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<<silently>><<set $blackbirdno = $blackbirdno + 1>><<set $nointent = $nointent + 1>><<endsilently>><html><div align="center"><img src="ch2-birds.png" alt="three small birds perched on some saucepans"></div></html>

The robin ruffles its feathers. "Oh," it says, and falls silent, then: "Never mind."



The blackbird jumps, surprised. "Oh!" it says as well, but in a very different tone. "Well! Well. I'm glad to hear it. It'll be much easier to <<if $motivation eq "escape">>find your way out of the castle<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "birthright">>reclaim the castle<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "rescue">>find your friend<<endif>> if you stay this clear-headed.



"Of course," the robin says. "I never denied it. In fact," and it turns to look at the blackbird, and there's something in its voice as it continues, "in fact, I might even be able to help."



[[Well. That would be good.|Chapter 3]]



And you're back where you were, the book closed in front of you.



The air is even colder now, and the castle smells - you notice all of a sudden - of damp and dank and animals and rot. There's so little light, everywhere, even though it must be the middle of the day by now; there's just low ceilings and torches sputtering burn-marks up the walls. This is not a good place.



[[But there's another door, and you walk through.|Chapter 5]]

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch3-doors.png" alt="three identical wooden doors"></div></html>

<<if visited("three wooden doors") lt 2>>There's nothing much to distinguish them; no sounds when you lay your ear flat against the wood, no trembling doorhandles warning of danger within. There's just a [[door on the left]]; a [[door in the middle]]; and a [[door on the right]].<<else>>Three doors again, still nothing to distinguish one from another: just a [[door on the left]]; a [[door in the middle]]; and a [[door on the right]].<<endif>>

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch4-imagine.png" alt="A beautiful field, full of trees and moonlight"></div></html>

And there, behind you: there <<if $friendmale>>he<<else>>she<<endif>> is. Looking just the same time as last time you saw <<if $friendmale>>him<<else>>her<<endif>>, but so happy, and two quick steps towards you and the biggest hug of your life.



"I knew you'd find me," <<if $friendmale>>he<<else>>she<<endif>> says. "I knew it."



Your feet are still bare but they aren't cold any more, for the first time in hours, you realise; the grass is perfect, the air is so clear, the sky is so far above you both.



"Are you all right?" you say, but even as you ask you know the answer: <<if $friendmale>>he<<else>>she<<endif>> is, and everything is always going to be okay now.



The only sign of the room you were just in, the castle you just defeated, is the book, still sitting open on the table beside you.



[[Leave it open|leaveit2]], or [[slam it shut]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch5-treasury.png" alt="a room filled with strange junk"></div></html>



<<display 'lots of scrolls'>>

At first you think it didn't work: there's a rumble, but this is a strange dark castle and there are always rumbles. But then it grows, and grows, and the walls shake, and the honeycomb of holes beneath the monster begins to grow, each gap falling in on itself, growing wider and wider and darker and crumbling until suddenly - all at once - there's just a hole, and the monster tumbling into it, heads blinking open their eyes for a moment as they start to fall.



Clouds of dirt fly up; stones tumble; the necks thrash, each with its own shouting head. The tiny red hat flies from one of the heads, tumbling through the air, over and over, and lands on the ground by your feet.



And when you turn away from the sight, [[the birds|the birds turn up]] have joined you.

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch2-birds.png" alt="three small birds perched on some saucepans"></div></html>

It's the blackbird, of course, and the robin, and another robin. This is, you think, not what you need, but on the other hand they're still the only signs of life you've encountered.



"You again," the blackbird says. "What are you even doing?"



<<if $motivation eq "birthright">>That's easy: you're here to reclaim your island, your castle home. This is where you were born, where you lived your first distant years, and it was taken from you by your uncle (or was it a cousin?). It hurts to see how far the castle has fallen, presumably, to look at the tumbling walls and remember when they hung with rich tapestries. But at last you're going to right this old wrong.<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "escape">>That's easy: you're trying to get out. You've been trapped on this island for so long, and you don't even know any more whether the time you've spent here is best measured in days or months or years. But you've had enough. It's time to leave.<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "rescue">>That's easy: you're here to find your friend, and then escape with <<if $friendmale>>him<<else>>her<<endif>>, and burn the castle to the ground, and never come back. It's not that you expect anything from the rescue, any wide-eyed look of astonishment as you grab a hand and pull, no running as walls collapse behind you, no falling to the ground together and then- no, none of that. But you miss <<if $friendmale>>him<<else>>her<<endif>>, and you've come to the rescue.<<endif>>



"And you decided," the blackbird says, "that the best way to do that was to <<if $method eq "dark">>go climbing down in the pitch black service corridors where the monsters live<<endif>><<if $method eq "roof">>go climbing up over rickety walls way way above the very hard ground<<endif>>".



Well, you think. "Yes."



The blackbird looks at you. <<continue "Look back.">>Look back. It's hard to tell what it's thinking: it is, after all, a bird. "And do you still think," it says, "that that was a good idea?"



The blackbird is, you can't help thinking, pretty mean. "<<cyclinglink "Yes" "Not really">>," you say.



The robins haven't paid you much attention, but one of them turns its head. "Steady on," it says, to you or the blackbird. "<<if $method eq "dark">>We might know it's not safe down there, but it's not like there's a sign, or giant bloodstained footprints, or rolling heads.<<else>>We might know it's not safe on the rooftops, but it's not like there's giant bloodstains and huge scrawled messages saying DO NOT PASS.<<endif>>"



The blackbird flaps. "Yeah, yeah," it says. "Not knowing is no excuse. You can't do something that dumb and pretend you were acting rationally just because you lucked out, or you didn't know how dumb it was, you-"



"-you can, of course you can," the robin is saying. "We do the best we can with what we know, and that's all anyone can expect."



"But we can <html><i>hope</i></html>," the blackbird says, "that we do what's best, full stop." And it stares, at the robin, and the other robin, and then at you. [[Waiting|Expectant]].

The robin considers. "That's true," it says. "You did."



The blackbird isn't so keen - you can see it in its stance and its huffy little wings before it even speaks. "Do we really need to go into this again?" it says. "Trying isn't doing. If <<if $male>>he<<else>>she<<endif>> tried to climb to the moon, I suppose you think that would count as doing something."



"It's not-"



"Look," the blackbird says, to you, "what did you actually see?"



"That's not the point-"



"Of course it's the point-"



"-the point is-"



...and then it's just the sound of birds, whistles and squawks and the blackbird flies up into the air a little as if it's about to attack, and then lands again.



<html><div align="center"><img src="ch3-door3.png" alt="three identical wooden doors"></div></html>

This door leads to a corridor, past a picture on the wall and a strange low window and crossed axes that - when you pull on them - are bolted firm to the wall. You're not sure whether that's reassuring or not.



Time to [[keep going|going forward]] or [[turn back|three wooden doors]].

It's going to be worth it in the end, anyway. It's important, your quest, you wouldn't be doing this otherwise.



Maybe you want to [[escape]]. It's been a long time, plausibly: trapped in these strange walls, walking from room to room, scratchmarking the days in the corner where you sleep, going up stairs and through doors and glimpsing another world through so many windows.



Or maybe this castle is your [[birthright]], taken from you as a child by a cruel and acquisitive uncle. That sounds like it might have happened some time, to someone, it might as well be you. The passages you walk through are distant but familiar, yours, and the time has come to take them back; to reclaim your home, and your destiny!



Or maybe you look around at the stone towers, cold floors, distant light and know why you're here. Bare feet. Fading stars. You would only have come in order to [[rescue]] someone. Not anyone special, not rescue them //like that//, of course, just a friend. A friend who maybe stands a bit closer than you'd expect, every now and then, who pulled a leaf from your hair that one time, but a friend all the same.

you point out.



The blackbird huffs itself big, chest out, feathers fluffed. "That hardly counts," it says. "It's not like you have a choice."



The other bird, the robin, doesn't say anything

It's small, narrow, nothing much to see except a window to the left - and, inevitably, the birds, perched together once more.



"You took your time," the blackbird says.



"Be nice," the robin interrupts, "remember, <<if $male>>she<<else>>he<<endif>> can't fly."



"It's <<if $male>>he<<else>>she<<endif>>," you say, and your voice is louder than you thought it would be in this little hallway. "And no, I can't fly, and you couldn't give me directions, and I didn't know what route to take, and I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner but I don't know what you were expecting under the circumstances."



"Ooh," says the blackbird after a moment's silence. "Somebody's grumpy."



You are grumpy, actually. "<<cyclinglink "I am," "It's been a confusing day," "You can talk,">>" you say. "Look, is this the right room? The place where I can get what I want?"



The birds look at each other before they [[answer you]].





<<silently>>set $window = true<<endsilently>>The window is facing away from the sun, towards the tower you came from, and from here you can make out new details. Some of the branches you saw earlier are really roots: a huge tree crashed upside-down into the side of a wall. Every rooftop is a net of holes, every tree wrapped round with ivy and half-dead. But there are signs of life, hints that something different is going on: a few more lit windows, some bushes far below that seem to be moving, a flag raised and unragged on a distant flagpole.



As you look, there's a noise behind you: a flurry of air, and a whistling sigh.



[[Turn around]].

"That's enough!" you say, and brandish your <<if $sword>>sword<<else>>torch<<endif>>. The birds fall instantly silent.



<<timedcontinue 3s>>"Well," the blackbird says after a moment's silence. "That was a little uncalled for."



"I would say it was downright rude," the robin says. And then: "I suppose it's the weak will of someone who's prone to anger."



