text: [Themes: Surreal, adventure, unicorn, educational]
  
  > Go downward
  You pick your way back down the crag, leaving that penultimate-looking tower behind you. You're now able to make your way through the maze with ease, and you're soon back on the other side.
  
  You're standing at the entrance to a vast maze built of hedges that tower six feet above you. The path seems extravagantly narrow, as if the designer wanted to prepare the unwary adventurer from the outside. Above the entrance is a painted wooden sign. It looks important.
  
  > examine the hedges
  Dark and daunting.
  
  > Go east
  The plains seem folornly empty now that the unicorn's non-existence has been firmly proven. There is nothing here for you.
  
  > go to the east
  The plains are too vast and empty for that to be a pleasurable walk.
  
  > go the church
  The church appears to have made up its mind about its own interior, plumping for a simple majesty in stone and wood. As the door creaks gracefully closed behind you, you survey your surroundings: the oak pews lining the nave, the beautiful arched stone roof, the carved pulpit at the head of the church and, behind it, an enormous tapestry depicting -- nothing?
  
  In one of the pews a woman in full bridal gear sits, weeping to herself.
  
  > examine the pews
  Once imposing rows of oak seating, the effect has been somewhat diminished by the hardy endeavours of bored worshippers equipped with pocket-knives. The pews now provide an education of biblical proportions for any inquisitve youngster in the arts of caricature, aphorism and sex miseducation.
  
  > talk to the bride
  You tap her lightly on the shoulder, and she dissolves into sobs at your touch like a centuries-old skeleton into dust.
  
  [1] Er . . . are you OK?
  [2] Um. Right. Sorry. I'll just . . . stand over here.
  
  > 1
  She blows her nose very loudly on her veil and glares at you with red-rimmed eyes. "What do you think?" she says.
  
  [1] Ah. Guess not. Sorry. I'll just . . . stand over here.
  
  > 1
  She wails even louder at your departure.
  
  > examine the roof
  Great stone arches support the vault, adorned with gargoyles depicting various breeds of anthropomorphised shellfish.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a handkerchief
  a qualiascope
  a sack (open)
  a Communist Manifesto
  a broken lantern
  a manual
  file of Platonic forms
  a useless scrap of paper
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  
  > give the handkerchief to the bride
  The bride looks at your proferred hanky, at takes it gratefully. Casting the soaked veil aside, she blows her nose with a foghorn bellow and looks folornly at the altar.
  
  > take the veil
  You pick up the veil and wring it out. On examining it, you realise that the fine lacework spells out a word: Ignorance. Curiouser and curiouser. Um. More curious.
  
  > talk to the bride
  After she's fully evacuated her nose into your hanky she hands it back to you. You look at it, aghast at the vast quantities of snot therein.
  
  [1] That's OK. You can keep it.
  [2] Best hold on to that. Better now?
  
  > 2
  "A little," she says, in a very small voice, and proceeds to snort out an even more prolific stream.
  
  [1] Well, that's good to hear. Do you think it would help to talk about what's bothering you?
  [2] Sweet. Glad to help. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on . . . [3] Why the long face, anyway?
  
  > 2
  Immediately the bride grasps your shoulder and sobs into it, the tearful torrent turning your clothes into a wet mush.
  
  [1] There, there.
  [2] Right. Sure. Well, this shoulder's a bit wet now, so I think I'll leave you with the hanky, OK?
  
  > 1
  You pat her awkwardly on the shoulder, and wait for the tears to dry up. It takes a while. Then she sits up, takes a deep breath, and begins:
  
  "We'd been engaged for months, and deeply in love for years before. We'd prepared for today for weeks and weeks, and it was all meant to be so -- so perfect. But I knew something was wrong. There's been something wrong with him for a few days now. Ever since he picked up a logic textbook.
  
  "He started to get this awkward look in his eyes when we talked about the wedding. He'd dodge the subject. But he never said he'd do this! Leave me standing at the altar like an unwanted pudding!
  
  "I waited for an hour. The guests all started to leave. His family scarpered and mine chased after them. Then it was just me, when his best man came and told me what had happened.
  
