churchcat

You jolt awake as the cart [[lurches to a stop]]. (set: $lastPassage to "") (set: $inv to (a: "[[papal summons]]", "[[carrier]]")) (set: $path to "")

"Great traveling with you," says the true believer, sliding off the back of the cart with his casket as the driver tugs on the reigns to signal the horses to go. "Can you believe we're finally here? In the very beating heart of Christendom?" God, this guy. He's so annoying. You're glad you [[won't ever have to see him again|Christendom]].

You nod with gritted teeth. You've spent the last few weeks riding in the back of an ox cart with this nonstop chatterbox as your constant traveling companion, merely because you both happened to be headed in the same direction. You really don't ever want to hear his voice again. But you've got more important things to worry about now. You've been summoned to Rome by the pope, after all, and now [[all you have to do is find him]].

[[Pilgrims]] come from all over Christendom to pay their respects and to humbly beg their prayers be answered in this most holy place, though most never get to see the inside of the Vatican proper. Swiss guardsmen in morion helmets and armed with halberds continously herd the surging tide of [[penitents]] away from the gates. Great plumes of black smoke are visible from behind the walls; occasionally a sudden burst of new smoke is accompanied by a cacophany of inhumanly high-pitched screeches. The Vatican proper is accessible via a [[massive gate]] to the south.

A wail goes up from a gang of nude flagellants to your left, their bodies oozing black and red, as one of their number slaps a studded whip across their backs. To your right, a clots of pilgrims chants a Gregorian hymn, their voices merging together into one dull drone. One falls on his face in the dust, prostrating himself in prayer before the Vatican gates. The [[true believer|penitents]], still clutching his casket, is attempting to talk to the Swiss Guards, but they don't seem interested in his chatter. A wave of pilgrims makes a move toward the [[gate|massive gate]], but the Swiss Guard points his halberd menacingly -- they back off. >>[[Back|all you have to do is find him]]

"We've finally arrived!" crows the [[true believer]], his face beaming with unbridled joy. He leans against the [[casket]]. "It's almost too much to believe that we're actually here, in the center of Christendom! I can't wait to attend an address by the Holy Father himself! Do you know, they say that the Holy Father picks out one person in every audience for immediate entry into heaven? Isn't that amazing? I'm so excited!" Even now this guy won't shut up. You're not certain whether to [[engage|Talk to true believer]] with this guy or [[not|all you have to do is find him]].

The gate is a set of massive iron doors, carved with miniature dioramas depicting events from the life of Christ. The doors are so tall that you can't make out the images at the top. Two [[Swiss guardsmen]] with sour expressions stand at either side of the gates, brandishing their halberds whenever an eager pilgrim gets too close to them.

He's a plump, round-faced man with rosy cheeks and a wide easy smile. He wears haircloth robes and a necklace made of a scallop shell with a hole drilled through it. He grins as he scratches at his hairshirt; as he tugs his collar, you can see that the skin beneath is raw and bleeding. "The welts are just more proof of my love for the Lord," he says cheerfully when he notices you staring. >>[[Back|penitents]]

"Ah of course a man of god would recognize this little trinket!" he says, beaming widely. "I got this when I completed my Camino de Santiago! The second holiest pilgrimage in Christendom! And now I'm undertaking the first!" [[Back|penitents]]

He sweeps his arm out to indicate the grandeur of the scene. "Can you believe that we're at the seat of the Holy Father himself? The center of Christendom! One gets chills just thinking of the holiness!" >>[[Back|penitents]]

His eyes light up. "The holy father in [[Rome|Ask true believer about Rome]] is God's ambassador on Earth!" he says excitedly. "All that happens in Christendom comes directly from the dictates of the holy father! But then... I don't need to tell you that now, do I, Father? Clearly you've heard the call and dedicated your life to serving the Lord and his church. What higher thing could there be in life? Oh how I envy you, taking up that sweet sacrifice and living purely for God! What a beautiful life you must lead!" >>[[Back|penitents]]

For the first time in the week that you've known him, he frowns. "Poor fools!" he says. "They come to the Holy Father, to the holiest place on God's earth, to beseech favors. How impertinent it is to approach the holiest of holies with nothing more than wheedling, nagging prayers! A wise man knows his own unworthiness. A wise man would make some offering, no matter how humble, to show the Holy Father proper gratitude!" His smile returns, his eyes quickly darting to the sealed [[casket]] at his side. >[[Back|penitents]]

"I am just an unworthy sinner," he says, still smiling the same broad, rosy-cheeked smile. "I deserve nothing but hellfire but I've made this pilgrimage to Rome in the hopes that the Holy Father might accept my offering and bless this poor sinner. After all, who wouldn't want to find salvation?" [[Back|penitents]]

It's a simple pine box, nailed shut. You don't know what's inside, but the true believer was clutching it to his chest for the entire trip so it must be meaningful to him. >>[[Ask true believer about casket]]. >>[[Open casket]]. >>[[Back|penitents]]

The [[casket]] is nailed shut. You move toward the casket when suddenly something stirs inside and you hear a faint knock from within. The true believer moves between you and the casket, still smiling. But there's an unmistakable look in his eyes that dissuades you from probing any further.

He smiles and taps his finger aside his nose. "It's a pennance," he says. "A worthy pennance, so the Holy Father can see how his children love him!" He smiles again as he runs his hand over the surface of the [[casket]] lid.

"Gates are locked during construction of the new basilica," says one of the guards, a soft plump man with a grubby unshaven face, streaked with sweat, below his helmet "No more pilgrims allowed in." He waves a hand dismissively. "Move along." >>[[Show cat to Swiss guardsman]]. >>[[Show papal summons to Swiss guardsman]].

(if: not ((passage:)'s tags contains "menu"))[(set: $lastPassage to (passage:)'s name)]

(if: (passage:)'s name is "inventory")[] (else-if: (passage:)'s tags contains "donotshowinventory")[] (else:)[Check [[inventory]].]

Your inventory contains a (print: $inv.join(", ")). (link-goto: "Leave Menu", $lastPassage)

It's a wooden crate with a hinged door at one end. You can peer into the carrier via a narrow window carved into the door; through it, you can see a pair of [[baleful yellow eyes]] staring back at you. >>[[Return to inventory|inventory]].

It's a rolled up scroll of parchment, bearing the Pope's signature and seal and detailing instructions to appear in person at the Vatican to meet with the pontiff. Strangely, the missive begins in the vulgar before transitioning into Latin and then into gibberish which you cannot decipher. The borders of the letter are filled with esoteric runes and sigils which you've never encountered before. It reads: "Ad quos spectat. Having heard speak of the marvel that the Lord has seen fit to bestow upon your parish, His Holiness Innocent VIII formally demands that you, the parish priest of Ísfjall in the diocese of Sprátt, come to Rome henceforth for an audience of utmost import. Any good Christian is henceforth charged to aid the bearer of this summons in their journey. In nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sanсti Factum est ita Corpus Callosum Lapsusus Linguanatta dok dok nibalto ikka." >>[[Return to inventory|inventory]].

By all appearances, it is a perfectly ordinary house cat with gray fur, a white underbelly, and two big yellow staring eyes. It's hard to believe that this creature is a [[prodigy]], a marvelous proof of the Lord's mysterious handiwork. >>[[Return to inventory|inventory]].

"Please, you have to let me in," you say, producing the summons. "I've been summoned by the pope himself." The guardsman scans the document and his eyes widen when he notices the papal seal. "Open the gate!" he hollers. "This one's got a summons! Let him pass!" Up on the ramparts, several guards work together to turn an enormous crank which gradually cracks open the massive iron gate. The guards out front continue to keep the other pilgrims away from the entrance at the point of their halberds, but the plump one motions for you to [[continue on inside]].

You are in St. Peter's Square. The air is stifling, hot and thick with choking smoke, as scattered bonfires burn throughout the plaza. A steady stream of priests continuously tosses big, squirming burlap sacks into the flames. From within the square, you can see smoke on the horizon, indicating that more bonfires are happening far beyond the walls of the plaza, possibly [[all through the city]].

>>[[Ask true believer about the pope]]. >>[[Ask true believer about himself]]. >>[[I've had enough of this guy|all you have to do is find him]].

The Swiss Guard shrugs as you hold up the carrier with the cat. "Yeah yeah very nice," he says wearily. "Word to the wise, don't flash that around." He raises his halberd as another surge of penitents moves toward the gates. He seems to have lost interest in you. >>[[Show papal summons to Swiss guardsman]]

A smouldering log in one of the bonfires suddenly snaps, sending a shower of sparks into the air and prompting a new round of howling and mewling. "St. Peter's is not currently open for any more pilgrims," says Henricus Institor. "If you have a pennance to make, you can deposit your payment at any Mammon kiosk in the city." He turns away from you to bark orders at one of the priests lugging large squirming bags across the square. "Over here!" he yells, pointing a bony finger at a particular bonfire. "This one needs more kindling!" An elderly priest waddles past, dragging a bag along the ground behind him. He has some trouble shoving the bag into the fire, but eventually he succeeds. A great storm of howling follows. >>"[[What's in the bags?]]" >>"[[I need to see the Holy Father.]]"

"What are you burning in those bonfires, Father?" you ask. "Cats," says Henricus Institor. "They serve witches, you know? But the key, you see, is that, the familiar is spiritually linked to the witch. So you burn the familiar, you kill the witch. Why bother rounding up witches when we can get them all in one fell swoop just by burning every cat in Rome?" You're uncomfortably aware that, inside your carrier, you are carrying a cat. >>"[[And this is approved by the Holy Father?|carrying a cat]]" >>"[[Witches? Aren't they just make believe?|witches]]"

"And... this is approved by the pontiff?" you ask. "Of course," says Henricus. "All that happens in Christendom comes directly from the dictates of the holy father. You have read Summis desiderantes affectibus, haven't you? The Pope's given me full authority to destroy witches through any means possible." You clutch your carrier to your breast; you're sure that the Pope couldn't have summoned you all this way JUST to bring a cat to be burned. There must be some greater purpose. You need to speak to the pope about this. >>"[[What's Summis desiderantes affectibus?|Summis desiderantes affectibus]]" >>"[[I need to see the Holy Father.]]"

"What's Summis Desiderantes Affectibus?" you ask. He looks at you suspiciously. "His holiness issued a papal bull recognizing that witches are real. You know that, don't you? And it gives me the authority to eradicate them. Through any means necessary." >>"[[I need to see the Holy Father.]]"

"Of course they're real," says Henricus testily. "Technically, it's heretical to even question that fact. Haven't you read Summis desiderantes affectibus? That lays it all out in full." You clutch your carrier to your breast; you're sure that the Pope couldn't have summoned you all this way JUST to bring a cat to be burned. There must be some greater purpose. You need to speak to the pope about this. "Witches are a blight on Christendom," continues Henricus. "We're going to destroy them." He gazes out at the bonfires. "We're making a good start here." >>"[[What's Summis desiderantes affectibus?|Summis desiderantes affectibus]]" >>"[[I need to see the Holy Father.]]"

"His Holiness is, of course, extremely busy with matters of consequence," says Henricus Institor. "He can't be bothered with mundane earthly matters like this, so he has deputized me to take care of circumstances on the ground." A priest lurches up to the nearest bonfire, struggling under the weight of a massive writhing bag. With considerable effort, he throws the bag into the flames, prompting a chorus of yowling. >>"[[I have a summons from the holy father.]]"

