#&snd/ToBurninMemory_TheSurvivorSpeaks_v1.wav
"Remembering is like constructing and then traveling again through a space. We are already talking about architecture. Memories are built as a city is built."
@— Umberto Eco, "Architecture and Memory" (1986)

"We will probably be judged not by the monuments we build but by those we have destroyed."
@- Ada Louise Huxtable

"Long ago as nomadic peoples, we saw time in cycles of sun and season. Then in the city, as we experienced time from a fixed point — it became a line, forever behind us. This line is all we have. It is our art, our culture, our every cause and our every effect. The only certainty we take with us as we move ever forward is that, in time, all this will fade into the distance as ruins over the horizon. Can you truly blame those who would stand still in defiance, or those who — knowing full well the futility of holding onto that which is just dust, run?" 
@- Eva Salandré, Foreword to the First Edition - Children of Rust by Eugénie Faure (1920)
#

~Orihaus - To Burn in Memory - Prologue
To Burn in Memory, an historical and temporal Interactive Fiction work for IFComp 2015. Explore a city that never existed, and uncover its secret history through the memories of a women that lived its darkest moments.

/"Breathtaking isn't it?" says Salandré, gesturing out over the vista, "Here is the city as I saw it — empty, painted in rust and gold, below tormented skies writhing in cruel fire." she continues, in a tone somewhere between opera and pantomime.
"Symbolic?" a brief expression of sadness, then she continues, "Or perhaps the romanticist in me cannot stomach to tell this tale without an image such as this."
"I gave my life to this place," she says with a sigh, "and now I offer it to you, my tale as seen through many eyes — but your judgment must be yours alone. I shall play the part of cicerone after my fashion, but not in a manner you expect — for I will be beside you only in memory. This should suffice to guide you through this tale to its end; and my absence will grant you clear eyes to draw of this the conclusions you will. *Find me then, in the orchards.*"/

~Institute - Below Tower - Balcony
A balcony facing westward, to the fore of a rooftop terrace overlooking |the city.:-the city, stretching towards the setting sun and that ever-present crimson fog.| Twin streams fed by long aqueducts flanked the tower in an embrace, then split — again in symmetry — to fall in two over the facades of the structure.

Behind, paved pathways connected the cardinal points of the circular structure, and at their intersection rose a |delicate white tower, starkly contrasting the silhouetted black spires of the horizon.:* Delicate, but only to a cursory glance — crafted as it was with such mediated fragility in form, that in consonance with the expanse of the terrace it would appear slender.| Arcades accentuated the circumference of the terrace, as the sun fell on the water like a scar. 

[Landing Overlook:Follow pathways to below the Tower]

~Institute - Below Tower - Landing Overlook
The wind whistled through the arcades — a low and mournful hum. At the opposite side of the tower, I could fully behold the eastern vista; a river stretching out to the horizon, the opposing shore veiled and blurred in fog, receiving long shadows cast from the tower. 

Radiating outward from the tower were the roaring falls, glittering in the half-light. They split the circular piazza into two tiers; that lower tier accessible from here by twin descending staircases that curved inward to embrace a small landing. 

Though blackened windows teased entrance, the tower itself allowed no means of ingress at this level.

[Balcony:Return to Balcony]
[Landing:Descend stairs to Landing]

~Institute - Below Tower - Landing
The stairways flattened out and continued, splitting the flow in two to descend towards the outer arcades and the red river.

[Landing Overlook:Climb steps to the Landing Overlook]
{Institute - Riverside Staircase:Descend Stairway to River}
[Door:Examine Door]

^Institute - Below Tower - Landing - Door
On closer inspection a tight seam outlined a smaller inset door, featureless except for an ornate handle intricately decorated with a solar motif. It was unlocked.

&The entrance to the white tower was here; and dark in the shadow of the waning sun, a black monolith of a door — seamless and with no visible means of admission.

{Tower - Atrium Floor:Enter Tower}

~Tower - Atrium Floor
The atrium took up the entirety of the first two floors of the tower. Hugging stately wooden paneling, a spiral staircase swept upwards. Heavy, dust filled beams of light shone through long vertical windows to fall on a sea of charred remains: the curled cinders of countless books. 

Two doors opposed each other: the black painted monolith of a door leading back to the terrace; and a smaller set built of wood and brass inlay, open to the remains of a once great hallway.

[Pages:Sift Through the Ash!HasPage]
[Library:Ascend Staircase]
{Institute - Atrium Hallway:Enter the Atrium Hallway}
{Institute - Below Tower - Landing:Return to Terrace}

^Tower - Atrium Floor - Pages
I waded through the ash, hands sifting charred fragments of history — names, dates, time and place, now meaningless in their separation.

[Ashes:Search Further]

^Tower - Atrium Floor - Pages - Ashes
I tore through page after page, drunk on the prospect of discovery.

And there it was; a single page, unburnt, alone in a ray of the setting sun.

[Page:Hold Page to the Light]

^Tower - Atrium Floor - Pages - Ashes - Page
A rose, red. It held in perfect detail an illustration of a seven petaled rose.

{Tower - Atrium Floor:Take Page+HasPage}

~Institute - Atrium Hallway
Through the shattered remains of glass panels held aloft by ribs of steel, the waning sun filled the atrium with diffused light in tones of blood and gold — a fitting welcome to the devastation below. 

Tattered and smoke blackened banners flew from the ironwork buttresses — countenance cast in vivid red under those stains wrought of battle, surviving with all that stoic dignity of a final stand. Charred furniture stood as makeshift barricades under layers of cinder and — catching the light — thick shards of broken glass.

[Grand Gate:Examine Grand Gate!MynometerActivated]
[Grand Gate (Remains):Examine Gate Remains?MynometerActivated]
{Tower - Atrium Floor:Enter Tower}

^Institute - Atrium Hallway - Grand Gate
The Institute's entrance gate was a masterwork in brass — elegance and strength in equal temperance, gold hue belying the fortitude of a stronger metal. Shut tight.

