#wolfstack

The Mask-Stall

A mask-crafter offers her wares by the Stolen River: velvet fox-masks, ivory bone-masks, waxen images of hanged men. A dark-skinned figure in a cassock bends to examine the stall. He beckons as you approach.

"Good to see you."

"Let us continue our business..."

Far Horizons

Breakfast with the Bishop, and travel to Apis Meet, to continue. You can take passage on a steamer, or travel on your own ship if you have one.

Bacon and Bread-and-Butter with the Bishop

You meet him in a smoky eating-house that overlooks the quay-side. The Bishop doesn't eat, but he warms his hands on a glass of black tea. "If I break this glass," he asks suddenly, "does it change? Does it become something else?"

"A glass is not a person."

What is he looking for? Revelation? Redemption?

He frowns

"An excellent point. Although some would say that I am not a person either. But neither flint nor glass lives, at least this side of the sea... Goodbye, then, and good luck. I will not say 'Godspeed'; I will say 'Watch out for bloatfingers.'"

A Ticket to Apis Meet

It takes some effort to find a steamer that will dare the voyage to Apis Meet, at the mouth of Adam's Way.

The Price of Passage

The captain puffs up her chest and winds up to a long and satisfying haggle.

The Bishop's Sponsorship

You hand the captain an envelope with the Bishop's seal, and she deflates visibly. She perks up when she opens it and sees the sum on the promissory note inside. "You'll have my own cabin!" she promises. You regard the thick grime on her hands and face. "I won't be in it, obviously," she adds. An hour later, you're on deck, watching the spires of the Bazaar dwindle astern. The black silence of the zee settles about you.

Far off, night-blue birds cry strangers' names. Ahead, the cliffs of the Elder Continent raise their shaggy heads. The smell is of mud and of blood, saltier than the zee.

Apis Meet

A shouting, feasting, thieving, riot of a port, at the entrance to the red route into the heart of the South.

The Gracious

You must tell them one of three stories. The lights of Apis Meet glimmer across the sea. The Gracious, the Presbyterate's coast-guard, steam out to meet your ship. The price of entry is a story.

A story of the Surface

Something they've never seen.

They listen with care

"An engaging fable," one says courteously. "It is charming that your people still believe in the Surface. I suppose in your primitive state, you need suitable myths to cheer you up."

All Shall Be Well?

The Gracious have one more question: "Shall all be well?"

"Yes."

"You may proceed. You have one day."

Apis Meet is coming alive with the stirrings of the day. In the town's square, a yellow-robed priestess plants a seed in a bed of black soil. No sooner has she patted down the soil than a tiny shoot pokes forth. By mid-morning it will be a sapling; by lunchtime a budding tree. By the evening's end it will wither and fall. You must be back on your ship before then.

In Apis Meet

Apis Meet: a shouting, feasting, thieving, riot of a port. Basalt ruins and rude bolegus-timber shacks. On the southern horizon, the Mountain glows like a pale sunrise.

Morning: An animescence hospital

Animescence is a rare disease of the Elder Continent: a slow combustion of the soul, gradually baking the vital organs. The blistered monks who run the hospital will see visitors and volunteers for only two hours each morning. Your Seared Snuffer has shown an interest in the hospital...

"Who's that you have there?"

"An Exile? They're cursed, of course, I shouldn't help, but - as you perhaps know - they are constructed of candle-wax. In a way. We have secret arts, my friend, that deal with candle-wax. Allow me - " The monk leads the Seared Snuffer away. He returns an hour later. The scars are gone from her flesh, and her eyes are clear. "Don't worry," she says, smiling. "I'll find a face that no one is using."

A harrowing morning

A traveller from upriver sweats and moans as the flame devours his flesh and soul. You comfort him as best you can. He is shrivelling already. "Thank you," he whispers. "Take my candle. When it's lit, I will live for the final time."

Dreamer's end

Sometimes a honey-dreamer's body returns, but their mind does not. Their body runs mad, and as for their mind, who knows what happens to that? Well, one such body is here, what's left of it: leathery scraps of skin on tawny bones scattered across the lush grass. You know they must have been a honey-dreamer by the tight-screwed honey jar that lies against the base of the wall, by the year-old bloodstains. The body must have dashed its empty brains out against the wall.

Evening: Negotiations at the Biblioclasm

The publican of the Biblioclasm has declined into drunken raving for the night, and the bar has closed. But customers still linger, a Narrow-Eyed Mithridist is offering to exchange passphrases for London Literature.

The Gates of Wisdom

"When you repeat it, flick your fingers, exactly thus. As if you were disposing of a squashed mosquito, or an errant morsel of tobacco. Look the Warden in the eye. They consider themselves good judges of character. (They're not.)"

Bribe the Gracious to allow you to stay another day

They are not incorruptible, but they are, as it were, corruption-resistant.

"What a swift ship you possess, Londoner!"

"So swift, so silent. It's almost as if you had never left."

Seek knowledge with the Gnomic Venturer

How will you travel South, when foreigners may not leave the town?

The way to Caution"

A poster declares that no free foreigners may travel South. Silas gulps his wine, wipes his beard and grins. "Cages," he offers. "We travel in cages. We need to find... a menagerie."

Explore the Ruins

Apis Meet is only the most recent city at the river's mouth. Ruins have accumulated like sand on the dunes. Explore the basalt tumbles at the columns' feet. Be careful of the growing shadows. The Mountain is dimming.

A dream of serpents

In a broken court, someone has propped a wooden image before a stone - a knot of bird-snake things, decorated with parrot-feathers. A litter of objects lies before it. Offerings? That one's scintillack! Well, a serpent-image will have no use for it.

