brief rest after rattling through the pneumatic intestines of the police station. It's open, and contains a MEMO.
Buttons
There are loads of chunky buttons set into the front of the box. Most of them are blank, but some have neat inscriptions. There are buttons marked CHIEF, Serious CRIMES, FRAUD, and NARCOTICS. Oh, and a bit of paper has been stuck to one button with the word UNFATHOMABLE scribbled on it.

The button marked 'Serious Crimes' is currently depressed.
Memo
It's very neatly typed, on a perfectly square piece of paper.

Rumours are circulating that a woman has been commissioned as a police officer. These rumours are untrue. While a woman has been employed to assist the C.I.D., she is not doing so in the capacity of either constable or detective.

Frankly, the gossiping this event has sparked leads me to believe that she will feel quite at home with the lot of you.
Unfathomable
I push the button marked 'Unfathomable'. It depresses with a firm 'click', and the button marked 'Serious Crimes' pops back up.
Crimes
I push the button marked 'Serious Crimes'. It depresses with a firm 'click', and the button marked 'Unfathomable' pops back up.
Narcotics
I push the button marked 'Narcotics'. It depresses with a firm 'click', and the button marked 'Serious Crimes' pops back up.
Hole
There's a circular hole in the top of the box. This must be where messages go to get sent through the pneumatic TUBE.
Lever
I grab the lever on the side of the box and give it a firm yank. The hole in the box emits a tremendous sucking sound until I let the lever spring back into place.
Look around
I'm in the Oldchester C.I.D., specifically the Office of Unfathomable Crimes. It's quite homely, really, with sunlight streaming in through a large WINDOW and moustachioed men smiling down from PICTURE frames on the walls.

A DESK fills much of the room, piled high with PAPERS and FILES, and a pneumatic TUBE snakes along one wall.

I can hear a raised voice ranting on the other side of the door to the Chief Inspector's office.
Desk
The desk's all scuffed and scratched. It could use a good polish. On the desk are a bell JAR, some PAPERS, and some FILES.
Files
Thick binders full of files are propped up against one another like a collapsed house of cards. Each file's got a letter on its spine.

By far the thickest file is labelled with an S.
You go to the south
S. The snakiest of all letters. Just what criminal masterminds, associated with the letter 'S', could exist in the city to so thoroughly fill out this poor, bulging binder?

Oh look, it's all about me.

I set the binder back down, but... I sort of want to look at it again, more closely.
Go south
I open the binder to the first scrap of paper filed under 'Silhouette'. It's a memo to Walker, ordering that the Office of Unfathomable Crimes look into a prankster and graffiti artist who's humiliating the upper crust - because no-one else could catch me.

So, I'm actually blushing right now.
You go south
Ah look, it's a photograph of one of my earlier works. A caricature of a factory boss, painted around the entrance to the shop floor, as if his flabby maw was greedily devouring each worker as they stepped inside.
Go south
I find a report of an incident at a posh library. Seems that someone slipped a number of copies of an infamous work of erotica into the covers of some notable theological tomes.

I can only plead ignorance of the whole affair.
You go south
See this report here? So someone reprograms a teaching automaton to instruct pre-school children in the spelling and grammatical use of a number of profanities, and I get the blame.

And it's not like they were even old enough to know what any of it meant.
You go south
There's a couple of sheets of photographs clipped to some of Walker's notes. Looks like he was trying to create a timeline of various Silhouette symbols I daubed around the city and analyse the development of my style.

Ah, bless him.
Go south
I find some case notes from the distribution of an obscene forgery of a public information pamphlet.

It's interesting how transposing a few words can turn an essay on moral hygiene into something a bit... different.
JAR
A hemisphere of glass attached to an air PUMP. It seems to contain a piece of rotten MEAT and a SWARM of stripy flies.

There's a NOTE attached to it.
Note
The note's written in very elegant handwriting:

Dear All,
I'm conducting an experiment to determine the effects of high altitude on the life cycle of the striped carrion fly. This may have a bearing on a certain case involving a famous mountaineer. Please don't panic if they escape. Although they may look like wasps, they're completely harmless.
Walker
Pump
A set of bellows attached to an electric motor and a fan. Yeah, I'd say it's some sort of air pump.

There's an awfully tempting SWITCH on the side of it.
Switch
I flip the switch and the pump begins whirring quietly. After a few seconds, the pump's fan spits out one of the stripy flies. I turn off the pump before any more get sucked out.

Whoops. I hope I didn't just invalidate Nate's experiment.
BOX
A neat little box of tarnished filigree, attached to the pneumatic tube. Loads of BUTTONS are set into the face of the thing, a LEVER on the side, and a BASKET underneath it. Oh, and there's a small HOLE in the top of it.
You look at your surroundings
I'm in the Oldchester C.I.D., specifically the Office of Unfathomable Crimes. It's quite homely, really, with sunlight streaming in through a large WINDOW and moustachioed men smiling down from PICTURE frames on the walls.

A DESK fills much of the room, piled high with PAPERS and FILES, and a pneumatic TUBE snakes along one wall.

A stripy FLY is buzzing around lazily.

I can hear a raised voice ranting on the other side of the door to the Chief Inspector's office.
Picture
These must be the rozzers who've worked at the C.I.D. through the ages. There's a definite trend over time from men with huge beards and top hats towards men with small moustaches and bowler hats.

Next thing you know the place'll be run by hatless women.
About yourself
What, do you want my vital statistics or something? I'm Ivy Blissheart, a.k.a. Silhouette, former dissident, currently attached to the police force in some crazy fashion.
You look at what you're carrying with you
I am carrying a NOTEBOOK, and I'm wearing a long JACKET, a short DRESS, and a CLOCHE hat.
Cloche
A small bucket of a hat that goes nicely with my short hair and doesn't take up much space. Also it forces me to hold my head up high, or I can't see out from under the brim.
Notebook
I'm all set to be a good detective. Got my little notebook and everything, 'though it's currently blank at the moment, save a little doodle of Walker.
You look at BOX
A neat little box of tarnished filigree, attached to the pneumatic tube. Loads of BUTTONS are set into the face of the thing, a LEVER on the side, and a BASKET underneath it. Oh, and there's a small HOLE in the top of it.
Dress
A white, sleeveless dress with a hemline just below the knee. Yes, I decided I'd rather look like a floozie than trip over my own clothes while pursuing a criminal.
Basket
There's a little basket just beneath the metal BOX. It looks like it's positioned to catch anything that might come flying out of the pneumatic tube. It contains a CANISTER.
Window
I look out the window and across the smoke-blackened rooftops of Oldchester. The sun's low on the horizon, looking all pale and sleepy.
You examine the buttons
There are loads of chunky buttons set into the front of the box. Most of them are blank, but some have neat inscriptions. There are buttons marked CHIEF, Serious CRIMES, FRAUD, and NARCOTICS. Oh, and a bit of paper has been stuck to one button with the word UNFATHOMABLE scribbled on it.

The button marked 'Narcotics' is currently depressed.
Press chief
I push the button marked 'Chief'. It depresses with a firm 'click', and the button marked 'Narcotics' pops back up.
You pull the lever
I grab the lever on the side of the box and give it a firm yank. The hole in the box emits a tremendous sucking sound until I let the lever spring back into place.

The stripy fly is sucked helplessly into the pneumatic tube. Pharaoh speed, little stripy fly.

Things suddenly go quiet in the Chief Inspector's office. Let's WAIT and see what happens.
You wait
The door to the Chief Inspector's office opens quietly, and NATE slips into the room. I get a brief glimpse of a fat, bald man swatting at the air with a rolled up newspaper before the door closes again.

Nate says, "I decided that now might not be the time to tell the Chief Inspector about the difference between a striped carrion fly and a wasp."
Chief
The button marked 'Chief' is currently depressed. Physically, I mean. Emotionally, it seems to be holding up fine.

"I see you've already met my colleague, FORTHRIGHT," Nate says.

I turn around with a start and see a tall man with a long nose leaning against the wall.

"I find her powers of observation lacking," he says.

The nerve! I could try and put this bloke in his PLACE or just BITE my tongue.
Place
"You must get a lot of practice," I say, "spying on young women."

He just ignores me. I'll take that to mean he can't think of a good comeback.

"Well," Nate says, "it was fun while it lasted, but it looks like I'm off Unfathomable Crimes and back at the Old Warren desk."

"Because of her?" Forthright asks.