#[MynometerActivated+SeenGateDestruction]&snd/ToBurninMemory_ATraitorsWaltz_v1.wav

I stand in the livery of the nation of my birth, wearing my true face before those I have betrayed — to watch with clear eyes the end I have wrought for them. 

The order has been sent out, and now I wait for the thunder that will signal the last lines of this final act. A moment of silence below the tower, then the command to fire rings out across the empty square, to be drowned in turn under the 33rd's deafening barrage; and on impact, the screams of metal and men alike. But this I can hear not, for me that dread song still played unmatched in volume and held in rapt attention by my helpless mind:

"Firm and true stands the watch, *die wacht am Rhein!*"
@-Marcel V : May 21st, 1908

#

^Institute - Atrium Hallway - Grand Gate (Remains)
What remained of the gate had forgotten its elegance that moment its strength fell before the sheer force of the German artillery barrage — filigree metalwork twisted and made harsh, to call now to mind the form of a corpse, ribcage exposed.

{Plaza - Cordonata - Apex:Step over the rubble}

~Tower - Library - Landing
The library was cylindrical in structure, occupying in full the seventh to eleventh floors of the tower. The first of these constituted a reading area and balcony, followed by |three floors of mezzanine:* successively tapering outwards to be supported by sweeping beams and slender columns of wrought iron|. 

The spiral staircase landed on the reading level, below the filigree flow of iron buttress and girder that held up the |first mezzanine.:* This level was furnished with neatly arranged — though signs of struggle marked the floor where this was not without exception — desks, each set with a single lamp.|

All this grand structure forsook its purpose however, as every shelf now held little more than a thin film of dust, their intended contents lying as ashes far below. Centered in emphasis by the form of the library lay a statue with the features of a three-headed raven, gazing with mournful eyes out over the river, long shadows cast before its stare.

[Balcony:Step out to the Balcony]
{Tower - Staircase Landing - Hallway (Dark):Ascend Staircase!HasLantern}
{Tower - Staircase Landing - Hallway (Light):Ascend Staircase?HasLantern}
{Tower - Atrium Floor:Descend Staircase}

^Tower - Library - Landing - Balcony
The tower cast its shadow over the river to touch the fog shrouded shore.

[Landing:Return to the Landing]
[Mynometer:Examine Device]

^Tower - Library - Landing - Balcony - Mynometer
An elegant clockwork device the size of a pocket-watch, closed with a latch relief depicting a snake devouring its own tail.

|Open?:-Centered within the inner face of the device, a cold brass sigil sat above a complex clockwork mechanism. Seemingly activated by the opening of the device, a needle began to protrude from below the sigil in a short and abrupt whir of clockwork. 

+MynometerOpenUntouched!MynometerActivated||Place finger on protrusion?:-Its hunger sated, the sigil faded in luminance to that of a low flames dull glow.+MynometerActivated?MynometerOpenUntouched|
{^Tower - Library - Landing - Balcony:Take?MynometerActivated+MynometerTaken-hide}
&A small device sits precariously on the stone balustrade.

~Tower - Staircase Landing - Hallway (Dark)
The eleventh floor consisted of a small hallway acting as a landing and final floor for the spiral staircase. Windowless and unlit, but for faint light seeping in through the frame of the large door taking up the opposite end of the room. Flanking it were the vague shapes of statues, their forms illegible in the dark.

{Tower - Library - Landing:Descend Staircase}

~Tower - Staircase Landing - Hallway (Light)
The eleventh floor consisted of a small hallway acting as a landing and final floor for the spiral staircase. Windowless and unlit, but for faint light seeping in through the frame of the large door taking up the opposite end of the room. Illuminated in the lantern's soft beam, the door and its lock became legible.

[Door:Examine Door]
{Tower - Library - Landing:Descend Staircase}

^Tower - Staircase Landing - Hallway (Light) - Door
The door was decorated with a brass inlay, intricate metalwork designed with an almost Art Nouveau hand, its form and sensibility implying motion with every line. Locked.

{Tower - The Provost's Residence - Parlor:Enter?HasMinuteKey}

~Tower - The Provost's Residence - Parlor
The Provost occupied the final floor of the tower as his own private residence, a stately complex of rooms nestled below the vaulted dome that capped the building. Four large semi-circular windows filled the arches that comprised the vaulting, their glazed panes casting the evening sun in warm tones through the halls of the residence.

The hallway opened directly before one of these, onto a small but well-furnished parlor; the make of which betrayed an opulence I hadn't yet encountered here. Continuing leftwards from the entrance, a curving hallway lead to the lounge's mezzanine floor; and opposite this — almost hidden in shadow — a sturdy door.

[Mezzanine:Enter Mezzanine]
{Tower - Staircase Landing - Hallway (Dark):Return to Staircase}

~Tower - The Provost's Residence - Mezzanine
The mezzanine, though little more than a walkway with an indention into the wall to provide room for furniture — overlooked the lounge nearly two floors below, bridging a narrow end of the long room. 

Parallel to the lounge, a stairwell leading downwards was accessible through an unlocked door off the mezzanine. On the opposing wall from the parlor entrance, double doors presented the Provost's Private Archives through inset glass.

[Parlor:Follow hallway to the Parlor]
[Lounge:Descend stairs to Lounge]
[Private Archives:Enter the Archives]

~Tower - The Provost's Residence - Lounge
Extending down from the vaulting in tall panes to catch the rays of the setting sun in clear, the windows in their glare cast to me an open arch of light. Slanting to a small degree, the sunlight caught in emphasis the long right wall of the narrow hall to cast a mirror sheen over those many paintings canvassing it. Under the mezzanine, twin glass panel doors lead into the kitchen. Firmly locked.

