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You roll out of the well onto the level floor and gasp lungfuls of air. It tastes as sweet as a flower garden to you now. Lamkin hands you the longest candle.\n\n"You have to [[burn the rope]]," he says.
You close and securely latch the nursery window and then bring down the curtains to block the waning sunlight. You put the baby on your shoulder and pace around the nursery, muttering a little song. He's soon asleep, so you swaddle him in his cradle and [[creep out quietly|front hall]].<<set $nurserywindow to "latched">>
<<once>>Seal off every way into the mansion, no matter how small. From top to bottom, starting here in the attic. That's what Lady Wearie ordered, and that's what you're going to do.\n\n<<endonce>>Pelting snow rattles the attic's one <<if $atticwindow neq "latched">><span id="atticwindow"><<click "unlatched window">><<set $atticwindow to "latched">><<replace "#atticwindow">><span class="fade">securely <<print $atticwindow>> window.</span><</replace>><</click>>.</span><<else>>securely <<print $atticwindow>> window.<</if>> It would take a thirty-foot climb up the brick wall to reach the attic window from among the frozen hedges below.<<if $wardrobe neq "blocks">><span id="wardrobewarning"> At this height, the sash bars of the window are only wood, not iron. If an intruder with an axe climbed up this high, he could smash the window in a matter of seconds.</span><<else>> The heavy wardrobe stands in front of the window, blocking it from opening. Even if an intruder climbed up this high, he wouldn't have an easy time smashing through that wardrobe or pushing it out of the way. Such a clamor would be audible all over the house.<</if>> <<if $wardrobe neq "blocks">><span id="wardrobe">A heavy wardrobe stands next to the window. You could <<click "push the wardrobe">><<set $wardrobe to "blocks">><<replace "#wardrobe">><span class="fade">You throw all your weight against the wardrobe, inching it along the wall until it <<print $wardrobe>> the window. Even if an intruder climbed up this high, he wouldn't have an easy time smashing through that wardrobe or pushing it out of the way. Such a clamor would be audible all over the house.</span><</replace>><<replace "#wardrobewarning">><</replace>><</click>>.</span><</if>>\n\nAgainst one wall are a couple of empty casks, disused since the days when Lord Wearie kept his house supplied with wine. And a silent <<if not visited("note")>>[[harpsichord]]<<else>>harpsichord<<endif>> <<if $invCandle neq true>>hides in a shadowy corner, always smaller than you remembered it.<<else>>seems to glow in the moving shadows.<</if>>\n\n<<if $trapdoor neq "latched">><span id="trapdoor">A <<click "trap door lies open">><<if $invRope neq true>><<replace "#trapdoorwarning">>\n\n<span class="fade">You can't close the trap door securely while there's a rope running through it.</span><</replace>><<else>><<set $trapdoor to "latched">><<replace "#trapdoor">><span class="fade">You close the trap door and fasten the rusty latch.</span><</replace>><<replace "#trapdoorwarning">>\n\n<span class="fade">You won't be able to make the doors to the stable impregnable. And despite the latch, you fear an intruder in the stable would be able to climb to the hayloft and force open the shoddy trap door.</span><</replace>><</if>><</click>>. Through the hole in the floor you can see the hayloft and the rest of the stable. But there are no horses now. Lord Wearie's men rode off with the last of them. <<if $invRope neq true>><span id="atticrope">A long rope descends to the floor of the stable from an axle mounted in the attic, which Lord Wearie's men sometimes use to hoist supplies up to the attic for storage. You could <<click "take the rope">><<set $invRope to true>><<replace "#atticrope">><span class="fade">You pull up the rope from the trap door, detach it from the axle, and take it with you.</span><</replace>><</click>>.</span><</if>><<else>>The trap door in the floor is closed and fastened shut.<</if>>\n\n<span id="coffer"><<if $chest neq "moved">>In the middle of the room is a heavy ironclad coffer painted with men-at-arms. You could <<click "push the coffer">><<if $trapdoor neq "latched">> <<replace "#trapdoorwarning">>\n\n<span class="fade">You could probably push the coffer down the stairs or through the open trap door, but that wouldn't help you seal up the house against intruders.</span><</replace>><<else>><<set $chest to "moved">><<replace "#coffer">><span class="fade">You push the heavy coffer atop the trap door. Now it won't be easy to open from below. You could </span><</replace>><</if>><</click>> or <<else>>Atop the closed trap door is a heavy ironclad coffer painted with men-at-arms. You could <</if>></span><<insertlink "look inside the coffer.">> Inside the chest are Lord Wearie's elder son's armor, horse tack, and other things he carried with him to war. He died in battle at Newbury some fifteen years ago. His weapons, unfortunately, found another owner on the battlefield.<</insertlink>><span id="trapdoorwarning"><<if $trapdoor eq "latched" and $chest neq "moved">>\n\nYou won't be able to make the doors to the stable impregnable. And despite the latch, you fear an intruder in the stable would be able to climb to the hayloft and force open the shoddy trap door.<</if>></span>\n\nA narrow staircase leads down to the [[landing]] by Lord Wearie's chambers.
Said your lord to his lady as he mounted his horse,\n"Beware of Long Lamkin, who lies in the moss."\n\nSaid your lord to his lady as he rode away,\n"Beware of Long Lamkin, who lies in the clay."\n\n"Let the doors be all bolted and the windows all pinned,\n[[Seal up every last mouse-hole, or cruel Lamkin can creep in|attic]]."
The stifling lowest room of the mansion was meant to enable a small band of men to survive a siege for weeks. Today, the food stores are bare, the half-dozen weapon racks stand empty, and the well is dry. \n\nOn the pathway to the cellar there's a portcullis, which is <<revision lever>>raised<<becomes>><<set $portcullis to "down">>lowered. You <<replacelink "could burn the rope">>set your candle on the ropes used to raise the portcullis, and they readily catch on fire. Maybe that will slow down Wearie's men<</replacelink>><<endrevision>>. There's a heavy wheel to reel up the ropes to lift the portcullis, and a <<reviselink lever "lever" end>> to make the portcullis fall.\n\n"If those fellows are going to come in here, we'd do well to destroy every scrap of loot before they do, or we'll hang for it," Lamkin says. "I could use [[your help|plan B]]."\n\nLamkin scatters some of the stolen coins into the glowing crucible and prods at them with metal tongs.