Okay, I feel pretty rotten right now. Should I be SYMPATHETIC towards Walker, or HARSH towards Forthright?
Sympathetic
"Are you in trouble because of me, Na- uh, Walker?" I demand, watching Forthright carefully. "Because I'm telling you, I'm really not worth it."

"There's no way I was going to let them lobotomise you, Ivy," Nate says. "You didn't do anything to deserve that. And in any case, I... don't mind working the Old Warren. The cases may be less fancy, but they need good detectives as much as anyone else."

Forthright shakes his head. "I think it's a crying shame. Look, take this." He hands Nate a piece of PAPER. "Someone telephoned in a murder and it looks right up your alley. One last unfathomable case, okay? You're probably the only one who can solve it anyway."

Shooting me a final hateful look, Forthright stalks out of the office.
PAPER
I peer over at the piece of paper that Forthright gave to Nate. The handwriting is almost illegible, but I can make out the words 'murder' and 'uptown'. This must be one of those classy killings Walker's always solving.

Nate reads the paper and smiles. "Another mystery afoot! We should LEAVE as soon as you're ready, Ivy."
Walker
Nate's the kind of delicate, impossibly beautiful young man you'd sooner expect to see reclining in a bay window writing poetry than examining a corpse in the Old Warren.

But there's also a sort of nervous energy to him, and his hair's always falling over one eye or the other as he looks around with intense interest.

Nate is carrying a BOWLER hat, a CANE, a police BADGE, and a PIECE of paper, and he's wearing a three-piece SUIT.
Memo
It's very neatly typed, on a perfectly square piece of paper.

Rumours are circulating that a woman has been commissioned as a police officer. These rumours are untrue. While a woman has been employed to assist the C.I.D., she is not doing so in the capacity of either constable or detective.

Frankly, the gossiping this event has sparked leads me to believe that she will feel quite at home with the lot of you.
Piece
I peer over at the piece of paper that Forthright gave to Nate. The handwriting is almost illegible, but I can make out the words 'murder' and 'uptown'. This must be one of those classy killings Walker's always solving.
You look around
I'm in the Oldchester C.I.D., specifically the Office of Unfathomable Crimes. It's quite homely, really, with sunlight streaming in through a large WINDOW and moustachioed men smiling down from PICTURE frames on the walls.

A DESK fills much of the room, piled high with PAPERS and FILES, and a pneumatic TUBE snakes along one wall.

NATE stands an arm's length away, leaning on his cane.
Xyzzy
And an abracadabra to you too.
CANE
"Can I just ask," I begin, "I've always wondered about the cane..."

He smiles grimly. "I was shot. The bullet missed the femoral artery, but still shattered my thighbone like glass."

I cringe. "Ouch."

"Yes, I recall saying something along those lines myself."
Suit
Nate's dressed like for a funeral. I s'pose there often is one when he turns up.
BOWLER
I'd describe Nate's little hat as moderately adorable.
You leave
I crack my knuckles. "Okay: let's get policing! Can I drive your motor car?"

Nate smiles. "In general: yes. But this is perhaps not the time to learn."

The bluebottle at the door salutes Nate and gives me the evil eye.
And then we're inside the scene of the crime.

"It's all yours," Nate says, with a wry smile. "Detect!"

You know what? It's cold in here. The wind blows right in through the smashed balcony DOORS, rippling the fur of the room's shaggy RUG and tugging on the torn sheets of the four-poster BED.

There's a mangled CORPSE on the bed - the whole reason we're here, of course. And the walls are lined with all sorts of TROPHIES and stuff from around the Arctic and Antarctic.

NATE stands an arm's length away, leaning on his cane.
Doors
The balcony doors look like they've been hit by a bomb. The JAMBS are all bent out of shape and shards of broken GLASS have been scattered over the floor.

"Would it be jumping to conclusions," I ask, "to think they might have come in through the balcony?"

Nate nods. "It seems a sensible hypothesis."
GLASS
"Okay, I know this is penny dreadful stuff, but the glass is on the inside of the room, so the doors were broken in from the outside... right?"

Nate smiles. "Just because it's obvious, that doesn't mean it's wrong."
Jambs
The jambs are the side parts of the doorframe. But you knew that.

"It doesn't look like this was caused just by forcing the doors open," I ponder aloud. "It's like something a bit too big was crammed through here. They must have stolen something. Something big."

Nate says, "Oh really?"
Rug
This has got to be the shaggiest rug I've ever seen. Peering closer, I think I see something. "Hey, there's loads of little DENTS in the rug, like there was a heavy table here, and someone bounced it around all over the place."

Nate leans forward on his cane and acknowledges my find silently.
Dents
"You know how when you move a heavy piece of furniture, you find the legs have left dents in the carpet?"

"I can't say I'm intimately acquainted with the phenomenon," Nate says, "but yes."

"These dents are sort of like that," I go on, "but they're not pressed down too much, like whatever was here wasn't here for long."

Nate makes an appreciative nod. I think I'm going to write this down in my NOTEBOOK.
Corpse
The legendary polar explorer Saul Hawthorne is lying on the bed, quite thoroughly deceased. His broken LIMBS have been wrapped twice around his body and his FACE is frozen into a rictus of surprise and agony.

Nate watches me closely. "It's okay if you feel faint."

"Pfff. I'm fine."
Notebook
I flip open my notebook. So far, I've made the following notes:

-(A doodle of Walker.)
-The pedals of a motor car go: clutch, brake, accelerator, from left to right.
-Something made lots of dents in the rug.
Limbs
I'm not sure exactly how his arms and legs got in this state. It's like a giant tried to roll him up like a ball of string. His skin has circular BRUISES all over it.

"I actually fainted at my first crime scene," Nate reassures me.

I laugh. "Seriously, I'm fine."
Bruises
His arms and legs - the same arms and legs mangled almost beyond recognition - are marked with countless circular bruises. I think I'll write this down in my NOTEBOOK.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Nate asks.

"I did throw up in my mouth a bit," I admit, "but I just swallowed it back down."

"Well, as long as you feel you have it under control."
Look around
You know what? It's cold in here. The wind blows right in through the smashed balcony DOORS, rippling the fur of the room's shaggy RUG and tugging on the torn sheets of the four-poster BED.

There's a mangled CORPSE on the bed - the whole reason we're here, of course. And the walls are lined with all sorts of TROPHIES and stuff from around the Arctic and Antarctic.

NATE stands an arm's length away, leaning on his cane.
Bed
"From the state of this bed," I say, surveying the mess made of its torn and crumpled sheets, "I think it's safe to assume he didn't die peacefully in his sleep."

Nate nods. "And it therefore seems quite probable that he was mangled by the very method of his murder, rather than post mortem."
Trophies
This bloke obviously liked to surround himself with evidence of his own achievements. There are countless picture FRAMES on the walls, some freaky SPECIMENS, a few... let's call them KNICKKNACKS, and a huge MAP of Antarctica.
Frames
I bet it took real work to fit all these different sized frames together so neatly, with so little space left over. What jumps out at me? There's an ancient SCROLL, the front page of a NEWSPAPER, an AERIAL photo, a photo of two MEN, some sort of mathematical CHART, and a diagram of something like a candelabra or a TREE or something.
Scroll
The scroll shows a load of stick figures pointing at a star, with scribbly words spiralling around in every open gap. A plaque on the frame reads: 'Ancient peoples record the meteor falling to Earth with great accuracy. Modern calculations prove its origin at Mars.'

"People complain about progress," I say, "but I don't think going from stick figures to photographs in a few thousand years is to be sniffed at."

Nate says, "Quite."
Newspaper
The newspaper shows two men posing outside the Oldchester Museum, with the headline: Hero Explorers' Audience with Pharaoh. The fella on the left looks like the victim. The other one's a man in an eye-patch.

"So he was famous then?" I ask.

Nate says, "Renowned."
Aerial
Well, I suppose it's an aerial photo. Depends how tall the photographer was.

There's a wide swathe of barren ice, and in the middle of it is a basin or dip that's overflowing with weird trees and dense vines. There are little dots surrounding it, like birds, only not birds, if you know what I mean.
Aerial
"Explorers go to some weird places," I say to Nate.

He looks at me funny. "I think that's by definition."

Well, I suppose it's an aerial photo. Depends how tall the photographer was.

There's a wide swathe of barren ice, and in the middle of it is a basin or dip that's overflowing with weird trees and dense vines. There are little dots surrounding it, like birds, only not birds, if you know what I mean.

"Explorers go to some weird places," I say to Nate.