[A Painted Mirror:Examine the Mirror Painting]
[Fireplace:Examine the Fireplace]
[Mezzanine:Climb stairs to the Mezzanine]
[^Hidden Passage:Enter Hidden Passage?LoftWayOpen]

^Tower - The Provost's Residence - Lounge - A Painted Mirror
Though almost uncanny to stand before at some distance, the painting's illusion of reflection broke down under close examination. This also revealed another detail — the ash and soot below the painting had been disturbed, as if something had swept this detritus aside.

|Push Aside?:-The painting gave way with ease, revealing a small passage leading up.+LoftWayOpen?PaintingUnlocked||Push Aside?:-The painting held, as if bolted to the wall by some mechanism.!PaintingUnlocked|

&Initially mistaken for a mirror, to the right of the fireplace was a particularity large painting, depicting in near perfect clarity the room before it.

{^Tower - The Provost's Residence - Hidden Passage:Enter Passage?LoftWayOpen}

^Tower - The Provost's Residence - Lounge - Fireplace
Using the fire iron to disturb the ashes, I investigated the debris. The fire had been fueled last with the remains of books and furniture. An act of violence, or necessity...? 

This examination also turned up another queer detail on the roof of the hearth — judging by the disruption in the ubiquitous coat of soot — a short bolt-like metal bar had seemingly been retracted horizontally into the wall. 

|Pull?:-The bolt slid out of the wall with a metallic thud.+PaintingUnlocked|

&Below these was set a fireplace, armored with thick black iron bars darkened by use; and billowing out from the hearth, black stains on red carpet.

~Tower - The Provost's Residence - Hidden Passage
Circling upwards in a tight spiral to meet the loft, the surfaces of the passage were still decorated to a modest degree with wooden paneling despite its necessarily obscure nature.

[Lounge:Return to Lounge]
[Loft:Continue to Loft]

~Tower - The Provost's Residence - Loft
The arched beams of the dome met at the pinnacle in a circle of glass, open to the warm light of evening. Under this, an unlit chandelier sent the little light that creeped through into shards of light across the loft, giving the room a fractured, broken quality. A tight iron staircase spiraled up from the center of the loft to meet the apex, deftly avoiding the chandelier by virtue of that fixtures' inverted, inward facing form.

[Hidden Passage:Return to the Hidden Passage]
[^Pinnacle:Ascend staircase to Pinnacle]

~^Tower - The Provost's Residence - Loft - Pinnacle
The tip of the great tower — the highest point in the city, and by any measure a rival to many in Europe — was a delicate spire of glass with a steel skeleton, exposed to the dusk air. At the center of the structure, set on an iron pedistal, was a large phonograph.

[Phonograph:Examine Phonograph]
{Tower - The Provost's Residence - Loft:Descend staircase to Loft}

^Tower - The Provost's Residence - Loft - Pinnacle - Phonograph
A phonograph of unusual size, trumpet facing out towards the city through an opening in the pinnacle structure. In a city as silent as this, the phonograph's voice should carry far.

#[MynometerActivated]&snd/ToBurninMemory_BehindtheMirror_v1.wav

'"A mirror is the perfect memorist. Why? Faithfulness. The mirror is an object of absolute faith in perception; it cannot lie, and there is no truth it cannot impart in perfect clarity," the first voice says.
"However," a second voice replies, "it does not remember."
"Does it need too? This world of matter and decay remembers exactly what it must remember and forgets only that which it must not; and the mirror in it's faith dutifully follows. We must strive to be as the mirror, to remember only what we must."
"And what must we remember?"
"That only what we have remembered is that which we must."
"But are we not fallible? We are human; we can lie, and there is no truth we cannot pervert."
"Like all truths, this we must mirror. Don't you see? We must reflect our perversion in perfect clarity, our clarity in perfect perversion; we must look behind the mirror."'

There was reams of this — thoughts trapped in endless loops, intermittently interrupted with fragments of spurious historical narrative written in an unwilling hand, like detritus caught between two mirrors to be amplified in repetition. 

The Provost had allowed us access to his archives in exchange for bread and water; there's nothing like starvation to call into question the value of your works. In truth though, bread and water were not all he requested, he had asked for another need met — a very specific record from a very specific place. He had insisted, and we had obliged. Strange, it was such a trivial thing...
@-Eugénie V : May 12th, 1908
#

~Tower - The Provost's Residence - Private Archives
Though similar in dimensions to the lounge, drawn curtains and little sunlight meant the Provost's private archive was poorly lit, and of a cold hue. The archives were centered around a multi-level rectangular staircase, descending, with book cases taking up the available space on each landing. 

Despite its cramped demeanor the room was decorated with the same almost baroque features as the rest of the residences, going as far as to emphasize the cases with brass inlay. The first step began opposite a doorway leading into the study.

[Mirror:Examine Mirror!MirrorFlipped]
[Mirror (Reversed):Examine Mirror?MirrorFlipped]
[Study:Enter Study]
[Mezzanine:Return to Mezzanine]

^Tower - The Provost's Residence - Private Archives - Mirror
A mirror shaped in the fashion of a kite shield, framed in brass.

{Tower - The Provost's Residence - Private Archives - Mirror (Reversed):Flip Mirror+MirrorFlipped}

&On the first landing, a mirror hung between two cabinets.

^Tower - The Provost's Residence - Private Archives - Mirror (Reversed)
A mirror shaped in the fashion of a kite shield, framed in brass. It faced the wall now, rear exposed,  reflecting nothing.

[Moon Key:Examine Moon Key]

&On the first landing, a mirror hung between two cabinets. It faced the wall now reflecting nothing.

^Tower - The Provost's Residence - Private Archives - Mirror (Reversed) - Moon Key
A delicate thing, with a contour fashioned in the form of a crescent moon. Sharp, almost bladed, yet polished to a mirror sheen.

&A key hung from the center of the mirrors exposed rear.

{Tower - The Provost's Residence - Private Archives:Take+HasMoonKey-hide}

~Tower - The Provost's Residence - Study
The Provost's study overlooked the river joining the fog-laden horizons far below. Drawn curtains left little of this vista visible, however. Facing inward, a high-backed chair was set before an opulently decorated and furnished desk. 

At the opposite end of the room were a set of double doors leading to a darkened bedroom visible through glass. To the same scheme as the archives, the walls consisted of vitrine cabinets lined with books.

