text: > Go downward
  corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards.
  
  Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon
  From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you.
  
  An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter.
  
  > show letter to the man
  If the receptionist wasn't suffering from senile arthritis, he would certainly have jumped twenty feet. As it is, he stares at you. "Where did you find it! That's a miracle. We're going to find the Director, son, you can count on that! Wait......I have something he gave me once, it might help you, though he gave it to me the year before he disappeared...." The receptionist places a key on the counter, which you look at appraisingly.
  
  > Go north
  (unlocking Vanessa's door first)
  (opening the door)
  
  Vanessa Clarke's room, in the Aviators Saloon
  If there's anything concealed in Miss Clarke's room, it cannot be under a bed, since this room is without one. A wardrobe and a glass-topped table - charming in their simplicity - are the only adornments visible. There are no windows, surprisingly, except one covered by curtains, which is in the wrong position as far as illumination is concerned.
  
  A closed wardrobe stands impassively in a corner.
  
  On the glass-topped table is a glazed vase (in which are some dead flowers).
  
  > look in the vase
  In the glazed vase are some dead flowers.
  
  > take the flowers
  Who needs them? They're not even pressed. And, for some obscure reason, they won't budge.
  
  > look at the table
  Just four black wooden legs, with a delicate pattern in the grain, and a glass slab. Simple and stylish.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  the key to Vanessa's room
  a strange letter
  a crumpled note
  a small scrap of paper
  a small black device
  a personal ID chip
  a blue disc
  an AutoLock Users' Manual
  a black disc
  a fountain-pen
  a yellow flower
  
  > examine the vase
  A simple, glazed, ceramic vase. On one side, fairly low - strangely - is a small hole about the circumference of your little finger. A few wilting flowers are still inside it. On the other side is an inscription:
  "Triumph shall come here at last,
  We should ask not 'how', but 'when' -
  From a stone take then a sword,
  In this vase, place now a......."
  
  > put the pen in the vase
  As you insert the pen into the vase, a blinding light dazzles you, and a low haze envelops you. You struggle to find your way out of it, but to no avail.
  
  When you awake, you are in a shrine of some sort, lying supine. A tall man, concerned but not stern, with a long face, looks down on you.
  
  "Ah, Harold. I have misjudged you, and I apologize. But first -- let me introduce myself. I am that sadistic personage, 'Mr. Author', who has brought you here so far. Your mission -- but let me explain myself. The creation of your novel set in motion certain events in a parallel dimension; its destruction will not only undo them but replace them with worse ones. Simone, Edward, Laura - even people inhabiting your world, but not created by you, like Janus Mbelwe - have had to suffer the consequences. It was with this aim that I brought you here, but now you can go no further. The remaining tasks in this dimension will need to be carried out by one of its own citizens.......All we shall need will be some of your memories, to help her find her way."
  
  The man looks down.
  
  "Close your eyes, Harold, and think."
  
  > examine the wardrobe
  It looks like an ordinary enough wardrobe, but has a certain air of impassivity.
  
  And once contained a modulator of neurological signals. From here, a nation was once felled. Once upon a time.
  
  > open the wardrobe
  You open the large wardrobe, revealing a long brown coat and a pale blue dress.
  
  > examine the coat
  A long brown coat, which would reach almost to mid-calf if the wearer were of average height, with a clean-cut collar. It has a single pocket, which is unusual.
  
  > look at the dress
  An elegant dress in shades of pale blue, its frills and flounces are evocative of a much earlier era.
  
  > look in the coat pocket
  Rummaging through the pocket, you find an identity card of some sort, and pull it out.
  
  > examine iD
  (the identity card)
  A small plastic card, with a photograph showing a young woman's face, wearing the same brown coat, and a few lines of print accompanying it.
  
  > read the iD
  (Affiliated to the Department of Internal Affairs)
  
  Name  : Cassandra Anderson, R.I.L.
  Age   : 34
  Grade : Consultant in International Law - Civil
  
  > put the pen in the vase
  As you insert the pen into the vase, a blinding light dazzles you, and a low haze envelops you. You struggle to find your way out of it, but to no avail.
  
  When you awake, you are in a shrine of some sort, lying supine. A tall man, concerned but not stern, with a long face, looks down on you.
  
  "Ah, Harold. I have misjudged you, and I apologize. But first -- let me introduce myself. I am that sadistic personage, 'Mr. Author', who has brought you here so far. Your mission -- but let me explain myself. The creation of your novel set in motion certain events in a parallel dimension; its destruction will not only undo them but replace them with worse ones. Simone, Edward, Laura - even people inhabiting your world, but not created by you, like Janus Mbelwe - have had to suffer the consequences. It was with this aim that I brought you here, but now you can go no further. The remaining tasks in this dimension will need to be carried out by one of its own citizens.......All we shall need will be some of your memories, to help her find her way."
  
  The man looks down.
  
  "Close your eyes, Harold, and think."
  
  You close your eyes -- memories, thoughts, ideas that you had and that you never had, all seem to swirl, to be involuntarily wrenched from you......
  
  And then you remember no more.
  
  Cold. Damp. Overdramatizing, as usual.
  
  You struggle to your feet, smooth down your crumpled coat, shake your head and brush the hair out of your face, a strange air of unreality (indeed!) surrounding you. Ideas that never entered your mind till this moment flicker by, leaving hardly a trace. You look ahead. Straight ahead. There is nothing more intimidating than your home ahead. So much for mystery.
  
  Your car has gone. But did you take it home, or did you walk? The last thing you remember was leaving the Court of Appeals.......nothing more.
  
  Though you've been here time and time again, there is something comfortable and inviting about this small walk up to your house, where you have lived for the last twelve years. The trees move gently in the wind - it is, after all, late in November - but the lights in your home, like a lighthouse, guide you unerringly on, to the north. The street you came out of is to your east.
  
  Your heart gives a single leap of relief. Nothing has really changed, after all.
  
  > About yourself
  You look at yourself uncertainly, but you're still the same - Cassandra Anderson, lawyer, on her way home from the Court of Appeals.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a yellow flower
  a strange letter
  an identity card
  a long brown coat (being worn)
  a pale blue dress (being worn)