"What's this?" He takes the parchment and frowns as his eyes scan the pope's summons. He frowns. "When did you get this?" he demands. "About 3 months ago," you say. "I left as soon as I received it, but it's a long journey from my parish to Rome." "Three months," he mumbles to himself. "So... three months for the message to receive you, three months for you to get here... that means it was written six months ago?" He raises an eyebrow. "And where are you from?" "The parish of Ísfjall in the diocese of Sprátt." "I've never heard of such a parish or such a diocese," says Henricus, leaning in closer to glare at you. He's a tall man and intimidating despite his leanness. "Where EXACTLY is that?" "Parts Foreign, Father." "The very edge of christendom," says Henricus. "There's nothing out there but ice and snow. And why, pray tell, would the Holy Father send a summons to some parish priest living in an empty church on the very ragged edge of the world?" >>"[[I have this cat...]]"

Henricus Institor peers closely, his eyes narrowing as he recognizes the creature inside. "A cat? What are you pulling here?" "This cat," you say,"is a prodigy. It can speak. [[It recites Bible verses]]."

You pass though another gate, this one carved to resemble a [[hellmouth]], an image in bas relief of a grinning demonic mouth chomping sinners between its teeth.

You randomly pick one of the alcoves in the eastern wall and enter it. The narrow alcove opens into a slightly less narrow oubliette. Two passages lead off to the north and to the south, each accessble through beaded curtains. A sign over the northern door reads "VIRGIN," while a sign over the southern door reads "WHORE." An [[elderly woman in the habit of a Benedictine abbess]], a massive ornate crucifix dangling around her neck, sits behind a low desk here.

You randomly pick one of the alcoves in the western wall and enter it. This alcove leads to a traiteur, so cramped that there's barely enough space for a single file line of customers. Behind the counter, there's just enough room for a single stewart, who is busily grinding out semolina noodles from a hand-cranked pasta machine. A sign above the counter reads "INDULGENCES ONLY." (set: $path to "meal") >>[[Get in line]].

You continue pushing your way through the crowd, steeling yourself against the noise and the smell. In the distance to the south, you can see the half-finished spires of [[Saint Peter's Basilica]].

Finally, you stand before the great gates of the new St. Peter's Basilica; construction has just begun and teams of workmen clamor over scaffolding in their eagerness to get the project completed. The skeletal [[basilica]] is already so tall that its roof is lost in the clouds.

Stepping through the great doors, you find yourself standing in the half-finished vestry. The rough walls are lined with scaffolding, over which scurry a constant flow of [[workmen]] slathering mortar and stacking stones. The ceiling is adorned with paintings of cherubs. What appears to be a [[directory]] of some sort is inlaid into the western wall.

The directory is a tile mosaic built into the basilica wall. You can't make heads or tails of it. It consists of dozens of small, cramped diagrams -- floorplans, maybe? -- labeled with hundreds of tiny, crabbed notes. In theory, this SHOULD help to explain where everything is. But you only come away more confused. Just how big IS this building? It looks like there will be, at completion, at least 20 stories above you. It also lookes like there are at least 20 stories below you. You notice a steady stream of workmen clamoring up and down a [[nearby staircase]] that leads down into the ground.

You [[descend the staircase]], picking your way through the crowd.

The subterranean areas seem to be left over from the old St. Peter's Basilica that used to stand above. This is a long corridor lined with doors, each one bearing an inscrutable Latin inscription. This basement artery, below the main plaza where pilgrims congregate, is where the real business of the Vatican happens, where the bureacracy that keeps things humming smoothly is housed. Priests and officials, many carrying stacks of scrolls or stone tablets, constantly bustle in one door and out another in a never-ending flow of activity. Ornate marble statues of saints stand at regular intervals [[down the hall]].

You wander down the hallway, pausing to read the plaques on each door as you pass. //Donec de Attributa//. //Donec de Visione Beata Department//. //Donec de Quae enim secundum Deum Honorifics//. Aha! //[[Donec de Pontificia Cappella|Department of Communication!]]//

You knock politely but firmly on the door. "Come in!" calls a cheerful voice from within. [[You push open the door]].

"Hello, hello!" says the fat man warmly. "What can I do for you, friend? As you can see, we're busy as ever down here, always work to be done. Yes, yes!" He throws a scroll into the brazier, the fire billows briefly and the paper is consumed. "But never too much work to help out. What brings you here, friend?" >>"[[What are you doing?]]" >>"[[I have a summons from the pope|Show him the summons]]."

"Welcome to Our Lady of the Evening," says the procuress, her piggy eyes gleaming. She licks her cracked lips eagerly, leaving a slug-trail of spittle. "Your first time with us, I'd wager? Eh? Eh? Course you are, dearie, well, don't you worry, we'll take good care of you here. We do cater to all sorts, whatever your pleasure is, [[we don't judge]]."

You hand the indulgence to the procuress. Her eyes light up. "Oh yes, that will do nicely!" She nods and points to the doorways behind her. "Take your pick," she says, "But you can only pick one." (set: $inv to $inv - (a: "[[indulgence]]")) >>[[VIRGIN]] >>[[WHORE]]

You push aside the beaded curtain and enter a small room, barely big enough for a make-shrift shrine to the Madonna. The shrine is adorned with candles that have burned so long that they've congealed into a single enormous blob, great stalactites of wax surrounding a ceramic Virgin Mary statue like the bars of a prison. So many bouquets of flowers have been lain at the foot of the altar that the entire room reeks of sweetness. A young girl naked but for a white pressed cornette on her head kneels before the altar. She turns to face you as you enter the room, clutching rosary beads to her flat chest. Her face is caked with mascara, but her black eyeliner is running down her cheeks with her tears. "Welcome, Father," she says. "Will you pray with me, Father?" (set: $path to "virgin") >>"[[I will.|Yes, my child.]]" >>"[[There's been some mistake; I shouldn't be here.]]"

You push aside the beaded curtain and enter a small room, barely big enough for the mattress lying on the floor. Upon the mattress is a slender young woman naked other than a scandalously altered yellow samarra cloak, decorated with red devils and dragons and cut so that you can see... most of her flesh. The left side of her face is disfigured by severe burns, her flesh scarred and blackened and oozing, her left eye a milky white. The flaming red hair on the right side of her head falls over her right shoulder like a crimson waterfall; what little hair grows from the blistered left side of her head is brittle and wispy. (set: $path to "whore") She props herself up on her arms when you enter and regards you with her [[good eye]].

He returns to his brazier. You get the impression this is all the help you're going to get here. You quietly see yourself out. Back in the corridor, there's not much to do other than to continue. You pad down the hallway, still reading each plaque in the hope that the next doorway will yield your destination. Eventually, the corridor leads to [[another staircase]].

You [[descend]].

//Donec blasphemiam//. //Donec simonia//. //Donec occulsion//. The hallway [[continues]].

[[You knock on the door]].

[[You wait]].

After a few minutes, you knock again. [[Harder this time]].

Again, there is no answer. You consider whether you should [[just enter]]? Or possibly whether you should [[knock on the neighboring door]]?

"I'm trying to find the Donec de Lucifugia," you say, "but no one's answering the door?" "I don't know nothin' bout that," says the old man. "No one ever tells me nothin'. Ya need more help down here in the lower departments, I told 'em, but do they ever listen to me? Not like I been workin' the lower departments fer all my life. Not like I would know a thing about that!" He pushes the door open a little further, apparently happy to have someone to listen to his complaints. >>"[[Can you help me?]]"

Beyond the door, is a smaller, darker room. An enormous pentacle is painted on the floor in a dark red substance. Sitting in the center of the pentacle, bound by iron chains, an iron band shackled around her head to hide her eyes, is an [[incubus]].

The incubus' long black hair is tangled and unkempt, falling over her shoulders in dark waves and providing the only cover for her nudity - though you can see her ample breasts heaving on her chest and her impressive member dangling between her coarse hairy legs. She stirs as you approach, inhaling deeply with a long wheezing rattle -- as if she's drinking in your scent. She smiles, revealing rows of broken, shattered teeth. [[Her alabaster skin is pocked with scabs and lesions]].

This is yet another long corridor lined with doors, each one with an inscrutable Latin inscription. The hallway seems to be completely abandoned, but you can hear... sounds from behind the doors. It's cold. [[Ornate marble statues of saints]] stand at regular intervals down the hall.

You don't recognize any of these saints because their faces appear to have been deliberately chiseled off. You continue down the hallway, [[your footsteps echoing|torq]].

"Can you help me? I've got a summons from the pope." You hold out the summons but he doesn't take it. "A summons from the pope, a summons from the pope," repeats the old man in a sing-songy voice. "How very nice for you, waltz in from the provinces with your summons and just go straight to see the pope, do ya? You young priests don't understand the value of perseverance. Now take me, I've worked here in the Vatican for 70 years, worked my way up all the way from the scriptorium on sub-level 50... in all that time, do you think I've ever seen the pope? Huh? Well, do ya?" >>"[[Yes]]." >>"[[No]]."

The Donec de Lucifugia is a cramped room; there's a desk covered in stacks of papers. In front of the desk, there is a chair containing a skeleton. The skeleton is held together by brittle papery skin and cobwebs; it looks like it's been [[dead for a very long time]].

Huh. Presumably this WAS the administrative official in charge of the Imperium department de Lucifugia. It doesn't look like anyone's checked in on him for a while. The skull leers at you. The skeleton's robes fall apart at a touch. A clawed hand lies against the tabletop before him, a [[yellowed slice of paper]] trapped beneath it. In the corner, below the open end of a pneumatic pipe extending from the ceiling, is a large pile of [[yellowed papers]]. This is troubling. Without his direction, you're at a loss as to your next step toward your destination.

"Vatican gate!" calls the driver, "Everyone off!" You scramble off the cart, clutching the carrier -- with the precious cargo that you've carried with you all these miles, over all these months -- to your chest. It seems like eons since you first received that message from the pope, calling you to see him in person in Rome, but even now, standing before the gates of the Vatican, you can hardly believe it's all real. But you're [[finally here]].

A tall, nearly skeletal man, dressed in white sacerdotal robes caked with black soot, stands at the center of the yard, directing the chaos with frantic hand gestures and loud shouts. He has a long sour face with rheumy bloodshot eyes above a beaky nose and a fringe of stringy white hair around his ears. His face is smudged with ash. You recognize that face from a woodcut you saw as the frontpiece in a book once. It's Henricus Institor. He [[appears to be in charge]] around here.

He squints as if he's trying to work out something in his head, but a sudden explosion of caterwauling from the closest bonfire interrupts his thoughts. "You are aware, of course, of the power that the Holy Father wields?" he says. "The Holy Father is, of course, God's ambassador on Earth. A man who has an audience with the Pope is a lucky man indeed to be so close to that power. Tell me, friend, why did you become a priest? To serve God? To serve the church?" >>"[[To serve God.]]" >>"[[To serve the church.]]" >>"[[To serve the church IS to serve God.]]"

Inside the walls of the Vatican, you're swept along with the [[throng]].

The faithful flock here and so do those eager to sell goods to the faithful; the courtyard has become a make-shift bazaar with haphazardly constructed tents and stalls all along the walls. The square is so packed with people, pushing and shoving, praying and haggling, that you can barely pick your way through [[the crowd]].

The air rings with shouts and chatter in over a dozen different languages and is heavy with smells -- herbs, spices, live animals, food cooking, leather boiling, the sweat and funk of the multitudes. The walls of the courtyard are high enough to reach the sky, lined with [[statues]], but you also notice they are studded with narrow alcoves here and there between the vendor stalls.