[Private Archives:Exit to the Archives]

~Institute - Riverside Staircase
Flanked by architraved columns set into the stone walls holding back the streams, the staircase ended at the great river, before a wide iron gateway leading to the quay. I could feel the falls — ever-present; thunder behind thick stone.

[Sun Gate (Eastern Side): Examine Institute Rear Gateway]
{Institute - Below Tower - Landing:Ascend staircase to the Upper Landing}

^Institute - Riverside Staircase - Sun Gate (Eastern Side)
The Institute's entrance rear gate was no less a great work as its brother, that same elegance and strength, gold hue belying the fortitude of a stronger metal — bright brass fashioned to call to mind the sun in all its radiance.

&A brass gate barred the way down to the Promenade.

{^Old Quarter - Promenade:Descend to the Promenade?HasSunKey}

#&snd/ToBurninMemory_BehindtheMirror_v1.wav

"And you would burn all this down, for what?" the Memorist shouts from above, "To buy another few years for the condemned?"
"We were by your hand condemned," I reply. "And now you ask us why we should want for more?"
"We could do nothing-"
"-nothing," I interrupt, "nothing is all you do, all you think about. Is that how you see the world, as nothing?"
"Precisely," he replies.
"You say that, you say you possess nothing, want nothing." I continue, breathless, "A lie the size of the tower you stand before I say — and of that tower I ask, to put this lie to test — is that monster in stone and iron, truly, nothing?"
@-Eugénie II : March 4th, 1907
#

~Plaza - Cordonata - Apex
Calling to mind the triumphal arches of antiquity, that great arch of the Institute's entrance dominated its facade to a palatian effect — further strengthened in emphasis by the twin falls aside it. In darkness at this hour, an underground reservoir received the falls to roar in eerie reverberation.

Continuing the path downward, grand steps set in massive slabs began their long descent towards the heart of the plaza, interrupted rhythmically by landings set with small balconies.

{^Institute - Atrium Hallway:Enter Institute}
{Plaza - Cordonata - Landing:Descend to Landing}

~Plaza - Cordonata - Landing
The steps ended their straight descent with a small landing, that last stretch of vertical distance taken by an appropriately massive imperial staircase, enveloping the central axis of the plaza in a crescent of stone.

{Plaza - Cordonata - Apex:Ascend to Apex}
{Plaza - Axis - Pendulum:Descend to Pendulum}

#

"That old anarchist Kropotkin says history is like a pendulum — a long night of slumber, then the day breaks in motion as we cast off our chains. Ever astute in his observation, but I confess that if he is right, then will we not be here again at this exact point, watching this same pendulum play to the same ever unchanging rhythm? When the pendulum slows and the night nears, are we to be set in chains again? 

The pendulum was placed here at the heart of the city to remind of us and instill in us this ideology of poverty in motion. I reject this, and say instead that to see history in cycles is to resign change to a pattern set long ago. In short, it is to remain still."

Words, words, all words. Action is motion, but here I sit and I write; and writing is merely the threat and dream of action.
@-Eugénie III : September 12th, 1907

#

~Plaza - Axis - Pendulum
The black pendulum swings, a ripple of motion in calm waters — this city's beating heart of weighted steel. Below it, the tiles were decorated in the fashion of a sun wheel, centered so that the pendulum would act as its axis. Jagged arms in black spun outwards, calling to mind lightning with their broken form.

To the west, two wide boulevards split the city before the sun; twin arteries that flowed red with light. Stately, grand and decorative; but only up to a point, dominated as they were by that great mass of the Institute looming opposite them; a many tiered thing that rose in stone towards the tower. Imposing yet distant; still as adamant, yet in motion embodied as the falls thundering down beyond sight. Fitting duality.

[Door:Examine Door]
{Plaza - Cordonata - Landing:Ascend Steps}
{Old Quarter - Intersection:Westward to the Old Quarter Intersection}

^Plaza - Axis - Pendulum - Door
Again an inspection revealed a seam outlining a smaller inset door, its features — and lack thereof — a mirror of its counterpart, but with the glaring exception of the handle, this time wrought to the theme of a crescent moon. Locked.

&Here, an entrance lead deep below the tower — embraced by the crescent steps that began the ascent in symmetry. Again befit with a monolithic black door, mirroring in design the riverside entrance far above. Another duality.

{Crypts - Transept - Atrium:Enter Door?HasMoonKey}

~Crypts - Transept - Atrium
The falls ended here, streaming down from above to meet the light in an eclectic display of incandescence, before crashing into the steady waters of the reservoir. This place was old, carved out in antiquity, though any ornamentation that could betray its origin had long since faded under the wear of time and torrent.

By way of emphasis in form and contrivance, the Institute — and by some stretch of circumstance the city — had to a formidable degree been fashioned as if in tribute to this ancient structure. But the Institute in their... duality — to put it in charitable terms — had remade this place in their image, steel columns set with brass moldings to replace ageless stone. This scheme of contrasts continued to the walkways, a patchwork construction in iron and stone, the remains of ancient slabs connected where untraversable by ironwork grafted and bolted in place.

>You have reached the end of what has currently been built. Thanks for testing!

[Reliquary:Follow the stream to the Reliquary]
{Plaza - Axis - Pendulum:Exit to Plaza}

#

One way or another, it would all end here. I stand guard beside the Watchmaker as she installs her device on the pedestal, as a dawning sense of the gravity of the choice before me constricts my breathing like a vice. I place my hand on my revolver for a measure of comfort, but immediately I recoil, repulsed by the thought of its use.

I watch her precise, measured movements as she works to fit her device to the skull, a gruesome task performed with so much elegance—

—she will die if I don't act now.

A small noise from behind me reverberates through the crypt; footsteps? And then everything clicks into place, I feel calm, held in the eye of the storm as I act. 

Drawing my gun, I say in a hoarse whisper, "It's over. You've given them a mandate to kill you now— this... this goes deeper than you think, great powers are involved that will crush you underfoot to be one step ahead of the other. Come with me, or you will *die* here."