This ShuffleComp: Disc 2 game was inspired by two songs.<<set $bang = "mavis.mp3">>\n\n"Burning Rope" by Genesis [[YouTube link|https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWZzXg_plrk]]. A vaguely symbolic melancholy pop ballad. Suggested by Anssi Raisanen.\n\n"Long Lankin" by Steeleye Span [[YouTube link|https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSUH6YPM9oI]]. A traditional English horrible murder ballad (spoilery for this game, in case that bothers you). Suggested by Sam Ashwell.\n\nThis game has a sound to alert you to danger. <<click "Click here to play the sound">><<playsound $bang>><</click>> and adjust your system volume if needed.\n\n<<insertlink "content warning:">><span class="pain"> MURDER</span><</insertlink>>\n\n<p class="back">[[Credits]]\n[[Start the game|beware]]</p>
<<if $nurserywindow neq "latched">>Baby Castor is on his belly in his crib, crying in complaint. He's exhausted and probably frigid, as snowflakes gather in his crib and blow past him [[out to the front hall|front hall]].<<else>>Baby Castor is swaddled in his crib, deeply asleep beneath the securely latched window, when you peek in from the [[front hall]].<<endif>> His favorite bell and his little dollies are down on the rug where he gnaws at them.\n\n<span id="lady"><<if $invLaudanum neq "given">>Lady Wearie is holding open the <<click "nursery window">><<replace "#nurserywarning">><span class="fade">"That's all right, Nurse," Lady Wearie says. "Leave it open. I need to keep watch on the moor or I'll go mad."</span><</replace>><</click>>, peering out into the blizzard. You've grown used to her pale distant eyes, even her pale yellow hair. Now she has white lips and cheeks to match. She looks like she's died of the cold.<<if not visited("nursery talk")>> You could [[talk to her|nursery talk]].<<elseif $invLaudanum eq "carried">> You could <<click "offer her the laudanum">><<set $invLaudanum to "given">><<replace "#lady">>The strong wind shakes the curtains, sometimes dumping clouds of snowflakes through the [[open window|swaddle baby]].<</replace>><<replace "#nurserywarning">><span class="fade">"Drink a little of Lord Wearie's tincture to calm your mind," you say.\n\nLady Wearie hesitates anxiously, but then she takes the cup and drinks. She leans against the wall introspectively as if taking careful note of the changes taking place in her head. She'll surely sleep soon, and not wake until the sunrise at least.\n\nHer eyes fall on her son and she leans over his crib to stroke his hair.\n\n"There, there, little roly-poly, are you distempered? Don't you worry, old nursey will put you to sleep. My, you're all wet. Let's take this off."\n\nLady Wearie strips Castor's snow-sopping gown off him. \n\n"And let out the seams of some of Castor's clothes," she says. "If this was any tighter on him 'twould break his arms."\n\nLady Wearie drops the little gown on the floor beside you and walks out toward her bedchamber.\n\n"Yes, milady," you say as the door swings closed behind her.\n\n"I have my needle right here."</span><</replace>><</click>>.<<endif>><<elseif $nurserywindow neq "latched">>The strong wind shakes the curtains, sometimes dumping clouds of snowflakes through the [[open window|swaddle baby]].<</if>></span>\n\n<span id="nurserywarning"></span>
Yet Wearie's knights find you alive. The flashes of their torchlights half-wake you from a long unquiet sleep. The distant lights <<insertlink "burn painful red trails across your vision, stinging your unaccustomed eyes like pinpricks. ">><<replace "#hoist">><span class="fade">You hear gasps of astonishment from above, followed by urgent muttering.\n\nAfter more sleep, you feel a man cinching ropes around your chest just below your armpits. They [[hoist you up]].</span><</replace>>You move your arm to block the light.<</insertlink>> You recall many dreams about thirst. It feels like someone's scraped out the inside of your throat with a spoon. The smell of death <<insertlink "triggers your gag reflex. ">><<replace "#hoist">><span class="fade">You hear gasps of astonishment from above, followed by urgent muttering.\n\nAfter more delirious sleep, you feel a man cinching ropes around your chest just below your armpits. They [[hoist you up]].</span><</replace>>You cover your nose to block the smell.<</insertlink>>\n\n<span id="hoist"></span>\n
/*\nFor when you get Wearie out of the well and Lady is still in the nursery. \n*/\n\nYou hear light footsteps and Castor's cries receding up the stairs. A door slams. Your stomach sinks. Lady Wearie must have heard the screams below. And she will have locked her chamber door from the inside. This isn't what you planned.
In time, you recognize some of the pangs in your shredded belly as hunger, some of the burning in your ash-filled lungs as want of breathable air. The last two fingers of your right hand, wedged between the uneven surfaces of two immovable stones, are the only parts of your body with any freedom to change position at all. Sometimes you <<click "flex">><<replace "#fingerstatus">>\n<span class="fade">You can feel that they're shaped wrong now. Crooked, smashed. They never repair themselves.</span>\n<</replace>><</click>> them. Sometimes you <<click "stretch">><<replace "#fingerstatus">>\n<span class="fade">Will the immortal strength of your little finger's muscle pull the bone out of joint? It never has before. But it feels like it might.</span>\n<</replace>><</click>> them as straight as you can. Sometimes you <<click "scratch-scratch-scratch">><<replace "#fingerstatus">>\n<span class="pain">Excruciating, like jamming pins into the beds of your fingernails.</span>\n<</replace>><</click>> your broken, ingrown fingernails against the unyielding rock. Sometimes you panic, but it passes. Sometimes you try to make yourself die.\n<span id="fingerstatus"></span>\nOver the decades you learned to think around the rock that now occupies most of the space in your skull where your brain is supposed to be. Your thoughts are slower now. And flatter. All you know of life above is that the little world of Lord Wearie's house has [[passed away]].