You examine the closest statue. It's a solid sandstone monolith carved to look like a toothy imp; its mouth is a narrow slot. Below the imp's mouth is carved the word INDULGENCES. The statue's left arm is a separate piece of sandstone and looks like it might function as a [[lever]].

You yank Mammon's arm and hear a low grinding sound as some mechanism inside the statue springs to life. Several seconds later, a [[slip of paper]] pops out of the statue's mouth and the grinding fades back to silence.

You turn the slip of paper over in you hand. Upon it is written "[[Indulgentia plenaria perpetua quotidiana toties quoties pro vivis et defunctis]]." (set: $inv to $inv + (a: "[[indulgence]]"))

The courtyard continues to the [[south]] and, in the distance, you can see the half-finished spires of Saint Peter's Basilica. Alcoves lead away into the walls to the [[east]] and [[west]].

The Donec de Pontificia Cappella is a cramped office filled ceiling to floor with mountains of brittle, yellowed scrolls; many of the scrolls look like they were probably written hundreds of years before you were even born, but you can see new scrolls falling into the room constantly from a series of pneumatic tubes suspended from the ceiling. A [[fat man]], so large that he dominates the room, with plump quivering jowls and a severe tonsure, is busily burning scrolls in a small brazier.

"Isn't this forbidden by scripture?" you ask. "All that happens in Christendom comes directly from the dictates of the holy father," she says. "But even if it wasn't, you have an indulgence, don't you? That makes it all okay. Forgiven and forgotten!" She pauses. "You DO have an [[indulgence|money]], don't you?"

She pauses and her tone suddenly changes. "You do have an [[indulgence|money]], of course, don't you?"

There are so many workmen here, each one busy at his task, each one contributing just a little to the ultimate construction of the basilica. You are reminded of Joseph Nider's seminal text Formicarius, which compared a well-ordered society to that of an ant colony. No man alive today will live to see the completion of this basilica. The construction will take decades, possibly centuries, but when it is done it will be a monument to the righteousness of the faith, an edifice of such astounding proportions that the Saracen kings of Berbery and the Turkish Caliphs of Ottoman alike will be forced to proclaim "Truly, Jesus is Lord, for only the disciples of the one true faith could conspire to build such a throne." You notice a steady stream of workmen clamoring up and down a [[nearby staircase]] that leads down into the ground.

"What's this?" he says as he takes the scroll. His face falls as he scans the document. "Hmm," he says. "A papal summons? From... from the pope, you say? Um. Hm. And you're sure it's from THE pope?" You point at the Papal seal. "Ah. Yes. Yes, of course. But... you're sure it's from the CATHOLIC pope? Not possibly some other....pope..." His words trail off as he seems to realize how ridiculous he must sound. He eyes the brazier longingly and you're pretty sure, if you weren't standing right here before him, he would just as happily [[toss the summons into the fire]].

"I don't know why they told you to come to me," he mumbles, "This really isn't my jurisdiction... um. Well.." He strokes his chin nervously and hands the summons back to you. He turns, grabs a handful of scrolls from the pile, and thrusts them into the brazier, watching intently as the flames gobble the brittle paper. After a moment, he looks up, frowning, as if he's annoyed that you're still here. "I really don't know why they told you to come to me," he repeats. >>[[Show cat to fat man]].

"I think it has something to do with this," you say, holding up the carrier in an effort to be helpful. Maybe it will jog his memory. "What's that," he says flatly. "It's a prodigy," you say, "A cat that can speak." The fat man seems unimpressed. He's annoyed that you're still his problem. "Not only can it speak," you say, "its words are proof of God's wisdom. For you see, it speaks only in [[Bible verses]]."

"Then because of the dire straights to which you will be reduced when your enemy besieges you, you will eat your own children, the flesh of your sons and daughters whom the Lord has given you. - Deuteronomy 28:53," says the cat in a high-pitched mewling whine. The fat man [[blinks]].

"I really think... oh! Open that scroll again, that's right. Do you see this?" He points to one of the meaningless whorls along the edge of the parchment. You had assumed it was decorative. "That's definitely the official insignia for the Donec de Lucifugia. Take this down to them, this is definitely their business." >>"[[Where's the Donec de Lucifugia?]]"

As if on cue, a high-pitched yowl bursts from the carrier, eventually coalescing into human speech. "Then he went up from there to Bethel; and as he was going up the road, some youths came from the city and mocked him, and said to him, 'Go up, you bald head! Go up, you bald head!' So he turned around and looked at them, and pronounced a curse on them in the name of the Lord. And two female bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths. -Kings 2:23," says the [[cat]].

Henricus strokes his chin. "Ahh the marvelous talking cat of the north. Yes yes, I have heard of that. And you trained this prodigy?" "No, Father," you say. "It just speaks of its own accord." "Hmm. They really do truck in heresies in Parts Foreign, don't they? Indeed. Interesting. I imagine that would have interested the Holy Father greatly.... He would have been very curious about something like that about [[six months ago]]. Hm. Yes."

You descend another level. And another. When you see two crude statues of Anthony the Great and Arsenius the Great atop the staircase balusters, you know you've reached the [[right level]].

You drape your hand against the door handle and, to your surprise, the door [[creaks open easily|"I'm going to break down the door."]]

The neighboring door apparently leads to the "[[Donec de Augerie|Donic de Reliquiae]]."

You rap your knuckles against the neigboring door. You hear muttering and shuffling from within. After a moment, the door creaks open a crack. An ancient, hunched, craggy old man in a skullcap, clutching the doorjamb tightly with withered blue-veined hands, peers out at you. His sagging face is a mass of wrinkles and warts. "[[Wadya want|Department of Relics]]?"

"Don't rightly remember where they picked her up," continues the old man. "One of those inconsequential parishes in parts foreign, no doubt. You get a lot more of that sort of thing on the border lands. You wouldn't find these things here in Rome. 'Course now she's my problem. Who's got to keep reapplying the ox blood to keep the pentacle unbroken? I ask you, who? I'll give you one guess." >>"[["You?"]]" >>"[[What's she doing here?|"You call 'it' her?"]]"

Curious, you shift the skeleton's fingers to read the last missive that the man never completed. From: Donec de Lucifugia To: Donec de Poenitentiae This is a missive to acknowledge receipt of your most recent complaint regarding the alleged rat infestation. We sympathize with your frustration, but I repeat that this falls under the auspices of the Donec de Pestis and NOT the Donec de Lucifugia. Further, as I stated in my previous missive, I cannot by papal policy forward to you the contact information for the Donec de Pestis until you first provide written proof of the attainment of a Certificate de Benedictio Plaga. I have been advised by the Donec de Inspectorem that such a certificate can be obtained via the Donec de Auctoritas. Until we receive such item, we shall consider this request closed. In the corner, below the open end of a pneumatic pipe extending from the ceiling, is a large pile of [[yellowed papers]].

"Yes?" you venture. "Don't get smart with me, lad!" The old man snorts angrily. "Of course I haven't seen the pope! You think the pope has time to come down here, to where the real business happens? I've told them, I've told them 1000 times, we need more hands in the lower departments. Do they listen to me? Of course not. Nobody listens!" >>"[[I could ask the pope to send you some more hands.]]"

"No?" you venture. "Have I ever seen the pope, what a ridiculous question!" The old man snorts angrily. "Of course I haven't seen the pope! You think the pope has time to come down here, to where the real business happens? I've told them, I've told them 1000 times, we need more hands in the lower departments. Do they listen to me? Of course not. Nobody listens!" >>"[[I could ask the pope to send you some more hands.]]"

"No, you won't," says the old man snidely. "Things ain't gonna change. You know what they say: 'All that happens in Christendom comes directly from the dictates of the holy father.'" But at the very least, your offer seems to have jolted him out of his self-pitying monologue. He peers at you as if looking at you for the first time. "Why would the pope summon you, anyway?" His withered hand rests limply against the door, so that it swings open slightly as he leans out. You get a whiff of dust and age. "I think i's because of this cat," you say. You hold up the cat's carrier. "It can speak." [["Yet she increased her prostitution, remembering the days of her youth when she engaged in prostitution in the land of Egypt. She lusted after their genitals as large as those of donkeys, and their seminal emission was as strong as that of stallions. -Ezekiel 23:19-20," says the cat]].

The old man chews his lip thoughtfully. "It always talk like that?" "Yes, it recites Bible verses." "So it don't... tell the future?" "No." "Well, then. All I can tell ya is it don't belong in here. We only deal n auguries and omens here." "Can you tell me where I should go? I have a summons." You once again helpfully hold out the summons, but the old man continues to ignore it. "I don't know nothin' about that," says the old man. "Why would I know where the pope wants you to be? You think the pope ever comes down here? More hands, I told 'em, more hands is what we need down here." He turns his back on you and stalks back into his office. He doesn't close the door, though, almost as if daring you to [[follow]].

You're inside a large dusty room lined with shelves, each shelf groaning under the weight of so many accumulated baubles and geegaws. You have no idea what any of these things are and, judging by the thick layer of dust coating everything, no one else has been curious enough to investigate them for some time. The old man doesn't seem bothered that you've entered his abode; he continues to ramble. >>"[[What are these?]]"

"What are these?" you ask. "Augeries," he says. "Every item in here has been vetted by Vatican authorities as a complete and accurate seer, capable of fortelling events yet to come and seeing events transpiring far away." He pull a large ring of keys from the folds of his robe and starts flipping through them. "Of course their use is forbidden by Papal bull, very dangerous things, these omens. They haven't been verified as being of God. Just so you know." >>"[[Could these help me?]]"

"You?" "Of course it's me! It's always me! I ain't even got any demonology trainin'. But here I am, working my knuckles to the bone, trying to keep this place in order and what thanks do I get?" It's apparently a theoretical question, because he just keeps talking. He's smiling so wide now you feel like his face might crack. He hasn't had an audience to listen to his complaints for a long time and he's going to take full advantage of your ear. "Who's gotta clean up after her, huh? She don't eat but she leaves an awful mess, she does. Think she does it for spite. But ya gotta expect that with an [[incubus|worrying]]."

The old man shrugs. "How would I know? Ain't s'posed ta use em. Not Godly and all that." From his tone of voice, you gather that he really doesn't care whether you use them or not. You scan the shelf. None of these items look like anything special. They're just random rubbish: a [[broken statue of an angel]], a [[dog-eared book|a deck of cards]], [[a shard of glass]]... You notice, for the first time, that there's a [[small door]] set into the far wall at the back of the room. Its too small for a grown man;you would have to stoop to pass through. There is an unfamiliar sigil painted on the door in a black inky liquid.

It's a small family bible, bound in ornate gold-trimmed leather and latched with a metal clasp. "Used to belong to some minor noble family up north in Parts Foreign," says the old man. "Most folks use the family bible to record the family history, right? Well, this bible started recording history that ain't even happened yet. Seems the family patriarch didn't like what it said, so now we got it here. Not very useful, though, since it don't predict nothin' but shit that happens to that one family." >>[[Thumb through the bible.]] >>[[Look at another augerie.]]

It's a sharp shard of clear glass. You can see your reflection, preternaturally clearly in the smooth surface, and you're surprised to see it mouthing words back at you. The old man guffaws at your surprise. "That thing reflects shit that ain't really there," he says. "They had some scholars on Level 18 studying it before they sent it here. They said if you can make out what your reflection is mouthin' at ya, it's trying to tell ya the future. Can you read lips, boy?" Your reflection keeps mouthing at you, even as you stand still with your own mouth firmly closed. The whole experience is [[disquieting]].