"That's not-"



"I said, that's enough!" you repeat, before they can get started again. "Look. [[You're right|ch6robin]]," you might say to the robin. "The king is doing exactly what he wants. There isn't a problem with his willpower, there's a problem with him. And I'm going to solve it."



Or maybe you'll nod to the blackbird: "[[The king is weak|ch6blackbird]], like you say. But I'm not."



Either way, you've heard enough of their bickering.

The birds sit at the doorway, watching as you stand by the table, one hand still on the book.



"How was it?" the robin asks.



You look at the birds, and the book, and the walls, and the book again.



"The book gives you everything you want," the robin says after a moment. "The best possible world."



You look at it again, leaving it closed, and there are words that you can just make out on the cover: //Struggles and sunlight and friends and victory and happiness//.



"...it changes the world?"



The robin sounds a little embarrassed. "Well. No. But it feels like it does! It works out everything that would make you happiest, just enough problems that you appreciate the victories. Technically you're still here, but the book keeps you safe, and it feels exactly the same as if everything was real."



"Oh," you say.



"It's a lot easier than the real thing. And you're stronger and happier and healthier and <<if $male>>far more handsome<<else>>so much prettier<<endif>> and so much more popular. It's better."



It waits, head cocked, for you to [[respond]].

You unroll the ACTION scroll a little.



//What is an action?// the scroll reads. //Is an action defined by its outcome, the thing you achieve? Climbing a staircase, holding your breath? Or is it in the intent - the idea you have in your head of what you want to accomplish?



Perhaps something is an action as long as an intention lies behind it: if you try to steady yourself, and you knock a brick off a wall, then your knocking the brick is an act, even if it's not the act you intended. Or maybe an action is an attempt, something that happens inside the mind; the outcome is just a consequence of the act.// <<if $ch1robin>>//You seem to think the act lies in the trying, the attempt: that's fair, but not everyone agrees.//<<else>>//You seem to think it's in the thing you make happen, regardless of your intentions; that's fair, but not everyone agrees.//<<endif>>



Of course the scroll's talking about you. Why wouldn't it, in this place? You can [[take it with you|takeaction]] for later, or [[put it back|returnaction]].

Castle, Forest, Island, Sea

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch4-imagine.png" alt="A beautiful field, full of trees and moonlight"></div></html>

And there, behind you, nothing but more space and more trees and more sky.



Your feet are still bare but they aren't cold any more, for the first time in what feels like years. The grass is perfect, every blade crisp and yielding; the air is so clear, the sky is so far away.



You're out. You've done it. You're free.



The only sign of the room you were just in, the castle you just escaped, is the book, still sitting open on the table next to you.



[[Leave it open|leaveit3]], or [[slam it shut]].

<<silently>><<set $ch4robin = true>><<endsilently>>And again the walls disappear, the ceiling rises and turns into sky, the stone under your feet gives way and becomes grass.



Wander off into the hills. Stay here for ever. You'll be happy.



Of course, there are no more decisions to make - the perfect world makes them for you. But the things the book decides for you will feel like they're your own choices. So stay.



The only real choice is to [[leave|But it's not real]]. And you don't want to do that.



<<continue "Stay.">>Stay.



You're happy. Everything is just right: the big things, sure, but also the perfect crisp skin on each roast potato, and the smooth clean fabric of your sheets at night, and the sunlight that falls through the window in the morning.



<<continue "Stay.">>Stay.



The tulips flower for ever, or maybe your favourite season is autumn (and the leaves never stop tumbling orange-brown from the trees) or winter (snow melts for just long enough to provide a sense of contrast before it falls again).



Stay.

<<silently>><<set $completion = $completion + 1>><<endsilently>><html><div align="center"><img src="ch9-door.png" alt="an open door looking out onto a beach"></div></html>

<html><div align="center"><h2>Chapter 9: A Decision</h2></div></html>

It opens: and she was right, it's not far. Sand and pebbles stretch in front of you, down towards a wide sea. A tree bends in a gentle, gentle breeze. A boat with a bright blue sail sits at the edge of the water.



There's your friend waiting for you, if that's what you wanted, or a loyal subject ready to lead you away from this distant place to the heart of your kingdom - presumably it extends beyond your childhood-home island. Or maybe there's just the world, waiting for you to return. You've got what you wanted, whatever it was; you're free at the edge of the castle. Doorways and stone and stairwells are piled high behind you, and in front there's the ragged beach and the still clear sea, the sun still a handspan from the horizon. The day's not quite over. Something's scrawled in the sand, hard to make out. //<<print $philosophy>>//



You could stay here. The island is yours, now: the corridors and deep cupboards and secret passageways, basketwork vines, monsters in innocent corners. The cold stone. The cosy rooms with fireplaces that spit embers and keep your hands warm. Maybe this is how it works: you're a tangle of desires and brambles and you don't know where they're from, you think one thing and do another, and you might as well make peace with the castle's falling towers and unexpected treasures, because it's home.



Or maybe there's something better: maybe the empty sea will be still for ever, maybe you can navigate to anywhere you want if you just try hard enough. You can reason and act and set out across deep water. You can look up at the stars and use them to judge your direction. You can decide what you want and ration your water as you strike out for calm and a world of clear reason. You can lie on your back on a boat, shifting gently with the water and looking up at such a big sky.



[[Stay]], then. Or [[go]].

Well. Not quite. As you clamber out of your hiding place, the final head's eyes flick open. It looks straight at you.



You can't run; you're still only halfway free from your hurried hiding place.



Okay, then: only one thing for it. You whisper: "[[Hello|pssst!]]."

<<silently>>

<<set $motivation = "rescue">>

<<endsilently>>Yes, yours is a noble cause, and you will stop at nothing to achieve it! Rescuing a friend, with no ulterior motive, just your pure heart and strong will leading you on. Stone walls, high towers, vast glaring beasts of the night, confusion, exasperated blackbirds - you'll overcome them all. You'll find... [[him]], with his tousled hair and his cheerful grin? [[Her|her]], with her sudden laugh and her solemn eyes? It won't be long.

Do something! Well, you can't: as soon as it's noticed you its tail is wrapped around your body, lifting you into the air. Your arms are free but waving them does nothing; you jam the <<if $sword>>sword<<else>>torch<<endif>> into its fur but it doesn't even seem to notice.



Yell something! <<cyclinglink "Aaargh," "Unhand me, dank creature!" "Hoi! These are my going-out clothes, don't wrinkle them!">> perhaps. That might help. You never know.



The heads keep talking to each other as if you hadn't said anything.



"It all goes to the same stomach," the hat-head says. "So you might as well enjoy the taste."



"I dunno," says the middle head. "All the more for us," and laughs, and looks at you a little closer.



<<continue "Don't wriggle.">>Don't wriggle. Or do. It won't make any difference.



You probably should have at least found out what you were up against before you decided to stand in the middle of the courtyard and yell out challenges, though, huh?



"Look," the rightmost head says, "we've got the same stomach and it's full. We couldn't eat another bite. Just put that thing down," and it jerks its chin at you, "and let's have a nice sit-down."



And as it talks, the tail unfurls to deposit you on a high-up ledge, and withdraws, and the monster steps away and settles down to sit under the tree.



Right. [[That didn't go well|a ledge]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch5-treasury.png" alt="a room filled with strange junk"></div></html>

You slide it back in place and look around the room.



<<display 'lots of scrolls'>>

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch5-torch.png" alt="a room filled with strange junk"></div></html>

<<silently>><<set $torch = true>><<endsilently>>You try to slide it out of its bracket as quietly as possible. It takes both hands to hold it steady; and of course, you realise belatedly, anyone who's paying attention will have noticed the moving light.



Clank.



Silence.



You step towards the curtain.



[[Another step. Watch out.|Chapter 6]]

<<silently>>

<<set $action = "look">>

<<endsilently>>It's getting lighter, and you can see further than you expected into this thin slice of the world.



The roof of another tower, not too far away. And another, much lower, further off, with a light shining through a window of its own. Beyond that, the wide flat sea.



As you listen, you hear the birds behind you, bickering, probably sheltering in the tower from the wind. In normal circumstances, it would be strange to see three different types of bird hanging out together, but these aren't normal circumstances.



It almost sounds like one of them just said [[your name|birds1]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch4-openbook.png" alt="An open book"></div></html>

You open it; the cover is warm to the touch, and heavy. The first page is blank.



You turn it over, rough paper on your nervous fingertips, and find two pages of close-packed calligraphic writing.



//You touch the pages//, the first sentence reads.



Okay. [[Read on]].

You could [[look out|towerlook]] of the arrowslit windows.



You could [[jump up|towerjump]] and try to see over the walls.



You could [[sing a song|towersing]]. Maybe it would summon mice from the walls and birds from the air, eager to help you on your quest. (You do have a quest, right?)

<<silently>><<set $friendmale = true>><<endsilently>>Are you quite sure you're going about it the right way, though? [[Long dark corridors]] versus a [[teetering rooftop shortcut]]? Once you start there'll be no turning back.

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch2-kitchen.png" alt="a warm and cheerful kitchen"></div></html>

It's a kitchen.



Just a normal kitchen. Well, normal for a castle.



Rough walls. A fireplace; that must have been the light you saw from the tower. A table with a big pot full of [[something brown]], steam rising up; [[eggs]] sat in a pile, smaller than hen eggs, speckled; a [[candle]]. You could pick something up. Or you could look out the [[window]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch7-birds.png" alt="birds sitting on a hat"></div></html>

Maybe you agree with the robin: maybe it is unfair. The last head didn't seem to have anything against you, after all. But you sent it tumbling down through the stone courtyard, thrashing its tail with the other heads, all the same. "Yeah," you could say to the robin, "[[she can't really be blamed|ch7robin]] for any of it."



