demo

The funeral is [[surreal.]]

"I'm [[not sure|not sure,]] I want one," you tell the Chancellor. "A <<revise philosopher "philosopher.">><<revision philosopher>>"<<becomes>>philosopher." A dead man telling you how to kill.<<endrevision>>\n\nShe snorts. "Of course [[you do,"|Only maybe.]] she says. "The Cavaliers won't care enough to solve the case. But your brother was one of our own."

You read books like these when you were a child. When your father made you take <<replace "philosophy lessons.">>philosophy lessons.\n\nFor a moment you can feel the old pain in your wrists, the nausea of the blood-price paid unwillingly. You remember the smell of singed candlewicks. Robert watching from the corner, a flame dancing on the tip of his thumb. Your father's elderly house philosopher, smelling like tea and piss, frowning at your <<replace "abject incompetence.">>abject incompetence.\n\nThey hit you with a broomstick when you couldn't cast the formulae, to pay you back for the pain you were missing out on. [[Fucking philosophy.|snap.]]\n<<endreplace>><<endreplace>>

But that's a <<continue "lie.">>lie.\n\nTruth is, he's been in the Riverside Palace for <<continue "four days.">>four days.\n\nThey say he's too frightened to come out.\n\n[[+++|estvisit]]

<<set $donation = true>>And you find yourself reaching for a pen, patting down your pockets. Solving this problem the way you solve <<revise solve "every problem.">><<revision solve>><<becomes>>every problem.\n\nWith [[money.]]<<endrevision>>

<<continue "What?">>What?\n\n"Look, I'm saying that our highness has an upper limit to his tolerance," Est says. "And it's lower than you think. <<if $insultking > 3>>You won't get far acting [[like this."|like this."]]\n<<else>><<if $insultking > 0>>There's been some fairly public friction between you two. I hope you're not planning to continue [[like that."|like this."]]\n<<else>><<if $insultking > -4>>You've been trying to earn his trust. But [[not hard enough,|hardenough]] I think."\n<<else>>He's not cursing you up and down the river palace, but you need to [[be careful."]]\n<<endif>><<endif>><<endif>>

<<set $cry = false>>Your father always said that a lord's face shows only that which it is his advantage to show.\n\nSo you look down at your brother and you <<replace "do not cry.">>tell yourself: oh, //fucking heavens,// there isn't a point to crying, because what is it but a thing to do with your body, like laughing or talking at a party, a thing for people to see?\n\nAnd so you shut your eyes and behind them in the dark your tears vanish, like a hot exhalation <<insert "on a cold day.">>\n\nBut when you open your eyes, of course, the corpse is [[still there.]]<<endinsert>><<endreplace>>

<<set $insultking -= 1>>You stand and grip his hand. He smiles. Up close, you can see that his teeth are very square, <<continue "very white.">>very white.\n\nSome philosopher has been <<continue "cleaning them.">>cleaning them.\n\nSome philosopher has been [[killing himself]] so the king's men will look good when they're snarling.

So you hope to hell that the pledge <<replace "doesn't go wrong.">>doesn't go wrong.\n\nBecause if it did, he might have to.\n\n[[+++|MONTH ONE]]<<endrevision>><<endreplace>>

He taps his fingers on his knee. "Nothing," he says.\n\n"Nothing," you repeat. "Look. I'm the king's loyal servant. I have and continue to be a devoted supporter. You know this."\n\n[["But,"]] Est says.

Local lords and philosophers come-- fifty faces you know, and a hundred that you don't. They watch <<replace>>your every motion.<<becomes>>your impatient swaying.<<becomes>>the way you wince when the knife <<revise blood "draws blood">><<revision blood>><<becomes>>draws blood<<endrevision>> from your forearm.<<revision blood>><<becomes>>\n\nYou shake your arm over the blade. The new Chancellor, standing by as your sponsor, flinches when a drop stains the sleeve of her robe.\n\nAnd Louis, too, flinches in the front row of [[the crowd.]]<<endrevision>><<endreplace>>

Est smiles, shows his teeth again. "Times have changed." He gestures at the sheathed knife hanging at your belt. "Last time we met, you weren't threatening anyone with [[ancient and inescapable death."|deathresponse]]

<<set $comfort = $comfort - 1>>You cuff him on the shoulder and offer him the knife in its bloodstained sheath. "That's uncle's vengance," you tell him. He holds it by the tips of his fingers, disgusted.\n\n"Your daddy's damn bloodyminded," Est says.\n\nLouis makes a worried frown and reaches to touch the bandage on your forearm. "Just his arm," he says.\n\nEst roars in laughter and claps you on the shoulder. "I'd no idea you Villanos cared so much about the old ways," he says. "What, are blood-feuds common on Swan Hill? Horse theiving? <<replace>>Witchery?"<<becomes>>Witchery?"\n\nYou ignore the backhanded insults. "Come by the villa sometime," you tell him, smiling. "We'll discuss [[precisely how old|how damn serious]] Swan Hill is."<<endreplace>>

Your carriage was parked in front of your brother's <<replace "house.">>shabby little downtown villa.<<endreplace>> You'd drawn the blinds. Louis, your smallest son, was napping on the opposite seat.\n\nIn your hands you held <<replace "the bottle of spirits.">>the peace-offering.\n\n[[Five years]] since you'd seen your brother last.<<endreplace>>

<<set $insultking -= 2>>You look Est dead in the eye.\n\n"You're right," you say. "I've been out of line."\n\nBut he's <<replace "waiting.">>waiting. You haven't <<replace "said enough.">>[[done enough.]]<<endreplace>><<endreplace>>

But your young king with his patchy beard and raw cheeks keeps sighing, shaking his head, promising you he'll have the Cavaliers on the case. The whole Cavaliers! They'll kill whoever did it, he promises. Witches, he says. It was probably witches. Witches or seperatists, one or the other!\n\nAnd he goes on like this, unfairly alive and totally unforgiven, full of guilty bluster, making wild promises you know he cannot keep, words piled on words and every word an //insult,// until you can only stand and <<replace "tell him--">>tell him--\n\n"I'm sorry, your majesty, but I've got my rights."\n\nAnd he stares, openmouthed, like your own son does when [[you take his treats away.|promise]]<<endreplace>>

They lead you into an old classroom.\n\nThey have laid your brother out on a stone-topped laboratory table. He is naked from the waist up. A bowl holding a few bloody metal scraps sits by his elbow.\n\nReddened cloths are packed around his neck and the wounds on his shoulder and arm have been hastily bandaged.\n\nThe <<revise crying "philosophers">><<revision crying>><<becomes>>philosophers<<endrevision>> who tried and failed to save him still stand against the walls, smeared with blood.<<revision crying>><<becomes>>\n\nOne of them is silently [[crying.]]<<endrevision>>

Six Months Demo

A black carriage lurks on the curb. And Est is at your doorstep, doing the furthest thing from lurking.\n\n"Simon!" <<revise est "he exclaims.">><<revision est>><<becomes>>he exclaims.\n\n"Thankye for coming," you find yourself [[saying.|to come,"]]<<endrevision>>

"I regret it. My schedule has been crowded." Crowded with <<revision arrogantc>><<revision lectures>><<revise lectures "lectures">> on chemistry.<<becomes>>arrogant <<revise arrogantc "Cavaliers.">><<endrevision>><<becomes>>quiet endless pointless hours of <<replace "waiting.">>waiting.\n\n<<priorities>><<endreplace>><<endrevision>>

<<set $insultking += 2>>You <<revise lean "lean">><<revision lean>> forward.<<becomes>><<revise steeple "steeple">><<revision steeple>> your fingers.<<becomes>>present your fairest face. Your unassailable solemnity.\n\n"Right now," you tell him, "absolutely //nothing// in my life is more important than [[this oath."]]<<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

<<set $comfort = $comfort + 1>>You step quickly between him and the table and crouch to his level, wrapping your arms around him, burying his face in your shoulder. He hugs you, and his little fingers dig into the painful parts of your back.\n\nYou stand with effort and carry him out to the courtyard, where a second carriage now waits beside your own, <<revise king "king's livery">><<revision king>><<becomes>>king's livery<<endrevision>> painted on the side.<<revision king>><<becomes>>\n\nA tall man in Cavalier's armor is standing next to it.\n\n"If you'd be so kind to come along, milord," he says, pulling the door open. "You can bring the boy."\n\n[[+++|kingconvo]]<<endrevision>>

You walk him outside. On your doorstep, he stops and asks who you'll be investigating first.\n\n"The Cavaliers are telling me it's either [[witches|eitherwitches]] or [[separatists,"]] he says. "<<revise definitelyone "Definitely">><<revision definitelyone>><<becomes>>Definitely<<endrevision>> one or the other."<<revision definitelyone>><<becomes>>\n\nIt makes sense, of course-- but the cavaliers haven't even begun a real investigation yet. [[How could they]] be so sure?<<endrevision>>

<<set $burned = 0>>In one box, you have the <<cyclinglink "surprise" "dismay" "shame" end>> of finding your brother's love letters-- to and from <<revision hellknows>>hell-knows-<<revise hellknows "who.">><<becomes>>other men, evidently. Not much of a surprise.\n\nIt feels like a violation to read them. You pack the box shut tight, but when you look up again you find your eyes wet and stinging. All he left behind was letters, no heartbroken lover met you at the door, the letters are so //old--//\n\nAnd you wonder, half for your own sake, whether he would want them [[burned]] or [[not.|notburned]]<<endrevision>>

<<set $servedbottle = false>>He doesn't. And you can't even bear to keep it among your things.\n\nSo you go to hide it in the <<continue "cellar.">>cellar, where Louis sits in the middle of the floor, beside a stack of old books the philosophers must have missed.\n\n"What are you doing down here?" you ask.\n\n"Reading," he says, and closes his book with a <<continue "snap.">>snap.\n\nBut you catch a glimpse of the page: the arithmetic of heat and energy, lists of metals and caustic fluids. It's an old [[philosophy text.]]