You feel no closer to your goal. "There must be something here that can help..." You pause. The old man is conspicuously standing in a way that feels... it feels like it's meant to draw your attention to... You notice, for the first time, that there's a small door set into the far wall at the back of the room. Its too small for a grown man;you would have to stoop to pass through. There is an unfamiliar sigil painted on the door in a black inky liquid. You're seized by an fearful curiosity about that door. "You wanna know what's behind the door?" asks the old man, as if reading your mind. He seems genuinely gleeful. "Oh, you wanna know?" He gestures for you to follow as he fumbles with the handle of the [[door|small door set into the back wall]].

"What's she's doing here?" you ask. "What do you think, she's an incubus," says the old man. "She fucks men in their sleep, steals their seed, then uses that to impregnate women in their sleep. With [[demon babies|worrying1]]."

While the old man speaks, the incubus has been stirring. Hissing between cracked teeth, it slides across the floor toward you. It freezes as its fingertips touch the threshold of the pentacle and she withdraws quickly as if burned. "I guess they housed her here cuz she's technically an augerie," says the old man. "She has the power to know things that ain't happened yet or things that happened far away, too far to be able to know by the senses. That's a regular demon thing, that kind of knowledge. But I guess it's enough to justify putting her here." >>"[[Would she know where I need to be?]]"

There is a [[boy]] squatting in the corridor ahead, right at the very farthest edge of your vision, right before the hallway fades into impenetrable darkness.

Aha! //[[Donec de Lucifugia|Vatican Department of Ratting!]]//!

His shoulders heave as if with silent sobs, his frail arms wrapped tightly around his legs, his whole spindly body shaking like a tightly coiled spring. He is naked and his [[white skin]] almost seems to glow in the dim light.

Your footsteps slow as you approach. You feel a strange feeling of trepidation. Inside its carrier, the cat begins to yowl. It's not speaking in any human voice now, it's the pure instinctive noise of a cat in distress. The carrier lurches in your grasp. The boy looks up at the noise. [[His eyes are black]].

Or maybe they aren't. Maybe it's just the shadows. Or maybe he doesn't have any eyes at all. Either way, you'll never know because he's [[gone]].

Just a trick of the light, apparently. The cat is quieting down again. >>[[Ask a passing priest]]. >>[[Keep reading doors]].

You grab the sleeve of a passing priest. He looks at you with disdain in his blue-rimmed eyes. He's a tall, middle-aged man, his face saggy and unshaven, his eyes bleary and tired. He's obviously in a hurry. "Excuse me," you say. >>"[[Did you see that boy?]]" >>"[[Can you tell me where to find Donec de Lucifugia?]]"

//Donec De Ascesi//. //Donec Obsecratio//. //Donec Sanctification//. You keep [[walking|aha]]...

[[You get in line]].

"Oh Father," she says, "Father, please help me, a poor sinner." She flips over, falling onto her front, and scrabbles toward you, arm over leg, like a lizard, grabbing the hem of your sacerdotal robe and, one hand after the other, hoisting herself up until her lips are at your ear. "Help me, Father," she repeats. "I need confession. Hear my sins, Father, please. Give me absolution." You stare, unsure what to do next. "Ask me to tell you my sins," prompts the whore. >>"[[Tell me your sins.|Tell me your sins, child.]]" >>"[[There's been some mistake; I shouldn't be here.]]"

"I've been with men, Father, so many men," she says, fumbling at your cassock. "Oh, I've let them have their way with me, I've felt them inside me, Father, and, worst of all, I enjoyed it. Oh how I enjoyed it, Father. And women, too, I've been with women too..." She studies your face as if to gauge your reaction, tilting her head to fix you with her good eye. "... if you'd rather?" >>"[[Men is good.]]" >>"[[Tell me about the women you've been with.]]"

He pulls his sleeve away. "I don't know what you're talking about." He hurries along his way without giving you a second glance. >>[[You continue|Keep reading doors]].

He shrugs. "How would I know? Do you know where to find the Donec de Numinosity?" You shake your head. He grunts. "Ugh. I know it's got to be on this floor. I've been trying to find it all..." He pauses. "All day? Goddamnit, wish there were some windows down here." He hurries along his way without another word to you. >>[[You continue|Keep reading doors]].

It's a small ceramic statue of an angel, slathered with a half-hearted coating of blue glaze, its wings broken, its face worn down to smoothness. A tag afixed to the angel's arm by a loop of thread has a series of numbers, meaningless to you but no doubt part of the office's cataloging system. "They say it used to talk," says the old man. "Had a voice like bees buzzin,' they say. Scared the shit outta the old lady who made it. A potter from Parts Foreign, that's where most of these things start, ya know... but guess this was some sort of art project. Anyway." He spits on the ground. "It ain't said shit since they brought it in here. Probably cuz they sanded of the [[face]]."

There is a metal brazier in the corner, full of smoldering coals. The old man had been stoking the flames with a [[metal poker]].

"Oh yes, I've been with so many men," she continues. Her hands are all over you, sliding under your clothes, her fingers fluffing through the thick hair of your chest. Your casock falls to the floor and she pulls herself to you. "I couldn't get enough of them, I'm always hungry for more. They come and they fill me up, but I'm just so sinful, Father, they're just not enough for me." Her hands grip your member, cup your balls, flutter between your legs. "Hmmm, but you, Father, you look like you [[might be different]]..."

"Oh yes, I've been with so many women," she says. Her hands are all over you, sliding under your clothes and across your chest. Your casock falls to the floor and she pulls herself to you. "I've been inside them, they've been inside me, a whole convent's worth of cunts and I've plumbed the depths of every one. But I'm always hungry for more, I just can't be satiated, Father, I've got a demon inside me and all it wants is more flesh, always more flesh..." Her hands grip your member, cup your balls, flutter between your legs. "Hmmm, but you, Father, you look like you [[be one to satisfy|might be different]]..."

You're on your back now, sprawled across that filthy mattress, and the whore is upon you, her mouth sucking at your face, your neck, your chest, leaving red welts of desire everytime that her lips part from your flesh with soft wet pops. Her hands are ever busy, fondling you, caressing you, roughly but never cruelly, her talons lightly trailing against your skin to raise goose pimples. Your member is at attention, throbbing. You're dimmly aware that the whore is taking you in, the warmth and the wetness is overpowering and your mind is exploding with sensations you thought you'd never feel. You took vows, of course, low ago, years ago, in a seminary in a land and time that seems so incredibly far away now. "Yes, yes, Father," hisses the whore, grinding her pelvis against yours, sucking you deeper and deeper. "Absolution, Father, absolution... fill me up!" >>"[[I'm a man of God!]]" >>"[[Keep doing that!]]"

"I'm a man of God!" you protest, but the whore puts a finger to your lips. "Shhh, Father, it's fine." Her voice is gentle. There are no theatrics now; you realize that she's breaking character to reassure you and the very fact of that fills your heart with a heady melange of joy and sorrow. "It's your first time in the city, is it, Father? I should have known, Father, you've got the look of Parts Foreign about you..." She's still on top of you, your cock buried in her cunt, she's still thrusting, still roughly milking you, but her words are soft. "Forgive me, Father, I should have known... Don't fret, Father, all my talk of sin, that's just foreplay, Father. An act to get the member hard, Father, the other priests like it. I thought... I thought you would like it too. I should have known. I should have been gentle with you, Father." She's rocking harder, her thighs flexing, her fingers curling, her nails dragging down your chest. "It's no sin, Father, no sin at all... not within the Vatican walls, not when you pay with your indulgence... it's no sin at all." [[You feel ready to explode]].

"Keep doing that..." She's still on top of you, your cock buried in her cunt, she's still thrusting, still roughly milking you. She's rocking harder, her thighs flexing, her fingers curling, her nails dragging down your chest. "I'm filthy with sin, bloated with the black bile of my own depravity," says the whore. "A nasty, naughty monster in the flesh... I should be burned...I deserve...nothing less than the pyre..." Her body is white hot against you, her flesh is soft and warm and smells of rank sweat and sickly sweet perfume. She's so solid, so human. "Oh, I'm SO sinful," she says, "So very, very sinful... I should be burned for my sins.." [[You feel ready to explode]].

"You were outside, weren't you, Father? In the courtyard?" You grunt in the affirmative. "You saw the fires, Father? Tell me about them, Father." Her fingers squeeze at your flanks. "Please, Father. Tell me about them." >>[[Tell her about the bonfires]].

What is there to say about the fires? Big hot pyres, burning bright, monstrous plumes of flame reaching skyward like the very tongues of hell straining to escape their infernal bonds. It consumes, it destroys, it is never satisfied, blistering, boiling, broiling, searing, sizzling, gnashing bodies between its red teeth, skin bubbling, flesh sizzling, the howls and yowls of the damned yes father yes father she says keep going flesh sloughing from bone, a face contorted in pain and fear giving way to the rictis grin beneath, eyeballs exploding, jelly pouring down bony cheeks yes father that's how it was father she says exactly that the flames cleanse, they purify, the sinful body reduced to ash but the soul flies free "No, fuck," says the whore. "Shut up, shut up. Talk more about the flames." the fire is hot, the fire burns, uhhh licking tongues of flame shit i already said that it consumes, it destroys The whore shrieks, digging her nails deep into her shoulders and hugging you close as you [[explode inside her]].

You're lying on the [[mattress]].

You're not sure how long you've been lying here. You're still spent, still gasping. Your member lies, wilted and drained, against your naked thigh. The whore lies next to you, absently curling a stray strand of your hair around her finger. "I liked when you talked about the fire, Father," she says. "[[The other priests won't do that for me]]."

"They don't care if I cum," says [[the whore]].

She rolls over. "I'm sorry I won't see you again, Father," she says. "You were good for me. But I know what the life of a priest is like, especially a priest called to the Vatican. I've seen so many pass through here, after all." She sits up. "I usually don't see them a second time," she says. "Once they go into St. Peter's Basilica, they usually don't come out." "Why don't they come out," you ask. The whore shrugs. "Expect they like it too much to leave," she ays. "The pope himself summoned them there; he probably had some plum station to assign them. And when they have what they need, they don't need to see me anymore." She hands you your crumpled cassock and motions her head at your [[cat carrier]].

You pull your cassock over your head. "That's what you priests want, don't you?" continues the whore. "To be inside the Vatican, inside the beating heart of Christendom, never to be distracted by the misery and poverty of the world? That's what a priest really wants. I know it. All the priests talk about it when they pass through." >>"[[Yes.]]" >>"[[I suppose some do.]]" >>"[[I don't know why the pope summoned me.]]"

"I was told it wasn't a sin!" you say. The whore grits her teeth. "Of course, it isn't. All that happens in Christendom comes directly from the dictates of the holy father. But, damn, imagine if the Pope decided it WAS a sin? Oo, I'd get the pyre for sure, then. Do you think he'd do that for me?" >>"[[You wouldn't get the pyre if you confessed. You'd get leniancy.]]"

"Uhh..." The whore's eyes glaze over, a slight smile on her face, as her thoughts apparently turn to other matters. "I could get the pyre, if the pope declared it. I know I could." >>"[[You wouldn't get the pyre if you confessed. You'd get leniancy.]]"

"You wouldn't get the pyre if you confessed. You'd get leniancy." The whore glares at you. "Tell the pope I DESERVE the pyre," she says as she shoves you [[out the door]]. "And this time, tell him to make the flames hot."