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You can't lock the front door<<once>> without the key, but where is it?\n\nIt dawns on you that you've made a terrible mistake<<endonce>>. Your key is in the cellar, at the bottom of the well. After everything else, you're going to have to retrieve it.\n\n<p class="back">[[back|front hall]]</p>
/* Your story will use the CSS in this passage to style the page.\nGive this passage more tags, and it will only affect passages with those tags.\nExample selectors: */\n\n.passage {\n width: 75%;\n font-size: 125%\n}\n\n.margin {margin-left:40px;\n}\n.revision-span-in { opacity: 0; }\n.revision-span:not(.revision-span-out) { transition: 0.4s; -webkit-transition: 0.4s; }\n.revision-span-out { position: absolute; opacity: 0; }\n.back {text-align: right; font-size: large !important;}\n.fade {\n -webkit-animation: fadein 0.4s; /* Safari, Chrome and Opera > 12.1 */\n -moz-animation: fadein 0.4s; /* Firefox < 16 */\n -ms-animation: fadein 0.4s; /* Internet Explorer */\n -o-animation: fadein 0.4s; /* Opera < 12.1 */\n animation: fadein 0.4s;\n}\n\n@keyframes fadein {\n from { opacity: 0; }\n to { opacity: 1; }\n}\n\n/* Firefox < 16 */\n@-moz-keyframes fadein {\n from { opacity: 0; }\n to { opacity: 1; }\n}\n\n/* Safari, Chrome and Opera > 12.1 */\n@-webkit-keyframes fadein {\n from { opacity: 0; }\n to { opacity: 1; }\n}\n\n/* Internet Explorer */\n@-ms-keyframes fadein {\n from { opacity: 0; }\n to { opacity: 1; }\n}\n\n/* Opera < 12.1 */\n@-o-keyframes fadein {\n from { opacity: 0; }\n to { opacity: 1; }\n}\n\n\n@keyframes shakeit {\n 0% { color: red; transform: translate(2px, 1px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t10% { transform: translate(-1px, -2px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t20% { transform: translate(-3px, 0px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t30% { transform: translate(0px, 2px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t40% { transform: translate(1px, -1px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t50% { transform: translate(-1px, 2px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t60% { transform: translate(-3px, 1px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t70% { transform: translate(2px, 1px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t80% { transform: translate(-1px, -1px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t90% { transform: translate(2px, 2px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t100% { transform: translate(1px, -2px) rotate(-1deg); }}\n \n@-o-keyframes shakeit {\n\t0% { color: red; -o-transform: translate(2px, 1px) rotate(0deg);}\n\t10% { -o-transform: translate(-1px, -2px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t20% { -o-transform: translate(-3px, 0px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t30% { -o-transform: translate(0px, 2px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t40% { -o-transform: translate(1px, -1px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t50% { -o-transform: translate(-1px, 2px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t60% { -o-transform: translate(-3px, 1px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t70% { -o-transform: translate(2px, 1px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t80% { -o-transform: translate(-1px, -1px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t90% { -o-transform: translate(2px, 2px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t100% { -o-transform: translate(1px, -2px) rotate(-1deg); }\n}\n \n@-webkit-keyframes shakeit {\n\t0% { color: red; -webkit-transform: translate(2px, 1px) rotate(0deg);}\n\t10% { -webkit-transform: translate(-1px, -2px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t20% { -webkit-transform: translate(-3px, 0px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t30% { -webkit-transform: translate(0px, 2px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t40% { -webkit-transform: translate(1px, -1px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t50% { -webkit-transform: translate(-1px, 2px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t60% { -webkit-transform: translate(-3px, 1px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t70% { -webkit-transform: translate(2px, 1px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t80% { -webkit-transform: translate(-1px, -1px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t90% { -webkit-transform: translate(2px, 2px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t100% { -webkit-transform: translate(1px, -2px) rotate(-1deg); }}\n \n@-moz-keyframes shakeit {\n\t0% { color: red; -moz-transform: translate(2px, 1px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t10% { -moz-transform: translate(-1px, -2px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t20% { -moz-transform: translate(-3px, 0px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t30% { -moz-transform: translate(0px, 2px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t40% { -moz-transform: translate(1px, -1px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t50% { -moz-transform: translate(-1px, 2px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t60% { -moz-transform: translate(-3px, 1px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t70% { -moz-transform: translate(2px, 1px) rotate(-1deg); }\n\t80% { -moz-transform: translate(-1px, -1px) rotate(1deg); }\n\t90% { -moz-transform: translate(2px, 2px) rotate(0deg); }\n\t100% { -moz-transform: translate(1px, -2px) rotate(-1deg); }}\n \n.pain {\n\t-webkit-animation-name: shakeit;\n\t-webkit-animation-duration: 2s;\n\t-webkit-transform-origin:30% 30%;\n\t-webkit-animation-timing-function: linear;\n -moz-animation-name: shakeit;\n\t-moz-animation-duration: 2s;\n\t-moz-transform-origin:30% 30%;\n\t-moz-animation-timing-function: linear;\n -o-animation-name: shakeit;\n\t-o-animation-duration: 2s;\n\t-o-transform-origin:30% 30%;\n\t-o-animation-timing-function: linear;\n animation-name: shakeit;\n\tanimation-duration: 2s;\n\ttransform-origin:30% 30%;\n\tanimation-timing-function: linear;\n\n}
You set down your candelabra where it illuminates as much of the interior of the well as possible, take a firm grip on the rope, and ease yourself backwards into the dark well. The uneven stones allow your shoes a little purchase, but not much. Every time you loosen one of your hands to descend a few inches, you feel you're on the verge of making the fatal slip that will send you falling to the hard dirt below. You've only descended a few feet when the air around you worsens and you feel light-headed. You focus with all your will on the task at hand, and yet [[visions of the last time you were in this room|last time]] haunt you like the apparitions that torment the guilty dead on Judgement Day.
