Across the Wall

by Garth Nix

  12 FISHGUT ALLEY

  And you thought the Street of Fishmongers smelt bad. Obviously this is where all the fish guts end up after the beggars have tried to eat them—for the second time. At the other end of the alley, a hulking giant of a man is standing, a spiked club in his hand.

  Do you approach him for directions to the Sleine? Go to 57 Or return to the Street of Fishmongers? Go to 41

  13 As your hand touches the hilt of your rapier, you start, and the eyes in your head bulge dramatically. The hag is wearing the Black Apron of a Master of Cleaver-Fu—a deadly martial art you cannot possibly cope with! Go to 62

  14 There really is nothing like just messing about in boats. Pitting one’s strength against the vicious tidal bores that sweep up the river, or the onrush of sewage from the city that sweeps down. But lo! There on the port bow you see a heavily decorated houseboat, firmly embedded in the mudflats. The heavy use of purple fur around the windows (and fake gold trim on the gutters) convinces you this must be the infamous Quay of Scented Rats.

  Do you heroically leap from your boat as you pass the Quay of Scented Rats, do a triple somersault in the air, and land upon its sleazy deck with an air of casual arrogance? Go to 64

  Or cautiously pole up to one end, tie up your boat, and sneak aboard like a rat? Go to 26

  15 You emerge into a long corridor lined with various prints of the activities of the Quay of Scented Rats. To your right there is a door marked ‘Auction Goods.’ To your left there is a door marked ‘Not the Auction Goods.’

  Do you go left? Go to 80

  Or right? Go to 23

  16 THE RIVER SLEINE

  You sneak past the hustlers of the Southgate and out through a postern. Before you lie the winding, deep-blue waters of the River Sleine, alive with wildfowl amid the teeming rushes . . . Then your eyes clear and you realise you are looking at a picture tacked to the postern door. You open it, and there before you lies the turgid, coal-black watercourse that makes slimy pollution look good—the true River Sleine. Steps lead down toward the river, and you think you can see a boat tied up at the bottom.

  Do you go down? Go to 27

  Or turn back, you coward, only to be killed by a lightning-struck albatross falling out of the sky? (This is called a premonition.) Go to 45

  17 ‘Before we descend to crass commercial tranactions,’ you say suavely, ‘you may care to have a drop of . . . El Superbeau cognac.’ You hold the bottle in front of them as they drool and reach out with grasping fingers— then fling it into the Sleine! The two guards hurl themselves into the slime, desperate to reach it before it gurgles away into the murky depths. Seconds later, you are flattened as a horde of eager customers storms across the bridge. You get up wearily and hobble after them. Go to 61

  18 The merchant reels back, a garfish sticking out of his left ear. Bleating with fear, he crashes into another merchant’s stall. Within seconds, the Place of Plaice becomes a whirling mass of rioting merchants, customers, and airborne tubs of fish. You have to get out! You run toward the Arc de Trihump. Go to 99

  19 R O L L O N E D I E .

  1–3 The man in black is entranced. Your fingers manipulate Cyrano’s arms brilliantly, and his rapier flickers back and forth, gleaming in the light from the two-hundred-watt chandelier above. Z draws closer and closer . . . then you strike. The puppet’s sword shears off half of Z’s mustache! Shrieking, he bursts past you, smashes through the door, and runs away. Go to 100

  4–6 You are a little nervous, and Cyrano moves jerkily, producing a very second-rate display of swordsmanship. Z watches for a while, then exclaims: ‘Non! Non! Ziss iz not ze way ze Thibault iz exerzized! Give eet to me!’ You hand over the puppet. Soon Z is totally occupied, putting Cyrano through the seventy-seven Lunges of Señor Ricardo. You slink past. Go to 100

  20 ‘Twenty!’ you exclaim, exhibiting profound knowledge of history that hasn’t happened yet, the current year being a sort of alternate 1624. Still, ‘What’s an anachronism between friends?’ you mutter to yourself. Z takes this as a riddle and begins to knead his forehead in deep thought. Six hours later, still unable to answer your question, he overexerts his brain and faints away. You step over his unconscious form and go through the door. Go to 100

  21 AVENUE OF CHAMPIGNONS

  A broad and leafy avenue, much frequented by bands of rioters from the Green and Blue factions of the donkey-cart races. Many bravos stalk the avenue, seeking opponents from rival factions.