You're back on the main street, amidst the teeming throng of pilgrims and penitents. In the distance to the south, you can see the half-finished spires of [[Saint Peter's Basilica]]. The Vatican, you are finding, is very different from what you expected.

Muttering under your breath, you stumble back through the beaded curtain, past the procuress, and back out onto the street without looking back. You're vaguely aware of the procuress' voice shouting after you, but she's probably just concerned that you're going to demand a refund, so you pay her no mind. The Vatican, you're realizing, is not what you expected. You're back on the main street, amidst the teeming throng of pilgrims and penitents. In the distance to the south, you can see the half-finished spires of [[Saint Peter's Basilica]].

You kneel next to the virgin and fold your hands. She immediately begins babbling the pader noster under her breath in a pouty, baby voice. Eventually, she says: "Father, you are not from the Vatican? The make of your robe, the look in your eyes... you are so different from the priests that visit me to pray." "I'm from Parts Foreign," you say. She blushes. "I have never heard of it. Father, you must think me a fool. You have come so far and have seen so much of this world, but I have seen so little. I am just a simple, unsullied virgin, naive to anything but the four walls of my chamber." She touches your shoulder with her tiny, pale hands. "What is the world like outside?" she asks. Aw jeez. You struggle to remember how your seminary training said to answer questions like this. There was some standard line a good priest should use in this situation... >>[[The world is full of wolves, my child.]] >>[[The world is full of beauty, my child.]]

She closes her eyes. "Oh Father," she says. "Tell me of the world. Tell me of Parts Foreign." What is there to say about Parts Foreign? Until this journey, it's all you ever knew -- the parish of Ísfjall in the diocese of Sprátt in Parts Foreign contained your whole life just as much as these four chamber walls contain the life of his virgin. What is there to say about the ice floes and the snow banks, the short grey days and the long dark nights, a lifetime lived in a stone church, lighting candles and saying prayers for a congregation long since withered to nothingness, whole winters spent alone, nothing to break the silent vigil of days, of weeks, of months, until one day the church cat sat up in its basket, opened its mouth and spoke like a man? [["It's cold," you say]].

She closes her eyes. "Oh Father," she says. "Tell me of the world. Tell me of Parts Foreign." What is there to say about Parts Foreign? Until this journey, it's all you ever knew -- the parish of Ísfjall in the diocese of Sprátt in Parts Foreign contained your whole life just as much as these four chamber walls contain the life of this virgin. What is there to say about the ice floes and the snow banks, the short grey days and the long dark nights, a lifetime lived in a little stone church, lighting candles and saying prayers for a congregation long since withered to nothingness, whole winters spent alone, nothing to break the silent vigil of days, of weeks, of months, until one day the church cat sat up in its basket, opened its mouth and spoke like a man? [["It's cold," you say]].

"Oh Father, I can feel it," says the virgin. She shivers, her nipples stiffening in response. "Oh Father, I'm so cold. Hold me, Father." >>[[Hold the virgin.|Caress the virgin]] >>[[Do the other priests really... just pray with you?]]

You take the virgin in your arms and she presses into you, like a suckling seeking its mother's teat. Her body is so small and frail that you almost fear you will crush her. She feels like a baby bird. You can feel her [[heart racing]].

She looks into your eyes. Her eyes, you notice, are bright blue, unnaturally blue, like the still waters of an underground [[grotto|You know]].

"Do the other priests really... just pray with you?" She blushes, her cheeks a delicate pink. "Of course, Father, what else would they do?" She shivers again. "They're just priests, Father, they wouldn't know how to do anything else. They're as ignorant to the ways of the flesh as I am, Father. The holy father calls them here to Rome for reasons of his own and sometimes they stop to see me along their journey. They never return, though. No priest has ever come twice." "No priest returns?" "No." She sighs wistfully. "I suppose they find something better inside the Vatican. Why pray with me when they can pray with the holy father himself? He must have great plans for them indeed so that they never feel the need to leave again." She shivers again. "I'm so cold, Father. [[Hold me, Father|Caress the virgin]]."

Her body is warm and soft and solid and [[human|Not like there was, last time]].

The procuress doesn't even look up as you pass her, stumbling back toward the main [[thoroughfare|south]].

Progress is slow, the line inching forward at a glacial pace. Eventually, you reach the counter. [[Eventually, you reach the counter]].

"Hey pal," says the stewart. "First time at the Vatican? I can tell, you've got the look about you. Don't tell me. You're from Parts Foreign, right? Yeah, I thought so. I can always tell, ya know? What brings ya to the Vatican, huh?" >>"[[I have a summons from the pope.|noodlesummons]]" >>"[[I'm just here to get some food, please.]]"

Customers behind you are starting to grumble. You hand the stewart an indulgence. In a single motion, he throws it below the counter as he dumps a handful of noodles into a bowl and slides it across the counter toward you. [[He nods his head for you to go]]. (set: $inv to $inv - (a: "[[indulgence]]"))

You step to the side, so that the next customer can order, the bowl of pasta clutched between your open hands. You're not sure [[how you're supposed to eat this]].

You grab the brand; the tip of the metal rod, fashioned into the form of a crucifix, is glowing [[red-hot|compelled to answer]].

You shove the brand against the chest of the incubus, wincing at the acrid smell of sizzling flesh. The incubus shrieks and throws itself at the ground, rolling and flailing. "I have a papal summons," you say. "I need to speak with the Pope. Tell me where I need to go." The incubus writhes like a snake, her limbs whipping wildly. You jab the brand at her again; she shieks but this time she seems more talkative. *The 20th Floor down!* shrieks the incubus, spitting and hissing like a cat as she scuttles backwards, away from you, until her back presses against the far rim of her pentacle prison. *All the way down! The door's marked with the papal seal. Not the papal seal you know. [[The REAL papal seal|You don't want the feeling to end1]].*

Back on the main thoroughfare, you find a desserted spot in a corner between two gargoyles and sit down to eat. The pasta is dry and crumbly but edible. You watch the crowd pass as you force down your meal. You realize that you're actually quite hungry. How long has it actually been since the last time you ate? It's hard to remember. You finish. There's no place to put the plate or the hand out here, so [[you leave them on the ground|south]].

You notice, for the first time, that the far wall of the alcove is studded with small metal hooks. From each hook hangs a withered, twisted [[human hand]].

The hands are tanned and lacquered, the sinews petrified to the hardness of mahogany. Another customer brushes past you, grabbing a hand from a hook as [[he moves]].

You realize that some hands have their fingers together, their palms cupped, to form a small bowl. Others have their fingers spread, the slender bony digits as fine as [[the tines of a fork]].

You realize how the other patrons are [[eating their meals]].

"It's fine," says the stewart as you glance back at him. He seems to have anticipated your question. "It's all [[Jews and Saracens|hands]]."

The incubus claws at your cassock, fumbling with your buttons and ripping the cloth, but eventually she peels you from your vestaments and regards you, up and down, with big yellow eyes like a cat sizing up a rodent. She flicks her little blue tongue across her lips. It's forked. [[*You need to invite me in, Father*]]

"You get what you need?" asks the old man when you finally emerge. He's grinning widely as if he knows exactly what you did, but you don't have time to waste on him. You know exactly where you need to be, finally you know! You pick up the cat carrier. >>"[[Yes, thank you.]]"

You return to the corridor and find the nearest [[stairwell]].

[[You go down]].

[[You keep going down]].

It's a long, long way down and your ankles ache by the time you reach the landing of the 15th floor down. [[You haven't seen another soul in at least 5 floors|job]].

Your eyes move to the seal on the door. Somehow, you [[know]] this is the seal you're looking for.

>>[[Knock]]. >>[[Enter]].

The door is locked, but you hear a sudden flurry of scuffling and muffled voices in response to your entry attempt. [[You hear bolts moving on the other side of the door.|muffled voices]]

You rap your knuckles against the door. You can hear faint rustling within as well as the sound of [[muffled voices]].

A wide-eyed young man opens the door, clutching a carved caduceus raised over his head like a club. He relaxes when he sees your face. "Oh, your eminence," he says, "I'm sorry, I thought it was those... never mind." His eyes dart about the hallway. His face is streaked with grease and grime, his tunic is splattered with blood. He reeks of sweat. "Sorry," he says again. "Those things have me on edge. I'm not used to working under these conditions... We're working as hard as we can, your eminence." His eyes light on the carrier. "I see that you've brought another..." He pauses. "Wait a minute, you're not a cardinal." [[He narrows his eyes suspiciously]].

"I have a papal summons," you say. "Oh, of course," he says. "Well, this isn't the galley, if you want to watch, you'll need to go up a floor..." "I'm not hear to watch, I need to meet the pope," you say quickly. You've come all this way; you can sense that you're close and you're not about to be sent off on another wild goose chase. You're positive the pope is behind these doors. The young man glances backward, at something in the room behind him that you can't see. You can hear a voice, a familiar voice, saying something. The young man nods. "Alright, alright, fine," he says. "Just hurry up and come in before those kids come back." He opens the door and [[motions for you to enter]].

You're in an antechamber of some sort with a high-domed ceiling, the walls covered with heavy tapestries. There's a strange odor here, cloying herbs masking something rank and foul. The young man waves you to a chair, one of many, as he ducks out through a door in the far wall. "We'll call you as soon as we're ready," he says. You catch a brief glimpse of something large and dark in the room beyond before he shuts the door. Seated in one of the chairs, grinning widely, clutching the wooden casket in his lap, is [[the true believer]].

"I knew we would meet again," he says, beaming. "Mark my words, I said to myself the first time I met you, that man is a true believer. A true believer if ever I saw one! He's surely got a part to play yet in this drama. Eh? Eh?" [[You nod politely as you take a seat.]]

The pope is dying. All men must die, of course. The fact of it is plain, only the hour of passing may be in doubt. There are those lost to the influenza or to the plague, those lost to the knife of the bandit or the blade of the surgeon, and those who pass away in the still of the night without so much as a cry or a gasp. But all men will eventually pass into that dark country from which there is no return. In this dark room in the deepest pit below St.Peter's Basilica, upon a thick feather bed, covered by sheets of satin and silk, the [[pope lies dying]].

Standing at the side of the pope's bed is a portly man dressed in a coat of waxed leather, his face hidden behind a mask resembing the face and beak of an oversized bird. He pushes the mask up, revealing a swollen puffy face with a bulbous red nose, sagging eyes, and a bushy black beard. "I've tried everything," he says, tugging at the fingers of his gloves. "At first, I restricted myself to the methods approved by the scholars of old, the usual tinctures and pultices, but I have since been forced to attempt more esoteric remedies." The room is thick with the cloying smell of burning incense, all the better to disguise the stink of blood and shit. "You're a physician, as well?" says the man hopefully. He extends a hand to you and you try your best not to recoil when you notice it's smeared with clotting black blood. "Giacomo di San Genesio. [[Physician to Innocent VIII]]."

From this position, you can see the pope lying in his bed. He is so thin that even the soft feather bed bruises him, large purple welts spreading across his back and hips, across skin like paper stretched tightly over bones. His eyes sunken so deeply into his skull that they resemble empty black pits, staring sightlessly up at frescoes of cherubs and saints. His dry blackened lips have curled back from his teeth, leaving his mouth an open hole of blackness. You would think that even know he was already dead, but the physician in all his wisdom has detected the faintest intake and exhale of breath. The body is connected to a network of artificial tubes, plugged into incisions along his arms and chest, extending up to be lost in the gloom of the domed ceiling. Dark fluid circulates through the tubes, doubtless part of the physician's plan to help the pope cling to life. "As long as the pope breathes, there is still hope to save him," says Giacomo di San Genesio. "[[And ourselves|And our own]]."