  "He'd realised he couldn't marry me. The book had told him. Decades of the world's most pre-eminent philosophers have said it. He was a bachelor. And all bachelors are unmarried men."
  
  The bride sighs, hiccups, and then, just as you think she's about to recover, dissolves into another bout of sobbing. You decide that now is probably the most tactful time to leave, and vow to be more original in your logic examples in future.
  
  > examine the woman
  She's like a very damp pile of meringues, and she's getting damper by the second.
  
  > look at the pulpit
  An huge oak platform with an overarching sound-board; you imagine a preacher could boom out from here.
  
  > examine the door
  The heavy wooden portal at the southwest end of the church leads back to the village street. It's covered with some very peculiar carvings.
  
  > examine the carvings
  These relief carvings appear to show a sequence of scenes from some strange mythology. In the first, a nubile young woman is examining a peculiar package laid under a tall tree. In the second, she is wearing a short tartan skirt, a snappy blaze and pigtails, and a strapping young lad is advancing on her rapidly. In the third, twelve men are gathered, six holding hoes and six holding spears, while in the fourth one of the spearmen is brutally attacking one of the hoemen. The following scenes include floods, burning rains, lots of sex and inumerable platypuses. Platypi. The usual myth-fodder.
  
  > go the Theatre
  You try the theatre doors, but they're fastened shut. A scrawled sign by them says "Closed for rehearsals. New sensual extravaganzas coming soon.
  
  > look at Lumberjack
  The lumberjack is wearing a flannel shirt and heavy boots whilst sporting a beard of revolutionary proportions and carrying an axe. She looks like Paul Bunyan in minature.
  
  > get the axe
  That seems to belong to the lumberjack.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a veil
  a qualiascope
  a sack (open)
  a Communist Manifesto
  a broken lantern
  a manual
  file of Platonic forms
  a useless scrap of paper
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  
  > give Manifesto to Lumberjack
  (first taking the Communist Manifesto)
  (putting the qualiascope into the sack to make room)
  The lumberjack doesn't seem interested.
  
  > examine model
  It's mouth gaping open and its glass eyes staring, this enormous model of a bat frightens the life out of you. The fact that it's gently turning round and round serves only to add a touch of psychopathic absurdity.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a Communist Manifesto
  a veil
  a sack (open)
  a qualiascope
  a broken lantern
  a manual
  file of Platonic forms
  a useless scrap of paper
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  
  > give the paper to Achilles
  You can only do that to something animate.
  
  > take the paper
  (putting the veil into the sack to make room)
  Taken.
  
  > 1
  "Oh dear. Well, do drop by again if you change your mind."
  
  > examine lighter
  It a bit old and creaky, but it gives a serviceable spark.
  
  > look at the track
  Little more than a few lines in the sand. There's one just by Achilles and Zeno and the other terribly, terribly far (it seems) in the distance. You can only tell where it is by the flag fluttering away there. In between the two, long lines follow the steep curve of the beach to mark out two lanes, outside and inside. As the beach takes a steep curve for the length of the race track, the inside lane is probably a little bit shorter than the outer.
  
  > talk to Zeno
  "What? Oh! Oh, it's you. Fancy another race then, do you?"
  
  [1] Nah, thanks, I'd only get thrashed again.
  [2] Yeah, I think I could give it another shot.
  [3] It's exhausting! Just how long is that track?
  
  > 2
  "Splendid! Bravo! Well, then, you two had better get ready!"
  
  > Swap lane
  You're standing at the start line, stripped to your underwear. You made that much of a compromise with the two Greeks. Achilles, limbering up next to you, was not so modest. You feel like your eyeballs are being dragged on strings, downwards and sideways . . . You look away, blushing furiously, and crouch down, set, the aching vision of school P.E. lessons mugging you in memory alley.
  