<<if $servedbottle>>You get it from the library and<<else>>It's still sitting on the cellar floor. You<<endif>> take it out onto the balcony.\n\nYou stopped drinking years ago when you had that bout of summer fever. You sweat yourself down from //slim// to //skeleton// in a month. <<revision suredying>>You were<<becomes>>Everyone was<<endrevision>> sure you were <<revise suredying "dying.">><<revision suredying>><<becomes>>dying.<<endrevision>> Anna ran the entire duchy by herself while you wasted away. You drank, buckets and <<revise thegood "buckets,">><<revision thegood>><<becomes>>buckets,<<endrevision>> because it helped you sleep.<<revision thegood>><<becomes>>\n\nYou told her, //"If I've gotta die, at least I'll die// [[drunk."|drunk.]]<<endrevision>>

You would have told him everything was fine.\n\nWho are you kidding? You never trusted him enough to share your problems. You never had that kind of relationship. You wish you did, but [[you didn't.]]\n\n

You are not sure <<replace>>what to say.<<becomes>>what to say.\n\nThe Cavalier in the carriage told you that your brother took the blow on purpose, that he stepped between the king and death.\n\nSo <<revise what "what do you say">><<revision what>><<becomes>>what do you say<<endrevision>> to someone like that, even if he is the king?\n\n<<revision what>><<becomes>>You express deference and gratitiude, as you always do. "Thankye, your majesty," you manage.\n\nThen you sit hard on the nearest armchair and bury your face [[in your hands.]]<<endrevision>><<endreplace>>

Six Months is an interactive novel about family, power, revenge, and faking it until you make it. I consider it an anti-Game-of-Thrones: it's a fantasy story where nobody is a genius schemer, nobody's titillating cruelty looks even the least bit cool, and the grand wars and gestures of "epic" adventure have realistically fucked-up consequences.\n\nSix Months has numerous choices and will have more than three unique endings, but I don't consider it to be a story "about choice." It's more about the ways I can use its unusual, color-based "grammar" to make the //reading experience itself// interactive. Hypertext lets me mess with meaning, timing, and emphasis in ways that normal text does not.\n\nI've been working on Six Months for over two years. Its current version contains over 85,000 words. It takes most readers about four hours to read through months 1-4. (I am currently writing Month 5.)\n\nMy goal is to eventually release Six Months as part of an interactive story collection with several other tales from the same fantasy world, some of which use different "text mechanics." It will be a primarily tablet-focused experience, with additional releases on PC and Mac.\n\nHow long will it take me to finish? I have no fucking clue. I have a day job. It's a significant portion of my free time, though, and has been since 2014.\n\n[[back|realstart]]

While they search for treasure, you and Louis set up camp in your brother's neglected sitting-room.\n\n"Let's have something to do," you tell him. And so together you sort Robert's private papers: ledgers in one pile, outstanding bills in another, [[correspondence]] in a third.

The room feels suddenly cramped. You look around at the stacks of boxes, the drifts of musty paper on the floor. The Cavaliers can clean all this up, if they want it so badly.\n\nBut a breeze is coming in through the window. "Let's finish our talk <<revise outside "outside,">><<revision outside>><<becomes>>outside,<<endrevision>>" you say.<<revision outside>><<becomes>>\n\nThere's a circle of stools and mold-spotted armchairs in the courtyard-- a miniature schoolroom. Soller and Maria pick their favorite seats. How many times did they sit here with your brother? Who were his friends? Who was he writing to? The king might know someday, if anyone bothers to read all those papers. But you won't. You've surrendered that possibility.\n\nThat's the give-and-take at work.\n\n[[+++|estconvo]]<<endrevision>>

"Look at it from the boy's perspective," he says. Unctious, now.\n\n"The //king's,"// you say.\n\n"Well, look at it from his perspective. What were you thinking? No disrespect meant, but if //my// vassals started making public death vows, I'd be shoring up [[the gates,|gates.]] for sure!"

His name is Darmin. He ranks a Prefect. He and thirty of his soldiers will all be searching for whoever killed your brother. "The moment we have anything to go on, of course," he says.\n\nHe sits across the fire from you with his hands folded on his belly and the tip of his boot on the fireplace grate<<if $burned > 0>>, as if he doesn't feel the heat at all. But he sees the fuel, and the pile of papers at your feet. "Burning evidence?" he asks.\n\n"No," you say. "Not your concern." And<<if $cry eq false>>, just as when you saw the corpse,<<endif>> you manage to show nothing on your face<<if $cry>>-- an improvement. Your father would be proud.<<else>>.<<endif>><<else>>.<<endif>>\n\n"We'll need everything," he says. "All his documents."\n\nAnd you think, no, no, //heavens no,// but you [[say]] much less--

A heavy glass bottle, wax and gold leaf over the cork. Your life's work, this.\n\nIn your father's day, Swan Hill whiskey was sold in clay pots. A mid-range purchase. Good for a country tavern's top shelf, but not good enough for a merchant or aristocracy.\n\nYour father's domain was the warpath, long marches in armor under blistering summer suns. But your domain is the ledger and the logbook, and thanks to your inky labor this tall, elegant bottle is now [[worth its weight in coin.|weight in coin.]]

"But I have to finish this," you tell him. "This is an //ancient oath."//\n\nThere's a sudden bloom of frustrated blush high on his cheek. He <<revise whips "whips">><<revision whips>><<becomes>>whips<<endrevision>> forward in his chair.<<revision whips>><<becomes>>\n\n"But we're not ancient fucking //people,// are we?" he [[growls.|are we?"]]<<endrevision>>

You <<revise pause "pause,">><<revision pause>><<becomes>>pause,<<endrevision>> hand on the doorknob. <<revision pause>><<becomes>>\n\nA lord only shows <<revise thoseemotions "those emotions">><<revision thoseemotions>><<becomes>>those emotions<<endrevision>> which he [[benefits]] from showing.<<revision thoseemotions>><<becomes>>\n\nBut a lord also does precisely [[what he wants.]]<<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

"When your uncle was a little boy, they sent him here to Rindberg," you say. "Only a few years older than you are now. They sent him <<revise alone "alone">><<revision alone>><<becomes>>alone<<endrevision>> to live in the city by himself."<<revision alone>><<becomes>>\n\nBright eyes for a moment. Does he think that sounds fun?<<endrevision>>\n\n"They sent him here alone and he lived here alone, away from the family, for his [[whole life."|you say.]]

"They said that in the book," Louis says. "The blood-price."\n\nNo one in your family is paying a blood price for anything. Nobody will be in pain for any reason at all. <<replace "You love them too much.">>You love them too much.\n\nYou love them so much you've sat awake at nights shuddering that they'd choose to die for power. But for some reason you've never told Louis about that, never told Francis or Rachel or Em either, because you cannot admit to your own children that you've sat awake at night crying about this. It doesn't seem like <<replace "something a lord should do.">>something a lord should do.\n\nBesides, even if the love between you broke down someday, the command would remain:\n\nNo Villanos in the university. No one [[killing themselves|your command]] for a vocation.<<endreplace>><<endreplace>>

They do not interrupt, but they stare.\n\nAnd when you wipe your eyes, of course, the corpse is [[still there.]]

"A //phil-o// researcher," you say, and let your voice drip with skepticism.\n\nThe new Chancellor is not amused. "Robert was killed by an explosive. Where there's explosives, there's philosophy. Black powders, blue fires, <<revise pyrog "pyroglycerine,">><<revision pyrog>><<becomes>>pyroglycerine,<<endrevision>> and the rest."<<revision pyrog>><<becomes>> And then she looks at you hard, as if she knows exactly what quarrel broke you from your brother five long years ago. <<endrevision>>\n\nAnd she's right, of course. So you sigh and nod and [[concede|Only maybe.]] the point.

<<set $comfort -= 1>>"What's that like?" you ask.\n\nShe looks away, wrings her hands. "Well, it's not fun," she says, and crosses the room.\n\nLouis watches her go, wide-eyed, confused. He's never seen philosophers talk about their work before.\n\nYou've never [[let him.]]