"I expected as much..." she looks up at me, stands, and — serene in her expression — continues, "Then so be it, if that is the price I must pay." 

In one swift movement she grabs the revolver in both hands, placing it to her forehead. "But let us not give them the satisfaction." she says, "Do your duty, traitor."
"—I can get us to the border," I reply, "it's only a days walk-" 
"I know," she bats the gun away from her head, "I just needed to know if I could trust you-"

A gunshot from behind deafens me, as I watch her body hit the water — blood flowering from her head as the currents pull it downstream.

"And now Ernst, it seems that *I* cannot."
@-Marcel IV : April 27th, 1908
#

~Crypts - Transept - Reliquary
The waters continued their way into even deeper darkness, lazily playing around monolithic black forms; tombs built to the same duality of design that sought both the gravity of the ancient in stone — and in steel, the easy elegance of the modern. 

Before each a pedestal was set, and on these lay a familiar to represent their respective occupant: a dagger, a book, an orrery — but it was the two furthest down the stream that held my gaze.

[The Watchmaker's Masterpiece:Examine the Clockwork Skull]
[A Plain Mirror:Examine the Mirror]
[Atrium:Return to the Atrium]

#
That single gunshot — revolver, German; my training tells me unthinkingly — still echos through the vault. It seems as it never should subside, locked in that moment of action, as I turn to face the voice.
@-Marcel V : April 27th, 1908
#

^Crypts - Transept - Reliquary - The Watchmaker's Masterpiece

^Crypts - Transept - Reliquary - A Plain Mirror

~Old Quarter - Intersection
An intersection of three streets marked the entrance to the Old Quarter. The old aqueduct lent its name to the district as it ran through here in a condition of painstaking, and yet as the centuries passed, ever more sisyphean, repair. 

In its shadow rose a grand eight story building — grand, and built by that unmistakable hand of commerce that draws all form towards the sensual — but still, that ancient work of the aqueduct loomed over, unheeding.

[^Lacombe Building:Enter Lacombe Building]
[Promenade:Continue South to the Promenade]
{Latin Quarter - Boulevard - Townside:Continue to the Latin Quarter Boulevard}
{Plaza - Axis - Pendulum:To the Plaza}

~^Old Quarter - Lacombe Building - Entrance Hallway
Framed by ornate columns, the entrance opened up into a small reception area to be followed by a surprisingly narrow hallway. In a state of somewhat poor repair, the interior had the air of a place that saw constant low-level use, but little maintenance. Further down the hall lie entrances to the Watchmaker's Store and a place calling itself "Lárent's 27".

[^Watchmaker's Store:Enter the Watchmaker's Store]
[^Lárent's 27:Enter Lárent's 27]
{Old Quarter - Intersection:Return to the Intersection}

~^Old Quarter - Lacombe Building - Watchmaker's Store
The door opened with a vivid chime into a cramped and dust-laden — though otherwise quite unremarkable — store. Faint evening light filtered through the thin curtains, onto two sealed glass display cases that made up the store's entire visible stock. To the back of the store, a door leading to the watchmaker's workshop lies ajar.

[Display:Examine Displays]
[Workshop:Enter Workshop]
[Entrance Hallway:Exit to the Hallway]

^Old Quarter - Lacombe Building - Watchmaker's Store - Display
I leaned close over the displays, examining every detail until my breath cast a haze on the glass. Whatever these were, they were not watches, and seemingly did not — at least in any conventional sense — tell time.

^Old Quarter - Lacombe Building - Watchmaker's Store - Workshop
The door to the rear opened into a surprisingly — after that tight space of the store—spacious workshop. Light from the tall window composing the short end of the rectangular room glinted off tools of the trade cluttering the desk below. 

It was here my eyes were drawn as I entered, and—having taken a few seconds to process the strangeness of it all — I then took in the thousands of individual sheets of paper lining the walls, scrawled with impossibly intricate diagrams that seemed to swim as if under intense heat.

[Sun Key:Examine Sun Key]

^Old Quarter - Lacombe Building - Watchmaker's Store - Workshop - Sun Key
A dangerous and seemingly ceremonial thing, its handle fashioned with a wreath of tiny iron spears. Hard to hold.

&Atop the desk lay a strange key.

{Old Quarter - Lacombe Building - Watchmaker's Store - Workshop:Take+HasSunKey-hide}

#[MynometerActivated]

Eva Salandré. Old money, but sympathetic. She beckons me over to the table nearest the door.
"I know you see this as a confession," she says as we take our seats, "but the Provost, he—well, doesn't."
"Eva—" I reply, trying a faint smile, "I had just hoped that at least some small part of him would see us as more than that mad beast he makes us to be."
She looks down at the table. After a pause she waves over a waiter and — recognizing him — asks for the usual.

The waiter looks over at me.

"Oh, I'd like the—" I say glancing over the menu without taking in a word, my mind elsewhere, "—the uh, the 18 and the 71 please."
"I do pray you take another look, madam;" he replies, "there's a reason it's Lárent's '27'."
"Twenty-seven, then?", I reply with the first number that comes into my head.

He leaves with a small bow.

Eighteen and seventy-one. Of all the numbers to choose.
A faintly puzzled look tells me the significance of this doesn't escape Salandré.
"If only this was really all just madness," she sighs.
@-Eugénie I : December 21st, 1906
#

~^Old Quarter - Lacombe Building - Lárent's 27
A small brass plate set before the entrance announced this establishment as simply "Lárent's 27". Inside, evening light was cast through large windows onto polished wood to bathe the hall in warm tones. Giving the room an expansive feel, paintings and framed mirrors were embedded intermittently within the wall paneling. 

Sitting at tables and leaning at the bar, seemingly human figures melted and formed at the corners of my perception. If they had voices, only the hazy echo of their words could be heard — words spoken but never formed.

[Plain Iron Key:Examine Plain Key]
[Entrance Hallway:Exit to the Hallway]

^Old Quarter - Lacombe Building - Lárent's 27 - Plain Iron Key
A plain iron key, worn but well kept.