Or you could acknowledge the blackbird instead. "[[I don't have a problem holding her responsible|ch7blackbird]]," you could say. She was part of the monster; she barely protested its actions at all; she benefitted from its predations; she has to be held responsible.

<<set $method = "dark">>No, probably best to keep away from the towers, stay with the corridors and the doorways and the intended routes. Now that it's getting brighter, you can see holes in rooftops, the slick of wet lichen on high walls; you can imagine, only too easily, a tumble through the trees and the ground far below.



You step <<continue "back into the doorway.">>back into the doorway.



Your body blocks the light as you go down the steps, round corner after corner. It's colder than you remember, and colder still the further you go, but down is easier than up and it's not long before you reach the bottom of the stairs - as you discover when you put your foot out for another step and then stumble, hard, onto flat stones. You can't see anything. You [[listen]] instead; you reach your hands out and [[touch]].

It's about the book.



//Would you//, it says, //choose to be happy, choose for everything to be perfect, with one tradeoff - that none of it is real? A contraption to deceive you, a magic book, an Experience Machine, anything: a perfect simulacrum of reality, but you know it's not real.



Some philosophers talk about the Experience Machine as something obviously flawed - a choice that nobody would make. But if you ask people, some of them - not all of them, not even most of them, but a substantial minority - say yes.//



<<if $ch4robin>>//It sounds like you might be one of them.//<<else>>//It sounds like you're not one of them.//<<endif>>



You can [[take the scroll with you|takeexperience]] for later, or [[put it back|returnexperience]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch2-birds.png" alt="three small birds perched on some saucepans"></div></html>

Well.



The robin's turned to you as well, and it's waiting. "Yes," it says, "what do you think?" and it sounds curious, friendly.



Maybe you think that you [[did the best you could]], given the information you had - that you made a sensible decision. (And what is the information you didn't have, for that matter? The birds still haven't said.)



Or maybe you think that [[if you didn't pick right, then you didn't pick well]]. You made a decision, and it was objectively the wrong one, which means that your choice wasn't the rational one, even if you couldn't have known that at the time.



<<silently>><<set $ch2robin = true>><<set $robinno = $robinno + 1>><<set $intent = $intent + 1>><<endsilently>><html><div align="center"><img src="ch2-birds.png" alt="three small birds perched on some saucepans"></div></html>

The robin nods agreement; the blackbird ruffles its feathers and subsides. "Typical," it says, and flies from the saucepan over to the table, its back to you.



"Never mind," the robin says. "He gets like that sometimes. I think you made a perfectly sensible decision, and you survived, against all the odds, and there's no point in worrying about it now. I think you're in a fine position to <<if $motivation eq "escape">>find your way out of the castle<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "birthright">>reclaim the castle<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "rescue">>find your friend<<endif>> and get everything you've ever dreamed of. I might even be able to help."



[[Well. That would be good.|Chapter 3]]

"It doesn't matter anyway," the robin says. "We can't choose what to want. There aren't some things that it's rational to want and some things that it isn't. We just want what we want."



The blackbird, and you've come to expect this by now, disagrees. "What you want doesn't exist in a vacuum," it says. "People want dumb things. Even //birds// want dumb things, sometimes. We want things that are bad for us, or bad for everyone, we want things that won't make us happy, we want things that cause more trouble than they're worth, we want things that make no sense at all."



"No," the robin says firmly. "You're wrong."



You want <<if $motivation eq "rescue">>your friend.<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "escape">>to get out.<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "birthright">>your castle.<<endif>> It's hard to say why that's what you want; but it is.



And that creature, the strange creature in the hallway: it wanted you to pull its house down. You don't know why, and you don't really want to know why, but that's what it wanted.



"I think you're right," you could say to the [[robin]]. "Our desires aren't rational or irrational. They just are."



Or you could turn to the [[blackbird]]. "Some desires just aren't rational," you could say. "You're right."



It can't be far now.



You round another corner and everything's all of a sudden blue instead of grey, and you walk up the last few steps and your toes, your cold cold toes, but it's okay, you're here - you've reached the top of the tower.



It's square, this towertop, and it's stone, and the shock is that it's open to the air. You can see the sky when you <<continue "look up.">>look up.



It's still dark blue. The walls are too high to see over but there's arrow-slit windows all around, this way and that and the other.



Loud wind gusts outside.



There's no bed. There's no witch, hunched under a cape. There's no wolf, leaning jaunty against a fireplace and sipping cognac and licking his lips with his big tongue. Just stone.



But you're here.



[[You should do something|toweract]].

<<silently>><<set $blackbirdno = $blackbirdno + 1>><<set $nointent = $nointent + 1>><<endsilently>>She nods. "Well," she says, and pushes herself up from the table, "maybe you're right."



"Wait," you say. "What about <<cyclinglink "my way out of this wreck" "my friend? Wasn't there a friend" "my kingdom. This was my kingdom, wasn't it" "my... I don't know. Whatever it was. There must have been something, right? Some reason for all this">>?" you ask.



She jerks her chin up towards a door behind you - wide and wooden, not the one you came in through. "Through there," she says. "It's not too far."



You step backwards towards it, still looking at her; the door is wooden and cold to the touch. [[Open it.|doortobeach]]

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch3-door1.png" alt="a corridor with lit torches"></div></html>

When you open the door on the left, a corridor curves away from the kitchen, then opens up: torches burning, windows onto dark rooms.



It could be the way. You can't tell.



Make up your mind: [[walk on|going forward]], or [[turn back|three wooden doors]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch1-birds.png" alt="three birds perched on the wall"></div></html>

I know how this sounds, but look, you're on a castle in a forest on an island in the sea, and: the birds are talking to you.



"What's <<if $male>>he<<else>>she<<endif>> doing?" one of them asks. You think it might be a blackbird. The second bird is an owl, you're pretty sure about that.



The final bird is small and fat. (A robin? Probably a robin.) It cocks its head to one side. "Nothing, as far as I can see," it says.



That seems a little harsh. You've been breathing. You've been climbing stairs. <<if $sing>>You sang that song.<<else>>You tried to see what was going on outside the tower, it's not your fault that it was dark.<<endif>>



The birds are looking at you.



They're not impressed.



You breathed, <<replace "you could point out.">><<display 'breathed-response'>><<endreplace>>



And you stopped breathing - <<replace "you could mention that.">><<display 'stopped-breathing-response'>><<endreplace>>



<<if $sing>>You tried to sing, even if nobody could hear it over the wind.<<else>>And you tried to see everything around the tower, you tried to figure out where you were and what was going on. That feels like quite a big thing.<<endif>> <<replace "You could tell them about that too.">><<display 'looked-out-response'>><<endreplace>>



You should probably tell them about how you pulled that brick out of the wall. It was their fault, too. [[Tell them|You should tell them that]].

It did feel real.



"I told you it was ridiculous," the blackbird says. "Nobody wants to-"



"Of course they do, it's a perfect world," the robin says. "It's perfect by definition. That's what it's for."



"-nobody wants to stand in a room for ever reading a book, just because it //feels// like you're having the time of your life."



"Why not?" the robin asks. And it flies to you, perches next to the book. "How was it?" it asks.



"<<cyclinglink "Perfect," "Pointless," "I don't know,">>" you start to say, but you're interrupted: the blackbird flies up as well, with a blustering flap of wings. "Ridiculous," it says again.



"Why don't you let <<if $male>>him<<else>>her<<endif>> decide for <<if $male>>him<<else>>her<<endif>>self?" the robin says, still looking at you. The robin's been kind to you all along, or in any case it hasn't been actively hostile, and in this place you'll take what you can get.



"[[It was good]]," you could say, or: "[[It wasn't real]]." They're both true.



Well, that explains it: someone's jammed branches up against the ceiling. They're held in place by the walls, back and forth, criss-crossing; mostly stripped of leaves but a few still hanging on.



<<if $candle>>And in one corner - you can see as you raise the candle - there's a creature, a monster maybe but it doesn't have the sort of face you'd expect from a monster: snuffling nose, long grasping limbs, up against the ceiling, watching.<<else>>And in one corner - you can almost make out - there's something, a creature maybe, a dark slow-moving mass in a corner with two glimmering eyes.<<endif>> Right above the door at the end of the corridor.



Well.



It makes a noise; just an intake of breath, perhaps, but it's loud.



"<<cyclinglink "Hello?" "Who goes there?" "Make way! I have important business,">>" you say, trying to sound <<continue "confident and clear.">>confident and clear.



It flinches back. "Hello?" it says.



That's good: it can talk.



"<<cyclinglink "Hello there," "Greetings, creature!" "Watch out, I'm definitely armed,">>" you say.



It moves; <<continue "opens its mouth.">>opens its mouth.



"Are you here to pull my branches down?" it says.



You take a step back and try to look unthreatening. It's hard to tell how big the creature is, but probably as big as you, and it's much higher up, and its arms - snaked through branches protectively - are pretty long.



"No," you say, "no, I'm just looking for a room."



"Oh," it says.



"[[Would you mind if I carry on?|replies]]", you could ask. Or: "[[I seek a fabled room containing all that I desire!|replies]]". Or: "[[But I'll do worse than that if you get in my way...|replies]]".





<html><div align="center"><img src="ch1-book.png" alt="an open book with mysterious writing"></div></html>

The trouble with imaginary books of wisdom is that you can never quite make the words out, or there's some vital phrase obscured by a drop of blood, or the pages move flicker-fast past your face. An open book with page after page scratched over, like sentences worn away, or the scratch of ink-treading birds, half-words that don't hang together. Even if you find a book, it probably won't help.