Est is <<replace "an ass.">>an ass.\n\nAnd you remember suddenly that as children you and some other sons-of-lords called this man //Ass,// called his father //Lord Ass,// because it sounded barely--barely!-- like //Est.//\n\nDoes he remember that? He probably does. He probably thinks you're a maniac. All this careful talk-- your talk, the king's talk, Est's smooth persuasion-- is like a thin drumskin stretched over [[a snakepit|andnow]] of old and tangled resentments.<<endreplace>>

Witches. Whatever is there to say to that?\n\nYou put the bowl down and <<revise turn turn>><<revision turn>><<becomes>>turn<<endrevision>> away from the body<<revision turn>>.<<becomes>> and toward your son, frozen in the middle of the floor, his eyes locked on his uncle.\n\nDamn it, [[the child.]]<<endrevision>>

Est is waiting for your response, for your [[vow of compliance.|sootheest]] But it would be an empty vow. And you are [[not in the habit|challengeest]] of making promises you might have to break.

Soller's brought <<revision youngwoman>>some <<revise youngwoman "young woman.">><<becomes>>his girlfriend, for crying out loud.<<endrevision>> They pile into the room and drop crates of papers all over the floor.\n\n"Are you the fellow from the Cavaliers?" Soller asks Darmin. He comes thumping over for a handshake, and you are pleased to see how his graceless crowding makes the soldier [[wince.|evidence,"]]

Since your father died, there hasn't been a single wedding, birth, or death in the family over which you haven't presided. But here, you have no role. No one from the family even speaks.\n\nWhen he took his vocation, Robert gave himself, body and soul, to <<revise theuniversity "the university.">><<revision theuniversity>><<becomes>><<revise theuniversity2 "the university.">><<revision theuniversity2>><<becomes>><<revise theuniversity3 "the university.">><<revision theuniversity3>><<becomes>><<revise theuniversity4 "the university.">><<revision theuniversity4>><<becomes>>the university.<<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>>\n\nThey choose the burial site.<<endrevision>><<revision theuniversity2>><<becomes>> They order the headstone.<<endrevision>><<revision theuniversity3>><<becomes>> They pick the spirit cantos for the fiddlers.<<endrevision>><<revision theuniversity4>><<becomes>> The new Chancellor is the one who throws the coins onto his coffin.<<endrevision>>\n\nYou and Louis have <<continue "front-row seats.">>front-row seats, but you are [[spectators.]]

You slam the door shut, louder than you mean to.\n\nYou hear his carriage <<revise pullaway "pull away">><<revision pullaway>><<becomes>>pull away<<endrevision>> outside.<<revision pullaway>><<becomes>>\n\nAnd when he's gone, you finally haul yourself [[upstairs.|stay here."]]<<endrevision>>

There's a fierce glamour in being so perversely backward. It's a light that attracts a certain kind of suicidal moth.\n\nWhile Est chatters on, you notice one drab moth in grey-and-black on the far wall: your companion from the carriage, that tall Cavalier from the King's personal staff. You trade blank stares.\n\nAnd when Est has left, the new Chancellor, the biggest moth of all, comes by and speaks low in your ear. "A [[moment of your time,"|moment of your time,]] she says.

"Why good luck?" you ask.\n\nHe shrugs. "If you really want to root out a separatist plot against the king, you'll have to go to Taschender yourself. And they [[don't like Villanos|upstairs]] over there, I hear."

<<set $burned = 1>>You kneel on the hearth and search for the matches. "I can light it, sir," Maria says, but you push her hand away.\n\n"No philosophy," you command. She can kill herself slowly on her own time.\n\nWhen Soller comes back, he sees the fire in the grate and has enough sense to close the door behind him. There's a look on his face you can't quite read. <<replace "Fear?">>Nervous anticipation?<<becomes>>[[Excitement?|the fire]]<<endreplace>>

But he never came.\n\nAnd an hour after the appointed time, as your son began to whinge and your impatience reached a crescendo, a liveried messenger in king's colors came running down the street to rap on your carriage door.\n\n[["Milord,"|Milord]] he said.

"Well, that was part of it," you say. "I'd <<revise hoped "hoped">><<revision hoped>><<becomes>>hoped<<endrevision>> to catch his ear for a moment or two." <<revision hoped>><<becomes>>You'd meant to talk about water rights in the upland valleys. Or something. You had a page of notes.<<endrevision>>\n\nEst smiles. "But I suppose that fell by the wayside."\n\nHeavens, it did. Was missing that courtesy a [[mistake?]] You were distracted. Your brother was dead. It was [[hardly all your fault.|it did.]]

<<set $suspicion = 1>>"Witches, probably," you say.\n\nWitches have been threatening to kill the royalty for centuries. It seems like you can't lead a witch coalition if you haven't made a good, respectable assassination threat.\n\nEst gives a derisive chuckle. "[[Good luck]] with that, then," he says.

<<set $comfort = $comfort - 1>>So you stand there and watch with the rest of the room as your son bawls his eyes out in the middle of the floor<<if $cry eq false>>, wishing you could join him, wishing you wanted to.<<else>>. We all deserve a turn.<<endif>>\n\nAnd then you lead him out to the courtyard, where a second carriage now waits beside your own, <<revise king "king's livery">><<revision king>><<becomes>>king's livery<<endrevision>> painted on the side.<<revision king>><<becomes>>\n\nA tall man in Cavalier's armor is standing next to it.\n\n"If you'd be so kind to come along, milord," he says, pulling the door open. "You can bring the boy."\n\n[[+++|kingconvo]]<<endrevision>>

You're lying on the bedspread with all the lamps off and the windows open, listening to the far-off yells of carousing sailors, when the thought occurs to you:\n\nThere's still that fucking [[Swan Hill whiskey]] in the house.

It's Louis, crouched beside a pile of moldy books the philosophers must have missed.\n\n"What are you doing down here?" you ask.\n\n"Reading," he says, and closes his book with a <<continue "snap.">>snap.\n\nBut you catch a glimpse of the page: the arithmetic of heat and energy, lists of metals and caustic fluids. It's an old [[philosophy text.]]

His elastic little face crushes up like a sponge. "Papa," he begins.\n\n<<if $cry eq false>>And you know he is about to wail, even shriek, and that you should comfort him or silence him and [[save him|nocry]] the embarassment your father saved you.<<else>>And you know he's about to wail, even shriek, and you know that you should silence him or somehow [[stop him.|nocry]]<<endif>>\n\nBut heavens, you're tired. And no one can blame you if your smallest boy [[cries|yescry]] over dead kin.

<<set $insultking += 1>>A lord does precisely what he wants. "You don't understand a damn thing about my relationship with Robert," you say.\n\nEst shrugs, looks away. "I know he was a pacifist," he says.\n\n"What's that supposed to mean?" you snap. "He died for the king!"\n\nEst still won't [[meet your gaze.]]

You feel <<cyclinglink "ill." "dizzy." "exhausted." "embarassed." "lonely." "like a dead man." "like a failure." end>>\n\nThe bottle is heavy and precious in your hands.\n\nAnd though looking at it makes you feel sick to your stomach again, a full night's sleep seems [[very attractive]] right now.

Darmin stands. The meeting is over. "Keep in touch with my office," he says. <<if $burned > 0>>He gestures at the fire in the grate, at the boxes of papers heaped on the floor. <<endif>>"I'll send some men around tomorrow to collect the Chancellor's papers."\n\nHe steps across the hearth, hand extended for the shake that [[civilizes everything.|shake]]

When you were still speaking to one another, Robert told you that he expected to <<revise die "die">><<revision die>><<becomes>>die<<endrevision>> from philosophy.<<revision die>><<becomes>>\n\nAnd philosophy did kill him, but not in the way he expected. There was no slow end, no gradual weakening over the years, no surprise death face-down beside his desk.\n\nBut that fate waits for the men and women in this hallway, marching to their deaths with [[quiet library steps.|quietsteps]]<<endrevision>>

<<set $bottle = 0>>You're avenging the death of a man who never gave <<revise shit "a single shit">><<revision shit>><<becomes>>a single shit<<endrevision>> about you.<<revision shit>><<becomes>>\n\nIt's getting late. You need your sleep.\n\nYou stand and <<revise hurlth "hurl">><<revision hurlth>><<becomes>>hurl<<endrevision>> the bottle off the balcony.<<revision hurlth>><<becomes>> It explodes against the cobblestones, and the sound startles two late-night carousers further down the hill. Their strangled little yelping [[insults]] float up the street.<<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

He says, "I must admit, I've heard some things."\n\n"Heard what things?"\n\n<<if $insultking > 3>>"That your aggression towards his highness is totally unmasked," he says. "You won't get far acting [[like that."|like this."]]\n<<else>><<if $insultking > 0>>"That there's been some friction between you and his highness," he says. And <<replace "smiles.">>smiles, the shithead.<<endreplace>> "I hope you're not planning to continue [[like that."|like this."]]\n<<else>><<if $insultking > -4>>"That you've been trying to earn his highness's trust," he says. "But [[not hard enough."|hardenough]]\n<<else>>"I'm not saying the king is cursing you up and down the river palace," Est says. "You've been fairly kind to him. But you need to [[be careful."]]\n<<endif>><<endif>><<endif>>

The king is always younger than you expect, always, because you knew the last one so well, and age was such a part of him. \n\nAnd this one is such a curiously hideous fellow, with big red patches on his face, as if shaving gives him <<insert "trouble.">> Heavens! He's young, but not [[that young.]]<<endreplace>>

You look closely. It is your brother's face, his whole self, accurate and real but dead. Heavy. A corpse. He cannot accept your gift and forgive you.\n\nThere is <<revise pressure "a great pressure">><<revision pressure>><<becomes>>a great pressure<<endrevision>> behind your eyes. A wet stinging.<<revision pressure>><<becomes>>\n\nThere are many people watching to see how the honorable duke will greet his dead kin. Will he [[weep?|pressure]]\n\nBut you [[have not wept|no weeping]] where others could see you since you were a boy.<<endrevision>>

<<set $burned = 1>><<set $insultking += 1>>You're still feeding them into the fireplace when Louis taps you on the shoulder.\n\n<<display cavalierarrives>>

You don't drink. At home, Anna handles this kind of thing. And she only serves Swan Hill stuff, anyway.\n\nYou search the house, but your brother's kitchen is bare. In the pantry, you find only a sack of oats with moths living in it.\n\n"He only ate at the school," Soller explains. "And he kept his liquor in his office." He smiles. [["Swan Hill label,|"Swan Hill stuff,]] I think."