&Catching the light, a key lay set on the table nearest the door.

{Old Quarter - Lacombe Building - Lárent's 27:Take+HasPlainKey-hide}

~Old Quarter - Promenade
The promenade traced the river in street lighting and iron balustrade. Further along the shore was a vast Railway Terminus — a majestic rib cage of steel and glass rising out of the fog, casting its long shadow across the river.

[Sun Gate (Western Side):Examine Institute Rear Gateway]
[Intersection:Follow the street to the Intersection]
[Verona Square:Walk the promenade to Verona Square]
[^The Requisitioned Terminal:Enter the Requisitioned Terminal]

^Old Quarter - Promenade - Sun Gate (Western Side)
The Institute's entrance rear gate was no less a great work as its brother, that same elegance and strength, gold hue belying the fortitude of a stronger metal — bright brass fashioned to call to mind the sun in all its radiance.

&A brass gate barred the way up to the Institute.

{^Institute - Riverside Staircase:Enter the Institute?HasSunKey}

~Old Quarter - Promenade - Verona Square
Just off the promenade, an intersection of two narrow avenues met in what could be considered a small square. Inscribed plainly with "Verona Square", an old brass plaque set within the paving stones confirmed this. Down a shallow set of iron steps, a cramped arcade continued east.

{Latin Quarter - Boulevard - Riverside:Follow the winding alleyways to the Boulevard}
{Old Quarter - Promenade:Follow the promenade back west}
[^The Mayfly Bar:Enter The Mayfly Bar]

#

"They call us filth," Édith shouts, "but they're the ones with blood on their hands! What stains the dear fingers of us working girls is a liquid of another kind, eh?"

Laughter and drunken cheering — then unexpectedly, she turns to me, "What says the old soldier, eh Marcel? Whose blood you spill?"

I give her a puzzled look. 

"A joke," she makes a face, "—herr Marcel; I shan't say you look a day older than me."
"No, that you'd call me a soldier." I say. "I haven't fought in a war, save for the struggle of downing a mug of what passes for beer here. For this they should give me a medal." I say with a grin.

She's not convinced.

"I see many soldiers in my line of work — up quite close and personal I should add — and you hold yourself as they do," she replies, peering over at me, "got that look in your eyes also."

She was right about everything. I had fought, I did indeed have blood on my hands — and if things were to continue as I had set them to, my hands would remain so stained.

While I was stationed with the colonial forces near the Namib, a visiting British officer had told me that the whole project of colonialism functioned on the same mechanism to a weapon they had, called the Maxim Gun. A beastly thing that could tear a man in half, it cemented their rule in terror — and fired with a unique mechanism: each shot would power the action of the next, an eternal cycle of violence. A machine that fed on blood, where the greatest effort on the part of the operator was to release the trigger. 

At the time I considered him an old fool, but here I am — finger on the trigger, hesitant to fire.
@-Marcel III : August 2nd, 1907
#

~^Old Quarter - Promenade - Verona Square - The Mayfly Bar
Through a door ajar, and a darkened flight of stairs was The Mayfly, a working class drinkery. Never touched by the light of day, the ever-too-faint oil lamps provided the entirety of the lighting. 

A small stage was the focal point of what light there was; and cast in this dim focus lay a wreath of blue flowers.

{Old Quarter - Promenade - Verona Square:Descend stairs to the Square}

#[MynometerActivated]

"Our generation wasn't the one to build the railways, but we remember their struggle. The world our parents built with hammer and iron is our inheritance, and to claim it as our own is our right. You view this place with the same shame you cast to us, and in disrepair and neglect you have kept it. We are as its kin in blood and scorn, and to this end we lay claim to this monument. 

And a monument this is, a monument to a dalliance with that world outside your tower you can neither forgive nor forget..."
@-Hand Copied Pamphlet. Signed, "Les Enfants de la Rouille" : December 14th, 1907
#

~^Old Quarter - The Requisitioned Terminal - Departure Lounge
The cast-iron beams of the support structure arched overhead — row after row rendered in rust and flaked paint, to be inter-spaced with faded glass plate. Black banners hung from the apex of each arch to billow and then be restrained at the termination of the arc. Below, elegant though long unpolished wooden-panel booths enclosed the lounge, centered around a square of dust laden and partially shredded couches.

[Booths:Enter Administration Booths]
{Old Quarter - Promenade:Return to the Promenade}

^Old Quarter - The Requisitioned Terminal - Departure Lounge - Booths
The administration booths had been repurposed as a set of small studio spaces. Paint of all colors stained the desks, though a strange abundance of red and black dominated the more careless marks.

[Safe:Examine Safe]

^Old Quarter - The Requisitioned Terminal - Departure Lounge - Booths - Safe
An antique safe, likely a holdover from the structures former occupation as an administrative office, though tarnished with a pattern of scratch and wear that suggested continued use.

&To the rear of the structure, an old and worn combination safe lay on the dust laden and scratch tarnished wooden floor.

[Contents:Open?*1871]

^Old Quarter - The Requisitioned Terminal - Departure Lounge - Booths - Safe - Contents
The safe door opened, taking with it a layer of dust as it swept across the floor, as the hinges let out a low metallic shriek that reverberated through the silent terminal. Little use had meant only the interior of the safe was free of that ever present dust.

[Minute Key:Examine Minute Key]
[Lantern:Examine Lantern!HasLantern]

^Old Quarter - The Requisitioned Terminal - Departure Lounge - Booths - Safe - Contents - Minute Key
A key, fashioned to resemble the minute hand of an ornate clock.

&Within the safe, a key of high make shone as new despite the haze and gloom of the station.

{Old Quarter - The Requisitioned Terminal - Departure Lounge - Booths - Safe - Contents:Take+HasMinuteKey-hide}

^Old Quarter - The Requisitioned Terminal - Departure Lounge - Booths - Safe - Contents - Lantern
A carbide lantern — likely requisitioned from a bicycle of high-class make, as are often fitted with these — had been attached to a simple, yet elegantly built hand-cranked dynamo.