He looks at me funny. "I think that's by definition."
Men
A photograph of two men wrapped up in furs and standing in front of a cave painting. One of them looks like the victim, the other's someone in an eye-patch.

The painting shows a load of inhuman stick figures feeding their fellows to a tentacled blob.
Chart
A comparison of the Antarctic climate versus apparent Martian temperatures. Fascinating stuff.

"What kind of holiday time do I get, Nate? It looks like Mars is nice this time of year."

He looks thoughtful. "I'm not sure if you're displaying a complete ignorance of the actual nature of seasons, or making a witty comment about the eccentricity of the Martian orbit."

"The former," I say, "definitely."
Tree
According to the title: "The Martian Life of the Antarctic: A Provisional Taxonomy". It seems to consist of loads of lines connecting long, made-up words.
Knicknacks
A comparison of the Antarctic climate versus apparent Martian temperatures. Fascinating stuff.

"What kind of holiday time do I get, Nate? It looks like Mars is nice this time of year."

He looks thoughtful. "I'm not sure if you're displaying a complete ignorance of the actual nature of seasons, or making a witty comment about the eccentricity of the Martian orbit."

"The former," I say, "definitely."

So you go to Antarctica, without heat, food or reliable transport, and you still come back with loads of rubbish that you don't need. It's a terrible statement on the human condition.

I s'pose the most interesting knickknacks I can see are a husky's COLLAR, a woolly SCARF and a MEDAL. All of them just pinned to the wall.
Medal
The 'South Polar Society Star for Heroic Dedication to Science.' I say to Nate, "At least he got recognised before he died. Does that happen for police detectives?"

Nate says, "Only the ones who don't make waves."

"Oh. Then I missed my chance without even knowing I had it."
Collar
The nametag reads 'Butch'.

"I believe they were forced to eat their dogs," Nate explains.

I frown. "And just think: if Butch had eaten this bloke because he was hungry, people would have called it a tragedy."
Scarf
I finger the scarf. It feels warm, but I'm not sure I'd trust it with my life at the South Pole.
Specimens
Yuck. Okay, there's a polar bear's HEAD mounted on the wall, a pickled space creature in a JAR, and an exotic AQUARIUM.
Head
I reach out and stroke the polar bear's muzzle. He looks fierce, but his fur's nice and soft. "Poor thing. If only he'd covered his nose with his paw when he saw this bloke coming."

"They don't actually ever do that," Nate corrects me.

"Well," I say, "the sooner they start, the better."
JAR
It's... This little blighter must be of great scientific interest, that's for sure. "Where's its head?" I ask. "Is that its mouth?"

"That's its anus," Nate informs me, without so much as blinking.

"Well they must have very different priorities on Mars."
Aquarium
An opulent, oversized tank of water, currently occupied by some gravel and a little CASTLE. No sign of the fish at present. What a waste of water.

"Any little aspect of the crime scene can be relevant," Nate says, cryptically. "There's no such thing as too much knowledge."

Hmm. Maybe the fish is a suspect? I wonder what its alibi is?
Castle
Looking a little more closely, I think I can make out a tiny round eye staring back at me from inside the little castle. "So I've solved the case of the missing FISH."

To my surprise, Nate limps over to get a closer look. "I see. Very interesting."

The thing is, I don't think he's joking.
Fish
I tap on the side of the aquarium. The fish just stares out at me.

"Don't," Nate says. "It's clearly been frightened."

"I thought that's just what fish did? Hide, so you wonder why you bothered to get them in the first place."

Nate brushes back his hair. "Well, if you don't think it's relevant."

I sigh. "Fine, I'll write it down in my NOTEBOOK. Happy?"

Nate reaches out for my notebook and glances over it. "I think you've got enough here that you might be able to EXPLAIN the method of murder."
You explain
"You want me to explain how this man was twisted to death in his own bed?"

Nate purses his lips. "I believe I said as much."

"The dents in the rug... the frightened fish... I dunno, an angler with two peg legs?"

Nate turns towards the maimed corpse. "I've never seen a fisherman who could do this to a person. And what about the circular bruises?"

Well, I s'pose could keep trying to EXPLAIN the murder, or just SHRUG.
You explain
"How about some kind of... petrol-driven arm and leg twisting machine?"

"No," Nate says. "That would never frighten a fish. Fish don't have arms or legs. I know you can EXPLAIN it, though. Keep trying."

Or maybe I should just SHRUG and give up.
You explain
"Frightens fish, leaves dents... a swarm of angry fishing rods?"

Nate sighs. "Now you're just being absurd."

EXPLAIN, SHRUG, the choice is yours.
You explain
"Okay, I think I've got it this time: a typhoon machine on robotic legs. Typhoons are at sea, right?"

"Better," Nate says, "but the whole room would be in disarray if that were the case. I know you can EXPLAIN this mystery, Ivy. Don't give up."

The urge to SHRUG is almost overwhelming.
Punch nate
My attacks are made in the medium of graffiti and petty vandalism.
You explain
"A giant sea urchin, bent on murder. The dents are its footprints. The victim twisted himself to death trying to avoid its spines."

Nate seems impressed. "Well thought out, but sea urchins are very mellow creatures, as their spines protect them from all the ills of the world. I can't imagine one being moved to kill."

"This is ridiculous, Nate, I have no idea."

"I know you can EXPLAIN this, Ivy. All the evidence is here."

I SHRUG, but not in any final sort of fashion. Yet.
You explain
I throw up my hands. "A shark on stilts."

Nate laughs, and I feel myself turning red with embarrassment. Maybe this sort of thing comes easily to him, but-

"Very close," Nate says. "I think you almost have it."

"Um, what?"

Can I really EXPLAIN this bizarre crime, or should I just SHRUG and get Nate to enlighten me?
You explain
"My head hurts," I whine. "My mind's gone blank."

"Nonsense," Nate snaps.

"Okay... a predatory sea creature that frightened the fish... it's on robotic legs, which left dents in the rug... and... it twisted a man up like so much yarn... so it was an octopus?"

Nate squeezes my shoulder. "Based on the sucker marks, I'd say a giant squid, but you're in the right phylum and class."

I stare at him open mouthed.

He looks around. "Now, I suspect we may be able to find out who sicced this abomination on our victim if we rifle his writing DESK."

I frown. "What writing-? Oh."
Desk
This absolutely was not here earlier. Otherwise I'd have mentioned it. Nate must have moved it in while I was distracted with all the other junk packed into this ridiculous room. I mean, there's a polar bear's HEAD on the wall. Is it any wonder if I get distracted? Anyway.

It's a very neat little desk, not much used, I'd say. Two small DRAWERS are set into one side of the thing. On the desk is a PINK letter.
Pink
Written in a careful and delicate script:

Sweetiepie,
Miss you so much when you're away. Hurry round to visit as soon as you can, and bring me a nice surprise!
Love and huggles,
Elizabeth

P.S. Muggles the kitten misses you as well!

"Anything pertinent?" Nate asks.

"Only to my fading ability to hold onto my breakfast."
Drawers
The desk has two drawers. Do you want me to open the TOP one, or the BOTTOM one?
Top
Opening the top drawer reveals a BLUE letter.
Blue
The letter's written in a blocky, neat hand.

Saul,
Our mutual friend is in the city. Don't ask me how. Perhaps you
can pay him off?
Rupert Wetherby

I show the letter to Nate. "Does this sound like the kind of thing that gets people murdered?"

"Anything can get one murdered, in my experience. Keep looking."
Blue
The letter's written in a blocky, neat hand.

Saul,
Our mutual friend is in the city. Don't ask me how. Perhaps you
can pay him off?
Rupert Wetherby
Bottom
I try the bottom drawer, but it won't budge. On closer inspection, there's a little warded LOCK on the thing.

Nate looks over the desk. "The key may be around here somewhere..."

I clear my throat. "I am all the keys you will ever need."
Lock
I pull out one of my hatpins and bend the end into a 'bit' with my teeth. Slide it into the lock like a key, turn it, and... click.

Nate says, "I expect you think I'm impressed."

I blow him a kiss, like a moving picture star. "I know you're impressed."

Opening the drawer, I find a YELLOW letter.
Yellow
This letter's written in an almost uncontrolled scrawl.

Thought you got rid of me, did you?
Well I'm on my way home.
You'll get yours, city boy.

From you know who.

I show it to Nate. "Look like a letter from a murderer to you?"

He develops a crooked smile. "This must be the mutual friend mentioned in the other letter. It seems that 'Rupert' shall have a number of questions to answer."