Good thing he doesn't seem to expect an answer. He peers over the top of the crowd, searching for someone. "Your wife's not here?" he asks.\n\nAnna doesn't even know any of this has happened. "It's a five day trip to the manor. The earliest messages might get there tonight," you say.\n\n"So she doesn't know about the oath yet," Est says. Slight lift to the corner of his mouth.\n\n"She doesn't," you admit. That's not a [[conversation]] you're looking forward to.

Pacing on the carpet, he chokes out the whole story. "Someone threw it out of the crowd. My men don't know this city. They had no indication-- there was nothing to show it would happen," he says. "Heavens, man, your brother was quick! He moved so fast!"\n\nThe king shudders, shows you the cuts on his forehead where a bit of pointed metal found its way through <<revise flesh "your brother's flesh.">><<revision flesh>><<becomes>>your brother's flesh.<<endrevision>> And cuts on his arm, too, and shining fragments caught in the material of his jacket. He bends down to show you a few in the palm of his hand.<<revision flesh>><<becomes>>\n\nYou grit your teeth and turn your head away and narrowly, narrowly avoid [[vomiting.]]<<endrevision>>

<<set $burned = 2>><<set $insultking += 1>><<if $comfort > 1>>The question panicks him. "I don't know," he blurts.<<else>>He shrugs, looks away. "I don't know," he says.<<endif>>\n\nBut <<continue "you do.">>you do.\n\nYou take the whole box of papers and [[hurl it|toss it]] into the fireplace.

And so is <<continue "Lord Est.">>Lord Est.\n\nWhen the ceremony is over, he comes plowing up through the crowd like a tall ship in a crowded port. He meets you with the same unctious, forced grief he showed at the oath ceremony. "My condolances, again," he says. "I can't stop thinking about it. What a tragedy."\n\nHe shakes your hand. You meet his gaze. <<if $cry eq false>>Once again,<<else>>At least this time,<<endif>> your eyes are dry and you are perfectly composed.\n\n"You're holding up well," he says.\n\nWhat does anyone even [[say|saytothat]] to that?

<<set $cry = true>>Your father always said that a lord's face should only betray those emotions which it is his advantage to show.\n\nBut he <<revise isntheren "isn't">><<revision isntheren>><<becomes>>isn't<<endrevision>> here now<<revision isntheren>>.<<becomes>>, he <<revise hasntb "hasn't">><<revision hasntb>><<becomes>>hasn't<<endrevision>> been for decades<<revision hasntb>>.<<becomes>>, and of the whole family that lived in that cold manor on the hilltop you are now the <<replace "only one left alive.">>//only one left alive,// so damn it, damn everything, you'll cry. Fucking heavens, you'll cry, not just for your brother but for yourself, alive but <<replace "unforgiven.">>unforgiven.\n\nWorthlessly alive, and unfairly unforgiven.\n\nSo you let the others [[think]] what they may.<<endreplace>><<endreplace>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

You hold his little shoulder tight. You would <<revise neversend "never send him away.">><<revision neversend>><<becomes>>never send him away.<<endrevision>> Does he understand that?<<revision neversend>><<becomes>>\n\nYou've sat awake at nights, shuddering at the idea that your children would come to a shit city like Rindberg to live alone and slowly //kill themselves// for power. But you've never told Louis, never told Francis or Rachel or Emily either, because for some reason you cannot admit to your own children that you've sat awake at night crying about this. It doesn't seem like <<replace "something a lord should do.">>something a lord should do.\n\nBesides, even if the love between you broke down someday, the command would remain:\n\nNo Villanos in the university. No one [[killing themselves|your command]] for a vocation.<<endreplace>><<endrevision>>

"You don't remember your uncle, but his hands used to shake," you tell him.\n\n"I do remember," Louis protests. But he was four. He doesn't remember.\n\n"His hands shook all the time," you explain. You imitate the shake yourself. "He was always in pain. The philosophy wore him down. That's [[what philosophy does.]] It made him hurt all day, every day of his life. All the time."

You can't hear what they're shouting, but you've got <<revise wordsen "words enough">><<revision wordsen>><<becomes>>words enough<<endrevision>> for yourself.<<revision wordsen>><<becomes>>\n\nTake your shit inside, you pathetic waste. You wretch. No one wants to see you like this.\n\nGo to sleep, man. Go to sleep.\n\n[[+++|endofmonth]]<<endrevision>>

"Then you might solve this whole thing in under a month," you say.\n\n"Not quite," Darmin says. "You can't just kill everyone who mixes their black powder the same way."\n\n"But //you// can arrest them," you point out. "Investigate them. Look up their politics."\n\nDarmin winces, spreads his hands, as if to say //[[It's not]] that simple.//\n\n[[But it is,]] isn't it? Shouldn't it be?

Robert's beard is caked with blood. His face is pale. A neck-- a //neck wound.// You hide a shudder and lean forward and put your hand on his forehead. It is not too cold, yet.\n\nYour hand drifts to the bowl at his elbow. It holds the bloody metal scraps. Each is as long as your thumb.\n\nYou lift the bowl and hold it up to the philosophers. "Was <<revise allthis "all this">><<revision allthis>><<becomes>>all this<<endrevision>> in him?" you ask.<<revision allthis>><<becomes>>\n\nThey nod. One dares to speak up. "Some kind of explosive, milord."\n\n"Some <<revise phil "philosophy">><<revision phil>><<becomes>>philosophy<<endrevision>> thing?" you ask. "A philosophic attack?"<<revision phil>><<becomes>>\n\nThey trade looks of pitiable panic. "Could be [[witches,"|witches]] one says.<<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

<<set $insultking = $insultking - 1>>"Yes," you tell him, and glance over your shoulder. Patchy child, king before his time. But he's owed a certain <<replace "respect.">>respect. "Your //majesty,//" you add, and bow.\n\nThen you head out the door to collect little Louis, red-faced and patchy himself. He wouldn't do any better at [[replacing you.]]<<endreplace>>

It <<revise says1 "says">><<revision says1>><<becomes>><<revise says2 "says">><<revision says2>><<becomes>><<revise says3 "says">><<revision says3>><<becomes>><<revise says4 "says">><<revision says4>><<becomes>>says<<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>> <<revision says1>>//This is horrible.//<<becomes>>//This is horrible// and <<revision says2>>//Robert didn't deserve this.//<<becomes>>//Robert didn't deserve this// and <<revision says3>>//The whole manor's in mourning.//<<becomes>>//The whole manor's in mourning// and //It's a fucking tragedy// and <<revision says4>>//The children send you their love.//<<becomes>>//The children send you their love// and //I'm coming down to see you as soon as I can// and //Is Louis all right? How did he take it?// and //I wish I was there//\n\n<<replace "and">>and //Simon. I can't believe you've done this. This is the worst thing that's ever happened to this family, but you can't go around threatening to kill people for it. You're putting yourself and the duchy at// <<replace "risk.">>//risk.\n\nYou shouldn't have done this. I love you but you// <<replace "never">>//never// <<replace "should">>//should// <<replace "have">>//have// <<replace "done">>//done// <<replace "this.">>//this.//\n\n[[+++|theend]]<<endreplace>><<endreplace>><<endreplace>><<endreplace>><<endreplace>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

"Everything's a mess," you would have told him. "Everything's out of control."\n\nAnd he would have laughed and said, //What the hell did you expect? How can you be in control of //anything// when you're trying to stab a guy?//\n\nYou <<revise holdthe "hold">><<revision holdthe>> the thought in your head.<<becomes>><<revision balcony>><<revise balcony "leave">> the balcony.<<becomes>> lock the whiskey [[outside.]]<<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