[[Keep going|tower]]. Find out.

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<html><div align="center"><img src="ch7-monster.png" alt="an enormous three-headed monster"></div></html>

Yep, there you go. It's not, to be fair, as tall as the towers. When it whips a stone crenellation off the top of a wall with its tail - which it does almost immediately - it can only just reach.



Stand firm. Yell up at it: "<<cyclinglink "Monster! Why are you terrorising this castle?" "Step forward no more! Cower, for I have come to wreak vengeance for your wrongs!" "Hoi! You! Bigfoot!">>" That'll show it. Surely.



It's really, really large though. Really large. And it's grumbling.



It's grumbling from one of its //three heads//.



It's grumbling from all of its three heads, in fact, and it's so vast that it hasn't even noticed you.



"Do we have to?" the head on the right asks.



"Stop being so picky," says another, on the left, a head with a small red hat.



"Yeah," the head in the middle agrees. "We voted."



"Sure, we did," says the head on the right, amiably. "And I don't want to be awkward. But, you know."



"No," says the head in the middle. "I don't know." And it whips its tail around again and this time, there's a guard wrapped up in it: a metal figure with flailing arms. The figure isn't moving. Unconscious, perhaps.



<<continue "Watch.">>Watch.



Or dead, you hope, as the centre head bites the guard in half, right through the torso, teeth cleaving straight through armour. It happens in a moment, so fast you don't have time to understand what's going on until the tail has thrown the other half-guard into the mouth of the leftmost head.



"It's just unpleasant," the rightmost head says.



"Mmmfh whmaat youm ssay because youm mnot tmastemed imt," says the middle head, speaking through a full mouth; then it spits something out. A helmet. It lands, clang on the ground, and rolls.



You have just enough time to notice that it's empty before you look up again and see that - at last - the monster's seen you. First one head, then another, and then finally the last, stops and stares.



[[You're not entirely comfortable with this situation|Oh]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch5-treasury.png" alt="a room filled with strange junk"></div></html>

<<set $desirescroll = true>><<set $scrolls = $scrolls +1>>You tuck the scroll away.



<<display 'lots of scrolls'>>

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<<silently>>

<<set $clothes = 0>>

<<set $action = 0>>

<<set $motivation = 0>>

<<set $player = 0>>

<<set $male = 0>>

<<set $actionscroll = 0>>

<<silently>><<set $reasonscroll = 0>>

<<set $desirescroll = 0>>

<<set $scrolls = 0>>

<<set $experiencescroll = 0>>

<<set $friendmale = 0>>

<<set $analysis>>

<<set $intent>>

<<set $nointent>>

<<set $sing = 0>>

<<set $epicurean = 0>>

<<set $ch1robin = 0>>

<<set $ch2robin = 0>>

<<set $ch3robin = 0>>

<<set $ch4robin = 0>>

<<set $completion = 0>>

<<set $ch5robin = 0>>

<<set $ch6robin = 0>>

<<set $ch7robin = 0>>

<<set $ch8robin = 0>>

<<set $ch9robin = 0>>

<<set $robinno = 0>>

<<set $blackbirdno = 0>>

<<set $motivation = "escape">>

<<set $opinionreaction = 0>>

<<endsilently>>

<html><div align="center"><img src="castle-forest-island-sea-opening.png" alt="a castle in a forest on an island in the sea"></div></html>

<html><div align="center"><h2>Chapter 1: Action</h2></div></html>

Right. It's a long way up, but you're going to be okay.



Stand still for a moment. Feel the stone under your feet.



[[Breathe|step 1]].

The corridor at the bottom of the stairs leads is wide, with stones that are smooth under your toes when you take a few tentative steps. It's maybe damp? Or maybe just cold, like everywhere in this wreck of a one-time home.



<<continue "Take a step.">>Take a step.



It is really really dark. Really. Dark.



There could be anything ahead.



There could be <<cyclinglink "a wall." "a monster, there are monsters in castles right?" "a pit, anything, you're just stepping forward and stepping forward but who even knows-" "massive spiderwebs for sure, any moment now." "a maze, maybe you've turned corners without realising and you'll never find your way back." "a light? Is that light? No, it's not light." "there could be, there could be, and the thoughts keep circling around.">> You should stop worrying and keep walking but it's hard to stop running through the possibilities in your head when it's so dark.



Another step.



[[And another|newstep2]].

"Thank you," she says. "I don't have much to say, really. But can I ask a question?" She closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them again. "Do you think it's possible to be //too// rational? I can't help wondering. I tried very hard, you know. Sometimes I wondered whether I should have defended us more fiercely against the monster, but I did try. Good sense said to stay where I was. Good sense said everyone I sent against the giant perished. And now you've behaved absurdly, irrationally in the extreme if you ask me, risked life and limb, chased your absurd motivation, and it's turned out - well, it's turned out for the best, I suppose, hasn't it?"



She closes her book.



"It's not," she goes on, "that I blame you. I'm just wondering. Did I do the wrong thing? I didn't mean to be a bad ruler. I don't know if I went about the whole thing the wrong way from the very beginning."



Well. She's been no friend to you, but you as far as you know, she meant you ill. She's staring, at you then at the table and then at the torch on the wall, blinking, and then back at you.



Maybe you can comfort her. "I don't think," you could say, "that striving for rationality can ever be wrong. If you were a bad princess, it wasn't because your aims were the wrong aims." [[You could say that|You could say that.]]. It wouldn't mean you were forgiving anyone.



Or maybe you can't. "Yeah," you could say. "Sorry. I think you did the wrong thing. I think you can be too rational." Maybe you think rationality can be a trap as well as a tool, and the princess fell into it. [[Maybe you think that|Maybe you think that.]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch6-bird.png" alt="a castle in a forest on an island in the sea"></div></html>

"Look," the robin says, "it doesn't make sense for anyone to do something if it's not the thing they want to do, the thing that's best-"



"I'm not saying it makes sense, I'm saying it happens anyway, like me even bothering with this interminable conversation. If you believe you shouldn't eat bread, and you eat bread, it's a failure of will. If you believe you should be polite and charming and then you get in a fight with someone who refuses to listen, then that's a failure of will too, it's just caused by frustration and anger instead of gluttony."



They're not going to stop unless you make them. Interrupt: tell them to [[shush|shut up]], ask them [[what to do]], just [[leave]].



<html><div align="center"><img src="ch9-boat.png" alt="a boat bobbing on the sea, with the island in the background"></div></html>



You walk through the water to where the boat bobs, and unhook it from the rope that keeps it on the shore. Water laps up over your bare feet and around your calves and higher, waist-deep, and then you clamber in.



It's well-stocked, of course, with everything you could want on a boat.



You stand up, and it takes an unsteady moment to get your bearings. Water pools around your feet, dripping out of the tattered brocade you've been tearing on walls and thorns all day.



And the boat starts moving.



The beach retreats: castle so peculiar and twisted, a ridiculous trap; forest around it; the two merging into the indistinct shape of an island, and then giving way to the sea.



Don't worry. Wherever you're going, you'll make it in [[the end]].



<html><div align="center"><img src="birdbook.png" alt="An open book with two birds in it"></div></html>

<<silently>>

<<set $motivation = "escape">>

<<endsilently>>Yes, yours is a noble cause, and you will stop at nothing to achieve it! Fighting your way out of this empty wreck, finding your way home again. Stone walls, high towers, vast glaring beasts of the night, confusion, exasperated blackbirds - you'll overcome them all.



Are you quite sure you're going about it the right way, though? [[Long dark corridors]] versus a [[teetering rooftop shortcut]]? Once you start there'll be no turning back.

<<silently>>set $candle = true<<endsilently>><html><div align="center"><img src="ch2-candle.png" alt="a lit candle"></div></html>

The smoke it gives off is oily, and the candle itself is slick when you touch it, but it's bright. You blow it out, and slide it into your belt.



As you do, there's a noise behind you: a flurry of air, and a whistling sigh.



[[Turn around]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch5-treasury.png" alt="a room filled with strange junk"></div></html>

You don't need this. You put it back where you found it and then take a look at the room again.



<<display 'lots of scrolls'>>

<<silently>><<set $blackbirdno = $blackbirdno + 1>><<endsilently>>For a moment they open their beaks as if they're going to keep on arguing - but they don't.



"Well," the blackbird says. "You're sturdier than I thought. It sounds like you've got a [[giant to slay|Chapter 7]]."



<html><div align="center"><img src="ch8-tankard.png" alt="a tankard and an open book"></div></html>



"No," she agrees, and takes her crown off and drops it on the table. "I suppose you want this. And these," and she takes another ring of keys off her belt, and slides it towards you, jingle-jangle. "Much joy may they bring you."



You reach forward and pick them up; <<cyclinglink "weigh the crown in your hand," "put the crown on your head," "drop the crown back on the table,">> maybe. It's lighter than you'd expected. <<if $motivation eq "rescue">>"Where's my friend?" you ask. <<endif>><<if $motivation eq "escape">>"How do I get out of here?" you ask.<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "birthright">>This is it: at last, after all these years outcast.<<endif>>



"Tell me," she says. "Tell me something." She's barely looking at you - staring at the ceiling, and curtains, tapping her hand on the table. "I've tried to do my best, under the circumstances. I've tried to moderate the king's influence, his stranger ideas. I've tried to keep people safe. I'm not claiming to be a hero, but I've measured probabilities. I've taken advice from monsters and humans and birds. I decided it was best to keep everyone in the castle, where the monster couldn't get them. I decided it was best to keep the island under my brother's rule, as moderated by me, rather than throwing it over to anyone whose attitude towards rational behaviour seems more... erratic." And she looks straight at you for the first time, and raises her eyebrows.