"The pope must live," he tells you. His thick eyebrows twitch nervously, his eyes darting here and there. Eager eyes watch you. Eager ears listen in. "Every aspect of Christendom is according to the will of the holy father. It's vital that he live." You can feel the stares of a dozen eyes, maybe more, watching from the oil portraits that line the walls. Behind the portraits, behind the curtains, behind the door that bars entry to the pope's chambers to all but the pope's private physician and, now, to you, wait dozens more. Watching. [[Waiting]].

"The pope must live," repeats Giacomo de San Genesio and you see the fear in his eyes. A single bead of sweat trickles down his forehead, cutting a path through the grime and blood. "They say all men must die," he says, licking his lips, his tongue cutting a trail through the filth. "But today the pope must live. The cardinals have decreed that it must be, for some political ends of their own. I'm a simple layman and I could never hope to understand the politics of cardinals. Better if I don't know. But for whatever reason, they need the pope to live. They have communicated this dictate to me, and I now repeat it to you." His beard is matted with blood. His eyes move, unbidden, to the pile in the corner. >>"[[I was supposed to have an audience with the Holy Father.]]"

Ahead, you see that the hallway terminates in a large double door decorated with an unfamiliar sigil. There is a small clot of young children huddled at the foot of the door. Their alabaster skin [[glows|glows2]] in the dim light.

The children turn to stare at you with [[black eyes]].

And without a word, they scatter into the shadows. The hallway is a single long passage, so there is nowhere that they could go -- [[yet they are gone|decorated with an unfamiliar sigil]].

The papers appear to be [[requests]] from various departments for the Donec de Lucifugia's services.

You unfurl a scroll. It is a [[complaint from the Donec de Poenitentiae about a rat infestation]].

You unfurl a second scroll. It is, again,a complaint from the Donec de Poenitentiae about a rat infestation. The language in this missive is slightly more [[agitated|new scroll]].

From: Donec de Poenitentiae To: Donec de Lucifugia This is now, by my count, the thirteenth missive that I have sent to your department about this issue. We have spoken with the Donec de Estofalos AGAIN and they have assured us QUITE vigorously that this is NOT under the purview of their department and that it IS in fact under the purview of the Donec de Lucifugia ie YOUR DEPARTMENT. In the meantime, the rat infestation continues to grow unabated; the rodents have now infiltrated the Donec de Lustucre and the Donec de Paracelsus, both on the 12th Floor. They resist all of our appeasements. We now have reason to believe the infestation began in the Donec de Reliquiae. We believe that improper storage of the relics of the saints is to blame, as the Donec de Reliquiae has admitted that the box containing the member of St. Saint Renatus of Sorrento ws gnawed and its contents ruined. The influence of these relics is evident as these rats are [[not like other rats|20TH FLOOR]].

The next several scrolls are also from the Donec de Poenitentiae and consist entirely of [[strings of expletives|the 20th floor]].

After that, you find several blank scrolls with ragged, chewed edges. You assume they were sent by [[mistake|stairwell1]].

"He must have summoned you many months ago," says Giacomo de San Genesio. "Because Lord knows he's in no state to do it now. We believe it's an ailment of the blood, you see. We're currently working to replace the holy father's bad blood with good blood. We have high hopes for this process. I once observed a idolatrous Ottoman scholar, much given to eastern lewdnesses, undertake a similar process to heal a caliph who fell sick with the Plague of Justinian." "Was it successful?" The doctor pauses. "No. No, but I believe that the blood of a good Christian may be of a different viscosity than that of an idolater. That may be a deciding factor in the success of the treatment. Why? Have there been any medical advances in Parts Foreign that we should know of? Any at all that could help?" >>"[[Um. I'm not actually a physician]]."

"Um, I'm not actually a physician." His hopeful smile falters. "I was summoned to present this," you say, holding up the cat carrier. "At least, I believe so. It's a prodigy." [[The cat yowls loudly.]]

The assistant escorts the true believer into the inner sanctum. He's still carrying the casket under one arm. "Such an honor to help," says the true believer. "I tell you, we've come a long way, such a long way. As soon as I heard there was a need, why, my whole family said to me, you need to do this. You need to help." The assistant points to a gurney and the true believer, still chattering, [[places the casket upon it]].

"Good, good, well done," he says, releasing your shoulders and placing the parchment back into your hands. "Now, before you can have audience with the Holy Father, you'll have to be cleared through the Donec de Pontificia Cappella. You'll find their office inside, in Saint Peter's Basilica, in the Ambulatory." "The Ambulatory? Where can I...?" Henricus Institor isn't interested in talking anymore; he's already turned his attention back to directing the priests on how to tend the bonfires. >>[[Enter courtyard]]

He releases your shoulders, his gaze returning to the bonfires in the distance. "Well, a man is entitled to his opinion," he says, shoving the parchment back into your hands. "Perhaps you'll find your thoughts clarified when you meet the Holy Father for your audience. But you'll have to be cleared through the Donec de Pontificia Cappella first, of course. You'll find their office inside, in Saint Peter's Basilica, in the Ambulatory." "The Ambulatory? Where can I...?" Henricus Institor isn't interested in talking anymore; he's already turned his attention back to directing the priests on how to tend the bonfires. >>[[Enter courtyard]]

>>[[Speak to the pope]].

"Your Holiness," you say. "[[I have a summons]]."

The Pope's lips don't move, yet you can sense faint whispers rising from his throat with his soft, faint breath... like distant echoes from a vast underground cavern or from the bottom of a deep deep well. >>[[Listen]].

All that happens in Christendom comes directly from the dictates of the holy father >>[[Listen more closely]].

(set: $random to (random: 1,4)) (if: $random is 1)[(goto:"random1")] (if: $random is 2)[(goto:"random2")] (if: $random is 3)[(goto:"random3")] (if: $random is 4)[(goto:"random4")] (if: $random is 5)[(goto:"random5")] (if: $random is 6)[(goto:"random6")] (if: $random is 7)[(goto:"random7")]

"Then Judah said to Onan, 'Go in to your brother’s wife, and perform your duty as a brother-in-law to her, and raise up offspring for your brother,'" mewls the [[cat|baleful yellow eyes]]. "Genesis 38:8-10."

"Now it came about at the lodging place on the way that the Lord met him and sought to put him to death. Then Zipporah took a flint and cut off her son’s foreskin and threw it at Moses’ feet, and she said, 'You are indeed a bridegroom of blood to me,'" mewls the [[cat|baleful yellow eyes]]. "Exodus 4:24-25."

"If two men, a man and his countryman, are struggling together, and the wife of one comes near to deliver her husband from the hand of the one who is striking him, and puts out her hand and seizes his genitals, then you shall cut off her hand; you shall not show pity,'" mewls the [[cat|baleful yellow eyes]]. "Deuteronomy 25:11-12."

"Then because of the dire straights to which you will be reduced when your enemy besieges you, you will eat your own children, the flesh of your sons and daughters whom the Lord has given you,'" mewls the [[cat|baleful yellow eyes]]. "Deuteronomy 28:53."

A slip of paper upon which is written "Indulgentia plenaria perpetua quotidiana toties quoties pro vivis et defunctis." >>[[Return to inventory|inventory]].

"To serve God." He places his hands on your shoulders, possibly in a showing of friendly comraderie but you can't help but notice how his nails press into your flesh. "Absolutely right, absolutely right," he says. "The will of God is the most important thing. The pope has served Rome for a very long time, but if the good Lord is calling him home, who are we to intervene? I mean, wouldn't it be the gravest of sins to thwart the will of God?" "Of course, some cardinals might not agree. Some cardinals care more about petty politiking than the divine will and they'll play chess with a man's life to mean their own ends. Absolutely depraved, if you ask me." Another blast of heat and another chorus of screeching yowls explodes behind you. You instinctively want to turn your head, but Henricus has your chin in his hand, keeping your face turned to his. "Don't you agree, friend?" You're not entirely sure what he's trying to say, to be honest. >>[[Yes|yess]]. >>[[No|noo]].

"To serve the church." He places his hands on your shoulders, possibly in a showing of friendly comraderie but you can't help but notice how his nails press into your flesh. "Quite right!" says Henricus Institor, his smile growing. "Well said! The integrity of the church must be protected, right? The pope has seen to that for a very long time. When the strength of men fail, the church endures. Don't you agree? The survival of the church takes precedence over the survival of any one man, any one of us?" You're not entirely sure you understand what he's trying to communicate. >>"[[Yes|yess]]." >>"[[No|noo]]."

"To serve the church IS to serve God." He smiles, evidently pleased with your answer. He places his hands on your shoulders, possibly in a showing of friendly comraderie but you can't help but notice how his nails press into your flesh. "Well said! They ARE one and the same, aren't they? So when you work in the interests of the church, you can do no wrong, right? And when a man can no longer work in the interests of the church, then that man can no longer serve the interests of God. Isn't that right?" Another blast of heat and another chorus of screeching yowls explodes behind you. You instinctively want to turn your head, but Henricus has your chin in his hand, keeping your face turned to his. "Anything that blocks the church from its mission must be removed? Wouldn't you agree?" You're not entirely sure what he's trying to communicate. >>"[[Yes|yess]]." >>"[[No|noo]]."

"Ooo, a summons from the pope, huh? Pretty exciting, pretty exciting. See, I knew you were on your way up just from lookin' at ya. I could tell. Guess we won't be seein' much of you after this, huh? Ha ha!" >>"[[What do you mean?]]"

"Sheesh, alright, just tryin' to be friendly," says the stewart. "Guess the man's too hungry to talk, fine. You want food, though, you gotta pay, you know?" He holds out one hand, cupping his fingers against his palm to indicate you should give him [[something]], while his other hand continues to spin the pasta lathe.

"What do I mean? Nothing, nothing! Just that, when the pope summons ya, it's gotta be big. He's probably got some big, fancy assignment lined up for ya! Keep ya too busy to waste your time out here in the bazaar wit us plebs, huh? Haha, I'm just jinkin' ya, don't worry! Just that when people come through here with a papal summons, they don't often come back a second time." >>"[[Why not?]]"

"'Why not?' How should I know?" He shrugs. "Maybe they like it so much in the Vatican that they just don't wanna come out. I wouldn't know, I never been inside St.Peter's proper. I'm too busy makin' a living. But I bet it must be real nice, if the pope wants to live there. Look, friend, we been jawin' enough, you wanna eat or not?" He holds out one hand, cupping his fingers against his palm to indicate you should give him [[something]], while his other hand continues to spin the pasta lathe.

"Behind these doors, Father, are the ultimate pleasures, ecstacies that you can only dream of back in your home parish," says the procuress. "And they're all here for you, Father. Take your pick. Once you pass these doors, nothing is off limits." >>"[[Isn't this against the rules|Isn't this forbidden by scriptures]]?" >>"[[Tell me more]]."

"Yes," you say. Back home, in your little church where you spent so many years quietly sweeping the floors and saying mass, you hardy dared to drea that someday the pope would do you the honor of a personal audience. But to think that the pope would give you a personal assignment somewhere here in the Vatican? That's almost too much to hope for. "I knew it," says the whore confidently. "Why would anyone join the church in the first place if they weren't eager for a [[personal assignment from the holy father|word must have eventually reached the holy father]]?