  Are you wearing a blue one-piece body stocking? Go to 33

  Are you wearing something else? Go to 33 anyway

  22 You stand there, gaping. The shadow of the balloon looms closer and closer, and the stench of manure is overpowering. A man in a pin-striped suit looks out at you and says, ‘Nah—he hasn’t got what it takes,’ and the balloon flies on. Sometimes it pays to be a ninny. Go to 54

  23 You open the door marked ‘Auction Goods’ only to be confronted by the giggling eunuch you may have been unlucky enough to see earlier. The thin, sickly man accompanying him carries a gladstone bag in one hand and a gleaming scalpel in the other. The eunuch titters, ‘That’s him, Doc!’ and leaps forward to pinion you in his blubbery arms.

  Do you trip the eunuch, use him as a springboard, hurtle through the air, head butt the doctor, somersault, and land on your feet whistling ‘Dixie’? Go to 68

  Or pirouette gracefully and bolt back through the door? Go to 47

  24 Your rapier is barely out of its scabbard before the black-clad man has reduced your clothing to tatters. Little ‘z’s have been cut in every available piece of cloth and leather. Your trousers fall down.

  Do you attempt to continue this rather farcical duel? Go to 73

  Or say, ‘Sorry—wrong door,’ and back out, holding up your trousers with both hands, rapier clutched between your teeth? Go to 94

  25 ‘You sure it’s only a five-pronged fish spear?’ asks the Sergeant. ‘Because a six-pronged fish spear is a different kettle of . . .’

  ‘Halberds?’ you suggest.

  ‘Right. That’s a different kettle of halberds. Now, be on your way.’

  You leave the Sergeant and his men discussing what a kettle of halberds would actually look like, and proceed to the Street of Fishmongers. Go to 41

  26 You pole to the southern end of the gaudy monstrosity and carefully tie up your boat. Several guards look over the railing at you, but you remember your Mandrake lessons well. A few hypnotic passes convince them you are a harmless moron who thinks he’s a rat. Squeaking feverishly, you swarm up the bowline and onto the deck—then it is but the work of moments to chew a gaping hole in a nearby door. Go to 44

  27 You leap into the boat just like Captain Silver used to—but he only had one leg, so it was excusable. Eventually you get upright again, ship the oars, hoist the topgallants, splice the mainbrace, cast off, and purl three. That all taken care of, you push off with a piece of old stick and head downstream. Far off, you can see pink lights on the water and smell cheap scent. There lies the infamous Quay of Scented Rats. You pole on. Go to 14

  28 ROLL ONE DIE .

  1–2 As you poke out your tongue, you slip on some slimy fish and bite the end off this valuable appendage. The pain is intense! You drop your rapier and stagger about howling. The hulking giant runs away in terror. Go to 95

  3–4 To cut a long story short, the hulking giant gets in a few good blows and gives you a black eye before you see him off with some little cuts to the face. Subtract one from all future combat rolls due to partial blindness. Go to 95

  5–6 The tongue goes out . . . the rapier goes in. The hulking man is surprised. So are you—you nervously let go of your rapier. The giant staggers off with it still in his chest. You chase after him, and pull it out when he falls over and expires. A quick search gains you a silver Bixby—a pair of long-handled biscuit tongs. Go to 95

  29 The tigers settle back down as you sit, and the two women explain that they’re playing a local variation of poker, where a red
two is called the tiger and can be used as any other card. There are a number of other special rules, but you’re sure you can get the hang of it. Roll one die.

  1–3 You lose all your money and possessions, except for your clothes and rapier. You’re sure there’s cheating going on, but every time you try to look more closely at the others, or under the table, the tigers come and breathe heavily in your ear, licking their chops and slavering. After an hour you retire gracefully through the other door, declining their offer of ‘just another hand.’ Go to 79

  4–5 You know they’re cheating after about fifteen minutes. Those tigers are reading your cards and signaling to the women by twitching their whiskers. With this knowledge, you keep your losses to a minimum—and lose half your money. After about ten hands, you get up to ‘stretch your dealing hand,’ and dash through the other door, the tigers hot on your heels. Go to 79