Wombwell & Stark's Travelling Menagerie

At the edge of town, where the Gracious stands vigil over the road south, a tent has been pitched. It's painted in green and brown patterns that make it look like a tiny hill. A facsimile-tree nods at its peak. Bright music leaks from within.

The cries of beasts

A barker in a moss-green hat ushers you through the flap. "Come in, Madam! Come and see, or - ha ha! - Come and stay!"

Wombwell and Stark's Travelling Menagerie

A wash of pungent scent, a wall of sound! The cages around you are filled with shaggy coats and furry faces. And then you realise they're not all four-legged beasts.

Admire the exhibits

Mr Wombwell himself is here, gesturing grandly. "Some are permanent guests; some are travelling home to Caution; some are investors! So look your fill, but be courteous to all."

Between the bars

A Leopard quaffs blood from an ivory cup, snarling insults at her cage-mate. A Lion roars and paces, declaiming his deeds. Two morose youths watch you as you pass: their bleeding scars mark them as children of Skite. A Pilgrim-Waker sulks in a cage, its wings rattling against the bars. One chicken-wire-wrapped cage seems entirely empty. "Bloatfingers," Wombwell explains. "They can't stand to be seen." He bangs the bars with a stick, until something like a gall-laden serpent twitches into view from behind a bar. As soon as it realises itself observed, it hurls itself at the chicken-wire, hissing venomously."Loathsome, isn't it?" beams Wombwell , with a father's pride.

Offer yourself and your companions as exhibits when the Menagerie goes South

No free foreigners may travel into the Presbyterate. What if you travel imprisoned? Someone else will muck out your cages, but you won't get to stretch your legs.

A word with Professor Stark

The Professor handles the travelling arrangements. "Wombwell don't have the stomach for it," she explains. "You want to go South, eh? Fine. Here's the keys for the cage at the end. Throw them out when you've locked yourself in. Feeding time is twice daily; use the bucket. No curtain. Nice to meet you. No! Never shake my hand! Unless I have gloves on! I'm poisonous."

Consider a Catering Commission

A Bespectacled Visitor addresses you as if you were an old acquaintance. (Perhaps, indeed, you are.) "Do you know anything about soup? Vespertine soup?"

"The Vespertine are more active in this city than my employers would like."

"We wish to introduce a servant into their lodge. We will observe their schemes and keep them in check. I need to ensure that my agent can cook in the preferred manner of the Vespertine." "I imagine you, too, would like to see them kept in check. Besides, I will pay. Meet me, if you would be so kind, at the door to the kitchen of the Biblioclasm public house. Tonight, when the Mountain's glow dims."

Afternoon: Listen to a storyteller

Climb the hill to the bee-crested columns. The Mountain's glow is shifting, and the shadows of the columns shift with it.

Each flake a wound

"It is well-named, that jungle south of Caution. Feldspar flowers flourish there; trees of tourmaline. Soft flesh yearns for shining rock. Those who succumb become statues chipped from flint - each flake a wound. Now they wound others and take their faces. Look carefully, O my sisters, O my brothers: look for the statue-si - " He grinds to a halt in mid-sentence as his eyes meet yours. "Flint!" he cries fearfully. "Flint!" He stumbles backwards, making the Mountain-sign against evil as he goes.

Evening: A Catering Commission

The Visitor smokes a casual cigar at the kitchen entrance, chatting to a man in chef's whites. He greets you warmly. "Shall we begin?"

To reproduce the soup

You can clearly recall the coherently anarchic taste of the soup you tasted in the Dish & Spoon. But how to reproduce it? You and the Visitor's agent resort to experimentation. That ozonic tang: there is a fanged leaf which suggests it when crushed. That smoked-meat quality: it can be found in the water of Adam's Way. That snuffed-candle scent: it takes you half the night to discover how they did it, and when you do, the Visitor begins to tremble. "Leave," he says. "Your work is done. Please leave. I will have a shipment of treasures diverted to your rooms."

Upriver

Wombwell & Stark's relationship with the Presbyterate is murky as zee-mud. Still, the Gracious road-guards listen to their whispered pass-phrases, and nod them through, while you ride safe in the wagons. The haphazard outskirts of Apis Meet fall behind. You're on your way to Caution! Your road runs beside the nameless river that flows from the Mountain to the zee. The waters are thick with blood - thicker still as you travel South. Scabs float on the water like foam. The coppery scent of it rises about you. Professor Stark sniffs the air like a shepherd scenting weather. "A good day!" she pronounces. "But not for swimming."

Down the Nameless River with the Menagerie

The Menagerie's wagons trundle, creaking, behind the dray-beasts. The Mountain's golden light shimmers on the bloody waters of the River. It's nothing at all like sunset.

Appoint the Woman in Yellow as your deputy

She's been very quiet, but as she watches the great scabs spin slowly on the River's currents, she speaks. "I owe you my life. Let me help you reach the Prison. I only ever desired to taste the place."

Freed from all restraint

She rubs her wrists. "You may not trust me yet. But I was never your enemy - nor even the enemy of my brother. We were rivals, yes. But you're taking me where I need to go. Don't worry, I'll be good. And my brother will have his Prison essences. I am hungry to see the place. None of my living Cousins ever have, you know. Perhaps He will be there. Perhaps. "Caution next, yes? The Pilgrim-Wakers will not let us pass without regrets. I mean: should we lack regrets, we may not enter Caution. I'm sure you have regrets - with all you've been and done. And me? Oh yes."

The Woman in Yellow's Regrets

"All the Cousins want to return to the Garden. But I deeply mistrust my brother's methods. And I cannot abide his disgusting fixation on the Christian faith. But we were always together... we both came half-formed from the same source. I miss him."

A realistic response

She has chosen her path, and he has chosen his. She must have her reasons. Turn back now, and she betrays those reasons.

"You're right."