You grasp at the darkness around your feet, afraid of what you'll find and yet even more terrified that you'll die of suffocation if you don't finish your task and escape. You flinch when your searching fingers find a cold hand. With your hands you feel your way up Wearie's sleeve up to his torso and begin rifling through the inner pockets of his jacket. You feel cold metal and you tear the cloth of Wearie's jacket in your blind desperation to pull it loose.<span id="yourlegs"><<timedreplace 4s>> You put the key securely in your own dress pocket and ready yourself to [[climb back up]].<<becomes>> As you put the key securely in your own dress pocket and ready yourself to climb back up, a sudden impact throws you off balance. <span class="pain">Lord Wearie's arms are clasped around <<timedreplace 4s>><<click "your legs">><<replace "#yourlegs">> As you put the key securely in your own dress pocket and ready yourself to climb back up, a sudden impact throws you off balance. Lord Wearie's arms are clasped around<span class="fade"> your legs</span> as he tries to drag you to the ground.\n\n"Murderess!" your master screams.\n\n<span class="fade">You kick viciously at the darkness, connecting first with nothing, then with Wearie's head. You have to kick him twice more before you're able to break his grip. This may be your last change to [[climb back up]].</span><</replace>><</click>><<becomes>>your legs<</timedreplace>> as he tries to drag you to the ground</span>.\n\n"Murderess!" your master screams.<<gains>>\n\nYou grapple with him and try to scream, but all you produce are a series of choking gasps. And then <span class="pain">Wearie's hands tighten around your throat</span>.<<gains>> A movement in the shadows above catches your eye. You see a flicker of candlelight and a face of powdery white. A stone rushes down at you from the top of the well. You hear a hollow sound and Wearie convulses in pain. He rolls off of you, confused and trying to fend off an attacker that isn't there. You have another chance to [[climb back up]].<</timedreplace>></span>
"Then old Paradise is only a nice story? Makes no difference to me. I believe in living today for today. All else will soon enough come to dust."\n\nHe's very proud of his wit, obviously.\n\n[[The hooded men ignite the tinder around your feet.|smell of burning rope]]
<<if not visited("swaddle baby")>>On your way up to the cellar, you and Lamkin walk directly into the path of a posse of Lord Wearie's men, and they easily [[seize you both]]. They came in the house so silently. Perhaps they used the nursery window.<<elseif $stabledoor neq "latched">>On your way up to the cellar, you and Lamkin walk directly into the path of a posse of Lord Wearie's men, and they easily [[seize you both]]. They came in the house so silently. Perhaps they came through the kitchen from the stable.<<elseif $kitchenfire neq "stoked">>On your way up to the cellar, you and Lamkin walk directly into the path of a posse of Lord Wearie's men, and they easily [[seize you both]]. They came in the house so silently. Perhaps they came through the kitchen chimney.<<elseif $trapdoor neq "latched">>On your way up to the cellar, you and Lamkin walk directly into the path of a posse of Lord Wearie's men, and they easily [[seize you both]]. They came in the house so silently. Perhaps they came through that flimsy trap door in the attic.<<elseif $landingwindow neq "latched">>On your way up to the cellar, you and Lamkin walk directly into the path of a posse of Lord Wearie's men, and they easily [[seize you both]]. They came in the house so silently. Perhaps they crawled through the window on the upstairs landing.<<else>>You hear a crash from upstairs in the front hall. It must be someone smashing open the front door! You hear men's voices giving loud commands and spreading out throughout the mansion. As you creep upward as fast as you dare, the echoes of footsteps tell you Lord Wearie's men are already past the kitchen, coming down the tunnel toward you.\n\nThe passageway from the [[kitchen|caught anyway]] down to the cellar is a stone tunnel, the entrance to a modest stronghold that lies beneath the new mansion, from the days when the lord of this barony was expected to be ready to call up vassals to wage war against the Scots. Your quarters are down here, converted from a fortified bunkroom. The old defenses are now neglected, but there is still one portcullis, which is currently raised, that can deter invaders from reaching the cellar's [[lowest room|well2]]. There's a heavy wheel to reel up the ropes to lift the portcullis.<<set $bang = "mavis.mp3">><<playsound $bang>>\n<</if>>
"My lady, you haven't slept."\n\n"I cannot sleep. I have a terrible premonition. When I was a girl I heard a traveling preacher say that when a man falls out of grace with God, it's as if a trap door falls open beneath him and his soul plummets down to Hell. But the man's body may go on living for the rest of his natural life, unchanged to all appearances, animated by some ungodly mechanism. When Lord Wearie bade me farewell, he seemed transformed. It's something to do with that vagabond they say sleeps huddled in the moss."\n\n"You think the Lord's soul is burdened by something, milady?"\n\n"Not burdened, lost! It was last night, or perhaps the night before. I fear it has happened to all of you. To my husband, to you, and..." Lady Wearie turns her gaze to her baby in his cradle, unable to voice her suspicion.\n\n"Castor is saved, milady. He has been baptised."\n\nLady Wearie shakes her head. "Perhaps. [[Let me keep watch|nursery]]. God will give me a sign."
As in the rest of his house, Lord Wearie forswears most ornamentation in the bedchamber he shares with his young second wife. A large cross of ash hangs on one wall, an ash triptych of the Adoration on the other. The curtain of their large four-post bed is <<if $invLaudanum eq "given">>half-closed, and you can see Lady Wearie inside breathing heavily as she battles unquiet dreams.<<else>>open, and the bed is unoccupied.<</if>> The <<insertlink "bedchamber windows are shut">>. You test the bars and find them fastened securely<</insertlink>>. Between them stands Lady Wearie's <<insertlink "chest of drawers">>. The second drawer from the bottom has a false back, and hidden behind that is Lady Wearie's <<reviselink steal "best jewelry" end>>. Gold bracelets and rings, hairpins and combs, a gold necklace with a ruby stone, as well as a few dozen silver pennies. The jewelry displeases her husband, but Lady Wearie sometimes takes a few pieces out and wears them when she's alone and she feels dull<</insertlink>><<revision steal>>.<<gains>> You could imagine snatching up the gold and silver and hiding it in your dress, certainly. If you had a fast horse ready to ride away under cover of nightfall. Failing that, it would be unwise.<</revision>>\n\nThe <<once>>[[door to the upstairs landing|lightwarning]]<<endonce>><<later>>[[door to the upstairs landing|landing]]<<endlater>> is open.