  6 Ah, those long days spent visiting your grandfather in Cell 3B of The Pastille (an infamous lozenge-shaped prison) at last reap their reward. You use all your dear grandpapa’s tricks and win twenty-eight bezants over sixteen hands. You bow gracefully, thank the ladies for the game, and saunter to the exit, gloating over your newfound wealth. Go to 79

  30 ‘Wot, I say, wot ’ave we ’ere, then?’ says the Watch Sergeant, in the peculiar patois spoken by Watchmen everywhere. ‘Oi (I) fink (think) we might ’ave (have) a Nimoy (person in search of something) ’ere (at this location) . . . perhaps (perhaps) searching (looking) for his lost (mislaid) demoiselle (lady who drinks a lot of sweet white wine).’ While the other Watchmen are trying to translate the Sergeant’s words with their Watch Patois/English phrasebooks, you slink past and continue on your way. Go to 41

  31 THE CARVED HEADS OF PAST EMPERORS The Carved Heads of Past Emperors were once ranked as the four hundred and sixteenth wonder of the world. Now only twenty of the sixty heads carved into the Eastern Wall have any discernible features. You scan them briefly, but the Montgolfier is still approaching from behind.

  Do you hide up the stone nostril of Emperor August the 10th? Go to 4

  Climb the profile of HIH Alfredo (known as ‘Alfredo the Chinless’)? Go to 89

  32 The hag raises her cleaver as you reach inside your doublet, then drops it on the floor as you proffer the silk stockings. ‘Just what I wanted for my thuggee lessons!’ she exclaims, swiftly making the stockings into a noose and looking around for a test neck. But you are long gone, running like a young colt (i.e., on shaky legs), through the other door. Go to 79

  33 As you casually saunter down the avenue in your unobtrusive blue body stocking (or whatever), a bravo leaps out, brandishing his rapier. You have only a moment to realise that he is dressed entirely in green before combat is upon you.

  Do you tremble with fear, knock your knees together, and start blubbering? Then, when he starts laughing, whip out a pistol and blow the smirk off the blaggard’s face? (You must have a pistol.) Go to 76

  Or feint toward his left eye, parry in sixte, and riposte over your shoulder, plunging your rapier through the knave’s heart? Go to 2

  34 A harsh-faced woman looks up from her voodoo doll as you enter and screams, ‘A burglar! Sic him, Tiggums!’ A tiger leaps down on you from a platform above the door.

  Do you run back through the door? Go to 9

  Fleché across the room and run the woman through? Go to 11

  Shoot the tiger with your pistol? Go to 43

  35 You are now on one of the floors of the windmill. It is an eerie place, all white with flour dust, and the sound of the creaking sails and machinery echoing in every nook and cranny. Strange cogs and mechanical arms move back and forth, and a central driveshaft turns with uncanny speed.

  There is a piece of paper lying on the floor. Do you pick it up? Go to 60

  Or ignore it, trip, and fall down the central driveshaft into the grinding stones below? Go to 70

  36 They look at you, taking in your cheap cloak, three-bezant haircut, muddy boots, and distinct lack of a Ferrari-red palanquin. ‘Make that ten bezants, for trying to be smart,’ says one, crushing a rock and snorting the fragments to show how tough he is.

  Do you pay ten bezants? Go to 55

  Go back to the end of the line? Go to 7

  Or follow the river westish, hoping to find another way to the Quay of Scented Rats? Go to 52

  37 Your arms get more and more tired, the wind comes up, and it starts raining. You almost fall several times. Then, in desperation, you start to climb down. Unfortunately, you slip, slide down the windmill’s roof, and out . . . down at least forty feet. Fortunately, the hunchback breaks your fall . . . and you break both your legs. You crawl away before the hunchback regains consciousness. For you, this adventure is over, and you are about to embark upon another. (See ‘The Ferocious Bill of Orthopedic Surgeon Fu Manchu’ Adventure 27 in this series.)

  38 ROLL ONE DIE .

  1–6 You back off, and off—this guy twirls his club so fast, you think he may moonlight as a windmill. He drives you back to the Place of Plaice before losing interest. Go to 83

  39 There is a heavily clawed mannequin in the opposite corner, and a low, menacing growl from a platform above the door. Go to 85

  40 The tiger stops in its tracks and looks from side to side, as if to see if anybody is watching. Then it rolls on its back and starts making purring sounds.