Nate runs his fingers through his hair and puts on his bowler. "We'll LEAVE once you feel you've sated your curiosity, shall we?"
Nate
Nate's the kind of delicate, impossibly beautiful young man you'd sooner expect to see reclining in a bay window writing poetry than examining a corpse in the Old Warren.

But there's also a sort of nervous energy to him, and his hair's always falling over one eye or the other as he looks around with intense interest.

Nate is carrying a CANE and a police BADGE, and he's wearing a BOWLER hat and a three-piece SUIT.
Look around
You know what? It's cold in here. The wind blows right in through the smashed balcony DOORS, rippling the fur of the room's shaggy RUG and tugging on the torn sheets of the four-poster BED.

There's a mangled CORPSE on the bed - the whole reason we're here, of course. And the walls are lined with all sorts of TROPHIES and stuff from around the Arctic and Antarctic.

Among the clutter is a writing DESK.

The bottom drawer contains a YELLOW letter. The top drawer contains a BLUE letter.

A little FISH watches us from inside its castle.

NATE stands an arm's length away, leaning on his cane.
Notebook
I flip open my notebook. So far, I've made the following notes:

-(A doodle of Walker.)
-The pedals of a motor car go: clutch, brake, accelerator, from left to right.
-Something made lots of dents in the rug.
-There are circular blotches on the victim's limbs.
-Nate thinks the fish is frightened.
You leave
I check my hat's properly in place and make for the door, dragging Nate behind me.

"No entry," the doorman says. "Members only. And you're not even a gentleman."

Ivy waves her papers in his face. "Police. We can go where we like."

"That's not strictly true," I whisper.

Tobacco SMOKE hangs in the air like a mist of filth. I've been in opium dens with more pleasant air, although they admittedly lacked the fine mahogany FURNITURE of this place.

IVY is by my side, elfin and mischievous.

Rupert WETHERBY sits staring at us. "You're both police officers?
The world's really gone to pot."
Ivy
I glance over at Ivy. I see a young woman, about the same age and height as me, slender, athletic, elfin. Her hair is cut into a short bob and her features are untouched by rouge.

Ivy is carrying a NOTEBOOK, a YELLOW letter, and a BLUE letter, and she's wearing a long JACKET, a short DRESS, and a CLOCHE hat.

"Mr Wetherby," Ivy begins uncertainly, "we were wondering about these two letters."

He waves them away. "Not related to Saul's death, I assure you. I understand you must investigate, but some things are better left unknown."
Dress
A simple and short dress, unlikely to get in the way - especially since it barely covers her KNEES.

"Okay," Ivy whispers to me, "I'll be bad cop. You just DEFEND him, APPEAL to his better nature, OFFER leniency, that sort of thing."

"Bad cop?" I repeat stupidly, although the term certainly fits.
Knees
Ivy's bare legs are slender, pale, eminently distracting...

She looks in my direction and I glance quickly away.

Ivy rolls up her sleeves and swaggers over to Wetherby. "Is there something about this 'you know who' that you'd prefer to hide from the law?"

Wetherby seems unimpressed by her display. "I assure you that this matter, while I might prefer to keep it secret, is not related to his murder."

Should I DEFEND Rupert, APPEAL to his better nature, or OFFER leniency?
Appeal
"Mr Wetherby," I say, "please. The murderer must be caught before he or she kills again."

He shakes his head. "I'll say it again. These letters will not lead you to the murderer."

"So you're protecting the victim," Ivy says. "How noble. Or perhaps... you're actually protecting yourself. If Hawthorne had paid this person off, maybe you'd have profited?"

Wetherby glares at her.

Should I DEFEND Rupert, APPEAL to his better nature, or OFFER leniency?
Offer
"If you help us, I'm sure the courts will be lenient." I suggest.

"I'm no accomplice to whoever killed my dearest friend," Wetherby spits.

Ivy idly digs her heel into the expensive carpet. "Even if you're not involved in the murder, I bet you were stabbing Hawthorne in the back in some way or another. I mean, what are you so afraid we'll find out?"

Should I DEFEND Rupert, APPEAL to his better nature, or OFFER leniency?
You defend
"I'm sure he's not afraid of anything," I say. "It may well be perfectly innocent."

Ivy grins. "Well, we'll find out eventually, with or without his co-operation."

"I suppose you might as well hear it from me," Wetherby says. "Look, Saul was no coward. We faced real dangers on our expedition to the North Pole. That polar bear... I'd be dead if not for Saul. But Saul liked his creature comforts. When we met that bo's'n on the icebreaker, saw his remarkable likeness - well..."

He looks at me suddenly. "Will this go any further than you two?"

Should I DEFEND Rupert, APPEAL to his better nature, or OFFER leniency?
Offer
"Unless it becomes absolutely necessary to divulge this to convict his murderer," I say, "you have our confidence."

Wetherby smiles at me. "Thank you. I suppose that's as it must be. And yes, I suspect, despite what I said earlier, that this is related to his death."

Ivy sighs. "Well, spit it out already!"

"Saul never went to the Antarctic Crater," Wetherby says. "He hasn't even left Oldchester in years."

Should I DEFEND Rupert, APPEAL to his better nature, or OFFER leniency?
Appeal
"Once you've shared this with us," I say, "I'm sure it will be a weight from your shoulders."

"I went to Antarctica with a man by the name of Nigel Davenport," Wetherby explains. "In the photographs he looked enough like Saul, especially with a little doctoring of the negatives. He knew the land, but he was no scientist or gentleman, and he started to become quite the braggart. You have to understand: a land that to others was only death, could to him be something closer to a home..."

Ivy gasps. "You left him there, didn't you?"

Wetherby stares at the carpet. "How he could possibly have returned, I do not know. But his aim now seems clear enough to me."

Should I DEFEND Rupert, APPEAL to his better nature, or OFFER leniency?
Offer
I touch Wetherby's shoulder. "I'll see that a constable is assigned to protect you, but we shall have apprehended this man shortly."

Wetherby seems reassured. "Thank you."

I check that my hat is on my head. "Now, where might we find this Davenport?"

"I don't know," Wetherby says. "But I suspect that it will be nowhere civilised. He was Saul's mirror opposite in many ways, and he loathed even the least luxury."

I find myself smiling. "I know just where to find him. Ivy, we'll LEAVE for there immediately."
Jacket
Ivy's jacket is creased and battered, the fabric softened by years of wear.

"But what about the squid?" Ivy demands. "And what are you hiding under that eye patch? Cuff him. Let's take him down to the station and-"

I cover her mouth with my hand. "I think that's quite enough from 'bad cop', thank you."

Ivy says, "Mmm-hhmf."
Cloche
Ivy's wearing one of those strange little bell-shaped hats that are starting to creep into fashion. It looks rather adorable crowning her elfin features.

Wetherby squints at Ivy. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

Ivy pulls on my arm. "I doubt it. Well, off we go..."
Wetherby
A craggy, ageless man in an EYEPATCH. Several of his FINGERS are missing.

Wetherby seems to arrive at a sudden realisation. "Silhouette! I own the carpet factory you broke into. You tampered with the machines... Those obscene patterns! An entire batch had to be burned!"

Ivy shrugs nervously. "I s'pose those are the dangers of too much automation."
EYEPATCH
A smart leather patch covers Wetherby's left eye.

"I need a stout drink," Wetherby murmurs. He stands, bows reluctantly to Ivy and walks away.
Smoke
Yeuch. The place could be burning down, and no-one would notice.

"By the way," Ivy says, "You make a pretty bad 'good cop'. I respect that."

"I was a good enough cop to get you out of Mindflower, Ivy."

She shakes her head. "That's not 'good cop' at all. You're bad cop through and through. We'll try it the other way 'round next time."

Next time!
You look around
Tobacco SMOKE hangs in the air like a mist of filth. I've been in opium dens with more pleasant air, although they admittedly lacked the fine mahogany FURNITURE of this place.

IVY is by my side, elfin and mischievous.

Ivy coughs and waves her hand in front of her. "So much smoke..."
Furniture
All this dark, meticulously polished wood, expertly carved into elegant forms... It reminds me of my family home.

Ivy coughs and pinches her nose. "My eyes are really watering..."
Notebook
She showed me some of the things she's doodled in there. I'd already suspected her mind was of scientific interest, but I had no idea.

Ivy touches my arm lightly. "I can't take it anymore. I'll be outside when you want to LEAVE."

She hurries outside, pausing to wave at the doorman.
You leave
"I used to come here as a kid to feed the ducks," Ivy says. "Can we visit the pond?"