"You expect me to kneel down and confess to the servants of a man I hate?" Lamkin asks, looking warily at the knife in your hand.\n\n"No. Only curse them while I blame the crimes on you. Curse their mothers and their God and all their saints! Curse them until they kill you. It'll cause you no harm and it may save my life."\n\nAs Wearie's men struggle noisily with the rusty portcullis, you wonder why they had to announce themselves by noisily breaking down the front door anyway, as you thought it was unlocked. Lady Wearie must have locked up when she was on her way to bed!<<playsound $bang>>\n\n----\n* [[Stab yourself in the arm with your needle.]]\n* [[Just wait.]]
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You position your fingers for the first chord of "The March Before the Battle," a sheet of music you long ago doggedly practiced over and over from the beginning until you could play it all the way through. The first part of it still lingers in your memory.\n\nYou press the three keys down to the frame with only a quite thud. The strings are ruined. The keys are misshapen, out of alignment. The smell of wet, rotten wood assaults you, so pervasive you'd stopped noticing it. This stench will be in your memories now, as if the lively figures of your youth were decaying all along without knowing it. There is no song in your fingers.\n\nIt's gone, all gone. The corpse of a life, the ghost of a life. You [[should not have tried to touch it|attic]].
In careful, efficient script the note reads:\n\n<p class="margin">The thawing ground, the tender flower,\nThe snows of winter melt and flow to the sea.\nThe ageless sun will warm the turning earth\nOld blackbirds teach hatchlings their song for you.\nPromise of love, palace of hours,\nFrom every shackle that keeps you\nI long to release you.\n\nYour Eternally Devoted,\nMan in the Moon\n\nP.S. It will be tonight.</p>\nThe letter calms your nerves, a little.\n\n<p class="back">[[back|attic]]</p>
Beta testing by Juhana Leinonen, Andrew Schultz, and Andrew Watt.\n\nThanks to Neil Butters for running this year's ShuffleComp.\n\n[[Twine 1.4.2|http://twinery.org/]] by Chris Klimas and many others.\n\n[[SugarCube|http://www.motoslave.net/sugarcube/]] story format by Thomas Michael Edwards.\n\n[[Various macros|http://www.glorioustrainwrecks.com/blog/584]] by Leon Arnott.\n\n[[Sound effect|http://www.freesound.org/people/schots/sounds/134069/]] made by [[schots|http://www.freesound.org/people/schots/]] and licensed under CC BY-NC 3.0\n\n<p class="back">[[Start the game|beware]]</p>
You run the wick up and down the rope, as low as you can reach. The flame catches and spreads. Lord Wearie simply presses on as if he doesn't notice. You watch the animal determination in his eyes as he climbs. With every step up the wall he forces a bare hand closed around the flames. His life depends on the rope holding firm, so he unflinchingly sacrifices his hands to stifle the fire. But pure determination can't turn a man fireproof. With every step his grip weakens. He lunges upward to seize the flaming rope near the lip of the well. It will be the third time Lord Wearie puts his right hand to this cruel test.\n\nHe rubs the blackened flesh of his hand desperately against the flame, as if he was a drunkard hazarding some mad wager with a tavern's candle, but his hand simply does not close. He tips backward and the rope slips loose. His powerful scream echoes down the well as he falls. His eyes are wide, fixed on yours.\n\nA few seconds later, the rope burns through and falls down the well after him. It was a near thing, but there is no doubt: Lord Wearie's strength gave way before the rope did.\n\nYou and Lamkin share a glance. His leprous face is like the moon's face, pitted and cratered, with hard bulbous growths like stones. He looks impressed, but you can't tell whether he thinks Lord Wearie or his killer put on a better show.\n\n"Will his death really save us?" you ask.\n\n"[[It will.|It will]]"
More than anything or anyone left to you, Lord Wearie's dusty harpsichord sharply recalls your youth. <<once>>You were a scullery maid, the first of your many labors in your lord's house, and this instrument sat in the front parlor. Musicians would be brought in from town to perform on it for dances, and sometimes the colorful guests who came to the sitting room would delight everyone by announcing they could play. Through some unknown arrangement among the adults in the house, you were allowed to play it too. You used to rise an hour early to practice at it, taking lessons from your mother. You see now that those lessons sowed a little too much hope in a spirited girl's heart, and bore you much bitterness later. Your disappointment began when you understood your mother knew no more about music than the thrushes that sang in the trees by your Lady's window.\n\nThat was the first Lady Wearie. May she rest in peace, and your mother too.\n\nIt seems incredible that the young Lord Wearie you served in those days aged into the austere penitent who took down the rich tapestries and paintings from the walls, who every year without fail drives his whole household into his bleak chapel for hours of recitation and silent prayer until the first fine day of springtime has safely passed. Even the sight of a few butterflies in the sedge is too voluptuous for Lord Wearie now, even a warm breeze before a morning rain too much a temptation to sin. \n\nFor many years prayer for you has been the contemplation not of God but of your hands. You fancy that before your eyes your skin is loosening, your lines deepening, your strength diminishing. \n\nYou've never dared play the harpsichord since long ago when Lord Wearie had it packed away to this attic. <<endonce>>You could <<if not visited("play an old tune")>>test whether your hands still remember how to [[play an old tune]]. Or you could <<endif>>[[open the lid]].\n\n<p class="back">[[back|attic]]</p>
False Mavis
The men gathered in the cellar all wear lopsided hoods with their chainmail, like novice executioners. You <<insertlink "recognize the fabric.">> They've been stitched together hastily out of the lord's shirts.<</insertlink>> Two of them pick you up by either arm and half-drag you out of the old fortification, through the kitchen, and out the front of the mansion.\n\nThere's dried blood on the staircase and all along the hall. But the dried blood in the nursery is what you like <<cyclinglink "$evil" "least" "best">> of all. \n\nYou don't know how Lamkin did all this, but he built Wearie's manor and he knew its secret ways. Some he kept secret even from you. The knights [[lead you out the front door]]. The snow on the ground has begun to melt.