You've sat awake at nights, <<revise shudderingat "shuddering">><<revision shudderingat>><<becomes>>shuddering<<endrevision>> at the idea that your children would choose to die for power.<<revision shudderingat>><<becomes>> But for some reason you've never told Louis, never told Francis or Rachel or Em either, because you cannot admit to your own children that you've sat awake at night crying about this. It doesn't seem like <<replace "something a lord should do.">>something a lord should do.\n\nBesides, even if the love between you broke down someday, the command would remain:\n\nNo Villanos in the university. No one [[killing themselves|your command]] for a vocation.<<endreplace>><<endrevision>>

@@font-size: 300%;line-height:150%;''SIX MONTHS DEMO''@@\n\nSix Months is an interactive novel.\n\nIt is a sequel to [[my Twine game, Swan Hill.|http://lauramichet.com/swanhill.html]] Although it's not required, I recommend reading Swan Hill before trying Six Months. It takes 15 minutes or less for most people to read.\n\n[[Start reading Six Months|begin]]\n\n[[More about Six Months|faq]]\n[[My website|https://blog.lauramichet.com/]]\n[[My twitter|https://twitter.com/lmichet]]

You put the lid back on that particular box and slide it under your chair. Perhaps someone will come and <<revise ask "ask">><<revision ask>><<becomes>>ask<<endrevision>> for them.<<revision ask>><<becomes>> But <<replace "they won't.">>if anyone did, what would you even <<replace "say?">>say?\n\nAnd so you move the box across the room and under a table and you pile five more boxes on top of it, and frantic like a graverobber caught in the act, you are still burying it when someone comes knocking at [[the door.|cavalierarrives]]<<endreplace>><<endreplace>><<endrevision>>

The conversation turns. And later, when you've exhausted all avenues of carefully and emptily polite small-talk, Est excuses himself.\n\n"My wife will be wondering if you've killed me," he says.\n\nReally? He'd [[joke]] about that?

"We should meet again soon," Est says. "Haven't had time to talk. Soon? <<revise tomorrownight "Tomorrow night?">><<revision tomorrownight>>"<<becomes>>Tomorrow night?"\n\nUntil Soller's tests come back, your days are empty. "Certainly," you say.\n\n"I'll come around to the villa." He turns to leave, then checks himself. "I saw that the king didn't come," he says.\n\n[["Security reasons,"]] you say.<<endrevision>>

"Put that down," you snap.\n\nLouis drops the book like a hot stone. "I was curious," he says. But he knows the <<continue "rules.">><<revise rules2 "rules.">><<revision rules2>><<becomes>><<revise rules3 "rules.">><<revision rules3>><<becomes>>rules.<<endrevision>><<endrevision>>\n\nYou've never allowed any of your children to study natural philosophy.<<revision rules2>><<becomes>>\n\nYou've never allowed them to try casting a formula.<<revision rules3>><<becomes>>\n\nYou've never allowed them to hurt themselves for [[power.]]<<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

Maria is a chemist, like your brother once was. She talks at the ceiling, her face lifted not in haughtiness or scorn but in <<revise fascination "rapt fascination">><<revision fascination>><<becomes>>rapt fascination<<endrevision>> with the alchemy of death.<<revision fascination>><<becomes>>\n\nShe explains how ancient philosophers leached firesalt out of the stones of the earth. How they rendered sulphur from human shit. How they mixed the lot with fine-ground kiln ash, and how<<revise exper " they experimented">><<revision exper>> with the results.<<becomes>>, while experimenting, they nearly [[blew their heads off.]]<<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

"Good luck?"\n\n"Well, your suspect list now includes every washerwoman, fisherman, tinker, and cattle drover in the capital county," he says. "Heavens, man. [[Anyone|upstairs]] could be a witch."

Laura Michet

You follow her into the hallway, where drooping philosophers stand in quiet groups and wring their aching hands.\n\nThe new Chancellor places an insistent palm on your shoulder. "Lord Villano," she says. "We need to talk about [[your staff."|your staff]]

<<set $servedbottle = true>>If Est wants it, he can have it. You set it out on the library sideboard with one of Robert's cleanest glasses. \n\nIt hardly counts as a library anymore, though. The shelves are empty and marked with dust. Your brother's leather-topped desk has been removed, and there are bright blonde scrapes on the wooden floor to show the way it went.\n\nAnd there's a shuffling in the corner, behind an armchair, that may be [[a rat.]]

It's fucking ridiculous.\n\nAnd now <<response>>

"Like <<revise likewhat "what?">><<revision likewhat>>"<<becomes>>what?"<<endrevision>> you ask.<<revision likewhat>><<becomes>>\n\n"Like someone he [[can't control."|can't control,"]]<<endrevision>>

<<set $comfort -= 1>>"These are the rules," you tell him. "No philosophy. Maybe when I'm dead you'll all change your minds. But while I'm here, nobody in this house is ending up like your uncle. He was miserable. Do you understand?"\n\nHe says nothing to this. You see his little brow furrow as he searches for words.\n\nBut before he can say them, someone begins knocking on [[the door.]]

"Show him the way out, Soller," you manage to say. \n\nThey leave the room. You hear Darmin's cavalry boots and Soller's iron-soled laboratory shoes going together down the hall.\n\nYou turn to your son. "What shall we do with [[your uncle's things?"|toburn]] you ask.

<<set $comfort = 0>><<set $insultking = 0>><<set $bottle = 10>><<set $donation = false>><<set $burned = 0>><<set $suspicion = 0>><<set $seephilo = true>><<set $anna = 0>><<set $arguekeeplouis = false>><<set $changemindlouis = false>><<set $darmin = 0>><<set $rightback = false>><<set $slap = false>><<set $partyconvobad = false>><<set $est = 0>><<set $darmin = 0>><<set $coward = false>>

By the time Soller comes rushing back, the the room is filled with dust and smoke, the philosophers are shouting and running in the hallway, and Maria and Louis are wrestling with the windows.\n\nAll the love-letters burn. If Robert wanted people to read them, he would have [[framed them in the front hallway.|in the hallway.]]

SUSPICION-- 0 = nobody, 1 = witches, 2 = seperatists\n\nSERVEDBOTTLE-- true, did; false, didn't serve whiskey\n\nBOTTLE-- how many drinks left in the bottle\n\nBURNED-- 0, didn't burn any evidence; 1, burned some; 2, burned it all publicly

You take out your checkbook. "What does the king need help with, these days?" you ask. "What's he building in the capital?"\n\nEst<<if $servedbottle>> gets up to pour himself a second drink.<<else>> grins.<<endif>> "There's a new library being built at the palace," he says. "Thing [[your brother]] might have liked, eh?"

The shelves are empty and marked with dust. Most of the furniture is gone, and there are bright blonde scrapes on the wooden floor to show the way it all went. There's still a pair of threadbare armchairs, though, and a fire going.\n\nEst seems surprised at the rough accomodations, the lack of refreshment. Does he chalk it up to your country rearing?\n\nBut he's polite. He sits and gets to business immediately. <<surprised>>

Louis is a lump under his covers. His bed is covered in tattered <<replace "books.">>books. You check them. No more philosophy texts.<<endreplace>>\n\nBut //you// have no desire to rest. At home you'd do accounts, or walk the manor grounds. But there's nothing to do here.\n\nYou've had a hard time sleeping in your brother's room, anyway. And it's not any easier [[tonight.]]

<<realstart>>

"I'm doing the Six Months Pledge," you tell him. Out of your mouth before you can think.\n\nHe curses.\n\n"Search all you want," you tell him. Your ears are growing hot. Your voice is shaking. "Please. I'll help the Cavaliers. I'll take their help. But six months from now, I'm <<revise kill "killing">><<revision kill>><<becomes>>killing<<endrevision>> the man who killed my brother."<<revision kill>><<becomes>>\n\n"Are you fucking serious? [[Nobody|nobody]] //does// that kind of thing anymore."<<endrevision>>

In your country home, you might have thrown him out already.\n\nBut here, in the city, you smile, nod, and [[write the check.|leaving]]

And at that moment you'd have felt a piercing lance of guilt-- because that bottle<<revision kindness>> <<revise kindness "wasn't">><<revision kindness>><<becomes>>wasn't<<endrevision>> just a kindness.<<becomes>>. It was a braggardly demonstration of your own power, your wealth, your success. A <<revision kick>>silent <<revise kick "kick">> in the ribs.<<becomes>><<replace "look-at-me-now.">>a flourish of pride <<continue "at the wrong time.">>at the wrong time, <<continue "in the wrong place.">>in the wrong place, <<insert "undeserved.">>\n\nFucking hell! Why the did you ever bring [[this damn thing]] to the city at all?<<endreplace>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

<<set $insultking -= 1>><<if $comfort > 1>>"Give them to the king," Louis says, without a moment's pause.\n\n"And why?" you ask. But you know the reason. \n\n"He's the //king,"// Louis says.<<else>>He shrugs, looks away. "Give them to the king," Louis says.\n\n"And why?" you ask. but you know the reason.\n\n"You have to do what the king asks," he says.<<endif>> There's a note of childish surprise in his voice, confusion that you'd [[even ask.]]

