text: > Go downwards
  You are picking your way through a narrow gap between high banks of vibrating machinery. Twisting aisles branch off in numerous directions, some of them so narrow you'd have to turn sideways to make your way through.
  
  Bolted to the side of one of the machines is a steel ladder, leading up.
  
  > Go north
  You are picking your way through a narrow gap between high banks of vibrating machinery. Twisting aisles branch off in numerous directions, some of them so narrow you'd have to turn sideways to make your way through.
  
  Without warning, a shrieking steam-release valve lets loose a scalding gout of vapor right in front of you, causing you to stagger backward, strike a low railing with the back of your knees, and topple over into a stainless-steel mixing vat twenty feet deep.
  
  Before you can recover from the fall, two dozen jet nozzles set around the inner circumference of the vat's rim squirt several hundred gallons of high-density mold-injection polymer onto you, at a temperature high enough to set cloth on fire -- although this is not a major concern for you, since you are almost instantaneously submerged and completely cut off from the air. The vat is filled to the rim in less than a second and a half -- slightly less time than it takes for the heat and lack of oxygen to kill you, and you are still to some degree conscious when the hydraulic mold-press slams down onto the seething liquid, generating a pressure that rapidly turns your body into something resembling a wet, wadded-up beach towel.
  
  > go south
  Waves of heat and noise assault you from every corner. Towering above you on all sides are the enormous vats, presses and sundry machinery, the ever-churning inner workings of the paper mill. An opening in the base of the south wall leads back to the maintenance crawlway, and narrow aisles lead in several other directions through the chugging machinery. A grilled catwalk high over your head provides a more direct route across the factory; however, you see no way to get up there from here.
  
  A long chain dangles from overhead, its last few feet pooled on the floor next to a bank of controls.
  
  > go south
  The north end of the access crawlway ends at a sturdy metal hatch. A thick haze of steam hangs in the air, and the heat is like an oven -- the walls and floor are almost blistering to the touch.
  
  The hatch is open.
  
  > Go south
  You are at the southern end of a long, narrow crawlway leading northward into the mill. All around you, through the metallic walls, you can hear the oppressive thumping and grinding of heavy machinery. The air in here is hot and smells of burnt engine oil.
  
  A large metal valve wheel juts out from the middle of one of the many fat, sweating pipes lining the walls. Just to its left is a gauge of some sort.
  
  Michael's damp bath towel is draped across the wheel.
  
  > unlock the door with the bronze key
  (first taking the tarnished bronze key)
  (slipping the towel into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  You unlock the massive bronze door.
  
  Another wave crashes against the rocks, sending a cloud of spray into the air.
  
  > go inside
  (opening the massive bronze door first)
  With great effort, you manage to pull the ancient, creaking door open a few inches, enough to slip through.
  
  The sound of the ocean is muffled behind the thick cinderblock walls, and the air is damp and heavy. You can almost feel the weight of two hundred feet of hoary old whitewashed brick pressing down on you from above. To the west, a narrow strip of dim light marks the exit. Cracked concrete steps lead up.
  
  > go upward
  You climb the winding stairs in a gradual spiral around the inner circumference of the tower, and finally emerge, breathless, at the top.
  
  The stairs give onto a wide, circular chamber surrounded by windows. The glass is old and streaked with grime, but you still have to catch your breath at the magnificence of the view. In one direction, the dying heath and the stunted cluster of buildings that is Anchorhead; in the other, the ocean like a vast, undulating blanket.
  
  Sitting in the middle of the room is what looks like a swivel mount of some kind, although nothing is mounted on it now. Looking up, you see that it rests directly below a large, hexagonal skylight.
  
  > examine mount
  The mounting is ring-shaped, about three feet in diameter, and is designed to allow whatever is to be mounted on it to turn freely in all directions. It was probably originally intended to hold the beacon when the lighthouse was still in operation.
  
  > look at the skylight
  That big, churning hole in the sky is perfectly framed by the hexagonal skylight.
  
  > turn the mount
  The swivel mount itself is not designed to turn; only whatever's mounted on it.
  
  > look at the hole
  (the sky)
  There is a spinning, churning hole in the clouds, an inverted whirlpool sucking streamers of gray up into itself. You'd think it was some sort of funnel cloud, except that it's not moving anywhere. It's simply hanging, turning slowly in the sky. The sight of that horrible, whirling hole makes you shudder, involuntarily recalling that hideous entity that lurks behind those clouds.
  
  > examine the Anchorhead
  From this distance, all you can make out of Anchorhead are the leaning shapes of its rooftops, huddled in a thin, jagged line against the base of the hills to the south.
  
  > examine the ocean
  The great, gray ocean stretches out as far as you can see, merging with the clouds on the horizon.
  
  > examine the chain
  It runs all the way up past the catwalk to the ceiling. Its links look somewhat greasy.
  
  The block of equipment sways and tilts slightly under your feet.