I brush my hair back from my eyes. "Of course. If that's where Davenport is hiding."

A pleasant enough place, even if the smoke-blackened sky and tall buildings peering over the TREES leave one under no illusions that this is anywhere but smack in the middle of the city.

We're on the cobbled square with the famous weeping fish FOUNTAIN. A BENCH overlooks the area, upon which a courting COUPLE sit, side by side.

A PRIESTESS lies sunning herself on the grass, some distance away.

IVY is by my side, elfin and mischievous.
Look around
A pleasant enough place, even if the smoke-blackened sky and tall buildings peering over the TREES leave one under no illusions that this is anywhere but smack in the middle of the city.

We're on the cobbled square with the famous weeping fish FOUNTAIN. A BENCH overlooks the area, upon which a courting COUPLE sit, side by side.

A PRIESTESS lies sunning herself on the grass, some distance away.

IVY is by my side, elfin and mischievous.
Couple
A gentleman and lady, both smartly dressed, perhaps a little older than Ivy and me.

"They make a nice pair, don't you think?" I suggest.

Ivy mimes retching.

Seeing her gesture, the couple both shoot me a pitying look, as if they think I should set my sights higher.
Priestess
Although she mostly fits the part with her straight black hair and KALASIRIS, her pale skin marks her out as an Oldchester native. I'd imagine that's the reason she's trying to get a tan.

"She's judging me," Ivy says, following my gaze. "I can tell."
Kalasiris
A straight, white dress, the straps meeting behind her neck. I'm really not sure if the hemline is higher than Ivy's. The priestess is certainly showing more leg, but perhaps that's just because she's lying down and-

"You look deep in thought," Ivy says. "I s'pose any quiet moment is a chance to ponder mysteries, right?"

I clear my throat. "Yes, well."
Bench
Someone has etched Silooette 4eva into the bench's arm. Now, Ivy's spelling may not be perfect, but she can at least spell her own alias. This message must have been left by one of her fans.
Fountain
The fountain takes the form of a huge, scaly fish. Water cascades in torrents from the corners of its eyes and into a pool dotted with copper and silver coins.

Ivy says, "Freaky. Not sure I'd trust this thing with my wishes."
Trees
Hopwell Gardens has always been surprisingly wooded. It's not uncommon for people to get lost if they wander too far from the path. Peering into the anaemic, smog-poisoned trees, I think I can make out the tattered canvas of a TENT.

Ivy cracks her knuckles. "You have that distant look in your eye.
The chase is afoot."
Ivy
I glance over at Ivy. I see a young woman, about the same age and height as me, slender, athletic, elfin. Her hair is cut into a short bob and her features are untouched by rouge.

Ivy is carrying a NOTEBOOK, a YELLOW letter, and a BLUE letter, and she's wearing a long JACKET, a short DRESS, and a CLOCHE hat.
Yellow
Written on scrappy paper, damaged by moisture and stained by soil. It's hard to tell without chemical analysis, but it doesn't look like soil native to Oldchester.

Thought you got rid of me, did you?
Well I'm on my way home.
You'll get yours, city boy.

From you know who.
Blue
Written on paper that, while hardly rare, is certainly not inexpensive. There's no letterhead.

Saul,
Our mutual friend is in the city. Don't ask me how. Perhaps you
can pay him off?
Rupert Wetherby
TENT
I point at the tattered piece of canvas in the trees. "Looks like someone's camping out."

Ivy laughs. "What kind of idiot would sleep in a tent in Hopewell Gardens? Oh, wait... Yeah, I've not been paying attention."

A dirt path leads IN, towards the tent.
Enter
We follow the path into the woods, the sounds of civilisation growing distant behind us.

The air here is cool and damp, the sky obscured by the broad green leaves of an immense and gnarled OAK. A TENT canopy has been strung across its branches, and a BARREL of fish sits between its roots.

An unkempt MAN sits cross-legged in the dirt.

IVY is by my side, elfin and mischievous.

Oh, and, by the way, a giant SQUID on robot legs hulks over us all, chained to the oak's trunk.

Ivy grabs my arm. "A squid on robot legs! You were right! I was right! Leg it!"

The man leaps to his feet, swinging a flare gun wildly in our direction. "Not so fast, townies."
Man
I can see the resemblance to Hawthorne, I suppose. Although it's obscured rather by his long, matted hair and untamed beard.

He's bareheaded and clad in a suit of Martian SCALES.

Davenport manages to control his mirth. "This is what qualifies for strength and authority in the city, is it? A lame pretty boy and a waif who can hardly see out from under her hat? No, I think you have this situation all backwards."
Scale
The scales shimmer in the light: rust red, coarse and dry.

Ivy whispers to me, "You carry a gun, right?"

I'm shocked. "Of course not! I abhor violence. That's the very reason I became a police detective."
CANE
A simple but sturdy walking stick, necessary since I was shot by an accomplice of the Bottle Street Strangler.

"Look at you both," Davenport says. "In your city clothes. Prancing around like you own the world."
Barrel
Stolen from a local fishmonger, I'm sure. It's full of slimy, oily FISH.

"I've seen creatures that thought they owned a world," Davenport continues, "and then found out the hard way."
SCALES
The scales shimmer in the light: rust red, coarse and dry.

"Thought that was a meteorite, everyone did," Davenport says. "Left that crater in the ice. Didn't hang 'round long enough to find the truth."
TENT
A tattered piece of canvas that seems to have attracted the filth of two continents like... well... some sort of... filth magnet.

Davenport winks. It's a rather frightening sight. "I'll tell you. I'll tell you what I found down there, and you'll wish I hadn't."
Legs
The squid's robot legs are thickly armoured and crab-like. Petrol-driven, I suspect, given the noise. As well as providing locomotion, they incorporate some sort of GILL apparatus.

There's also a conspicuous LEVER in amongst the machinery.

"This incredible machinery," I ask Davenport, "where did you get it? Who fashioned it?"

"T-T-" he stammers, "that's none of your business, city boy!"
FISH
When Davenport isn't looking, Ivy purloins a haddock.

"DISTRACT him," she hisses.

It seems she's formulated some sort of plan.
Arms
Gathered in a writhing coil around its mouthparts are the squid's arms - eight muscular appendages lined with toothed suckers. Although their reach is limited, once it's got hold of you with these, you're a goner for sure. As Ivy might put it.

Extending far beyond the squid's arms are its TENTACLES.

Ivy whispers to me, "I don't understand what he's talking about."

"Don't you read the papers?" I whisper back.

She shrugs. "When I'm in them, sure."
You distract
The squid has two long tentacles, each ending in an arrowhead of suckers. They dart through the air like angry snakes. Not to be confused with its ARMS.

Davenport looks up at the blue sky. "Mars. Dry and cold and dead. But it was pleasant enough. Once."

I adjust my bowler and start to pace away from Ivy. "You're quite right. In fact, I see the error of my ways now. Perhaps you could instruct me in a few survival techniques?"

Davenport looks at me pityingly. "The only teacher you need is Mother Nature. But I warn you, she's a harsh schoolmarm indeed."

I try to look disappointed. "I see."

Ivy discreetly slips the haddock into one of Davenport's pockets.
Eyes
The squid stares at us with glassy eyes the size of dinner plates.

"Creatures like us lived there," Davenport says. "High 'n' mighty. Civilised. But it counted for nothing when the oceans dried."
Muzzle
"Don't worry," I tell Ivy, "it's not going to eat anyone while it's muzzled like that."

"No," she agrees, "it'll just have to wring 'em out like a wet stocking instead."

"Some of 'em fled," Davenport goes on. "The ark. Bet they were the smartest, the most civilised of all of them. But all this time later, it don't count for nothing."
Gill
Among the intricate mass of machinery that supports the squid's existence on land is - obviously - a contraption for supplying it with oxygenated water. I can see a glass CANISTER of water connected to a mass of HOSES and a PUMP.

It reminds me of my carrion fly experiment. Actually, I wonder how that's going...

Ivy pokes me in the ribs. "Please don't start daydreaming when we're face to face with a sea monster."
Pump
I'll be honest, I have no great technical appreciation of water or air pumps. Though after this, I'll be sure to do some research.

"There they are," Davenport says. "Scratching at the ice like beggars. Savages. Feeding the weak to the many-armed monsters that came with 'em. No politeness. No etiquette. No pretence. Just do or die."
Canister
Don't let the fact it's glass fool you: it must be pretty tough to contain water at deep-sea pressures.