"What kind of researcher?" you ask.\n\nShe beckons, and a looming young man peels himself off the wall and joins your conversation. He has a hook nose and a wide, <<replace>>disappointed mouth.<<becomes>>disappointed mouth-- Rindberg native, if you ever saw one.<<endreplace>> He forgets the bow, the //milord,// and swoops in immediately for <<replace>>a rough handshake.<<becomes>>a rough handshake. Merchant class, of course.<<endreplace>>\n\nThe new Chancellor smiles and shrugs. "Conroy Soller," she says.\n\n[["Chancellor Villano's|ybrother]] secretary, sir," the boy explains.

You employ house philosophers, of course. But your family stays out of it. Your family <<replace "stays safe.">>isn't allowed to even flirt with it. Fucking //never.//\n\nYour voice is shaking. "Let me tell you something about philosophy," you say.\n\nIt [[hurts]] like hell.\n\nIt [[kills.]]\n\nIt makes you live [[apart]] from other people.<<endreplace>>

You snort. Est doesn't even have gates. His ancestral castle is in the port district, and it's been converted into warehouses.\n\nBut he goes on. "I'm not saying it was a bad play to avenge your brother," Est says. "I can't say what I'd do in that situation. Can't say at all."\n\n"So [[what are you saying?"|threatening."]]

"No, not much," you say. Not at all, actually. Even the smell of it makes you sick now.\n\n"For your health, I heard. May I?" Est asks, but he is already cracking the wax and inspecting the dusty glass.\n\n<<surprised>>

"Don't let that man back in the house again," you tell Soller and Maria. "Not him, not any Cavalier! They get //none// of this!"\n\nSoller nods. There's a look on his face <<replace "like fear.">>like-- no, like desperate excitement. Like he wants to get in a fistfight with a Cavalier.<<endreplace>> "Of course."\n\n"You can rely on us, sir," Maria says.\n\n[[+++|estconvo]]

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It's a ridiculous request.\n\nAnd now <<response>>

Let the king have them all. <<revise theseletters "These letters">><<revision theseletters>> aren't a threat.<<becomes>>These letters aren't even a little bit embarassing.\n\nThey're heartbreaking, and that's an entirely different sort of problem.<<endrevision>>\n\nBesides, your duchy's earned enough cash in whiskey trade over the last decade to buy the damn throne. If anyone in the capital wants to build a road, dam a river, or wage a war, they'll want your gold.\n\nAnd they won't get it by attacking poor Robert's [[memory.|cash.]] <<endrevision>>

And you don't want to admit it, but of course it's true.\n\n<<response>>

<<set $insultking -= 1>>A lord only takes <<revise thoserisks "those risks">><<revision thoserisks>><<becomes>>those risks<<endrevision>> which he benefits from taking.<<revision thoserisks>><<becomes>>\n\nAnd you don't benefit from this risk at all. But you're //in it,// up to your eyeballs, and the only way out of all this is to complete the oath with dignity. To be the old-time avenger with the bloody blade. To present it back to the new Chancellor, <<replace "done.">>done.\n\n"I did the ceremony," you tell Est. "It is [[what it is."]]<<endreplace>><<endrevision>>

The next day, an hour before Est is due to arrive, you realize you have nothing appropriate for him to [[drink.]]

Your brother //would// have worred. He would have! He was that kind of man.\n\nHe could care and worry with his whole heart even for the people he didn't love.\n\n[[+++|endofmonth]]

<<set $comfort = $comfort + 1>>You pull Louis closer. "He's eight," you say.\n\n"At eight I would have had an opinion." Est grins like a horse.\n\n"He'll see enough of the old ways, before this is done."\n\n"The old ways," Est sighs. "<<revise old "Too old">><<revision old>><<becomes>>Too old<<endrevision>> for most, I think."<<revision old>><<becomes>>\n\nYou hold up the dagger in its bloody sheath. "Come by the villa sometime," you tell him. "We can talk about [[how damn old|how damn serious]] I am."<<endrevision>>

Of course nobody does this anymore; it's disgusting and ancient and a waste of everyone's time. But you'll be damned if this boy tries to get your revenge for you. You <<revise almosttell "almost">><<revision almosttell>><<becomes>>almost<<endrevision>> tell him so.<<revision almosttell>><<becomes>>\n\nInstead, you bow, wish him a swift recovery, and turn for the door. "I'll do the ceremony tomorrow," you call over your shoulder.\n\n"Wait," the king shrills. "Have you [[ever even killed a man?"|killed]]<<endrevision>>

"And what's //careful?"// you ask.\n\n"I think, in this case, careful and //compliant// are [[the same thing,"]] he says.

"I have my doubts about the Cavaliers," you admit. "They've no reason to see me succeed."\n\n"Is that why some of <<revise thepapers "the papers">><<revision thepapers>><<becomes>>the papers<<endrevision>> were missing?" Est asks.<<revision thepapers>><<becomes>> The papers? Your //brother's papers?// How on earth does he know about [[that?]]<<endrevision>>

Robert left <<revise villa "almost everything">><<revision villa>><<becomes>>almost everything<<endrevision>> to the school.<<revision villa>><<becomes>>\n\nThe university sends a team of philosophers. They pick their way through his cluttered upstairs rooms, labelling, catalouging, shaking dust from books and wrapping them in paper.\n\nYou watch his whole life come down the stairs in arms of [[strangers.]]<<endrevision>>

The buzzing academics part, and a man elbows through to your side. It's Oscar Est, Rindberg's duke. He's the only one in this room who matches you in rank-- and he wears that rank easy.\n\nEst's smile is horsey. All bared teeth. //"Very// grim old ritual, Simon," he says. "Cutting yourself. Didn't know it was done anymore." He jerks his head at Louis. "What'd you think, eh? Little man?"\n\nBut Louis doesn't answer. You're [[not sure]] you ought to [[make him.]]

He leans further forward, as if you and he share something precious.\n\n"Look. I understand. It was such terrible way for the Chancellor to go. But this //oath// was [[not a good idea,|bad idea,]] right? You know that?"\n\nThere's a <<revision burning>><<revise burning "burning">> in your ears.<<becomes>><<revision lurching>><<revise lurching "lurching">> in your chest.<<becomes>>a wet stinging behind your eyes again.<<endrevision>><<endrevision>> //Wasn't// it was a good idea? It was [[redemption!]]

<<set $insultking -= 1>>"Then what on earth do you expect us to //do// with this list, once we have it?" you ask. "This list of potential traitors to the state?"\n\n"Well, I expect you to share it," Darmin says. "And we'll see [[where we go]] from there."

Four days later-- your tenth day in the city-- you finally, finally recieve a letter from [[Anna.]]

"So what's all this about?" Darmin asks. "These little powder scrapings?"\n\n"Every formula is different," Maria explains. "Every school teaches a different mixture. My teacher taught me one method, but the students in the capital are learning from Salah Ecker, and //her// process uses much more firesalt and sulphur..."\n\n"The important thing is we can tell the difference, after the fact," Soller says. "We can tell what formula they used to make [[the bomb.|easily.]]"<<endrevision>>

You've finished the Six Months demo. This represents the prologue and the first month of the story.\n\nI'm busy composing the full story text and revise/replace mechanics in Twine. My eventual plan is to port the game to Unity in such a way that I won't have to rewrite any of the markup that controls text movement. (This will require me to learn how to do more than just create spinning cubes in Unity, however.)\n\n[[Twine|https://twinery.org/]] is fantastic. Because it's heavily modifiable using javascript, it's the best tool out there for experimenting with hypertext. If you want to tell a story that about more than just //making choices,// you should explore Twine. Six Months is written in Twine 1.4.2 and uses [[the replace macro set|http://www.glorioustrainwrecks.com/node/5462]] for its moving and changing text.\n\nThanks for taking the time to read.\n--Laura Michet\n\n[[restart|realstart]]

"You know," he says, "When I first heard you were in town, I assumed it was to [[meet the king|the king."]] before he headed back to the capital."

<<if $servedbottle>>You lead him into the library. <<servedbottle>><<else>>You lead him into the library. <<didntservebottle>><<endif>>

There's a speech you remember your brother giving, long ago, when he first made professor at the university. You don't remember the words of it-- just the sound of his voice, the kind and worried tensity.\n\nHe would have spoken to you like that. He would have [[worried for you]] like that.

And, of course, he's right.\n\nA duke only makes a petulant fuss when <<revise fuss "it benefits him.">><<revision fuss>><<becomes>><<revision authority>>his <<revise authority "authority is secure.">><<becomes>>he can afford to look like a damn child. And when is that, ever?<<endrevision>><<endrevision>>\n\nThis is politics. The great give-and take. Give a bundle of private papers, recieve the favor-- such as it is-- of a monarch.\n\nHe can have [[all the papers]] he wants. [[Except]] the truly sensitive ones, maybe.

<<set $suspicion = 2>>It takes coordination to source explosives. Witches can burn down courthouses, and poison rich families' hunting-dogs, and deface the statues of kings and queens, but they can't build a bomb.\n\nThe Taschender separatists, though, have fielded armies in the past. You were there. You saw them. "Separatists," you tell Est. "Most likely."\n\nEst gives a derisive chuckle. "[[Good luck|seps2]] with that, then," he says.