/*debug variables for this room \n<<set $portcullis to "down">><<set $bang = "mavis.mp3">>*/<<if $portcullis neq "down">>As you walk away from the portcullis, Wearie's men come charging under it and [[take you and Lamkin prisoner|seize you both]] at swordpoint. Lamkin points behind you at the lever that lowers the portcullis.\n\n"Mavis, I thought that would go without saying."<<else>>The coins in the crucible begin to bubble and melt. Lamkin takes the crucible with the tongs and pours out a metallic dribble into the well.\n\n"There is still more gold to melt down," Lamkin says. "We have no time. Find it <<timedreplace 8s>><<reviselink bag "in my bag" end>><<becomes>>in my bag<</timedreplace>>."<<revision bag>><<becomes>>\n\nIn Lamkin's bag you find some filthy clothes, some spare goat's milk, and many papers in his scrawled handwriting. You feel around the bottom but there's nothing hard enough to be jewelry.<</revision>>\n\nLamkin squints toward the bottom of the well<span id="hishand"><<timedreplace 4s>>.<<becomes>>, sighing as <<click "his hand reaches">><<replace "#hishand">>, sighing as <span class="fade">his hand reaches</span> for something hidden in his cloak. "Lord Wearie, laid to rest in a basin lined with the same scant few silvers he pinched in life. That's a fitting end for a cheap knave. And where a mother and son are lacking, a father and daughter may suffice."\n\nYou hear a crash as Lord Wearie's men throw themselves at the portcullis. They're close to being inside.\n\n<span class="fade">You grab hold of Lamkin's forearm to see what he's concealing from you. It's a razor-sharp blade! Lamkin tries to grab you by the hair with his other hand, but you throw yourself bodily into him, pushing him off balance, and wrest the knife away from him. \n\n"Damn this withered hand," Lamkin says, smiling ironically.</span>\n\n----\n\n* [["Damn every piece of you to Hell!" (Throw Lamkin down the well.)|Kill Lamkin]]\n* [["Lamkin, you can't save yourself, but you can save me. Please."|Save me]]<</replace>><</click>> for something hidden in his cloak.<<becomes>>, sighing as his hand reaches for a knife hidden in his cloak.<</timedreplace>> "Lord Wearie, laid to rest in a basin lined with the same scant few silvers he pinched in life. That's a fitting end for a cheap knave. And where a mother and son are lacking, a father and daughter will suffice."<<timedinsert 4s>>\n\nYou hear a crash as Lord Wearie's men throw themselves at the portcullis. They're close to being inside.<<playsound $bang>><</timedinsert>>\n\n<<timedreplace 8s>><<becomes>><span class="fade">You only see Lamkin's blade as a flash of light before <span class="pain">it slices through your throat. Your hands are wet. Blood spraying everywhere.</span>\n\n"Don't worry, sweet Mavis, I've not been keeping secrets about your lineage. 'Tis only an inkling. And yet, when death is on the line, I've ever had the luck of the devil!"\n\nLong Lamkin hurls you over the edge of the well. As your vision goes dark, you only have time to feel yourself <span class="fade">tumbling through the air, your life's blood pouring downward</span> to mingle with the blood you spilled.</span>\n\n<p class="back"><span class="pain">[[***You have died***|found you alive]]</span></p><</timedreplace>><</if>>\n
You and Lamkin continue up toward the kitchen, hoping Lord Wearie's men will turn their attention away from the tunnel long enough for you to slip past, but you have no opportunity at all. They easily [[seize you both]].
The passageway from the [[kitchen]] down to the cellar is a stone tunnel, the entrance to a modest stronghold that lies beneath the new mansion, from the days when the lord of this barony was expected to be ready to call up vassals to wage war against the Scots. Your quarters are down here, converted from a fortified bunkroom. The old defenses are now neglected, but there is still one portcullis, which is currently raised, that can deter invaders from reaching the cellar's <<if $invCandle neq true>><<insertlink "lowest room">>. There's no light down there, and you won't be able to find your way without a candle<</insertlink>><<else>>[[lowest room|well]]<</if>>. There's a heavy wheel to reel up the ropes to lift the portcullis.
You make a <span class="pain">deep, bloody, but narrow wound that stains the sleeve of your dress</span>, then you throw the needle into the crucible in hopes the investigators won't be able to distinguish it from the rest of the molten metal. When Wearie's men come in, you hold your hurt arm high, sob, and beg them for help. They recoil, unsure of themselves. Eventually they take you prisoner, though not without sympathy.\n\nAs you walk out of the mansion, you wonder if you really came close to immortality. You realize that all of your sacrifice--and more importantly, all your plans to sacrifice a baby--have come to dust, and now you are alone.\n\n\n<p class="back">***You have survived***</p>
Your head is swimming. The darkness is almost absolute. The presence here with you is more shadow than human. He is not moving. You could [[search him|get key]].
Sweetly sings the blackbird as the storms of winter break...but bitter, bitter are your screams as <span class="pain">you burn at the stake.</span>\n\nAnd like the peaceful clouds in the April sky, the moon hangs silent in the tree close by.\n\n<p class="back"><span class="pain">***You have died***</span></p>
"Then you had an eternity, and in your eagerness to gain a second eternity, you lost both? That's well enough. Mostly women hang for a bracelet or the like."\n\n[[The hooded men ignite the tinder around your feet.|smell of burning rope]]
The upstairs landing has a narrow stairwell leading up to the [[attic]] and a door to [[the master bedchamber|bedchamber]]. The plumes of snow whirling past the <<if $landingwindow neq "latched">><<replacelink "window">><<set $landingwindow to "latched">>securely barred window<</replacelink>><<else>>securely barred window<</if>> cast wild shadows into the candlelit hall below. The other upstairs rooms, with nobody living in them at present, have already been made secure against the outside. A grander staircase leads down to the [[front hall]].