  When Zeno shouts the go, there's a moment of blurred confusion as you both launch off. Your mind can't manage any complicated tasks, like managing sensory apparatus, when it's pumping your arms and legs this hard. When the mess of sensations starts to coalesce, you realise that Achilles has streaked (in every sense of the word) off in front of you, and is already nearly at the finish line. Oh, well. At least you tried.
  
  Achilles loops around the flagpole and jogs back to you. Soon he's bouncing up and down at your side, jiggling in a disconcerting way. "Come on!" he says. "You're halfway there!"
  
  At this stage, you don't think your brain can possibly cope with issuing any instructions other than GIVE UP or KEEP RUNNING.
  
  > keep running
  You plummet onwards down the track, Achilles keeping pace beside you.
  
  "Only 1/4 a millos to go! You can do it!"
  
  > keep running
  You plummet onwards down the track, Achilles keeping pace beside you.
  
  "Only 1/8 a millos to go! You can do it!"
  
  > give up
  You tumble into a heap on the ground, utterly exhausted. Achilles lets out a sympathetic groan and picks you up bodily, throwing you over his shoulder, before jogging leisurely back to Zeno at the start line.
  
  > examine the flag
  It seems to be a simple red rectangle -- with a circular hole cut in it?
  
  > hold the veil
  (putting the Communist Manifesto into the sack to make room)
  You pick the veil up again. How tedious.
  
  > check what you're carrying
  You are carrying:
  a veil
  a useless scrap of paper
  a sack (open)
  a Communist Manifesto
  a qualiascope
  a broken lantern
  a manual
  file of Platonic forms
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  
  > keep running
  You plummet onwards down the track, Achilles keeping pace beside you.
  
  "Only 1/4 a millos to go! Don't want to give up, do you?"
  
  > look at Ship
  The business end of a great ship is poking through the wall of the museum, with a surprised-looking mermaid stuck on the pointy bit. It might be a figurehead. The name on the prow is "Theseus".
  
  > look at the mermaid
  The figurehead has a very peculiar expression on her face. Well, you would too if someone had carved you from wood and then shoved a ship up you.
  
  > examine ruler
  It's an exquisite measuring rule, that can apparently tell you the most beautifully perfect action in any given situation.
  
  > drop all
  sack: Dropped.
  veil: Dropped.
  invitation to the state of naturist camp: Dropped.
  
  > open the sack
  That's already open.
  
  > get all except the cube
  invitation to the state of naturist camp: Taken.
  veil: You pick the veil up again. How tedious.
  sack: Taken.
  shoelaces: Philosophers are not yet supermen.
  exhibits: You doubt you could escape the museum with that.
  Ship of Theseus: Philosophers are not yet supermen.
  mermaid: Philosophers are not yet supermen.
  pirate: Philosophers are not yet supermen.
  steward: Philosophers are not yet supermen. HallomynameisTracyhowmayIhelpyou: Philosophers are not yet supermen. Golden Mean Ruler: Philosophers are not yet supermen.
  Utility Calculator: Philosophers are not yet supermen.
  
  > talk to the pirate
  "I've come up with an excellent name for your ship!" you cry. The pair look at you inquisitively.
  
  [1] The Golden Behind!
  [2] The Black Oyster!
  [3] The Double Dutchman!
  [4] The Sea Ape!
  [5] The Peapod!
  [6] The Slutty Park!
  [7] Er . . . just joking.
  
  > 7
  The pirate just blinks at you.
  
  > examine the sack
  A very large sack, still with a few strands of straw stuck in the bottom.
  
  > drop all
  sack: Dropped.
  veil: Dropped.
  invitation to the state of naturist camp: Dropped.
  
  > TAKE SACK, VEIL, PAPER
  sack: Taken.
  veil: You pick the veil up again. How tedious.
  invitation to the state of naturist camp: Taken.
  
  > get all
  That's a bit greedy. Try taking specific things.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a useless scrap of paper
  a veil
  a sack (open)
  a Communist Manifesto
  a qualiascope
  a broken lantern
  a manual
  file of Platonic forms
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  
  > examine the cabinets
  The cabinets are filled with all manner of bat-related paraphernalia: bats preserved in formaldehyde, books on bat culture, packets of crispy fried bat wings . . .
  