"I invited Soller to show his evidence," you tell the Cavalier. "I think he has something for you to //go on."//\n\n"Hell, do I ever," Soller says. "We've been to the place [[where it happened.|Where it happened.]]"

Of course. Because every time you get a bunch of philosophers together outside a university, it's for a war, or a witch rebellion<<revision worse>>, or <<revise worse "something worse.">><<becomes>>. Does he seriously think you're that kind of a threat?<<endrevision>>\n\n"I need their help to finish this," you say.\n\n"I hope you don't need [[any more|anmyresponse]] of them," Est says.

If Robert had lived, you'd have given it to him.\n\nHe would have met you at his doorstep with bright eyes and a distracted half-smile. He'd have offered you a <<revise stiff "stiff handshake.">><<revision stiff>><<becomes>>stiff handshake. He was a man without guile. He could never feign a love he didn't have.<<endrevision>>\n\nHe would have invited you inside, into his cluttered foyer. And that's when you'd have given him [[the gift.|the bottle.]]

You <<revision close>><<revise close "close">> your eyes.<<becomes>>imagine that Robert is still here, alive. That he's forgiven you.\n\nHe would have asked you something <<replace "like--">><<revise howsitlike "like--">><<revision howsitlike>><<becomes>><<revise howslike "like--">><<revision howslike>><<becomes>>like--<<endrevision>><<endrevision>>\n\n//What on earth are you doing out here?// <<revision howsitlike>><<becomes>>//You sure everything's// [[going as planned?|all right?]] <<revision howslike>><<becomes>> //Is this getting// [[out of control?|something wrong?]]\n\nAnd you would have said--<<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

"What? Why?"\n\n"People will feel safter if they know you're planning on sticking that blade into someone who actually deserves it," he says. He points at the knife. It feels heavy on your belt.\n\n"Limit yourself to <<revise actualcrims "actual criminals,">><<revision actualcrims>>"<<becomes>>actual criminals,"<<endrevision>> he says.<<revision actualcrims>><<becomes>>\n\n"That's [[the idea,"|upstairs]] you say.<<endrevision>>

"Why?"\n\n"Out of respect, milord," he says. "The king would like a proper investigation. Great depth."\n\n<<if $insultking>>You remember the look on the king's face as you left the Riverside Palace. <<endif>>Of //course// his young majesty would like the kind of investigation that causes you great pain and inconvenience. "Is my brother suspected of anything?" you ask. "In the carriage you told me his last act saved his highness's life."\n\n"Oh, this kind of thing is [[routine,"]] says Darmin.

"Sure," Est says. "And you need to get through without making //what it is// any worse."\n\nYou try to smile back. "So what advice do you have for me?"\n\n<<if $burned is 2>>"I'd start by not [[publicly burning]] evidence, I suppose," he says.<<else>><<if $burned is 1>>"To [[cooperate]] with the Cavaliers, I suppose," he says.<<else>>He shrugs. "Don't [[press your luck,]] I suppose."<<endif>><<endif>>\n<<endrevision>>

Est shrugs. "Fact is, you missed your chance, eh?"\n\nHe stops for a moment, stares into the fire like a man weighing his chances. And you suddenly realize that he's a messenger. He's on an errand. The king has //sent// him here to speak to you, to settle a <<replace "sensitive problem.">>sensitive problem.\n\n"You know, you Villanos have always been considered //king's men,"// he says. "The king's man in the country, that's [[who you are."]]<<endreplace>>

"But compared to something like pyroglycerine, black powder is low-grade stuff," Soller says. "Safe for philosophers to handle, even alone."\n\nMaria agrees. "A philosopher can lose control of a black powder formula and not die," she explains. "I mean, I have." And she laughs, loud and nervously.\n\nHeavens. She's so small and light, like a cat. Like Rachel, your eldest daughter. Taking hits from formulas gone awry? You're not sure whether it's [[impressive]] or [[sick.|sickimpressed]]

You doubt very much that this is anything more than <<if $insultking gt 0>>petty harrassment,<<else>>a waste of your time,<<endif>> and you are about to //tell// <<replace "him so--">>him so when the door bangs open and someone comes stooping inside.\n\n"I'm sorry, but nobody met me out front," [[Soller says.]]<<endreplace>>

"You know that it kills, right?" you say. "Philosophy kills people."\n\n"<<revise notev "Not everyone,">><<revision notev>>"<<becomes>>Not everyone,"<<endrevision>> Louis says.<<revision notev>><<becomes>>\n\n"Yes, //everyone!"//\n\nLouis blinks at you, wrings his little hands. "Oh," he says.\n\n"Your uncle would have died from it eventually," you say. No way out. He would have [[died.|everyone!"]]<<endrevision>>

He's in town this week. Visiting from Salienberg-- it's part of why you came. He accepts you at the Riverside Palace, the royal holiday residence, in a room that overlooks the trash-choked swimming-hall nobody's used in decades. He's waiting <<revise window "by the window">><<revision window>><<becomes>>by the window<<endrevision>> when you come in. <<revision window>><<becomes>>You see the red patches reflected in the glass.<<endrevision>>\n\n"I'm so damn sorry about [[the Chancellor,"|chancellor]] he blurts.

You snort. You can't help yourself.\n\nYou're the fucking //Duke of Swan Hill.// You may be richer than anyone else on your side of the river, but you don't <<revise donthave1 "have">><<revision donthave1>> <<becomes>><<revise donthave2 "have">> <<revision donthave2>><<becomes>>have <<endrevision>><<endrevision>>a proper castle<<revision donthave1>>.<<becomes>>, or a battle-ready militia<<revision donthave2>>.<<becomes>>, or even a house philosopher who knows how to make a bomb. <<revision anymoreanyway>><<revise anymoreanyway "Anymore,">> anyway.<<becomes>>Anymore, anyway. He died five years ago, and Robert grew to hate you over that, didn't he?\n\n"Listen," you tell Est, "I don't see how his highness could mistake me for any kind of [[threat."|controllable]]<<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>>

Even looking at it makes you feel ill-- like summer fever rising in your throat again. Some part of you wants to throw it away because Est, fuck him, [[doesn't really deserve|at all?]] to drink your family's stuff at all. This was for Robert. This was for //Robert.//\n\nBut this will be a conversation between equals. Polite politicking needs lubrication. And thinking about this shit makes you ill enough already-- [[serving this|drinking it]] to Est couldn't make you any sicker.

The physicker who eventually saved your life made you stop drinking. "For as long as this lasts, anyway," he said.\n\nYou did, and you passed the fever. But-- out of fear? to keep your luck alive? because drink makes you want to //vomit?--// you haven't had more than a drink or two in nearly [[a decade.]]

Your brother was always <<replace "remote." "difficult.">>a self-righteous prick.<<endreplace>>\n\nThough <<revision title>>Robert held <<revise title "no title,">> no lands,<<becomes>>the title and lands were //yours,//<<endrevision>> he had a lord's distaste for apology.\n\nThrough letters, you'd reached a detante. And then Anna convinced you to take the high road, bring the gifts.\n\nSee him here, at [[his home.]]

Hell, what a heavy note to start on. The king's man in the country? That's who your father was, at any rate.\n\nYou remember long nights marching up and down the Taschender river valley that <<replace "summer">>long, bloody summer<<endreplace>> of the <<replace "short war.">>short, bloody war.<<endreplace>> Every night, the cicadas screamed so loudly in the grass that no one could sleep. Your father lay awake in the tent and murmured <<revise hisplans "his plans">><<revision hisplans>><<becomes>>his plans<<endrevision>> to you across the space between your sleeping-rolls.<<revision hisplans>><<becomes>>\n\n"We're putting in our payment," he told you. "We're putting in our payment and someday we'll take our reward."\n\nFour campaigns against the separatists, and your father was the only duke who marched in [[every single one.|evry1]]<<endrevision>>

Now they are marching you through the university gate. A city patrolman at each elbow, university guards behind. Little Louis trailing in the rear, quick footsteps on the paving-stones.\n\nYour wig is stuffed in your belt like a shot hare. Your collar is undone.\n\nBut your face is dry and calm and [[perfectly composed.]]

The tall Cavalier stands in the doorway.\n\n"May I breach the walls?" he asks, and shows all [[his teeth.]]