"[[Go on]]," you could say. Or: "[[I'm not interested in excuses]]."



<html><div align="center"><img src="ch7-foot.png" alt="the foot of an enormous monster"></div></html>

It's a lot taller than you, and thicker, and it's - it's not a giant; it's a foot.



You've looked up, but not far enough. <<continue "Further up.">>Further up.



And again. [[Keep looking up|look2hiding]]. You'll get there.

<<silently>>

<<set $clothes = "dress">>

<<display stretchText>>

<<endsilently>>Still, you made your choice. Pull the skirts in, gather them up closer. Feel the weight of petticoats in your hands.



The stairs turn another corner, and so do you. It's okay, it's getting even lighter: there's one of those weird <<continue "narrow windows.">>narrow windows.



Outside, there's a dark blue sky - pre-dawn, post-dusk - and the barely-distinct silhouettes of towers and trees. You're really high up.



It's going to be fine.



Keep going. [[Slowly, if you like, careful on the craggy steps|slowlyon]], or [[faster; it'll probably be fine. Everything will probably be fine|probfine]].

You don't have time to get back to the tunnel, but there's the [[enormous tree]] to run behind, or [[a crack in the ground]] that you could lower yourself into.

You couldn't stop breathing, of course, even if you wanted to; not for long.



Go on, give it a try.



<<continue "Stop breathing.">>Stop breathing.



Just for a little while, <<continue "don't breathe.">>don't breathe.



Keep it up. Just <<continue "a little longer.">>a little longer.



And then [[breathe|startbreathing]] again.

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch5-treasury.png" alt="a room filled with strange junk"></div></html>

You put it back and look around again.



<<display 'lots of scrolls'>>

As soon as it spits out the helmet the monster seems to get tired; the heads stop talking, and it sinks back against the wall, legs triangled in front of its torso, tail wrapped around like a blanket.



You can see its immense chest move, in and out. One long neck lowers its head onto a branch of the tree.



Another, the one with the hat, leans back; the head rests against a wall, covering a whole window.



And the final head, the one that didn't eat the guard - it snuffles. Its eyes fall closed. And you wait, and watch the chest move: in, out, in, out.



It must be safe to [[move]].

The head blinks slowly. "Hello," it says.



You don't want to wake the other heads up: this one might be a huge strange-eyed fur-covered reptilian creature with a flickering tongue and a hissing demeanour, but at least you didn't just see it devour half a human in a single gulp. "Repent, monster, lest ye perish," you could try.



"Sorry," it says, "but I don't think I'm supposed to talk to you." And it closes its eyes again.



"<<cyclinglink "You're also not supposed to keep killing people like this," "I'm... I'm here to help you," "Quake before my vengeful gaze,">>" you add.



The monster moves its head a little closer. "Don't be silly," it says, and its eyes fall shut again. It barely even registered your existence. Right.



Don't despair. <<continue "Think.">>Think. You're a hero on a quest; there's bound to be something you can do.



Well, you've got a <<if $sword>>sword<<else>>torch<<endif>>: and there's a thick network of vines. If you could <<if $sword>>cut them loose<<else>>burn them loose<<endif>> they might [[trap]] the monster.



Or there's the ground, pitted with holes punched by the monster's own feet, with planks and trees and loosely-packed stone barely holding together. If you <<if $sword>>threw the sword just right<<else>>threw the torch just right<<endif>> you might bring it all down and [[kill]] the creature, once and for all.



You've stopped walking, you know, standing at the corner between one dark-dark-dark-grey wall and the next dark-dark-grey wall beside it.



Start again. Nearly there.



Your clothes are catching on both walls as the stairs get ever more narrow. You probably should have worn something practical, instead of [[massive pantaloons]] or a [[great big ballgown]].

A lot of discussion about reason and action assumes, at some level, that reason is a good and desirable thing. But is it possible to be //too// rational? Can reason become a bad thing, if there's just too much of it about? Does a focus on reason mean that we fail to take account of our particular passions and tastes, or ignore the role of imagination and spontaneity in making good decisions?



Max Weber (1864-1920) argued that the drive towards rationality and rigour in modern, bureaucratic societies threatens to become 'an iron cage' that restricts people rather than freeing them to pursue their own ends. By emphasising formal rules and efficiency, political and social institutions risk losing sight of the values they were originally supposed to guard. Institutions set up to protect individual liberty end up imposing restrictions on civil liberties and treating individuals as cogs in a machine. Weber is thinking of social institutions, rather than individual people. But it might be suggested that a similar worry might be raised about individual rationality too. Is rationally pursuing one's own happiness - carefully calculating the best action to take in every situation - really the best way to become happy?



Weber, though, is not really attacking rationality, but rather a particular way of understanding it. We needn't think of rational decision-making as a matter of following formal rules or principles or rigidly calculating the pros and cons of every option. Nor do we need to assume that rational decision-making can't be imaginative and creative too. Reason might not be the //only// mark of good decision-making, but it might be worth having, all the same.





Read more about [[Action]], [[Reason]], [[Desire]], [[The Experience Machine]], [[Will]] and [[Collective Responsibility]].



Or have a look at our [[analysis]] of how you played, tracing out the path you made and comparing it to philosophers through history.

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch7-monster.png" alt="a three-headed monster"></div></html>

It's really, really large though. Really large. And it's grumbling.



It's grumbling from one of its //three heads//.



It's grumbling from all of its three heads, in fact, and it's so vast that it hasn't even noticed you.



<<continue "Listen.">>Listen.



"Do we have to?" the head on the right asks.



"Stop being so picky," says another, on the left, a head with a small red hat.



"Yeah," the head in the middle agrees. "We voted."



"Sure, we did," says the head on the right, amiably. "And I don't want to be awkward. But, you know."



"No," says the head in the middle. "I don't know." And the creature whips its tail around again and this time, there's a guard wrapped up in it: a metal figure with flailing arms.



<<continue "Watch.">>Watch.



The figure isn't moving. Unconscious, perhaps.



Or dead, you hope, as the centre head bites the guard in half, right across the torso, teeth cleaving straight through armour. It happens in a moment, so fast you don't have time to understand what's going on until the tail has thrown the other half-guard into the mouth of the leftmost head.



"It's just unpleasant," the rightmost head says.



"Mmmfh whmaat youm ssay because youm mnot tmastemed imt," says the middle head, speaking through a full mouth; then it spits something out. A helmet. It lands, clang on the ground, and rolls.



Well. It's lucky you're hiding, you suppose. You try to be [[very very quiet]].

It flies to the table, drops its carrot near the eggs. Pecks. Swallows. Pecks again.



You wait.



"I don't know how you'd get there," it says at last. "I mean, without flying. But it's not far. It's out the window and left, then over the top of the building and in through the big blue window at the other side."



That's not going to work for you. "I can't fly," you say.



The blackbird interrupts; tilts its head to one side. "And we can't open doors. But it can't be that far, if it's what you really want. It must be that way."



The blackbird nods at the wall opposite the window: [[three wooden doors]].

The birds open their beaks, then shut them, then open them again.



<<timedcontinue 3s>>"Well," the blackbird says. "That depends."



The robin joins in. "How do you feel about the king?"



"[[You're right about him|ch6robin]]," you might say to the robin. "He's doing exactly what he wants. There isn't a problem with his willpower; there's a problem with him. And I need to solve it."



Or maybe you'll nod to the blackbird: "[[He's weak|ch6blackbird]], like you say. But I'm not."

As you lower yourself into a crack in the ground, you feel the ground shake around you. Something's coming closer.



<<timedcontinue 5s>>And closer.



<<timedcontinue 2s>>And closer.



<<timedcontinue 2s>>[[Look up|look1hiding]].

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What do people really want, deep down? Epicurus (341-270BCE) had a simple answer to this. What people want, he said, is pleasure, and in particular, a life free from anxiety and stress. And because this is what people really want, it's also what it's rational for us to pursue.



In the 1970s Robert Nozick (1938-2002) developed a thought experiment - known as “the Experience Machine” - designed to refute this kind of view. The Experience Machine, in Nozick's story, is designed to produce a lifetime of pleasant experiences. It gives us the perfectly calculated amount of failure to ensure that our successes feel triumphant. It ensures that we always (seem to) make the best decision. It lets us feel risk but never truly experience it. It provides us (or rather, seems to provide us) with friends and family, health and fortune but never requires us to fill in tax returns or get up early. But none of this is //real//: all that's real is the pleasure.



If Epicurus was right, Nozick argued, people should want to plug themselves into the Experience Machine. But (Nozick though) it's clear that, given the choice, most people wouldn't make this choice. People prefer real life, even when it's less pleasant. So there must be something else that people want - something other than pleasure.



Experimental philosophers have tested Nozick's thought experiment, and the results are - well - complicated. There's a substantial minority of people who say they would plug themselves into the Experience Machine; more who would plug themselves in if they had the option of reversing the decision, or who wouldn't plug themselves in but don't think that they'd //un//plug either. Perhaps Epicurus' mistake was in assuming that everyone wants the //same// thing. Or perhaps the Experience Machine thought experiment provides a good way to raise the question, but not such a good way to settle it.





Read more about [[Action]], [[Reason]], [[Desire]], [[Will]], [[Collective Responsibility]] and [[The Iron Cage]].



Or have a look at our [[analysis]] of how you played, tracing out the path you made and comparing it to philosophers through history.