The old father, the young mother, their little heir, all dead. The only survivors of that world of theirs were...\n<p class="margin">the thawing ground...the tender root... \nthe winter snows that melt and seep in the dirt.\nThe ageless sun that warms the turning earth,\ngreat-great-grandsons of birds whose songs you heard.\nAnd none now live who remember you...\nbut the man in the moon, his heart stabbed through\nwho hung from his noose in a mimicry of death.</p>\n\n<p class="back">***You have survived***</p>
The harpsichord lid's velvet inner lining exhales putrid dust at the gentlest movement. You prop it open so the waning daylight can illuminate the interior. The soundboard is damp and warped. A folded paper [[note]] is wedged between a string and its quill.\n\n<p class="back">[[back|attic]]</p>
The first room visitors see when they enter the mansion is embraced by an imposing curved staircase up to the [[landing]], a feature that Lord Wearie once called a sign of order and civilization in the bleak expanse of the moors. There was also an oil painting you loved to look into, of a party of anglers, but it hangs above the stairs no longer. Off to one side is the parlor, nearly empty save for an old table. Passageways lead to the [[kitchen]] and the baby's [[nursery]]. \n\n<<if $invCandle neq true>><span id="candle">Three candles flicker in a <<click "candelabra">><<set $invCandle to true>><<replace "#candle">><span class="fade">You take the candelabra from the table across from </span><</replace>><</click>> across from </span><<else>>The light from the candelabra you carry flickers across <</if>>the [[unlocked front door]].
Because of the house's large cook-stove, with a firepit big enough to boil soup for an army and chimney wide enough for two men to climb down at once, the close, sooty walls of the kitchen are the house's best refuge from the cold on most winter nights, though before his departure Lord Wearie more often took refuge in <<if $invLaudanum neq "carried" and $invLaudanum neq "given">><<replacelink "the bottle on the highest shelf of the larder">><<set $invLaudanum to "carried">>the bottle from the highest shelf of the larder. A man who espouses sober habits, Lord Wearie takes no alcohol without opium, and he retires to sleep promptly at eight. Laudanum helps him achieve this regimen (though his half-lucid moans sometimes persist late into the night). You pour the rest of the bottle into a cup and take it with you<</replacelink>><<else>>the laudanum bottle that you have now emptied<</if>>.<<if $kitchenfire neq "stoked">> You <<replacelink "could stoke the kitchen fire">><<set $kitchenfire to "stoked">> throw more kindling and logs on the fire and speed the fire with the bellows until it threatens to overflow the firepit. Anyone who tried to invade the house through the chimney now would be burned alive, or choked, before he broke his way through the chimney grate<</replacelink>><<else>> The cooking fire you stoked still burns strongly under the chimney<</if>>.\n\nThere are passageways to the [[front hall]] and down to the [[cellar]], and <<if $stabledoor neq "latched">><<replacelink "an unlocked door">><<set $stabledoor to "latched">>a firmly barred and bolted door<</replacelink>><<else>>a firmly barred and bolted door<</if>> to the stable.
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Even before you make your first upward lunge, every muscle in your arms burns, but desperation animates you. You amaze yourself that you're making any progress at all, and you imagine the air is becoming somewhat fresher. Above you are candles that light your way and help you find the best footholds. Candles and Long Lamkin's face.\n\nYou can feel Lord Wearie's on the rope beneath you like a counterweight threatening to pull you off the wall of the well. You can feel him close on your heels.\n\n"Lamkin is a servant of evil, Mavis," Lord Wearie gasps. "He practices witchcraft. Did you...even know that...when you became his...his..."\n\nYou're almost at the lip of the well. Lamkin reaches down with a deformed hand, two of its fingers barely more than nubs, to help you [[crawl out]].
The time is about noon, but how many days has it been since the blizzard? The men walk you to a little clearing near the manor where they tie you to a tall stake they've driven into the ground. One of them circles around you, wrapping you in rope from knees to shoulders. <span id="proclaim">You could <<timedreplace 5s>><<click "proclaim your innocence">><<replace #proclaim>><span class="fade">Your voice emerges as a croaking rasp. You try to swear you only tried to protect the others when Lamkin came, but you can barely even understand yourself. You realize you might be visibly wounded.\n\n"Don't try to beg," the boyish-sounding knight says from beneath his hood. "We found your love letter. 'It will be tonight,' didn't he say? The killing lasted a little longer than one night, but he wrote true enough."</span><</replace>><</click>>.<<becomes>>have proclaimed your innocence, but pride held your tongue.<</timedreplace>></span>\n\nLamkin hangs from a noose in a sturdy tree nearby. His mouth is slack, his neck unnaturally stretched.<<if $evil neq "best">> Now he's longer than ever.<</if>> A sword's blade impales his chest, broken off above the hilt.\n\nThe hooded knights pile firewood around your feet, and the one with the rope ties it off somewhere behind your back. Emboldened at last by your helplessness, he stands close to you and glares directly into your eyes, then stares at your face and neck. His eyes are green.<<timedreplace 5s>><<gains>> He takes off his mask, ignoring the others' warnings not to let you see his face. The other knights back away from him and you, terrified. \n\nHe has sunken cheeks, a crooked nose, enviable skin beneath the caked dirt. He's terribly young<<if $evil eq "best">>, but right now you find it easy to see him through the eyes of yourself as a girl. Girl-Mavis lived a life much like woman-Mavis, on this very estate. But girl-Mavis would have thought this man quite old.<<if visited("note")>>\n\n"Promise of love." Is that what you're feeling now?<</if>><<else>>.<</if>>\n\n<span id="spit">You could <<timedreplace 5s>><<click "spit in the knight's face">><<replace #spit>><span class="fade">Without warning, you spit as hard as you can. What comes out of your dry mouth is bloody, and it falls short, landing on the knight's sleeve. He looks down on it with an astonished sneer, and then approaches even closer.\n\n"Do you think you've been treated unjustly, witch?" he asks with false astonishment.</span><</replace>><</click>><<becomes>>have spit in the knight's face, he was so close<</timedreplace>>.</span><<gains>>\n\nThe knight steps back to a safer distance and watches your reactions closely. \n\n"The boys and I have [[a question to put to you|a question]]," he says.<</timedreplace>>