\n\n[[THE FIRST MONTH|monthone]]

"What are you doing?" Maria asks.\n\n"I need to sort out the king's papers," you tell them, very level and calm, as if a little fire is just the thing for the job. "Why don't you two take Louis for a walk in the courtyard?"\n\nThey may be tactless merchants' children, but they're clever, and they catch on fast. "Of course, Milord," Soller says.\n\n"We'll find a pan to clear the ashes," Maria adds.\n\n[[+++|estconvo]]

"Ahh, //black powder,"// Darmin says. "It's in the Cavaliers' arsenal. Hand-bombs, mortars."\n\n"So you know how it's made?" Maria asks.\n\nIt takes good bit of rambling for Darmin to admit that [[he doesn't.|doesntknow]]

<<SetVars>>You were in the city <<replace "when it happened.">>when he [[died.]]<<endreplace>>

"Those papers weren't //'evidence.'// Robert hasn't been accused of anything!"\n\nEst shrugs. "Obeying the request would have been a good <<revise gesture "gesture.">><<revision gesture>>"<<becomes>>gesture."\n\nA //gesture!// "I don't play politics with my family's private papers," you say.\n\n<<if $insultking > 3>>"Well, you're going to have to start playing politics with //somebody,"// Est says. "You won't get far acting [[like this."]]\n<<else>><<if $insultking > 0>>"Well, you're going to have to make a concession every once in a while," Est says. "You won't get far acting [[like this."]]\n<<else>><<if $insultking > -4>>"It's obvious that you've been trying to earn his highness's trust," he says. "But you haven't been trying [[hard enough."|hardenough]]\n<<else>>"I'm not saying the king is cursing you up and down the river palace," Est says. "You've been fairly kind to him. But you need to [[be careful."]]\n<<endif>><<endif>><<endif>><<endrevision>>

Soller and Maria have been in the library all day, cataloging black-powder recipes. You send them home.\n\nAnd after they've left, you realize you have some of the //Swan Hill label// yourself, in your travel trunk.\n\n[[The bottle]] you'd planned to give Robert.

"We're proud of our family's reputation," you tell Est. Because your father was correct, absolutely correct: being the king's man in the country has been <<revise balm "a balm">><<revision balm>> to the whiskey business.<<becomes>> profitable as all hell.<<endrevision>> You were a coward, but your father was brave, and now you get to be proud, and rich. Fuck.\n\n"Then let me be frank with you," Est says. "You're about to throw that good reputation in the chamber-pot and toss it out the window, all right?"\n\nYou stop and <<replace "stare.">>stare.\n\nAnd your mouth must be hanging open, because Est slaps his knees and [[laughs.]]<<endreplace>>

"No, we're not," you say, <<replace "cool as anything.">>cool as anything.\n\n<<if $servedbottle>>You pour him another glass of whiskey. <<endif>>And then you smile, because [[he broke first.|leaving]]<<endreplace>>

He screws up his little nose. "What?"\n\nAt home you have Anna for your thoughts. But Louis is here, //now,// and one day he too might have to navigate this path, between the high cliffs of the king and his own pride.\n\n"His papers," you say. His private papers, his true thoughts. Your own little brother, too dead to defend himself. "Should we [[burn]] them? Or [[give them]] over to the king?"<<endrevision>>

"And what did you find?" you hear yourself asking.\n\n"Maria," the boy calls. The girl is digging around in one of the crates. When she stands she has a little cloth bag in her hand. You know <<revise whatis "what is in it">><<revision whatis>><<becomes>>what is in it<<endrevision>> before they show you.<<revision whatis>><<becomes>>\n\nA whole row of metal scraps sits on Soller's palm. You cannot look at them long enough to see if they are bloody, but they must be.\n\n"We scraped these for [[black powder]] samples," Soller says. "They're in the laboratory now."<<endrevision>>

<<set $suspicion = 0>><<set $insultking -= 1>>"Neither, at this point," you tell him.\n\nEst laughs.\n\n"I see no evidence one way or the other, yet."\n\n"I wouldn't [[share]] that with anyone," Est says.

At noon you stand in your brother's office and [[take the pledge.]]

And you've<<revision there>><<becomes>> also<<endrevision>> been <<revise there "there,">><<revision there>><<becomes>>to that anonymous place in the street where the bomb went off and <<revise shattered "shattered">><<revision shattered>><<becomes>>shattered<<endrevision>> the stones.<<revision shattered>><<becomes>>\n\nBut the blood's been cleaned up, and the shopowners stand around all day pointing at the place and <<revise saying "saying,">><<revision saying>><<becomes>>saying,<<endrevision>> "It happened here, look, this is where Robert Villano took it in the neck."<<revision saying>><<becomes>>\n\nOne of them showed you the spot and then tried to sell you a pair of boots. And even when he realized who he was speaking to, he didn't have the decency to shut up and leave you alone with [[your brother's ghost.]]<<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<revision there>> too.<<becomes>><<endrevision>>

<<set $insultking = $insultking + 1>>"What kind of fucking question is that?" you ask him.\n\nIn the numbness of your grief, you're so cool and calm you <<revise frighten "frighten">><<revision frighten>><<becomes>>frighten<<endrevision>> even yourself.<<revision frighten>><<becomes>>\n\nAnd while that bloodless little king stares, you head out the door to collect Louis, red-faced and patchy himself. He wouldn't do any better at [[replacing you.]]<<endrevision>>

"So you knew my brother well," you say.\n\nYoung Soller closes his eyes. "Look," he begins, lurching toward some impassioned profession of loyalty. <<replace>>"Look, I--"<<becomes>>"Look, I--"\n\nBut he cannot finish the sentence, and you cannot bear to hear it. "Heavens," you mutter. "It's all right."\n\n"Oh, fuck," the boy says, rubbing a sleeve across his eyes. "I'm sorry." <<if $comfort lte 0>>And your son looks away, too, unwilling to see a stranger cry.<<else>>And in sympathy, your son clutches your hand and dries his own tears on your arm.<<endif>>\n\nBut the Chancellor gives a bitter smile. "You see?" she says. "No Cavalier is crying for your brother."\n\n[[+++|Sollerconvo]]<<endreplace>>

"And what would 'hard enough' look like?" you snap. Calling off the damn oath? At this point, that's impossible.\n\n"Being compliant. Taking calls. Kissing his hand at balls. I don't know-- be demonstrative."\n\n"I do all that," you say. You're from country politics, but you're not a //total// rube.\n\n"It would also involve hiring a lot fewer [[philosophers,"]] Est says.

"So what does his majesty want you to tell me?" you demand.\n\n"Oh, he didn't //send// me here at all," Est lies. "This is honest help. From the king's man in the city to the <<revise kingsman "king's man">><<revision kingsman>><<becomes>>king's man<<endrevision>> in the country."<<revision kingsman>><<becomes>>\n\nSo that's how he sees it. You manage a sour smile. "And what advice are you peddling today?"\n\n<<if $burned is 2>>"I'd start by not [[publicly burning]] evidence, I suppose," he says.<<else>><<if $burned is 1>>"To [[cooperate]] with the Cavaliers, I suppose," he says.<<else>>He shrugs. "Don't [[press your luck,]] I suppose."<<endif>><<endif>>\n<<endrevision>>

<<set $bottle -= 1>><<set $insultking -= 1>><<set $est += 1>>There is really nowhere in this house acceptable to recieve important guests, but Est doesn't seem to mind the dust. His gaze is drawn immediately to the bottle.\n\n"Ahh, the good stuff!" he cries. And he admits, "I was hoping you'd brought some. I've heard you [[don't drink."]]\n

<<revise remember1 "You remember">><<revision remember1>><<becomes>><<revise remember2 "You remember">><<revision remember2>><<becomes>><<revise remember3 "You remember">><<revision remember3>><<becomes>><<revise remember4 "You remember">><<revision remember4>><<becomes>>You remember<<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>><<endrevision>> leaning out the carriage window.<<revision remember1>><<becomes>>\n\nThe messenger was very young. Almost a boy.<<endrevision>><<revision remember2>><<becomes>>\n\nA long moment passed. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish.<<endrevision>><<revision remember3>><<becomes>>\n\nYou snapped at him. "Well, don't you have something to say?"<<endrevision>><<revision remember4>><<becomes>>\n\n"The Chancellor's been killed," he said.\n\nAnd that was all.\n\n[[+++|that was all.]]<<endrevision>>

Afterwards the philosophers come around to give condolances. You are told a hundred times that your brother was the best man who ever lived, a towering saint of justice and philosophy and good reliable bureaucracy.\n\nYou smile and nod and clamp little Louis's shoulders hard. Philosophers frighten him.\n\n[[As they should.|your brother's life.]]

<<set $comfort += 1>>"Horrible," you mutter.\n\n"What? Sir?" Soller asks.\n\n"Horrible," you say, louder. "What you young people go through."\n\nMaria shrugs. "It's the vocation."\n\nLouis stares at her, horrified too. He's never listened to philosophers talk about their work before.\n\nYou never [[let him.]]

You marched in only one.\n\nBut [[that was enough.|every one.]]

"My what?"\n\n"Your research staff. You told me this was serious."\n\n"Very serious." If six months pass without a dead villain, this <<replace>>vow<<becomes>>stunt<<becomes>>farce<<endreplace>> will earn enough scorn to drown you.\n\n"Then you will need help," she says. "A good [[philosopher]] to back you up."

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<<set $insultking += 1>>"You told me his highness wanted a proper investigation," you say. "In great depth."\n\n"His highness doesn't want me arresting absolutely every chemist in the country."\n\n"We can narrow it down to maybe fifty people," Soller says. "Less. For the one who built it, anyway. Not the one who threw it."\n\n"Then I want you to look up all those fifty people," you tell Darmin. "<<insert "Every damn one.">>\n\nHis smile is very wide, very thin. He says, "We'll see [[what we can do.|where we go]]<<endinsert>>"

<<set $insultking += 1>>"Discussing anything with our king is low on my list at the moment," you say. He's certainly listed you similarly low, given Darmin's attitude.\n\n<<priorities>>