At first you think it didn't work: there's a rumble, but this is a strange dark castle and there are always rumbles. But then it grows, and grows, and the walls shake, and the honeycomb of holes beneath the monster begins to grow, each gap falling in on itself, growing wider and wider and darker and crumbling until suddenly - all at once - there's just a hole, and the monster tumbling into it, heads blinking open their eyes for a moment as they start to fall.



Clouds of dirt fly up; stones tumble; the necks thrash, each with its own shouting head. The tiny red hat flies from one of the heads, tumbling through the air, over and over, and lands on the ground by your feet.



Through the network of branches and fallen walls, down in the ground deep below, you can just make out the monster, staring up at you; its heads, its thrashing tail. And then a roar, so loud: three notes at once as the heads yell in furious concert.



It's going to be pretty difficult to feed, now that you've trapped it, you realise as you watch it try to clamber up, and fail.



When you turn away from the sight, [[the birds|the birds turn up]] have joined you.

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch5-treasury.png" alt="a room filled with strange junk"></div></html>

You take the scroll to read later. <<set $actionscroll = true>><<set $scrolls = $scrolls +1>><<display 'lots of scrolls'>>

you mention that.



"Which is a bit more like it," the blackbird acknowledges. "At least you had to try."

<<set $ch4robin = true>><<set $epicurean = $epicurean + 1>><<set $robinno = $robinno + 1>>The robin exudes kindness: "It was good," it says. "And that's what matters."



The blackbird is still looking at you, steady, unmoving. "It's not real," it says. "If you stay in the book you'll never really <<if $motivation eq "rescue">>see your friend again<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "escape">>get off the island<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "birthright">>reclaim your castle<<endif>>."



"It'll feel like you did," the robin says. "Only better."



You could [[open the book again|Open the book again]]. Maybe this time you'd stay. It's a good place; that's more important than the fact that it's imaginary, right? That's what you just said.



Or change your mind and [[leave right now|But it's not real]]: that's okay too. The door's right there.

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch8-princess.png" alt="a woman in a bedchamber, sitting at a desk"></div></html>



A woman in a red dress and a crown looks up. She's sat by an open book and a tankard of something warm, steam rising in the still-cold air of the afternoon. The princess, then; the king's sister. Her eyes drop to the key in your hand. "You survived," she says. "That's unexpected."



"<<cyclinglink "I did," "Verily, right is on my side and adorns me as my armour," "Well spotted, there,">>" you reply.



"I'm not saying it's unwelcome //per se//," she continues. "Just unexpected." And she closes the book.



<<if $motivation eq "birthright">>"I've come to take the castle back,"<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "rescue">>"I've come to collect my friend,"<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "escape">>"I've had enough of this place,"<<endif>> you say.



"Of //course// you have," she replies. "Things must have been so difficult for you. And haven't you proven that you deserve your heart's desire? Haven't you proven your worth? With your... <<if $clothes eq "pants">>billowing pants<<else>>jewel-encrusted gown<<endif>>, and your terribly lucky scamper <<if $method eq "roof">>across the rooftops<<else>>through collapsing tunnels<<endif>>, <<if $egg>>and an egg tucked in your pocket like a talisman, <<endif>><<if $candle>>and a candle tucked in your belt like it might help you, <<endif>>and scrolls and sidekick birds and the most unlikely giant-slaying I've ever heard of. Haven't you shown yourself a hero?"



The words are kind, but the tone is more ambiguous: tired? Angry? Or just tired?



You respond: "[[Quake before me, for I have triumphed at last|Quake before me, monster]]," perhaps, or "[[I don't see why this should be difficult. My grudge is not with you|Let's not make this harder than it needs to be]]."

<<silently>><<set $completion = $completion + 1>><<endsilently>><html><div align="center"><img src="ch1-staircase.png" alt="a staircase leading upwards"></div></html>

Wide stairs crane upwards. The stone under your toes is gritty and cold and - sometimes, every now and then - damp.



[[Keep breathing|step 3]]. Take another step.

The first paragraph opens with a question:



//Are you rational? Do you even know what it is to be rational?//



Well. That's a bit confrontational.



//Of course you don't: nobody does, not for sure. Some people think that if you can justify your act in terms of your own goals and beliefs and desires, then it's rational, and that's all there is to say. //<<if $ch2robin>>//It sounds like you agree: you made your decisions based on what you knew, and you'll stand by them, even if it turns out they were unwise.//<<else>>//It sounds like you don't agree. It sounds like you think it should be possible to be objectively rational.//<<endif>> //It sounds like you don't agree. It sounds like you think that the rational decision is the one that's correct from an objective point of view.//



You can [[take the scroll with you|takereason]] for later, if you want to read more, or [[put it back down|returnreason]].

Keep breathing, and keep walking up. This is fine: you're clever, you're level-headed, you know what you're doing. You're a [[brave young woman|female]] or a [[bright young man|male]], maybe, or a [[man who is no stranger|male]] to stairways and stone and darkness, or a [[woman with a high degree of expertise|female]] in emerging unscathed from dangerous situations. Any of those things could easily be true.

<<silently>><<set $blackbirdno = $blackbirdno + 1>><<endsilently>>There's a door at the end of the corridor, not quite closed.



[[Time to push it open.|Chapter 4]]





You jump up and down, but can't reach. It's not until the creature hands you a single branch that you get anywhere, raising it above your head and prying the others loose. They're jammed in hard, and when they fall down they do it suddenly. One branch almost falls on your head; another brings a loose brick down with it. <<if $candle>>You eventually blow the candle out and put it back in a pocket, to give yourself two hands to work with.<<endif>>



The creature stands next to you, its long nose twitching. Half of the branches have come down; then three quarters; then all except one, high up in a corner, that you flail at, jumping with the branch in your hand.



<<continue "Jump.">>Jump.



"THAT ONE TOO," the creature yells, twitching. "That one!" and you jump again, over and over before you finally knock the last branch loose.



"And that one, that one," the creature says, staring at you - no, at the branch in your hand.



You let it <<continue "drop to the floor.">>drop to the floor. <<timedcontinue 1s>>Thump.



The creature bends its tiny legs, drapes its long arms over the branches and the dust and the broken bricks. "Thank you," it says, and nestles its face into them, leaving the door to you. "Thank you."



Well, at least it's happy. Really confusing, but happy.



The door's not even properly shut; you push and it swings open, and you can see [[the room]] beyond.

<<set $sing = true>>The wind pulls the sound away. But never mind.



I mean, maybe you don't need to do anything. You made it to the tower, right? You're here. That's the important thing.



You <<continue "turn around.">>turn around and the birds are there again; sheltering in the relative calm of the tower, probably? In normal circumstances, it would be strange to see three different types of bird hanging out together, but these aren't normal circumstances.



For one thing, the birds are [[talking|birds1]].



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"It's just through this door," the robin says.



"But you need to think about what you actually want," the blackbird says. "And whether this is a good idea."



<<if $motivation eq "rescue">>"I just want my friend back," you say. "And I want us both to be safe and I want to get out of here."<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "escape">>"I want to leave," you say. "I want to go somewhere else that isn't a castle or a forest or an island or a sea. Somewhere different. Somewhere not here."<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "birthright">>"I want everything that's mine," you say. "I want my castle back, and my crown, and my kingdom and my people and my power."<<endif>>



"And why do you want that? Do you really think it's sensible?" It's the blackbird again, and your little tantrum seems to have had an impact: it's calmer than before, talking slowly.



"<<cyclinglink "Of course," "I don't know," "Compared to what? A monster that wants its house torn down?">>" you say.



The robin [[flutters]].





When one country declares war on another, should individual citizens ever be held responsible - even if they weren't directly involved in the decision? Should an employee be held responsible for what their company does? Is it rational for someone to feel guilty about their ancestors' behaviour?



In one view, the answer to all these questions is 'no'. Only individuals can make decisions and perform actions. And so only individuals can be held responsible for what they, as individuals, do. When we talk about countries or companies as if they were agents, we're just using a kind of shorthand: when we say that one country declared war on another, we just mean that particular individuals in the government declared war. It's those individuals who should be held responsible for what they - as individuals - have done. The political philosopher John Rawls (1921-2002) argued that holding individuals responsible for things they haven't done themselves is unfair, and undermines individual freedom.



Other philosophers argue that groups can sometimes be seen as agents, and that individuals can sometimes be held morally responsible for what a group has done. Philosophers disagree about the circumstances under which this can happen: perhaps what matters is that there's a sense of solidarity between members of the group; or that everyone has profited from what has happened; or that individual members have not actively dissented from the group's decisions. There's room for disagreement, too, about what collective responsibility might imply: does collective responsibility ever legitimise collective //punishment//?





Read more about [[Action]], [[Reason]], [[Desire]], [[The Experience Machine]], [[Will]] and [[The Iron Cage]].



Or have a look at our [[analysis]] of how you played, tracing out the path you made and comparing it to philosophers through history.

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch5-treasury.png" alt="a room filled with strange junk"></div></html>

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<html><div align="center"><img src="ch3-door2.png" alt="a corridor leading towards a dark archway"></div></html>

There's an archway ahead of you, and another door to the right, and a passage to the right as well. You don't know which one is right. You don't even know if the door was the right door in the first place.



But you can't waste time for ever. [[Head onwards|going forward]] or [[go back|three wooden doors]].





<html><div align="center"><img src="ch6-bird.png" alt="birds perching"></div></html>

You yell after him, perhaps, or batter on the door. Maybe you throw a goblet across the room? That might help.



(It doesn't help.)