The stifling lowest room of the mansion was meant to enable a small band of men to survive a siege for weeks. Today, the food stores are bare, the half-dozen weapon racks stand empty, and the well is dry. You madly consider <<reviselink echo "calling down the well" end>> to see if there's any response. There's still a working blacksmith's forge with a <<insertlink "narrow vent">>, far too small even for Long Lamkin to climb through,<</insertlink>> for the chimney.<<if $lamkin eq "following">> Long Lamkin is with you.<<elseif $wellrope eq "tied">> One end of the rope is tied to the thick iron bars of the blacksmith's furnace and the other end hangs down into the dark well. You could [[climb down]].<<elseif $invRope eq true>> The grate of the blacksmith's furnace has thick iron bars. You <<replacelink "could tie the rope to the bars">><<set $wellrope to "tied">>firmly tie one end of the rope to the bars and throw the coils down the well. You hear a faint sound of impact as the end of the rope hits the bottom of the well. You could [[climb down]]<</replacelink>>.<<else>> You can't see any way to climb down the well.<</if>>\n\nOn the pathway to the <<if $lamkin eq "following">>[[cellar|lockdown]]<<else>>[[cellar]]<</if>> there's a portcullis, which is raised. There's a heavy wheel to reel up the ropes to lift the portcullis, and a lever to make the portcullis fall.\n\n<<revision echo>><<gains>>"Are you still alive down there, milord?" you ask, as loudly as you dare. Your own voice echoes back to you, and then the silence seems deeper than before.<</revision>>
"Don't speak to her!" one of the other knights warns, but the green-eyed boy waves him off.\n\n"You've bargained with demons, Nurse. You've died and come back. What we want to know is, is there eternal life after death, or isn't there?"\n\n----\n* [[Nod yes.]]\n* [[Shake your head no.]]\n* [[Ignore his question and wait for the other knights to light the pyre beneath you.|smell of burning rope]]
When Wearie's men come in, you raise your arms in praise, sob, and beg them to listen to your horrible tale. They take you prisoner, though they give no sign whether they believe you or not.\n\nAs you walk out of the mansion, you wonder if you really came close to immortality. You realize that all of your sacrifice--and more importantly, all your plans to sacrifice a baby--have come to dust, and now you are alone.\n\n<p class="back">***You have survived***</p>
Long Lamkin's eyes are weak. Changes in the light can alert you he's hidden nearby.\n\n<<timedgoto "landing" 3.5s >>
The smell of burning rope. As the flames rise over your head <span class="pain">you feel as if you're being incinerated to the bone</span>, but you smell no cooking flesh. Only burning rope. You watch Wearie's men watching you burn at the stake. They know you're still alive from your screams.\n\nYou feel your <span class="pain">death hot in your belly, like a burning coal</span> you've swallowed and can't cough back up. If only it would come back out, you think nature would take its course.\n\nIn time the firewood burns away. The rope is gone. The pole you were tied to is brittle charcoal. Your skin is blackened and charred. You collapse to the ground and try to appear dead, but fail. You hear the men muttering about rumors [[the well was cursed]], corpse-poisoned centuries ago before it went dry.
Attic window is <<print $atticwindow>>\nWardrobe is <<print $wardrobe>>\n$invRope is <<print $invRope>>\n$trapdoor is <<print $trapdoor>>\n$chest is <<print $chest>>
by Litany Brisket
Not long after Lord Wearie and his men set out on horseback, you heard him return and pound on his front door. He was alone. You opened and asked if he'd been driven back by the snowstorm, but he pushed past you and seized the key to relock the door behind him. He said he'd seen Long Lamkin lurking on the moor. He gave chase but lost him, so he set his men to search while he galloped back home as fast as his exhausted horse could carry him. He ordered you to go without a light to his wife's chamber and bring her silently down to the nursery to protect the baby until his men hunted Lamkin down. No sooner had he spoken then Long Lamkin leapt from the upper landing and drove a knife into Wearie's back. Without a thought, you clutched old Wearie's face to stifle his screams and helped Lamkin drag him away. The two of you brought Wearie to the basement and threw him down the old dry well. You heard the fatal crack of Wearie's landing, followed by long silence. Lamkin stole Wearie's horse and rode off to a secret cache where he'd hidden the implements he needed for his plan to free the two of you from illness and want. You spent the rest of the afternoon hurriedly cleaning the little puddles of Wearie's blood off the floors, praying (To whom? Not God, surely) that Wearie's wife wouldn't happen by and see.\n\nAlmost disbelieving, you feel your foot touch the [[bottom of the well]].
Wearie's men drag you behind their horses to the manor and hurl you down the well again. Your well, your home. The sound of <span class="pain">your spine hitting the stone</span> is a crack like a flintlock. You curl up in pain, and force yourself to look back upward. Wearie's men are tipping basins full of heavy rocks into the well. You try to roll out of the way, but you <span class="pain">feel yourself being crushed</span>.\n\n[[The stones bury you where you lie.|filled well]]
You know what Lamkin says is true. He's a greater alchemist than any you've ever heard of. You've seen him perform wonders.\n\n"When Lord Wearie cast me out for catching leprosy while building his house atop this pestilent ruin, he left me penniless, without even my tools," Lamkin says. "I learned well how to stay out of sight, and I traveled far to the east to seek a cure. For hundreds of miles every physician shut his door at the first sign of my cursed face, but one patient old doctor taught me the hidden healing virtues of nature's rarest elements. It was no mean task to collect the herbs and trifles to decoct his brew, but now, in this house where my woes began, <<insertlink "I've assembled them all.">> Bark of a willow, the milk of a goat, powder of cinnabar, ambergris, and gold stolen from the Wearies' own home. <<insertlink "And after heating in this crucible...">>simply combine it with the life's blood of a mother and child in a silver bowl, and pour it over the two iron coins the Devil paid me for my soul!\n\n"I will be whole again, and you will be forever young. And so, dear Mavis, the next step in our adventure will be to stab the baby and drain his blood. We'll do it together while we wait for the rest of the elixir to boil in the forge."\n\nYou could <<reviselink bigbowl "look at Lamkin's silver bowl" end>> or [[follow him|well]].<</insertlink>><</insertlink>>\n\n<<revision bigbowl>><<gains>>It's not a small bowl.<</revision>><<set $lamkin to "following">>
Lamkin plummets down the well, and you're almost surprised he has no tricks, no alchemy to save him.\n\nAs Wearie's men struggle noisily with the rusty portcullis, you wonder why they had to announce themselves by noisily breaking down the front door anyway, as you thought it was unlocked. Lady Wearie must have locked up when she was on her way to bed!<<playsound $bang>>\n\n----\n* [[Stab yourself in the arm with your needle.]]\n* [[Just wait.]]