  > give the scope to Man
  (first taking the qualiascope)
  (putting the veil into the sack to make room)
  Nagel doesn't seem interested.
  
  > go tavern
  A raucous rabble of eminent philosophers line the tables and bar, discussing matters squifflily with slurred syllables and questionable eloquence. You overhear Plato and Socrates brazenly investigating what the correct pronunciation of the word scone is. The only one not joining in seems to be Aristotle, who is sitting at a table in the corner, drinking fine claret in a very satisfied manner. In the eastern wall is the back door through which Mill threw himself earlier.
  
  Somewhat incongruously, you spot an electronic games machine sitting against the wall next to a rather glum looking booth, being rather neglected by the roistering philosophers.
  
  > Go east
  You wander through the back door into an alleyway and there amidst a pile of broken truth tables and discarded copies of the Principia Mathematica sit a sequiter of logicians, playing illegal logic games. W.V.O. Quine seems to be the ring leader.
  
  > get Principia
  Not while G?del's watching!
  
  > look at the tables
  Truth tables are chalked on the floor of the alleyway, achieving a very sophisticated level of graffiti.
  
  You notice that Whitehead is in something of a sulk over a recent piece of aggressive betting from Boole.
  
  > look at Quine
  Wearing a battered trilby and a stained trench-coat, the logician looks about himself shiftily as he monitors the racket of logic games.
  
  > examine the Whitehead
  Playing games with coloured beads and cups amidst the truth tables sit a shifty-looking bunch of logicians. You think you notice Turing and Kripke pondering over vagueness, while G?del admits defeat.
  
  > examine Principia
  The copies of the Principia Mathematica are stacked in neat piles --they are being put to use as make-shift seats.
  
  > Go west
  A raucous rabble of eminent philosophers line the tables and bar, discussing matters squifflily with slurred syllables and questionable eloquence. You overhear Plato and Socrates childishly debating about linguistic puzzles. The only one not joining in seems to be Aristotle, who is sitting at a table in the corner, drinking fine claret in a very satisfied manner. In the eastern wall is the back door through which Mill threw himself earlier.
  
  Somewhat incongruously, you spot an electronic games machine sitting against the wall next to a rather glum looking booth, being rather neglected by the roistering philosophers.
  
  > talk to Socrates
  He seems rather too far gone to cope with intelligible conversation -- if indeed he ever was.
  
  > talk to Aristotle
  "Aristotle looks mournfully at you. "Corked!" he cries, indicating the claret. "The gods too are fond of a joke," he sighs, a tear in his eye. You take the opportunity to tactfully remove yourself.
  
  > examine fire place
  The roaring fire is a pleasant backdrop to the unbridled drinking and philosophising.
  
  > give Manifesto to Anscombe
  (first taking the Communist Manifesto)
  (putting the invitation to the state of naturist camp into the sack to make room)
  Elizabeth Anscombe doesn't seem interested.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a Communist Manifesto
  a qualiascope
  a sack (open)
  a useless scrap of paper
  a veil
  a broken lantern
  a manual
  file of Platonic forms
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  
  > enter the cafe
  Pavement Caf?
  The caf? spills out into the street. Steel chairs are scattered around the serving kiosk, apparently chaotically, though you suspect there's a cynical art to it. Most of the customers are buried in books, thimble-sized cups of black coffee steaming by them and handmade cigarettes rolling around the corners of their mouths. Some of them, though, are intense young couples clasping hands across their plates, boring into each other's eyes as if looking for some flaw, breaking the gaze only to toss hair or adjust a beret. Sitting in the corner, Jean-Paul Sartre surveys the caf? around him and smiles in a satisfied yet enigmatic way.
  
  The server stands behind the kiosk, chainsmoking and glaring menacingly.
  
  > give the veil to the server
  (first taking the veil)
  (putting the qualiascope into the sack to make room)
  You pick the veil up again. How tedious.
  
  The server doesn't seem interested.
  