"There's no call for violence," the blackbird says. The robin pecks at a slice of roast pumpkin, pulling threads and seeds away from the flesh.



"<<cyclinglink "What sort of a king hides himself away and feasts while his citizens are under threat?" "Are you sure? I kind-of think there is," "Let me have a bit of the roast duck, then,">>" you say.



The blackbird [[shrugs]].

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<html><div align="center"><img src="ch8-crumblingwall.png" alt="a crumbling wall"></div></html>

You walk past lichen-covered walls, crumbling, dark but gradually growing lighter.



And then a gap, leading out. Not out of the castle; tall stone towers are still around you. Some of them are whole. Some are half-torn-down, their stone cast off into slow piles.



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You almost don't notice the thump, thump, thump in the distance, not until it's very close indeed.



Oh.



Time to [[ready yourself]], then. Or maybe time to [[hide]].

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<<silently>><<set $blackbirdno = $blackbirdno + 1>><<endsilently>>

The blackbird exudes smugness: "It isn't real," it says. "And it's not good enough."



The robin is still looking at you, steady, unmoving. "It's the easiest way," it says, "and it would make you happier than anything else. If you don't use the book, you might never <<if $motivation eq "rescue">>see your friend again<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "escape">>get off the island<<endif>><<if $motivation eq "birthright">>reclaim your castle<<endif>>."



You could [[leave right now|But it's not real]]: there's a door to one side. Or you could [[open the book again|Open the book again]].

You can tell straight away when it does get lighter, somewhere in the distance. You didn't realise how slowly you were walking until suddenly it feels safe to speed up.



It's a warm light, not the blue-grey of daylight, and when you round a corner it takes you a moment to adjust; you see a staircase leading up, nineteen steps that you count out loud as you walk them, then a thick wooden door, yellow-orange spilling underneath it onto stone that's a lot dirtier than you'd realised.



You don't know if this is the room you were looking for, but it's something, right?



You might as well [[push the door open]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="robin2.png" alt="a smug robin"></div></html>

<<silently>><<set $ch1robin = true>><<set $nointent = $nointent + 1>><<set $robinno = $robinno + 1>><<endsilently>>The robin resettles its wings in acknowledgement, and chirps. The blackbird hops.



<<timedcontinue 1s>>Hops again. Flutters.



<<timedcontinue 2s>>The blackbird throws its head back. Looks forward again.



<<timedcontinue 2s>>"Well," it says. "I don't know what I was expecting."



<<timedcontinue 3s>>Jumps and swoops down and its wings thrum, and it rises and dives over the edge of the tower, down to all the distant island that it's just too dark to make out.



The robin turns its head, calls out after, then falls silent.



<<timedcontinue 4s>>Sits.



<<timedcontinue 3s>>"Sorry about that," it says finally, and then launches after the blackbird, out into the sky. The owl shifts slowly, and lets its eyes close.



<<timedcontinue 4s>>Well. [[Just you, then|Chapter 2]].



<html><div align="center"><img src="ch6-opentrap.png" alt="an open trapdoor"></div></html>

So far, so good.



<<continue "And again.">>And again.



And again, and again; six, seven, twelve, fourteen, twenty-three and you're really getting into the swing of it now. Step, adjust, move hand, step, adjust, move hand. You're good at this! You could keep doing this for ever and that would be //fine//, because it's quite easy really and it doesn't involve a three-headed giant.



But the thirty-seventh step hits ground. Oh.



Look up. <<replace "A square of light in the not-too-distant distance.">>It doesn't matter what's up there; you're down here now.<<endreplace>>



Look around instead.



A tunnel, and a circle at the end - daylight, pale blue instead of warm orange torchlight. All right. You're outdoors.



There's only one way to go: [[head towards the light]].

<html><div align="center"><h2>About This Story</h2></div></html>

"Castle, Forest, Island, Sea" is a choose-your-own-adventure story that explores key questions in philosophy. If you are interested in this subject, you may wish to have a look at the <html><b><a href="http://www.open.ac.uk/courses/find/philosophy">courses we have on offer</a></b></html>.



The game takes around 30 minutes, and there are nine chapters exploring different key areas. As you navigate through the story, the game will build up an idea of how you feel about these key questions, and at the end of the game you'll receive an analysis of your choices and a map of how your opinions compare to different philosophers through the ages.



You can read about [[how to play|How to Play]], look at the [[table of contents|Table of Contents]], or just...



...just [[open your eyes]].

For a moment they open their beaks as if they're going to keep on arguing - but they don't.



<<silently>><<set $ch6robin = true>><<set $robinno = $robinno + 1>><<endsilently>>"Well," the robin says. "It sounds like you've got a [[giant to slay|Chapter 7]]."





<<set $female = true>>All you need to do now is keep it together, stay calm, stay in control, and<<continue " WATCH OUT">> WATCH OUT... a bird flies past, air in your face as you bend to one side, and then another flies after it and you're off-balance and you're not quite sure whether you're about to fall a very long way down.



You grab at a brick in the wall as you lean back, but it's loose; it comes away and quick, move your foot, don't lose your balance as THUD it hits the step below and then the next and then the next, all the long way down.



It's okay. You're breathing too fast. <<continue "Slower.">>Slower.



Keep walking up, and be careful because the steps are wonky, and maybe keep one hand on the wall (even if you can't quite trust it), and [[keep breathing|keepbreathingagain]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch7-birds.png" alt="birds sitting on a hat"></div></html>

They fly down to land on the hat.



"Well," the blackbird says. "That went a lot better than I expected."



"<<cyclinglink "When right is on your side, failure is impossible," "You should not doubt me so, little bird," "You're a bit of a pessimist though, let's face it,">>" you reply.



"I suppose it went well," the robin says. "It's a bit sad for poor Rowley, though."



"You're always making excuses for poor Rowley-"



"-it's not her fault her other heads were so unfriendly-"



...right. Another fight, then.



"Look, what's the problem this time?" [[you demand]].

<<set $method = "roof">>No, probably best to stick to the towertops, see where you're going, keep your goal in sight. As the sun comes up, that one bright window is going to be harder to pick out. You don't want to lose it altogether.



It's not easy to climb onto the tower walls, but you jam your foot into one of the narrow windows, and clamber, and teeter just a little bit and then you're there, ready to <<continue "get on with it.">>get on with it.



You've got an eight-foot drop to the wall below, which looks sturdy but slick with lichen. They build castles to last, though, so it's at least a foot wide. It's <<cyclinglink "fine" "definitely fine" "not really fine, but look, just pretend it is and get on with it">>.



Of course, now that you're up here you can see just how far down the ground is. All those steps you walked up, one at a time - each of those steps is a space beneath you, an extra six inches to tumble if your footing goes wrong.



It won't, of course. You'll be fine. If you [[keep your balance]], it's this wall, then a rooftop, then it looks like another wall leading right to the window.

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch4-imagine.png" alt="A beautiful field, full of trees and moonlight"></div></html>

The pennants are <<cyclinglink "red" "gold" "black" "green" "purple" "silver" "all the colours of the rainbow">>. Each castle window welcomes you with <<cyclinglink "open shutters" "warm lights shining in the dark" "the distant sound of laughter and cheers">>.



And right in front of the drawbridge: <<cyclinglink "your subjects, shouting, waving, calling your name" "your treacherous uncle's head on a spike, blood pooled on the ground below" "your loyal dog, running towards you full pelt - your probably had a loyal dog, right?">>.



Everything's just as it should be.



The breeze rises for a moment, and flutters the pages of the book. When you glance down, you see more words, and an illustration: two birds. They look familiar.



[[Leave the book open|In the book]] or [[slam it shut]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch6-throneroom.png" alt="a king sits sleepily on a throne by a richly-laid table"></div></html>

He shrugs. And in a way, he's right not to care: here you are, desperately brandishing <<if $sword>>an inexpert sword<<else>>a sputtering torch<<endif>>, dressed in <<if $clothes eq "pants">>ragged gold pantaloons<<else>>a ragged gold ballgown<<endif>>, confronted by armoured guards twice your size, so angry, so filled with the desire to right all wrongs, but what can you do?



"<<cyclinglink "I've come to fix everything," "Cower! For you have wronged me, and you have wronged this land," "You could at least stop eating fruit,">>" you say.



The king takes another bite of his peach, and looks at you. He's a very tidy eater; no juice running down his beard, no stains on his robes. (They're probably ermine.)



[["Why did you do it?"|kingresponse]] you could ask. Find out what makes him tick. Or state your position clearly: [["I'm here to make things right."|kingresponse]]

You stop feeling your way; you take the steps two at a time, thump thump thump, arms pushed out to brace against the walls if you slip, breathing faster and harder until you can't hear the wind outside. The light is dark grey, then mid-grey, then light grey, and then one more corner and [[a rush of air]].

Are you quite sure you're going about it the right way, though? [[Long dark corridors]] versus a [[teetering rooftop shortcut]]? Once you start there'll be no turning back.

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch6-opentrap.png" alt="an open trapdoor"></div></html>

You have to put your <<if $sword>>sword<<else>>torch<<endif>> down again to pull the trapdoor open; there's a thick skreeek as you do, rust flaking and metal grating against metal.



The ladder below descends into darkness. Right.



<<if $clothes eq "pants">>More shreds of your golden pantaloons catch on the edge of the trapdoor as you<<else>>Your billowing gold ballgown catches on the edge of the trapdoor, and you have to pull it loose in order to<<endif>> lower yourself down. Don't forget the <<if $sword>>sword<<else>>torch<<endif>>: it's going to be an awkward one-handed descent, but stick with it, don't despair. Besides, if you occupy yourself with a difficult climb, you won't have time to think too much about the giant at the bottom.