"I suppose some do," you say. You're thinking of your home, back in Parts Foreign, of your little church way far away at the very edge of the world, the little church where you wiled away the quiet years until suddenly this talking cat came into your life. "All priests do," says the whore confidently. "Why would anyone join the church in the first place if they weren't eager for a [[personal assignment from the holy father|word must have eventually reached the holy father]]?

"I don't know why the pope summoned me," you say. "I expect it's something to do with this cat. It's a prodigy." The whore nods. "It was the church cat at my parish," you say. "An ordinary cat, as far as I could tell. Then one day, it started reciting bible verses. Quite extraordinary. Even the bishop came to see it. I suppose [[word must have eventually reached the holy father]]."

"You'll tell him about me, won't you?" says the whore. "Hmm?" "The holy father. When you meet him? You'll tell him what kind of awful sins are happening here in the Vatican, won't you? Oh he would be livid to know what's happening here in his name." >>"[[I was told it wasn't a sin!|You said it wasn't a sin!]]" >>"[[Uhh...]]"

"Where's the Donec de Lucifugia?" "Oh, that's about..." He counts quickly in his head. "...three floors down. You'll know the floor, it's got statues of the Desert Fathers on the stair landing. Don't go down further than that, though, you'll end up on the Inquisition's levels, never below the 10th level. And for God's sake, don't get off on the Level of No Saints. Then you've gone WAY too far." [[His good cheer seems to have returned now that you're no longer his problem]].

You're in another long corridor lined with doors, each one again with an inscrutable Latin inscription. There is substancially less activity here than above; you only see the occasional priest, carrying a scroll or grimoire, turning a corner or breezing past you. You occasionally hear the creak of a door open as someone moves between the hallway and one of the many rooms. Ornate marble statues of saints stand at regular intervals. You wander down the hall, [[peering at the plaque above each door]]. Your footsteps echo in the silence.

"You wanna know what's behind the door?" asks the old man, as if reading your mind. He seems genuinely gleeful. "Oh, you wanna know?" He gestures for you to follow as he fumbles with the handle of the [[door|small door set into the back wall]].

"She's not even supposed to be here," says the old man and you realize he's been talking for a while now without you noticing. "She's supposed to be housed down in the Donec de Videm Autem, but they didn't have the space so they 'temporarily' put her here." He emphasizes world "temporarily" to let you know that he's NOT happy about that, but his wide grin reveals his true [[feelings]]. This guy loves any excuse to complain.

"Not really sure how the babies are demon, seein' as she's just taking regular seed from regular men and putting it into regular women. I reckon some scholars down on the lower levels have it all figured out. Not that they ever explained it to me. [[Nobody ever tells me anything!|worrying]]"

"Would she know where I need to be?" He shrugs. "Maybe. Guess you'd have to ask her. 'Scept you can't really ask her. That ain't the way an incubus works. She don't understand language like we do." "Does she talk?" He taps his forehead. "She'll put words in your head. So that's basically the same thing, eh? You just gotta pull it outta her. Sometimes scholars from the lower levels come up here to do that." He ducks out the small door. "[[Up to you how you wanna do it.]]"

You remember your [[course on incubuses]] from seminary.

>>[[Hurt the incubus.|tell you]] >>[[Fuck the incubus.]]

She hooks her fingers into your mouth, you feel the point of her talon biting into your cheek until you drool blood. The heat of her body against yours is intense, like a burning furnace, and as she moves you can feel the hard thorny knobs of her scabs brush your skin. Another hand glides over your buttock, goosepimples popping into existance in response to that light tender touch, fingers so close to your skin. She teases her claws along the rim of your anus, chuckling with soft breathy gasps as sees you clench involuntarily. *Relax, Father, Let me in, Father, You need to invite me in.* [[Her breath is like an abattoir.]]

She is lavishing attention upon you, her little blue tongue lizard-licking you all across your face, flipping you over, dragging her slender fingers through the downly fluff of your chest, down to your crotch. The incubus grips your shoulders and pulls herself into you, an electric bolt shoots through your entire being, and she starts to thrust, slowly at first but then harder, her member swelling inside you so that your toes curl and your fingers grip at nothing as the whole world fades into the background and nothing matters except this moment. *Father* Her tongue is in your ear suddenly. *You will find what you need on the 20th Floor down. All the way down. You will find it marked with the papal seal. Not the papal seal you know. The [[REAL papal seal]].*

You scream out loud as the incubus errupts inside you, filling you up up up more than you ever imagined. Her hand is over your mouth, her fingers up your nose, fingers at your lips, as if she wants to be inside you any way that she can. *The door is locked, Father. You must speak with Donec de Dolor on the 15th level. He had the pope's ear once; he still holds the key* "I was... told... not to go below the 10th floor..." [[*you'll have to*]]

You worry absently that the old man outside might hear you, might guess what's happening here, might throw open the door out of curiosity or fear or anger and catch you here entwined with this thing, but it's only a vague fleeting thought. You find it hard to worry about such things, not when you feel so at peace. Perhaps more at peace than at any point since you left Parts Foreign. Perhaps more at peace than ever. [[You don't want the feeling to end]].

You're not sorry to see the last of that old man. You wonder what will become of the incubus. She doesn't age, she doesn't die, so, like all captured demons, she'll probably exist as she does now, waiting, years, decades if she needs to, centuries even, until the day that the old man or some vague distant descendant of that old man forgets to refresh the pentacle or makes a mistake in drawing a binding sigil and then she'll doubtless return to hell whence she came. She'll probably do some damage along the way. Demons tend to do that. You're throbbing with the fresh memories of your encounter, but you have other things to [[worry about right now]].

"I was told not to descend deeper than the 10th level," you say. You get the feeling that there's more that she's not telling you. You advance on the shrieking incubus; she twists as you thrust the brand and you burn a crucifix into her shoulder. She wails in response. *The door is locked! You must speak with the Donec de Dolor on the 15th level. He had the pope's ear once; he still holds [[the key]]*

You're not sorry to see the last of that old man. You wonder what will become of the incubus. She doesn't age, she doesn't die, so, like all captured demons, she'll probably exist as she does now, waiting, years, decades if she needs to, centuries even, until the day that the old man or some vague distant descendant of that old man forgets to refresh the pentacle or makes a mistake in drawing a binding sigil and then she'll doubtless return to hell whence she came. She'll probably do some damage along the way. Demons tend to do that. She may remember what you did when she's free. Assuming you're still living at that point, you may have some trouble then. But you have other things to [[worry about right now]].

It's difficult to parse out any words, but the sounds from behind the doors sound like [[moans and wails]].

The moro nero knocks. [[Loudly]].

The door opens. A tall clean-shaven man with a shaved head emerges; he wears a leather apron covered in blood. The wailing is louder when the door opens. "A client for you, Father Torquemada," says the moro nero. "Ah, good, good, we were expecting him," says the clean-shaven man, wiping his hands on his apron and motioning the Moro Nero inside. The moro n enters the room with his gurney and his cargo. When the door closes, the wailing is muffled again. You notice that the shaved man wearing leather gloves that come up to his elbows. They are also covered with blood. He turns to you. "And you? Picking up or dropping off?" >>"[[Is this the Donec de Dolor?]]" >>"[[What do you do here?|Working hard?]]" >>"[[I have a summons from the pope.]]"

"Is this the Donec de Dolor?" "That's what it says over the door," he says, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. >>"[[What do you do here?|Working hard?]]" >>"[[I have a summons from the pope.]]"

"The will of the holy father, just as he dictates it," says Torquemada. "Got a fresh batch of suspected heretics in this morning, but, by the time I'm done, they'll be confirmed heretics. I intend to make a name for myself. I might just be another clerk now, but someday I'm gonna be out in the field doing real work." >>"[[Is this the Donec de Dolor?]]" >>"[[I have a summons from the pope.]]"

"I have a summons from the pope." You hold out the summons. "Just unscroll it and let me take a look." Tomas de Torquemada holds up his bloody hands helplessly. "I don't want to get mess on your scroll." You unfurl it and hold it up. Torquemada scans it, moving his lips slightly as he [[reads]].

"Huh," he says. "Weird. Well. All that happens in Christendom comes directly from the dictates of the holy father, so who am I to argue? If you're going to see the pope, you'll need a key," says Torquemada. "The 20th Floor is currently off limits except with special dispensation." He reached under his apron and fumbles with a keyring hooked onto his belt. Eventually he pulls out a large key, emblazoned with the papal seal and folds it into the palm of your hand. It's sticky with clotting blood. "Now I'm afraid I must get back to work," he says. He opens the door, releasing a cacophany of wails, and re-enters the Donec de Dolor. The wails are muffled as the [[door closes]].

[[You return to the stairwell]].

You go [[down]].

[[You keep going down|goingdown]].

You reach the terminus of the stairwell. The corridor is blocked by a locked door. Above the door, someone has carved the words DEUS HIE NON VIDEO. You slide the bloody key you received from Torquemada into the lock and turn it until it clicks. You push open the door and [[enter]].

This is yet another long corridor lined with doors, each one with an inscrutable Latin inscription. [[It's even colder than above.|your footsteps echoing]]

"Is there a way to fix it?" you ask. The old man shrugs. >>[[Draw a face on the angel.]] >>[[Look at another augerie.|lookatanotheraugerie1]]

Your lips appear to be [[mouthing the word "dole."]]

"Is there a... dole anywhere around here?" you ask. "There's the Donec de Dolor on the 15th level, but no one's ever told me about any 'dole'," says the old man. "Not that they would. Why should they tell me what's happening? Not like I might need to know!" You remember that the fat man warned you against descending that far. [[But now you just might.|worry about right now]]

The pages are blank. "Oh, that's cuz they redacted the name in front," says the old man. "It doesn't work without that." You turn to the front inside cover, where the publisher's THIS BIBLE BELONGS TO is followed only by a thick black scribble. >>[[Write your name in the bible.]] >>[[Look at another augerie.]]

>>Examine [[broken statue of an angel]]. >>Examine [[shard of glass|a shard of glass]].

You pull a pencil stub from your pocket and write your name under the [[black scribble]].

Flipping forward, you now see that the pages of the Bible are filled with [[your own life story]].