  > look at lighter
  The darkness envelops everything. It is the darkness of ignorance. Or possibly just an ordinary sort of darkness, but in any case, you won't be able to do anything until you bring some sort of light source here.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a veil
  a Communist Manifesto
  a sack (open)
  a qualiascope
  a useless scrap of paper
  a broken lantern
  a manual
  file of Platonic forms
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  
  > listen
  A worrying hush fills the room.
  
  > Smell
  The whole place reeks of allegory.
  
  > go to the east
  spooky woods you see before you. All around you are brambles, bracken and blackened lightning struck trees.
  
  Turning east you can just about make out happier looking trees. All that you can see in this part of the woods is a mess of brambles.
  
  > go south
  Remembering the route from last time, you make your way quickly through the maze, up the crag, and to the foot of the castle.
  
  You are in a paved courtyard before the castle. Here, true to form, an ivory tower towers above you, the result of a billion poaching expeditions or more. Similarly true, a guard guards the broad stairs leading up to the tower.
  
  Below you is the vertiginous path down the side of the crag -- and below that stretches the world.
  
  > ascend
  You are in a paved courtyard before the castle. Here, true to form, an ivory tower towers above you, the result of a billion poaching expeditions or more. Similarly true, a guard guards the broad stairs leading up to the tower.
  
  Below you is the vertiginous path down the side of the crag -- and below that stretches the world.
  
  > give the veil to the guard
  I don't think she'd just accept the veil. It's more something that you'll need to throw at her.
  
  > throw the veil at guard
  You look shiftily from side to side, and when you assure yourself that nobody is watching, you cast the veil over the guard's helmet. For several long moments you wait. Hesitantly, you put a foot past the guard. She doesn't move.
  
  "Hello?" you whisper.
  
  "Excuse me, I seem to be completely ignorant to who I am and why I am here," she replies. "Can you help me?"
  
  [1] A living statue, your job is to keep still and quiet all day.
  [2] You're a guard -- you're guarding these stairs from me passsing [3] You're Bishop Berkeley and you're on your way to the tavern to give a lecture on Idealism.
  [4] You're a mild mannered accountant by day, but by night you don a cape and fight crime.
  [5] You're a very charitable person who would never dream of impeding someone's progress up some stairs.
  [6] You're an itinerant farm-hand who dreams of one day owning their own farm with rabbits and alpaca, but deep down you know it'll never happen.
  [7] You write Thus Spoke Zarathustra fan-fiction and go to heavy metal concerts.
  
  > 1
  "That sounds nice, but if it's all the same to you," she says, "I'm just going to stand here until I've got things figured out for myself."
  
  > Go up
  You clamber up the stairs and through into the tower. The ivory wall, eased by its last descent, crashes down behind you before you can do anything. This is it, then.
  
  Perfectly round and with walls of glistening ivory, this is definitely more of a chamber than a room. A huge sheet of ivory blocks the exit archway, while opposite it sits an ivory-panelled door, with a definite sense of being heavily locked about it. Through this door come the strains of atmospheric organ music you heard earlier, a little clearer, and a little more foreboding.
  
  None of this is the most striking thing about the chamber, however. The most striking thing is the fact that in the centre of the room buzz thousands of bees, all hovering stationary in a curiously-shaped cloud.
  
  > look at the bees
  On closer examination the bees are hovering in the exact shape of a vending machine. You can even see the slot where the money goes, and the little tray where the goods drop down. It would be a refreshingly normal sight in this mad world, if it weren't for the fact that it were made out of thousands of writhing insects it would be rather a relief.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a Communist Manifesto
  a sack (open)
  a qualiascope
  a useless scrap of paper
  a broken lantern
  a manual
  file of Platonic forms
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  
  > put fifty in the slot
  You insert the fifty pence piece into the slot, and instead of the usual clunks and whirrings of machinery, you hear a series of buzzes and organic-sounding thuds. Finally, a key drops into the little tray at the bottom of the machine.
  
  > get the key
  Which do you mean, the first key or the Chinese key?
  
  > examine it
  A slender key with the number one engraved into the metalwork.