[[Climb down a rung|Climb down a step]].

You'll just get lost if you go downstairs, after all. Better to stay up here, where you can see where you're going. Pick your way over the walls, through the trees, across rooftops.



Over really, really high walls. Through thorny trees. Across derelict rooftops.



It'll be fine. It'll definitely be [[fine]].

[[How to Play]]

[[Table of Contents]]

Reason is the ability of a human to engage in rational, conscious processes in order to make sense of the world and interact with it. But what exactly are rational, conscious processes? What makes something rational, or irrational, or somewhere in between?



Philosophers sometimes distinguish between "subjective rationality" and "objective rationality". A decision is said to be subjectively rational if it makes sense in the light of your beliefs and goals, whatever they happen to be. A decision is said to be objectively rational if it's the right decision, judged by some external standard - for example, if it's the decision that it was really in your interests to make. If you spend all your savings on a fashionable ball gown or splendid pantaloons, your decision might be subjectively rational. But if the end result is bankruptcy, perhaps your decision wasn't rational in the objective sense.



It's not obvious, though, that objective rationality is really a kind of rationality. If you make a poor decision just because you had the wrong information, you haven't made a mistake in your //reasoning//. Perhaps you were just unlucky. Or to put it the other way round: suppose that you make a really good decision just by guesswork, or by tossing a coin, it might seem a bit odd to say that your decision was a //rational// one - even if your decision was the correct one, from an objective point of view.



So some philosophers think that the only kind of rationality is //subjective// rationality. But others think that this goes a bit too far. They agree, perhaps, that someone can't be called irrational just because they're unlucky enough to have the wrong //information//; but they can be called irrational if they're chasing the wrong //goals//. That takes us to another question - a question about desire…





Read more about [[Desire]], [[Action]], [[The Experience Machine]], [[Will]], [[Collective Responsibility]] and [[The Iron Cage]].



Or have a look at our [[analysis]] of how you played, tracing out the path you made and comparing it to philosophers through history.

<<silently>><<set $ch9robin = true>><<endsilently>><html><div align="center"><img src="ch9-castle.png" alt="a castle in a forest on an island in the sea"></div></html>



There's no point in pretending that you can leave. It's a strange, confusing place, this castle, but it's home.



You'll learn the shortcuts, and the corners to avoid, and maybe you'll rebuild some of the walls and sort out the rubble and everything will make just a little more sense. But if not, that's okay too.



You're in a castle in a forest on an island in the sea, and the sun is moving lower and lower, sending late-afternoon golden sunlight diagonally through the trees. It might not quite make sense, but it's not such a bad place. You'll get used to it in [[the end]].



<html><div align="center"><img src="birdbook.png" alt="An open book with two birds in it"></div></html>

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch4-bookroom.png" alt="A closed book"></div></html>

The cover is still heavy, still warm. The pages move slowly against each other; it's harder to shut than it should be. And the moment it closes, you're back in the room you left - a low ceiling, a rickety table, a threadbare rug like the memory of grass.



Oh.



Right.



[[Open the book again|In the book]], or [[turn around]].

So here you are, trapped on a ledge with nothing except your <<if $sword>>sword<<else>>torch - miraculously still alight<<endif>> and something that, on closer examination, turns out to be the feather from the helmet of a guard that you just saw eaten before your eyes.



Well.



Not much to do about that, then.



The monster is curled up on itself and breathing regularly; you can see its immense chest move, in and out. One long neck lowers its head onto a branch of the tree.



Another, the one with the hat, leans back; the head rests against a wall, covering a whole window.



And the final head, the one that didn't eat the guard - it snuffles. Its eyes fall closed, but it's restless, you think, or hope.



You whisper: "[[Pssst|pssst!]]!"

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch5-treasury.png" alt="a room filled with strange junk"></div></html>

You put it back.



<<display 'lots of scrolls'>>

You can hear something along the corridor, you think - heavy and quick, like a distant piece of machinery, or a not-so-distant king at rest (fat and robed with a crown tilted down over his eyes, snoring heftily, in-out, in-out).



<<continue "Take a step.">>Take a step.



It is really really dark. Really. Dark.



There could be anything ahead.



There could be <<cyclinglink "a wall." "a monster, there are monsters in castles right?" "a pit, anything, you're just stepping forward and stepping forward but who even knows-" "massive spiderwebs for sure, any moment now." "a maze, maybe you've turned corners without realising and you'll never find your way back." "a light? Is that light? No, it's not light." "there could be, there could be, and the thoughts keep circling around.">> You should stop worrying and keep walking but it's hard to stop running through the possibilities in your head when it's so dark.



Another step.



[[And another|newstep2]].

Thank you for playing //Castle, Forest, Island, Sea//, a game exploring key questions in philosophy. If you are interested in this subject, you may wish to have a look at the <html><b><a href="http://www3.open.ac.uk/study/undergraduate/qualification/arts-and-humanities/philosophy/index.htm">courses we have on offer</a></b></html>.



If you'd like to read any more about the topics explored in the game, then have a look at these quick introductions to [[Reason]], [[Action]], [[Desire]], [[The Experience Machine]], [[Will]], [[Collective Responsibility]] and [[The Iron Cage]].



Or have a look at our [[analysis]] of how you played, tracing out the path you made and comparing it to philosophers through history (and some bickering birds).

<<silently>><<set $completion = $completion + 1>><<endsilently>><html><div align="center"><img src="ch6-trapdoor.png" alt="a trapdoor in a corner"></div></html>

<html><div align "center"><h2>Chapter 7: Responsibility</h2></div></html>

You look at the doors around the room.



"Over there," the blackbird says. Back in the treasury? "No. There."



Oh. Right. An alcove in the corner, and - of course - a trapdoor.



Well.



[[This is going to be okay.]]

"It's just," it says, "it's a long time since someone pulled my home down." And it lowers itself to the ground, hanging from one long arm and then dropping the rest of the way. Yeah, it's at least as big as you.



"I'm glad to hear it," you try, <<continue "edging backwards.">>edging backwards.



"Such a long time," it adds, stepping toward you. "If you wanted to, I mean I wouldn't like to be any trouble but if you wanted to pull the branches down that would be all right."



<<continue "They're a long way up.">>They're a long way up: you definitely couldn't reach. Not even to pull something down and use it to protect yourself, and you're beginning to wish you could: this is a really odd creature.



"Do... do you want me to pull them down?" you say.



It nods, so eager, and the words come tumbling out of its mouth so fast you can barely distinguish them. "Would you? //Would you// wouldyou wouldyou?"



"//Why?//" you ask, reasonably enough you think, but it blinks its eyes at you in confusion.



"...it would be nice," it says eventually, tentatively, a little bit abashed. But then it grows bolder: "It would be //so// nice."



You could [[give it a try]], you suppose. Or you could just [[run past]] - there's a clear path to the door now.

<<silently>><<set $blackbirdno = $blackbirdno + 1>><<set $intent = $intent + 1>><<endsilently>>

<html><div align="center"><img src="blackbird2.png" alt="a smug blackbird"></div></html>

The blackbird chirps smugly back at you. "Quite right," it says, and hops.



<<timedcontinue 1s>>Hops again. Flutters.



<<timedcontinue 2s>>The robin sighs, tilts its head. "Really?" it says. You didn't expect the reaction to be this strong.



<<timedcontinue 2s>>"Well," it says, "never mind. It was nice meeting you."



<<timedcontinue 3s>>Then it jumps and swoops down and its wings thrum, and it rises and dives over the edge of the tower, down to all the distant island that it's just too dark to make out.



The blackbird turns its head, calls out, then falls silent.



<<timedcontinue 4s>>Sits.



<<timedcontinue 3s>>"You're quite right," it says finally, and then launches after the robin, out into the sky. The owl shifts slowly, and lets its eyes close.



<<timedcontinue 4s>>Well. [[Just you, then|Chapter 2]].

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch5-sword.png" alt="a room filled with strange junk"></div></html>

<<silently>><<set $sword = true>><<endsilently>>It takes two hands; you hold it up as best you can, point it out in front of you. Tip high, you think you read somewhere, or maybe tip low? Tip definitely away from you, in any case.



You step towards the curtain.



Silence.



[[Forward|Chapter 6]].

<<silently>><<set $blackbirdno = $blackbirdno + 1>><<endsilently>><html><div align="center"><img src="robin1.png" alt="a disappointed robin"></div></html>

The robin's head drops. "You're not very forgiving, are you?" it says, then flies up from the hat to a branch above, and then a branch above that.



The blackbird doesn't follow. "Your moral fortitude surprises me," it says; then it hops off the hat, pecks at the brim, and pulls out a key. "I think you might be able to use [[this|Chapter 8]]."

<html><div align="center"><img src="ch5-birds.png" alt="a room filled with strange junk"></div></html>

The rest of the room is half-treasury, half-junkshop, with the birds perched among it, flapping from a pile of green-glowing jewels to a cracked teapot and back. A <<replace "globe">>globe with a map of the world that shows only three continents, and one of those upside-down, you realise as you examine it more closely<<endreplace>>. A <<replace "mirror">>mirror with a long crack down the middle, and a thick gold frame<<endreplace>>. A <<replace "crown">>crown-shaped piece of tin, with paint flaking off<<endreplace>>.



A <<replace "sword.">>real proper sword, heavy in your hands, sharp along the edges. Put it down carefully.<<endreplace>>



A <<replace "torch.">>torch that's set loosely in the wall; you tug it and it comes out, and you direct its arc of light into the corners before you put it back. 