  Do you go over and scratch its stomach? Go to 5

  Or run like a million zephyrs (windily) to the other door? Go to 79

  41THE STREET OF FISH MONGERS This street really stinks. Rotten fish guts, rotten gutfish, and people who smell like they died at sea several years ago—and look like they died several centuries ago. You hurry through, with a fold of your cloak stuffed up each nostril—all the fashion in the Street of Fishmongers.

  Toward the end of the street, a porcelain model of a toadfish points toward Fishgut Alley, and a statue of a naked mermaid (with rotating flukes) beckons toward the Place of Plaice.

  If you walk toward Fishgut Alley, Go to 12

  If you stroll toward the Place of Plaice, Go to 83

  42 As you say ‘No thanks,’ the agent’s forked tail and horns break out of his pin-striped suit. He draws a pitchfork from his shoulder holster . . . just a little too late. There is a flash of blue lightning, and the ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ agent is now no more than a patch of oily scum. A white-suited man strolls up, the gold wings on his breast pocket gleaming in the sun. He blows the smoke from a magnum pen and slips it back into his pocket. ‘Get on with it,’ he says. ‘Finish up—I need the money.’ You nod and head south. Go to 54

  43 As the tiger leaps, you draw your pistol in one smooth motion, wind the wheel lock faster than a speeding bullock cart, prime it quicker than a flash of lightning, aim, and . . . Roll one die.

  1–3 Congratulations. All these frantic motions have hypnotised the tiger. It is staring at you, its eyes great circles of disbelief. This puts you off, so you don’t fire but edge past to the other door. Go to 79

  4–6 It springs on you before you can fire, so you have to do all the winding, priming, and so forth at the same time as being savagely mauled by a four-hundred-pound Bengal tiger! It’s lucky you’re a hero—you fire, the tiger dies, and you get to live out the rest of your tragic life with the terrible scars the tiger has inflicted. You staunch the blood where your little finger is bleeding, and eye the scratch marks with depression. Absolutely bound to scar, you think sadly, as you head for the other door. Go to 79

  44 THE SALON

  You open the door of the Salon, enter, and quickly close it behind you. It is very dim inside, and your eyes take several seconds to adjust. There is a sort of snuffling sound in one corner, and you start to draw your rapier before you realise it is . . . seductive breathing. Your eyes adjusted, you see the fabled courtesan Yvette lying on a couch, her fishnet stockings gleaming against the red plush. She languidly stretches out one slim arm and beckons to you.

  Do you abandon your mission, shout
, ‘Every man for himself,’ and fling yourself upon her? Go to 67

  Allow her to seduce you, pay her, then resume your search for your true love? Go to 53

  Call on Sir Galahad, the Pure Knight, to help you fight temptation? Go to 71

  45 You turn back toward the South-gate. Lightning flashes across the sky. Thunder resounds throughout the postern tunnel in which you are sheltering from falling albatrosses. An ancient mariner appears and shoots you with his crossbow. The last words you hear are the senile old fool saying: ‘That’s funny. I could have sworn it was an albatross. Must have been the lightning . . .’ The End.

  46 The Bittern approaches and circles lazily, just out of reach of your rapier. You think you’ve got it beat and start to edge across the square. At that precise second the Bittern strikes, jabbing you savagely in the left buttock. Shrieking, you run across the square, hand clamped to your backside to guard against the infamous second strike. Go to 93

  47 You slam the door behind you and brace yourself against it as the tremendous bulk of the eunuch slams against it.

  Do you wait for him to charge again, then let the door fly open? Go to 75

  Or fire your pistol (if you have one) through the door? Go to 87

  48 You start sweeping the halberd viciously back and forth like some sort of deranged lawn mower—but this only makes the giant man angry. His shirt splits up the back, his eyes and muscles bulge, and he puts on a pair of glasses. You stare aghast as he grabs the swinging halberd and breaks it into several pieces, then advances upon you with a particularly sharp splinter, grinning inanely . . . but this is all a product of your fevered imagination. You shouldn’t swing that halberd so vigorously! Actually, he ran away as soon as you got the halberd out. Go to 95