"And you, pretty boy," Davenport says, pointing at me, "you think this could never happen to us? How'd you get by without that cane of yours?"

"Always rather badly," I admit. He seems satisfied at that.
Hoses
Yes, I suspect that these hoses are this thing's weak spot. But we have no chance of getting close to them while the squid's tentacles are free.

"We got rid of everything worthwhile," Davenport says. "And we replaced it all with this civilisation. Made up nonsense. Distractions. Anything except engaging with the real world. With the harsh realities."
LEVER
Whatever it does, it's protected by the squid's ARMS and I have absolutely no chance of reaching it right now. Better to focus on something else.

Davenport waves an arm at the city we can just about make out through the trees. "And what happens when all this goes the way of Mars? How many of us will survive? How many of us even have the least idea how to?"
You describe your surroundings
The air here is cool and damp, the sky obscured by the broad green leaves of an immense and gnarled OAK. A TENT canopy has been strung across its branches, and a BARREL of fish sits between its roots.

An unkempt MAN stands before us, aiming a flare gun in our direction.

IVY is by my side, elfin and mischievous.

Oh, and, by the way, a giant SQUID on robot legs hulks over us all, chained to the oak's trunk.

"You're probably right about that," I admit. "Our civilisation could probably fall apart. Go the way of Mars. And that'd write off those of us who rely on it. But, well, so what?"

Ivy sighs. "Oh yeah, provoke him. That's a great idea."
OAK
I suppose this venerable old organism must give even the giant squid a run for its money in the size and strength stakes, inanimate though it may be.

Davenport's made a bit of a mockery of the poor thing, suspending his TENT from its branches and looping the squid's CHAIN around its thick trunk and branches.

Davenport stammers. "Wh- what do you mean, so what?"

"I mean: so what? Civilisation is about trying to make lives pleasant and easy, but we still wind up dead in the end. I'm a homicide detective, I know that as well as anyone. I don't see that death - on a personal or global scale - is a convincing reason to give up on trying to make lives better while we still can."
Chain
The chain is wrapped and wound and knotted in all manner of fantastic ways. I bet this fellow was a dedicated boy scout. Although, now that I look at it, a lot of the tension in the chain seems to be held by a single ice SCREW hammered into the ground.

Davenport looks confused. Confused and angry.

Ivy grabs hold of my wrist, ready to make a run for it. "You've done it now..."
Screw
I jam the tip of my cane under the ice screw and steadily work it out of the ground. The chain restraining the giant squid unravels in a single fluid motion and the beast takes a few experimental steps forward on its stubby metal feet.

Davenport is ranting, "That's what you don't understand: nature can't be tamed, can't be restrained, and all your civilisation will count for nothing when it comes for you!"

The squid's tentacles grab hold of him, crumpling his body up into a mangled mass. He dies with a sharp squeal of surprise.

Ivy slips under my arm and pulls it around her shoulders. "Yeah, I think we should leave pretty quickly now..."

IVY drags me out of the woods and onto the cobbled square. The park is just as we left it. Birds sing, couples court, children frolic.

Ivy screams, "Everybody run! A giant squid on robot legs is coming!"

The people around the park just stare at her.
Notebook
She showed me some of the things she's doodled in there. I'd already suspected her mind was of scientific interest, but I had no idea.

Davenport waves the flare gun at us. "Yeah, but... civilisation is just a thin veneer! Think you're so smart. Think you're so great. You don't know nothing. I'll show you. I got that lying ponce. I'll get that one-eyed back-stabber too. After that, well, I'll show you what your civilisation amounts to!"
You wait
I wait patiently. Ivy squirms.

Davenport's almost muttering to himself now. "Yeah, I'll show you a little Martian savagery. If you're too weak to live, you won't escape the long arms of the monster. That's the way. That's how we do things on Mars..."

Ivy relaxes. "I think you broke him."
You wait
I wait patiently. Ivy squirms.

Davenport continues to rant and mutter about Mars and civilisation and how he'll show us all.
Ivy
Clanking machinery draws near, and I turn towards the trees. "It seems to have taken a shine to us," I tell Ivy.

She throws up her hands. "Lovely. And you can't run?"

I shake my head. "Perhaps you should."

She rolls up her sleeves. "Oh yeah, that'd prove a lot of people right, wouldn't it?"

Mechanical legs pistoning, tentacles writhing through the air, the giant SQUID bursts out of the trees.

After a moment of shocked silence, people begin to scream and run.

Ivy yells, "I told you!"
Squid
An elongated creature with enormous, round EYES. Its many short ARMS are curled around the robotic LEGS that support it, while its two longer TENTACLES roam freely through the air.

A MUZZLE is strapped tightly over its beak.

The squid grabs Ivy around the waist with a tentacle and lifts her into the air.

Understandably, she screams.

"Relax!" I shout up to her. "This creature was raised by a human.
It sees itself as one of us, and it won't kill without a direct order from Davenport. I'm sure it just wants to assert itself over us and cement its place in the pack."

The squid gives Ivy a good shake. "I'm really reassured," she yells, "now get me down from here!"

An elongated creature with enormous, round EYES. Its many short ARMS are curled around the robotic LEGS that support it, while its two longer TENTACLES roam freely through the air.

A MUZZLE is strapped tightly over its beak.

The squid holds Ivy directly above me. She grabs at her dress and crosses her legs. "Hey, don't look! I thought you were a gentleman!"
Ivy
One of the squid's tentacles is wrapped firmly around Ivy's waist, holding her up in the air.

Ivy is carrying a NOTEBOOK, a YELLOW letter, and a BLUE letter, and she's wearing a long JACKET, a short DRESS, and a CLOCHE hat.

"Whatever you do," I shout at Ivy, "don't think like a fish!"
Eyes
I poke the squid in the eye with my cane. It screeches and writhes, coiling and uncoiling its tentacles in discomfort.

Ivy falls to the ground. She lands flat on her backside with a surprised squeak.
Legs
The squid's robot legs are thickly armoured and crab-like. Petrol-driven, I suspect, given the noise. As well as providing locomotion, they incorporate some sort of GILL apparatus.

There's also a conspicuous LEVER in amongst the machinery.

The squid grabs me around the waist with a tentacle and lifts me into the air. My hat flies off and tumbles to the ground.

Ivy cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, "Nate! Hold on! I'll save you!"
LEVER
Whatever it does, it's protected by the squid's ARMS and I have absolutely no chance of reaching it right now. Better to focus on something else.

Ivy runs right up to the squid and punches it in the eye. It screeches and writhes, coiling and uncoiling its tentacles in discomfort.

The squid releases me and I land hard, my bad leg giving out beneath me. Ivy helps me to my feet.
ARMS
Gathered in a writhing coil around its mouthparts are the squid's arms - eight muscular appendages lined with toothed suckers. Although their reach is limited, once it's got hold of you with these, you're a goner for sure. As Ivy might put it.

Extending far beyond the squid's arms are its TENTACLES.

Ivy tries to punch ineffectually at a tentacle, swiping at thin air.
Hose
We have no chance of getting close to the hoses while the squid's tentacles are free.

Ivy growls with frustration. "Where are the police when you actually need them for once?"

"On their way," I reply, glossing over the fact that we are the police. "But until then, it's just us."
LEVER
Whatever it does, it's protected by the squid's ARMS and I have absolutely no chance of reaching it right now. Better to focus on something else.

The squid grabs Ivy around the waist with a tentacle and lifts her into the air.

Ivy yelps. "Poke its EYE again, Nate! Get me down!"
Hose
We have no chance of getting close to the hoses while the squid's tentacles are free.

"Don't worry!" I call up to Ivy. "I'll think of something!"
Eye
I poke the squid in the eye with my cane. It screeches and writhes, coiling and uncoiling its tentacles in discomfort.

Ivy falls to the ground. She lands flat on her backside with a surprised squeak.
LEVER
Whatever it does, it's protected by the squid's ARMS and I have absolutely no chance of reaching it right now. Better to focus on something else.

The squid's robot legs chug and gurgle loudly.
Tentacles
The squid has two long tentacles, each ending in an arrowhead of suckers. They dart through the air like angry snakes. Not to be confused with its ARMS.

The squid grabs me around the waist with a tentacle and lifts me into the air.

Ivy cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, "Nate! Hold on! I'll save you!"
Knees
Ivy's bare legs are slender, pale, eminently distracting...

She looks in my direction and I glance quickly away.