&To the back lay a small, seemingly makeshift carbide lantern.

{Old Quarter - The Requisitioned Terminal - Departure Lounge - Booths - Safe - Contents:Take+HasLantern}

~Old Quarter - Iron Gardens - Forecourt
The Institute and its grand stairs, to the plaza and its pendulum; this created a long axis — bysecting the city to form its spine — ended here after running through the Lacombe, before the Iron Gardens.

~Latin Quarter - Boulevard - Townside
Along the eastern side of the boulevard, refitted stores had been split and partitioned to act as narrow townhouses. Names and numbers had long since faded from the facades, brass plate and chalk alike; but one plaque read with perfect clarity, "Salandré Residence, Léthé Avenue".

[Salandré Residence Doorway:Enter Salandré Residence]
[Riverside:Continue along the boulevard towards the River]
{Old Quarter - Intersection:Return to the Old Quarter Intersection}

#[MynometerActivated]
"The boulevards are a shadow of their former self, now. Their champions — those men we named captains of industry — have long since fled for new conquests, new cities to brand their engorged likeness upon. In our optimism, we sold our bodies to make a new world for them of iron and grand stone, our pride such that we saw the Léthé as a monument to our own success, not theirs. Then the Prussians broke us, and we saw the rich could leave as easily as they had come, take as easily as they could give. And the Léthé gave us nothing; as is the wont of stone and iron.", I write.

I put down my notebook to adjust my gloves, warm them against my coat. A glance at the winter sky to check for rain, then I continue my missive:

"For all its imagery of iron, industry is such a fragile thing; and its captains are made of lesser material still. But they have not fallen, they have simply taken their farce elsewhere, a new stage set for those same faces to perform their soliloquies to capital in identical timbre."

Do I really believe what I write, or does the role I play guide my hand to end this last act in violence? Every stage has its place for one to play the traitor, but in our profession it takes a true talent to fool ourselves, that harshest of spectators. Our performance is a lie told in greatest sincerity, and those of us traitors who thrive in this vicious time have such unyielding faith in our own self-interest to put to shame the truest of believers.

"The Léthé has found a new life, a quieter life. Maybe it's better that way."
No. I strike that line out in anger; I need to make these words *burn*.
@-Marcel II : January 17th, 1907
#

~Latin Quarter - Boulevard - Riverside
The river bent to meet the northern quarter of the city, ending the boulevard in a promenade of sorts that continued some distance along the shore. Opulence and austerity were at war along the Boulevard, with a baroque sensibility gaining dominance as one moved closer to the river, culminating at the center of all this with the Imperial Opera, an imposing hulk of a structure brooding above the waters.

[Townside:Continue back along the Boulevard towards the Plaza]
{^Latin Quarter - The 21st's Acting Regional Command - Lobby:Enter the 21st's Acting Regional Command}
{^Latin Quarter - Imperial Opera - Foyer:Enter the Imperial Opera}

#

"The Institute, now they are a queer bunch. A minor sect of a Gnostic or Kaballistic order or some such-", the Commander picks up a set of papers, and handing them over the desk to a subordinate he continues, "-that is, until a French princeling took a fancy to them — then their ideals simply became whatever they thought would best suit to court him. Say of them what you will, but by god this got them rich. For a time," he grins.

The subordinate hadn't moved from where he'd stood on receiving his charge, and now made a quizzical gesture towards the Commander. "Yes yes, just take it to the signal boys," he says, waving his subordinate off. 

"As ever, nothing new along the Rhine," he turns to me and says. "Apart, of cause, from this current annoyance you're here to deal with. While normally this would be up to our section to handle, the General Staff have other ideas... and for what it's worth, I think they see this as an opportunity."
@-Marcel I : August 23rd, 1906
#

~^Latin Quarter - The 21st's Acting Regional Command - Lobby
The German Imperial Army's 21st division was stationed here, occupying a commandeered high-class hotel overlooking the river. The Institute's proclivities had meant the Prussians had had their pick of the less austere establishments. Not that the Institute had much of a say in the matter, but this arrangement had worked quite well for both involved parties — the Heer elite could take their gilded spoils of war from the merchant princes and leave the Institute's less gaudy constructions to their original proprietors.

The building's lobby was a decoratively involved work, brass gilding and tall windows to emphasize the view riverside. The German military had done little renovation, aside from removing a wall here and there — taking advantage of the former hotels large social spaces to house the majority of their operation.

Access to the building proper was obtained through double doors to the rear — but strangely, these were immovable yet held no lock.

{Latin Quarter - Boulevard - Riverside:Return to the Boulevard}

~^Latin Quarter - Imperial Opera - Foyer
The dueling sensibilities of the boulevard met their climax here; palatial splendor with a teutonic gravity — an aesthetic no doubt a tool to pacify in awe the newly conquered, and in this it was successful. For it indeed pacified the few that remained — those too poor or too stubborn to flee — but of these, fewer still could find a use for the operatic works of a hostile nation. 

This did not mean the theater found no patronage however, the structure's unique location meant many would take the journey on sentimentalities sake alone — and so over the decades the opera enjoyed a workable audience of the overly... patriotic.

An imperial staircase filled the foyer — a tiered structure built not to facilitate traversal, but to force on you the gravity of what you came to witness. This lead up to two wings, these  corridors overlooking the foyer to then continue into the theater proper. A door off one of these lead up a flight of steps to the principal director's office.

[^Theater:Enter Theater]
[^Principal Director's Office:Enter Director's Office]
{Latin Quarter - Boulevard - Riverside:Return to the Boulevard}

#
A formless thing, that vast and dreadful puppeteer. You can see it pull the strings, watch it make the men dance across the stage, as it quivers in terrible amusement. The audience watches, rapt — their wings motionless as their eyes follow every futile movement. Futile — for the men know not their master, and believe in foolish hope that they shall find what vain thing they have been impelled to seek. 