{(if: $path is "meal")[Most of it is uneventful. Pages and pages of tiny gothic script detailing your years of service to your little parish church, every mass described in full, every candle service noted, every afternoon spent sweeping the floor or tending the grounds, then the day that the church cat spoke, the initial shock, then the message to the diocese, the visit by the bishop, the tourists, all there to see the marvelous prodigy, which continued to talk, to recite random Bible verses out of context with no rhyme or reason, but still the tourists cae to marvel, then the summons from the pope, the journey, the wagon ride with that annoying true believer, and then the trek through the Vatican, Henricus Institor, the meal hastily eaten at the side of the bazaar, the fat man with the brazier, the old man with the augeries, and next [[the Donec de Dolor]].] (else-if: $path is "virgin") [Most of it is uneventful. Pages and pages of tiny gothic script detailing your years of service to your little parish church, every mass described in full, every candle service noted, every afternoon spent sweeping the floor or tending the grounds, then the day that the church cat spoke, the initial shock, then the message to the diocese, the visit by the bishop, the tourists, all there to see the marvelous prodigy, which continued to talk, to recite random Bible verses out of context with no rhyme or reason, but still the tourists cae to marvel, then the summons from the pope, the journey, the wagon ride with that annoying true believer, and then the trek through the Vatican, Henricus Institor, the virgin, the fat man with the brazier, the old man with the augeries, and next [[the Donec de Dolor]]. ] (else-if: $path is "whore")[Most of it is uneventful. Pages and pages of tiny gothic script detailing your years of service to your little parish church, every mass described in full, every candle service noted, every afternoon spent sweeping the floor or tending the grounds, then the day that the church cat spoke, the initial shock, then the message to the diocese, the visit by the bishop, the tourists, all there to see the marvelous prodigy, which continued to talk, to recite random Bible verses out of context with no rhyme or reason, but still the tourists cae to marvel, then the summons from the pope, the journey, the wagon ride with that annoying true believer, and then the trek through the Vatican, Henricus Institor, the whore, the fat man with the brazier, the old man with the augeries, and next [[the Donec de Dolor]].] (else:)[Most of it is uneventful. Pages and pages of tiny gothic script detailing your years of service to your little parish church, every mass described in full, every candle service noted, every afternoon spent sweeping the floor or tending the grounds, then the day that the church cat spoke, the initial shock, then the message to the diocese, the visit by the bishop, the tourists, all there to see the marvelous prodigy, which continued to talk, to recite random Bible verses out of context with no rhyme or reason, but still the tourists cae to marvel, then the summons from the pope, the journey, the wagon ride with that annoying true believer, and then the trek through the Vatican, Henricus Institor, the whore, the fat man with the brazier, the old man with the augeries, and next [[the Donec de Dolor]].] }

"Where's the Donec de Dolor?" you ask. "15th level down," says the old man. "The Inquisition runs that level, boy, you don't want to go down that far." You remember that the fat man also warned you against descending that far. [[But now you just might.|worry about right now]]

You pull a stub of a pencil from your pocket and draw a crude face on the blank front of the angel's head -- [[two dots for eyes, a line for a mouth]].

Almost immediately, you feel a strange [[tingling, buzzing sensation]] in the hand holding the statue.

Your head is filled with [[chattering static]].

Your whole life is passing quickly before your eyes, everything that happened to lead you to this [[moment]].

<<if visited ("west")>> Most of it is uneventful. Pages and pages of tiny gothic script detailing your years of service to your little parish church, every mass described in full, every candle service noted, every afternoon spent sweeping the floor or tending the grounds, then the day that the church cat spoke, the initial shock, then the message to the diocese, the visit by the bishop, the tourists, all there to see the marvelous prodigy, which continued to talk, to recite random Bible verses out of context with no rhyme or reason, but still the tourists cae to marvel, then the summons from the pope, the journey, the wagon ride with that annoying true believer, and then the trek through the Vatican, Henricus Institor, the meal hastily eaten at the side of the bazaar, the fat man with the brazier, the old man with the augeries, and next [[the Donec de Dolor]]. <<otherwise if visited ("VIRGIN")>> Most of it is uneventful. Pages and pages of tiny gothic script detailing your years of service to your little parish church, every mass described in full, every candle service noted, every afternoon spent sweeping the floor or tending the grounds, then the day that the church cat spoke, the initial shock, then the message to the diocese, the visit by the bishop, the tourists, all there to see the marvelous prodigy, which continued to talk, to recite random Bible verses out of context with no rhyme or reason, but still the tourists cae to marvel, then the summons from the pope, the journey, the wagon ride with that annoying true believer, and then the trek through the Vatican, Henricus Institor, the virgin, the fat man with the brazier, the old man with the augeries, and next [[the Donec de Dolor]]. <<otherwise>> Most of it is uneventful. Pages and pages of tiny gothic script detailing your years of service to your little parish church, every mass described in full, every candle service noted, every afternoon spent sweeping the floor or tending the grounds, then the day that the church cat spoke, the initial shock, then the message to the diocese, the visit by the bishop, the tourists, all there to see the marvelous prodigy, which continued to talk, to recite random Bible verses out of context with no rhyme or reason, but still the tourists cae to marvel, then the summons from the pope, the journey, the wagon ride with that annoying true believer, and then the trek through the Vatican, Henricus Institor, the whore, the fat man with the brazier, the old man with the augeries, and next [[the Donec de Dolor]]. <<endif>>

"To think, we're about to meet the pope himself," says the true believer. "What an honor! And to be able to give the ultimate gift to God's ambassador on Earth? What Christian could ever dream for anything more?" He pats the casket. Something inside the casket knocks back. "Shh, shh," he says. "Your time is coming." Eventually, the door opens. The greasy young man pokes his nose out and looks at you. "[[You, with the summons. Come on in]]."

You're so distracted by the moans that you don't notice an approaching moro nero until he passes you in the hallway. "Looking for something, Father?" he asks. You notice that he's pushing along a strange contraption, a sort of gurney. A naked man is tied below it by his arms and legs, suspended like a roast pig on a spit. >>"[[I'm looking for the Donec de Dolor.]]" >>"[[Why do you have this man tied up?]]"

"Follow me," says the moro nero, pushing the gurney along. You follow him down the hall until you reach a particular door where the moaning noises are [[particularly loud|Donec de Dolor]].

"He's just here for an interview," says the moro nero. "As the holy father wills it." "Mmmf," says the bound man. He blinks desperately at you, but he can't say more as his mouth is stuffed with rags. >>"[[I'm looking for the Donec de Dolor.]]"

"And lo! The world of flesh was made to decay!" shrieks the cat. "The Lord sits deaf and dumb on his heavenly throne, a carcass of the spirit! Mastarians 647:69-56!" >>"[[I don't know where it got that from|signals that it shouldn't be]]." >>"[[It usually recites Bible verses|xxversexx]]."

That verse isn't even in the apocrapha. It seemed to find stranger verses to quote the deeper you penetrated into the catacombs under the cathedral. Perhaps the holiness of this place is affecting it somehow. [[You wonder what strange forgotten knowledge the cat is drawing upon now, here at the very heart of Christendom|It usually recites Bible verses]].

"To think! Me! Here in Rome! Helping the Pope himself! Truly an honor. My family is going to be so excited." The physician rests an ear against the casket, running his hands along the wood as if seeking for a particular spot. Suddenly he raises his head, snaps his fingers to the assistant, and points at a spot on the center of the casket's face. The assistant arrives with a large wood auger, placing its point at the spot indicated by the physician and turning the hand crank to power the instrument. "Come," says the physician to you. "Come, help up [[hold the casket steady]]."

For several minutes, you, the true believer, and the physicians hold the casket between you as the assistant bores through the wood. Eventually, the wood snaps and the auger penetrates through the lid. The casket twitches and the room is filled with a jagged scream so sudden that you pull back your hands from fright. A gout of crimson blood bursts from the hole, blowing the auger from the assistant's hands. "Quick, a tube!" shouts the physician, pointing at you. "Before he [[bleeds out]]!"

The casket is still screaming and its twitching so badly that they can barely keep hold of it. You grab a dangling tube at random and shove it toward the physician. He takes it and shoves it into the hole in the casket. You can't see exactly what happens as the physician does his work, but blood begins to flow up through the tubing. You notice the fluid circulating between the pope and the tubes is now moving quicker. "This should buy a little more time," says the physician, wiping his brow. "The power's in the blood, you see. Like I said, I believe the blood of a good Christian is of a different viscosity. Hopefully it will be more compatible than... [[other blood]]." The scream fades and the [[casket stops moving]].

"We're gonna get another of those kids," says the assistant. "How many is it now? Five? Six?" The physician fixes him with a hard glare. "It won't be long until they start appearing on other floors," says the assistant. "They can move through walls, you see, any wall without the real papal seal. That seems to keep them out. But once they start moving about the floors, they're gonna arouse suspicions." "I saw one on the third floor," you say. He nods and rolls his eyes. "Of course. Of course they'd already be up there. Goddamn it. The cardinals are going to fucking kill us. They're gonna be so pissed." The physician nods as he tugs at the tubes. "[[It's working for now.|That's enough]]"

"Can I say something?" asks the true believer. "It won't take long. I just want to say something. It's such an honor to be here!" "Make it quick," says the physician. The true believer kneels at the pope's bed, crossing himself. "Holy Father," he says, "It's just such an honor to be able to give this gift to you, to the Church. My son and I are both humbled by your grace. You know, my whole family, we're all Christians, your holiness, going way back. It's always been our dream to give back, you know, to the community." "[[That's enough]], come on," says the physician.

"I just want to say, to be in the presence of the holy father... what an honor! What a great honor! I want you to know I'll never forget this." "That's enough," repeats the physician sharply. The true believer speaks faster, his word blurring. The assistant grabs him by the shoulder and tugs him to his feet, frog-marching him away from the bed even as the true believer makes a last moment grab to touch his fingers against the pope's forehead. The physician and assistant are momentarily distracted as they wrestle the true believer out of the room. You are alone with the Pope. >>[[Lean in close]].

The pope has [[nothing]] to say.

A Papal Summons, or The Church Cat A Twine game by Bitter Karella https://twitter.com/bitterkarella https://bitterkarella.itch.io/ [[Read again?|Untitled Passage]]

From: Donec de Dolor To: Donec de Lucifugia By order of the holy father, the Donec de Malebogia has assumed all duties formerly held by the Donec de Poenitentiae. The Donec de Poenitentiae is reassigned pending further notice. All questions relating to the will of the holy father on this matter should be referred to the [[Donec de Dolor|20TH FLOOR2]] on the 15th Floor.

The Donec de Dolor on the 15th floor. You remember that the fat man warned you against descending that far down. But it's your [[only lead|worry about right now]].

"For whatsoever man he be that hath a blemish, he shall not approach: a blind man, or a lame, or he that hath a flat nose, or any thing superfluous, Or a man that is brokenfooted, or brokenhanded, Or crookbackt, or a dwarf, or that hath a blemish in his eye, or be scurvy, or scabbed, or hath his stones broken," says the [[cat|baleful yellow eyes]]. "Leviticus 21:18-21."

"But if this thing be true, and the tokens of virginity be not found for the damsel: Then they shall bring out the damsel to the door of her father's house, and the men of her city shall stone her with stones that she die: because she hath wrought folly in Israel, to play the whore in her father's house: so shalt thou put evil away from among you," says the [[cat|baleful yellow eyes]]. "Deuteronomy 22: 20-21."

""For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law. And a man's foes shall be they of his own household. He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me," says the [[cat|baleful yellow eyes]]. "Matthew 10:35-27."

"Disposing of retracted bulls," says the fat man jovially. "Just as the holy father dictates. All that happens in Christendom comes directly from the dictates of the holy father, after all." >>[[Show him the summons]].

The cat is becoming agitated. "And lo! The wrath of the Lord was upon them, ther bones did splinter and their blood did boil!" screams the cat. "Great were the lamentations of the people, yet the Lord would not hear! Contusions 12:65-7!" You've never heard of that verse before. Or [[that book|glows]].

You feel the cold of this place in your bones. You wonder if there something about this place, about being at this depth, about being thing close to the very epicenter of Christendom, that might be causing the cat to... ...pick up [[signals that it shouldn't be]].

The physician shrugs, already distracted by the forest of tubes growing from the pope's body. He adjusts a valve, frowns as the fluid begins to ooze faster. He seems to have lost all interest in you. "[[Boy, send in the next visitor]]," says the physician.

There are no words. Just a [[faint gasp]].

>>Examine [[dog-eared book|a deck of cards]]. >>Examine [[shard of glass|a shard of glass]].