Ivy runs right up to the squid and punches it in the eye. It screeches and writhes, coiling and uncoiling its tentacles in discomfort.

The squid releases me and I land hard, my bad leg giving out beneath me. Ivy helps me to my feet.
Wait
Time passes...

"It must have a weakness," Ivy says. "If fish are frightened of squid... what are squid frightened of?"

"Sperm whales."

Ivy looks thoughtful. "I s'pose there's not so many of those around. Unless-"

I shake my head. "No. Not even then."
You look at your surroundings
This cobbled square, surrounded on all sides by TREES, is home to a FOUNTAIN and a BENCH.

I see a BOWLER hat here.

IVY is close by my side, sleeves rolled up and fists clenched.

The giant SQUID stands astride the square on crab-like robot LEGS, TENTACLES writhing in the air.

The squid grabs Ivy around the waist with a tentacle and lifts her into the air.

Ivy yelps. "Poke its EYE again, Nate! Get me down!"
BOWLER
It's the nature of this line of work that my bowler spends more time in my hands than on my head.

"Nate!" Ivy shouts. "Do something!"
Fountain
The fountain takes the form of a huge, scaly fish. Something that you might expect the squid to take an interest in, if only I could draw its attention to it. Unfortunately, I'm not really mobile enough to get in the fountain, and Ivy's presently otherwise engaged.

The squid dangles Ivy upside down. "I s'pose I'm used to this by now..." she mutters.
Ivy
One of the squid's tentacles is wrapped firmly around Ivy's waist, holding her up in the air.

Ivy is carrying a NOTEBOOK, a YELLOW letter, and a BLUE letter, and she's wearing a long JACKET, a short DRESS, and a CLOCHE hat.

Ivy yells, "Put me down you big, smelly... cephalopod!"
Wait
Time passes...

"I think Hawthorne's fish was braver than we gave it credit for!" Ivy says.
Fountain
"Ivy," I exclaim, "the fountain!"

She grasps my intent immediately. "The fish!"

Hiking up her dress, Ivy leaps into the fountain with a splash and begins waving her arms. "Hey, grabby! Your mortal enemy is right here! He says your mother was a snail and your father a lounge lizard!"

"Ivy, watch out!"

She dives aside just as the squid wraps a tentacle around the fountain. Despite its best efforts, the beast is unable to dislodge the stone fish. That's one fewer tentacle to worry about.
Tentacle
The squid has two long tentacles, each ending in an arrowhead of suckers. They dart through the air like angry snakes. Not to be confused with its ARMS.

Ivy makes a run towards the squid's robot legs, but it knocks her back effortlessly.
Bench
Someone has etched Silooette 4eva into the bench's arm. Now, Ivy's spelling may not be perfect, but she can at least spell her own alias. This message must have been left by one of her fans.

The squid grabs me around the waist with a tentacle and lifts me into the air.

Ivy cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, "Nate! Hold on! I'll save you!"
LEVER
Whatever it does, it's protected by the squid's ARMS and I have absolutely no chance of reaching it right now. Better to focus on something else.

Ivy runs right up to the squid and punches it in the eye. It screeches and writhes, coiling and uncoiling its tentacles in discomfort.

The squid releases me and I land hard, my bad leg giving out beneath me. Ivy helps me to my feet.
Look around
This cobbled square, surrounded on all sides by TREES, is home to a FOUNTAIN and a BENCH.

I see a BOWLER hat here.

IVY is close by my side, sleeves rolled up and fists clenched.

The giant SQUID stands astride the square on crab-like robot LEGS, its TENTACLES divided between grasping the fish fountain and swiping at us.

The squid bats my hat about on the ground with a tentacle. That's a bit much - to single out a man's hat.
Trees
They have the unhealthy look of trees that have seen a modern city sprout up around them.

The squid knocks Ivy's legs out from under her with a tentacle. She manages to land on all fours and right herself quickly.
Inventory
I am carrying a CANE and a police BADGE, and I'm wearing a three-piece SUIT.

The squid grabs Ivy around the waist with a tentacle and lifts her into the air.

Ivy yelps. "Poke its EYE again, Nate! Get me down!"
Suit
There being no consistent dress code for murder scenes, I tend to dress as if for a funeral. My suit is black and carefully pressed.

The squid waves Ivy idly in the air. "I'm going to throw up in a minute," she shouts.
Hat
Which hat do you mean, the cloche hat, or the bowler hat?
BOWLER
It's the nature of this line of work that my bowler spends more time in my hands than on my head.

Ivy tries spitting at the squid, to no obvious effect. "Hey, I'm no lady!" she shouts, in answer to my expression.
Squid
An elongated creature with enormous, round EYES. Its many short ARMS are curled around the robotic LEGS that support it, while of its two longer TENTACLES, one roams freely through the air and the other grasps vainly at the stone fish.

A MUZZLE is strapped tightly over its beak.

The squid shakes Ivy vigorously and she, uh, lets out a stream of obscenities that I shan't repeat.
Muzzle
"Don't worry," I tell Ivy, "it's not going to eat anyone while it's muzzled like that."

"No," she agrees, "it'll just have to wring 'em out like a wet stocking instead."

Ivy waves her arms. "Don't forget about me!"
Arm
Gathered in a writhing coil around its mouthparts are the squid's arms - eight muscular appendages lined with toothed suckers. Although their reach is limited, once it's got hold of you with these, you're a goner for sure. As Ivy might put it.

Extending far beyond the squid's arms are its TENTACLES.

The squid half drops Ivy and catches her. She grips the tentacle with white knuckles.
Look around
This cobbled square, surrounded on all sides by TREES, is home to a FOUNTAIN and a BENCH.

I see a BOWLER hat here.

The giant SQUID stands astride the square on crab-like robot LEGS, its TENTACLES occupied with Ivy and the fish fountain.

IVY is being held high in the air by one of the squid's tentacles.

Ivy tries to kick at the squid, but it's holding her at tentacle's length.
Fountain
The fountain takes the form of a huge, scaly fish. It's currently presenting a stony front to the squid's attempts to overpower it with a tentacle.

Ivy punches the tentacle that's holding her, and then clutches her hand. "Ouch! It's tough..."
Pump
I'll be honest, I have no great technical appreciation of water or air pumps. Though after this, I'll be sure to do some research.

"Don't worry!" I call up to Ivy. "I'll think of something!"
Hose
I slide my cane into the hoses and lever it upwards, putting all the effort I can into it, my bad leg screaming with pain.

With an ear-splitting hiss, water begins to spray out of the bottom of the gill apparatus, blasting across the cobbles at high pressure. The squid's eyes bulge, and it staggers drunkenly to one side. Its robotic legs slam into the fountain with the sound of metal grating against stone.

Ivy falls to the ground. She lands flat on her backside with a surprised squeak.
LEVER
I approach the squid cautiously. Ivy trails behind me, pulling back on my sleeve. "Nate..."

The lever's deep in among the complex machinery of the robotic legs, within reach of the the squid's eight short arms. I wait carefully for my moment, and then dart out a hand to pull the lever home.

The squid knocks me back reflexively with a tentacle, and I tumble down onto the cobbles in a heap with Ivy. Something inside the robotic legs clanks and whirrs.

With a series of chunky clicks, the bizarre contraption releases its harness. The squid slides into the fountain with an almighty splash.

And then FORTHRIGHT storms into the square with a dozen blue-uniformed CONSTABLES.

Ivy folds her arms. "Perfect timing."

Forthright adjusts his bowler. "What in the blazes happened here?"
Constables
Moustachioed men in blue coats and tall hats. Every so often one of them glances disapprovingly in my direction. They generally only have to deal with this sort of thing when I'm working on the case.
Ivy
It seems happy enough to be free of Davenport's contraption. And I imagine it's spent enough time at surface pressure to be content in the fountain water for a while.

I glance over at Ivy. I see a young woman, about the same age and height as me, slender, athletic, elfin. Her hair is cut into a short bob and her features are untouched by rouge.

Ivy is carrying a NOTEBOOK, a YELLOW letter, and a BLUE letter, and she's wearing a long JACKET, a short DRESS, and a CLOCHE hat.
Forthright
"Inspector," I say to Forthright, "see that this animal is transported humanely to the Institute for Marine Biology. Given time they may be able to reintroduce it to its natural habitat."

Forthright looks at me in that way he does so often. "Right... okay."

"And have that strange contraption moved to Bridge House. I shall need to investigate it further."

Forthright studies the scene before him and scratches his head.
"Right you are. I've got this under control. You two could probably use a break."