Mere puppets they, in a circular dance of farcical return — sin, madness and sin again in its turn; so do we truly turn to sorrow when the writhing end arrives? Or do we turn our temperament to joy, in witness of this beautiful desolation of man devoured — and its hero, the Conqueror Worm?
@-???
#

~^Latin Quarter - Imperial Opera - Theater
The theater was of typical |European design:* — modern European that is, classical antiquity enjoyed a more egalitarian design with seating varying little in quality throughout| — an enclosed crescent, multi-tiered arms embracing flat rows of seating before meeting at the stage. 

Never entirely conquering the silence, an echo of faint, indistinct music faded into and out of hearing — though the orchestra pit remained empty of both performer and instrument. The lighting was of a simular sort, dim and of a curious tone — illumination without source.

~^Latin Quarter - Imperial Opera - Principal Director's Office
The office overlooked the river directly below; you could hear the faint sound of water lapping against the building's supports. The director clearly made use of this view — as a couch, reading table and phonograph were set before the window.

[Phonograph:Examine Phonograph]

^Latin Quarter - Imperial Opera - Principal Director's Office - Phonograph
Worn with use, but of a make befitting one who has made music their living.

^Latin Quarter - Boulevard - Townside - Salandré Residence Doorway
An entrance identical in make to its likewise austere neighbors, but with glaring exception that here the brass nameplate was still legible. Locked.

{Latin Quarter - Salandré Residence - Hallway:Use Plain Key to Enter?HasPlainKey}

~^Latin Quarter - Salandré Residence - Hallway
The Salandré Residence — following the same scheme as the neighboring apartments — was a largely vertical affair; tall ceilings, steep stairs and cramped rooms as best to make the most out of |each renovated store.:* This large scale campaign of renovation was likely the fleeing merchant princes' last ditch attempt to make the most out of their investments, and was largely successful insomuch as you assume that the venture of constructing homes as the demand for them plummets is a project doomed to failure.

| Austere, but not so overwhelmingly so as to be distasteful to those already accustomed to that new found and short lived mid-century high life and its taste for the baroque.

[^Study:Ascend Staircase to the Study]
{Latin Quarter - Boulevard - Townside:Return to the Boulevard}

#[MynometerActivated]
"She broke the violin over one knee and — aiming at oblique angles — repeatedly and studiously impaled the instrument with thick shards of glass. 'The Force of Art' she titled it. The requisitioned object's previous owners felt more bemused than violated, having never actually put bow to string, and later commented that — given the chance — they would likely have done a better job themselves.

As we grew in number, we took our requisitions to ever larger scales; an abandoned rail car one day, an office building the next. By the time we got to occupying galleries, 'The Force of Art' had become quite the icon of our movement and was duly granted a room to its own. At night we would place a small candle in its broken body and watch the light play across the glass to spill in fractured rays across the room. It was a fitting tribute to her memory. But candles fall, and flame cares not for art or its force — and one day we returned to find only cinders and glass."

Salandré reads this out to me, slowly and with that faint accent of hers — that fullness of pronunciation and those long trills — but steady, little of the archetypal rolling undulation of Italian speech. Handing me my manuscript, she stands to leave.

"We," she sighs. "It feels strange saying that now; at the time I never could have admitted that to my self, or anyone. But it was, us."

"… I can get this published," she continues.
"And the Institution?" I reply.
"In that way of theirs, they see it as part of their heritage now. For better or for worse."
@-Eugénie VII : November 12th, 1919
#

~^Latin Quarter - Salandré Residence - Study
The solitary window faced eastwards, catching the setting sun in full — trapped in that final moment of light before nightfall. Through this the boulevards were similarly illuminated, though long shadows were a reminder that this warmth would be brief.

[Grandfather Clock:Examine Grandfather Clock]
[Book:Examine Book]
[Hallway:Descend Stairs to Hallway]

#

"Long ago as nomadic peoples, we saw time in cycles of sun and season. Then in the city, as we experienced time from a fixed point — it became a line, forever behind us. This line is all we have. It is our art, our culture, our every cause and our every effect. The only certainty we take with us as we move ever forward is that, in time, all this will fade into the distance as ruins over the horizon. Can you truly blame those who would stand still in defiance, or those who — knowing full well the futility of holding onto that which is just dust, run?"
@-Eva Salandré, Foreword to the First Edition - "Children of Rust" by Eugénie Faure (1917)

#

^Latin Quarter - Salandré Residence - Study - Book
A history of the city of which you now explore.

&On the desk lay a book with a cover of simple make.

^Latin Quarter - Salandré Residence - Study - Grandfather Clock
A longcase clock of fine make, decorated in an oriental style. The pressed glass casing was glazed in a pattern to this effect, obscuring the contents to the degree that only the motion of the pendulum was readable beyond. |Open?:- +HasOpenedClock|

[Hour Key:Examine Hour Key?HasOpenedClock]

&Near the window stood a well built grandfather clock.

^Latin Quarter - Salandré Residence - Study - Grandfather Clock - Hour Key
A key, fashioned to resemble the hour hand of an ornate clock.

&A key hung from the swaying — and somehow still functioning — pendulum, caught on a lanyard draped over the timekeepers cylindrical form, held fast by the connecting rod.

{Latin Quarter - Salandré Residence - Study:Take+HasHourKey-hide}

~Iron Gardens - Greenhouse - The Embarcadère

|You can see Eva Salandré through the gate, sat on a bench reading.:*No Response.?EvaReadingNoMusic|

/"These are my memories, but-" she trails off, "-there still remains a single secret, kept of me and my fellows. As did much else, it died with the last Provost that terrible night in May. The Provost, he-" she sighs and after a pause, continues, "-he hid much from us, both of knowledge and more material things. In a vault, likely — but we do not know of where, or even what this stock might contain. Seek it, and tell me everything, so it may be found in the waking world. If this task proves too much for you — and indeed, it may be impossible — then find me again, and we can depart together."/

~Iron Gardens - Greenhouse - The Blue Orchard