"Oh indeed," Ivy says unctuously. "We really must be going. Have fun with the grabby squid."

Forthright doffs his hat to her condescendingly. "Pleasant day, madam."
BOWLER
It's the nature of this line of work that my bowler spends more time in my hands than on my head.

I think we can safely LEAVE now.
Look around
Sorry, but that's not a keyword you can use right now.

This cobbled square, surrounded on all sides by TREES, is home to a FOUNTAIN and a BENCH.

I see a BOWLER hat here.

IVY is by my side, elfin and mischievous.

FORTHRIGHT stands here, hands on his lapels, trying to look like he's in charge of the situation.

The giant SQUID splashes about happily in the fountain, its robotic LEGS now abandoned.

A group of blue-uniformed CONSTABLES stand around the square, wondering what to do with the creature.
Legs
Thickly armoured and crab-like. Although there's nothing too unusual about their construction, I have to wonder where exactly a person like Davenport was able to obtain machinery like this.
You leave
Ivy slips her arm in mine and sets my bowler on my head at a jaunty angle. I straighten it.

"I need a cup of tea after that," I say.

It's me again: your favourite dissident turned detective. Okay, let's get this over with.

I feel sort of naked without my hat.

NATE and me come in through the fancy double DOORS, awkward and out of place.

We're greeted by a beautiful woman in a kalasiris. "I am Haqikah," she says, "God's Wife of Amun. The Pharaoh will see you now."

She turns from us with impossible grace and glides further IN to the museum.

"I don't know about this, Nate," I whisper. "It's not all that long ago I was being tried for blasphemy."

"You were tried for plenty of other things as well," he reassures me.
Nate
He's looking very fine and dandy tonight, in an immaculately tailored TUXEDO. His hair's its usual disobedient self, which only adds to his charm.

Nate is carrying a CANE.
CANE
Nate leans heavily on a smart black walking stick.
Dress
This must be the most expensive thing I've ever worn, and I'm not entirely sure why. Okay, it's a gorgeous, floor-length dress, but it's also just a thin bit of material and it doesn't even have sleeves.

Nate sees me looking down at myself and says, "You look perfect."

I stare at the floor. "I'm going to pay you back."

He shrugs. "Keep it."

Yeah, well, I'll pay him back - you'll see.
Doors
I look at the way out and consider just making a break for it.

Nate holds out his delicate HAND so I can see he's trembling, ever so slightly. "I'm nervous too," he says. "I've not exactly been much of a friend to the rich and powerful. But we're in enough trouble as it is."

"Sooner or later," I tell him, "you'll get sick of being right all the time."
Hand
I grab Nate's hand, squeezing his slender fingers.

"If they feed us to a crocodile," I tell him, "let it eat me first, and I'll choke it from the inside while you escape."

"That's very noble of you, Ivy."

He doesn't think I'm being serious.
Go inside
I squeeze Nate's hand until he winces and laughs, and then we walk forward, together.

This place is all marble pillars and soft lighting. Most of the space is taken up by a low platform with the pharaoh's SARCOPHAGUS on it - which is hooked up to all sorts of MACHINERY and surrounded by half-naked SERVANTS.

HAQIKAH stands between us and the pharaoh, looking properly serene and dignified.

NATE's close by, clutching his cane.
Servants
I won't describe them in too much detail, cos it wouldn't be proper. Let's just say I feel better about not having my hat with me.

The speaker on top of the sarcophagus crackles, and a buzzing voice emerges. "It has been many centuries since I last heard of champions defeating a monster."

Nate says, "I'm really not sure we- Ouch!"

I'm standing on his foot.
Machinery
Nate could probably tell you what all this machinery is. Me, I just see a load of hoses snaking into the SARCOPHAGUS, something a bit like a wireless, some flashing lights and bubbling beakers - and, sitting right on top of the sarcophagus, a big, elegant gramophone speaker.

The buzzing voice continues. "This strange city needs champions. Henceforth you are both Special Detectives to the Office of the Pharaoh."

Haqikah hands a BADGE each to Nate and me.
Sarcophagus
A big, gold, person-shaped coffin, lying down on its back. The face looks sort of aloof and not bothered about anything. Pulsating hoses snake into it from the surrounding MACHINERY.

"Blasphemer!" the speaker booms, and I almost jump out of my skin. "Know that your living god is merciful."

Haqikah hands me a sheet of PAPYRUS. I take it with wildly shaking hands.
Badge
So it looks like I'm now a woman policeman. I wonder if I outrank Forthright?

Nate looks up from his shiny new badge. "I want the Old Warren desk."

Haqikah looks surprised, and the Phararoh's electric voice is silent.

Should I SPEAK up or just WAIT quietly?
Papyrus
The papyrus bears writing in neat calligraphy:

Miss Ivy Blissheart is hereby pardoned for her crimes and blasphemies. Her actions before this date must never be considered when judging her innocence or sanity.

And then it's signed by Haqikah and stamped with wax.

"Very well," the Pharaoh's voice says. "You shall bring My justice to the destitute and filthy in their narrow streets."

Nate brushes his hair back from his eyes... and smiles.

They step out of the museum side by side - the young man in the bowler, leaning on his cane; the young woman in the battered jacket, her hat brim low over her eyes.

"Our first case together," she says, "and we wrestle a mechanised squid and have an audience with the Pharaoh. Is it always like this?"

He looks thoughtful. "Sometimes it's like this."

"So... what now?"

"Tea", he says. "There'll be crime and mystery soon enough. Before all that, we need a cup of tea."

They walk to the motor car in silence - the only sounds their footsteps and the low murmur of the city.

"Mine's with three sugars," she adds.
Awards
Awards earned:
-Flapper in Shining Armour - Ivy rescued Nate from the Chief Inspector!
-Mollusc Mate - the squid lived!
-Oh I Say - Ivy and Nate held hands!

You earned 3/3 awards.
-Unlocked Ivy's bio.
-Unlocked Nate's bio.

Would you like to RESTORE a saved position, RESTART the story, UNDO the last move, see your AWARDS, read about IVY, read about NATE, or QUIT?
You speak
I clear my throat. Everyone looks at me.

I'm, uh, not really good at public speaking. Graffiti is more my medium. Okay, here goes.

"Look, I know we're a right pair of misfits, but all we've ever tried to do is what we thought was right. If we can help people who need help and don't often get it, then I think, you know, that'd be a real opportunity for us."

My voice sounds really squeaky. I swallow. "And, you know, maybe some people who don't think the Pharaoh cares about them will, you know..." I trail off.

Haqikah raises an eyebrow. At least Nate seems pleased with my little speech.

"Very well," the Pharaoh's voice says. "You shall bring My justice to the destitute and filthy in their narrow streets."

Nate brushes his hair back from his eyes... and smiles.

They step out of the museum side by side - the young man in the bowler, leaning on his cane; the young woman in the battered jacket, her hat brim low over her eyes.

"Our first case together," she says, "and we wrestle a mechanised squid and have an audience with the Pharaoh. Is it always like this?"

He looks thoughtful. "Sometimes it's like this."

"So... what now?"

"Tea", he says. "There'll be crime and mystery soon enough. Before all that, we need a cup of tea."

They walk to the motor car in silence - the only sounds their footsteps and the low murmur of the city.

"Mine's with three sugars," she adds.
IVY
Biographical records:

Age: 25
Father: Unknown
Mother: Jessica Blissheart (whereabouts unknown)
Education:
Sister Hardlove's Home for Foundlings
Qualifications:
Apprenticeship in mechanical loom use and maintenance
Employment:
Factory girl, Thompson's Ornithopters
Notable Skills:
Consummate artist in a variety of old and new media.
Expert at understanding and manipulating household and industrial machinery.
Self-taught locksmith.

Would you like to RESTORE a saved position, RESTART the story, UNDO the last move, see your AWARDS, read about IVY, read about NATE, or QUIT?
Nate
Biographical records:

Age: 23
Father: Charles Richmond (deceased)
Mother: Olivia Richmond nee Walker (deceased)
Education:
Excelsior Grammar School
Oldchester University
Qualifications:
Bachelor's Degree in the Natural Sciences (with Distinction) Employment:
Detective, Oldchester C.I.D.
Notable Skills:
Expert criminologist with considerable knowledge of a wide variety of relevant disciplines.
Classically trained pianist.
Competition fencer (retired).

Would you like to RESTORE a saved position, RESTART the story, UNDO the last move, see your AWARDS, read about IVY, read about NATE, or QUIT?